The planks of the suspension bridge were black, sodden with too much water.
When Koyoi stepped onto them, the wood sank with a heavy groan, followed a heartbeat later by the creak of the ropes. Before the sound could be swallowed by the mist, it pierced deep into his chest. Rain pooled atop the boards and clung to his straw sandals; with every step, cold water licked the spaces between his toes.
The wood felt slick, its decaying fibers yielding softly underfoot, making the soles of his feet feel strangely hot by comparison. Koyoi pulled his drawstring pouch close and pressed down on the knot. A lunar chill seeped into his palm, while the wind brushed light against his back.
Asahi’s back was close.
His shoulders moved slightly with the swaying of the bridge—that movement was his only lifeline. Behind him, Kuon moved silently, matching his breathing and the rhythm of his steps to the oscillation of the bridge.
Countless scraps of white cloth were tied to the rope railings. Washed by the rain, they had turned a dismal gray, their knots tightened by the damp. As his fingers brushed them, the cloth felt cold, the moisture sticking to his skin. Perhaps someone who crossed this path before had tied them here, certain they would never return. Prayers were but light scraps of fabric, yet their knots felt impossibly heavy.
Koyoi steadied his breath and returned his gaze to his feet. The rushing water visible through the gaps in the planks was so close it made his head swim. To fight the vertigo, he braced his core.
"Don’t rush. Listen only to the voice of the bridge."
Asahi’s voice was low, slipping into the cracks in the rain. Koyoi nodded, aligning his stride with the bridge's rhythmic shrieks. The roar of the torrent rose from below, and white foam flickered through the gaps. The scent of the water was not sweet.
It was a mixture of metallic bitterness and rotting wood; a harsh, astringent taste lingered on his tongue. Every inhalation chilled his lungs; every exhalation wetted his lips. The wind nipped at his damp skin with a stinging prickle. Koyoi blinked once, shaking off the raindrops.
But as soon as one fell, the next arrived.
Kuon brought up the rear, his eyes tracking the tension of the ropes. His glassy eyes caught the droplets, glowing with a faint blue light. Koyoi could feel his presence behind him. The fear of being watched and the comfort of being protected warred within him, and the flame in his heart flickered with a small, sharp heat.
Kuon’s breath grew heavy for a single beat, then returned to normal. By that slight shift in weight, he knew he had seen something.
As they reached the middle of the bridge, the wind suddenly died.
The silence of that moment pressed against his eardrums. Only the thick thrum of the river remained, making his own heartbeat sound unnaturally loud. In the next breath, a sideways gale struck his cheek, the rain stabbing like needles. His bamboo hat was yanked backward, exposing his neck to the chill.
The bridge lurched violently, and the boards beneath his feet shifted. Koyoi’s stomach dropped. When he reached for the handrail rope, the wet fibers slid through his grip, and the sensation in his fingertips vanished entirely.
Inside the pouch, the Wind God shrieked.
Warning.
Reflexively, Koyoi pressed the pouch tight. The Moon God's chill raced through the fabric, and the Waterway God trembled.
「…It's coming. Above… below…」
The voice was thin and cold. Before the words were finished, the roar of the torrent dropped. Deep beneath that muffled sound, something took a breath. Drawn in by that inhalation, Koyoi looked down—and saw it.
The water was swelling upward. Like a wall.
The edge of the wall shimmered with a round light, drawing the raindrops toward it. He felt as if he could hear the sound of the rain being sucked in, and he fought the urge to cover his ears.
The cold air thinned out instantly. His lungs tightened as he tried to breathe. Inside the pouch, the Moon God shuddered and the Wind God gave a short cry. The Waterway God, though trembling with fear, seemed to be reaching out toward that same watery presence.
"Stop. Get back!"
Kuon’s voice was taut. In the next instant, the torrent leaped toward the heavens. Behind the arc of water, there was a shadow. At its center, a single eye glowed.
Whether it was the eye of the Rain God or the glow of a warding stake, he couldn't tell. Only the sensation of being seen remained, turning the sweat on his back to ice. The eye did not blink, yet it felt as if it were counting the tremors of his breath. Koyoi held his breath and exhaled as silently as he could.
An impact slammed into the bridge from below. The planks let out a splintering crack, and the entire structure bucked upward. Koyoi’s body was thrown into the air; his hands nearly lost their grip. His stomach lurched, and he felt as if cold water were rising into his throat.
Asahi dropped to one knee and seized the rope. The tendons in his hands stood out, the wet fibers biting into his flesh. The frayed rope chafed the skin of his palms, the sting reaching him before the chill of the rain.
"Get back! Don't let go!"
His roar forced Koyoi into motion. As he tried to retreat, the planks shifted again. The gaps widened, bringing the white foam below even closer. Cold spray lashed his face, stinging his eyes.
The moment he put his weight on the edge of a board, the wood yielded with an ominous snap. Just as he began to lose his footing, a pale moonlight illuminated the path. It wasn't a dazzling glare, but a faint light that carved out the sharp outlines of where to step.
Koyoi placed his foot along that line. Step, he told himself. If he faltered now, the whole bridge would break.
Kuon pushed him from behind. His strength forced his center of gravity back into place. Koyoi missed a breath, a small sound escaping his throat. His ribs ached.
The knot of the pouch pressed into his chest, the hardness turning into a dull throb. It hurt. But that pain was proof he was still alive.
When they finally tumbled back onto the bank, the earth received them with the solid weight of reality. His knees sank into the mud, the cold seeping into his bones. Koyoi gasped for air, trying to brush away his wet bangs, but his fingers were shaking too hard to manage.
Asahi looked back once to confirm the bridge was still holding. From the speed with which his gaze returned, he knew they were at their limit.
Kuon wiped the corner of his mouth; a thin, red streak ran through the rainwater on his face. He spoke while keeping his eyes fixed on the bridge.
"…It won't let us across. It is a rejection. Be it the Rain God's despair, or the binding will of the construct."
Koyoi tried to look across the bridge, but the mist blocked his view. He couldn't see anything, yet the presence remained. He felt as if a heavy shadow stood upon the distant cliff. The light of the eye blinked once, and with the next flash of lightning, the silhouette dissolved.
The shadow vanished into the mist as if it had never been there. Even after it was gone, a cold pressure lingered. It weighed on his chest, making his breath shallow.
"…But it's right there."
His voice was hoarse. Frustration choked his throat. Asahi exhaled a wet breath and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. His knuckles were white.
It looked as though he were gripping his own rage.
"Nothing for it. We detour. Upstream or down—we find a shallow spot."
Kuon tucked his compass back into his robes and tracked the flow of the river. Koyoi readjusted his pouch, steadying himself with the hard sensation of the knot. The rain showed no sign of stopping.
But they couldn't stop either.
The three of them returned to the narrow path along the river, their footsteps softened by the mud. The stones beneath them were slick; occasionally, the dull clack of dry stone mixed in with the squelching earth. As those sounds increased, the terrain began to change.
There has to be a ford somewhere.
Telling himself this, Koyoi kept his mind’s eye fixed on the shadow beyond the mist. As the shrieking of the bridge faded behind them, the breath of the river drew closer. The water was still angry, its voice harsh as it hammered against the rocks. Yet, within that violence, a lighter sound occasionally mixed in.
The difference between where the current shattered against boulders and where it spread thin over sand.
Kuon walked as if picking up those subtle differences; Asahi led the way, choosing only the firmest footholds. Following them, Koyoi clenched and unclenched his cold fingers to make sure the feeling had returned. The chafing from the rope fibers stung his palms, the rain only sharpening the pain.
Inside the pouch, the Waterway God was still trembling. That tremor remained because the other side was still very much alive.
Koyoi exhaled, quietly steadying the flame in his heart once more. He cast one last look at the mist behind him, etching the position of the bridge they couldn't cross into his memory, and then looked forward.
In that moment, the sound of the river grew just a fraction lighter. The sound of bursting bubbles felt closer. It sounded less like stones and more like gravel.
Maybe there is a shallow place.
The moment he thought it, a small warmth returned to the depths of his frozen chest.