“It’s complicated,” Ojiisan said gravely. “We were hoping you’d know. That’s why I taught Hiro English. And why I learned a bit, too.”
Jet sighed. “But I don’t know a thing.” She was about to ask if the Wa had anything to do with the treasure when Hiro burst into the room, Aska at his side.
“Hey, Rika. What’s the plan for today?” he asked.
Ojiisan turned to Jet. “There’s something we need to do, isn’t there?”
“There is one thing…” Jet said softly. “Mom wanted me to go to Osore-zan.”
Hiro’s excitement grew. “We’re in luck! It’s a special time on the mountain, with the fall spirit festival going on.”
“What’s the fall spirit festival?” Jet asked.
“After death, everyone goes to the mountain. In old times, the Ainu communed with the spirits of the dead there. We carry on the tradition,” Hiro replied.
“In summer and fall, the itako—blind female shamans—gather there. We talk to our ancestors through these kuchiyose… spirit mediums,” Ojiisan explained.
“Can I talk to my mother?” Jet asked.
“Her spirit needs forty-nine days to cross over to the other side. I’m afraid it’s too early,” Ojiisan said.
Jet just nodded, trying to hide her disappointment.
Wait!” Hiro said brightly, “we can tell my mom and the others that Aunt Satoko is coming.”
“Your mom? How… I mean, when?” Jet swallowed, ashamed. She’d been so focused on herself that she hadn’t asked Hiro anything. How long had he lived with Ojiisan? How had his mother passed away? And where was his father?
“If we leave now, we can get there by noon. My mom’s waiting!” Hiro exclaimed.
“It’s settled then,” Ojiisan told them. “Today we’ll go to the mountain!”
Jet’s mouth hung open. She couldn’t believe how quickly they’d decided to go—too quickly. Suspicion rose in her gut. She wondered if they’d already planned it.
Hiro was smiling, but Ojiisan’s expression was serious.
“It will be cold,” he said, “So we’d better wear layers. And we’ll have to take a few trains and buses. We might even have to sleep outdoors for a night or two. Let’s prepare for any eventuality.”
“Right,” Hiro said, springing into action.
An ominous feeling fell over the home as they prepared for the trip. Jet wondered what Ojiisan knew. Then she wondered how much longer she’d have to wait before she knew it, too.
She hoped she’d learn more on the mountain.
She had the feeling there wasn’t much time left.
CHAPTER 8
運命 Un-Mei
Destiny
The train sped alongside the ocean, passing old fishing villages, their harbors scattered with abandoned boats turned red with rust. Jet looked out the window. Batches of seaweed hung to dry from nets, withering in the sun. Aside from a few ramshackle dive shops sprinkled along the coast, it was desolate all the way to Tanabu, where Jet, Hiro, and Ojiisan got off with a crowd of pilgrims to catch a bus to Osore-zan, packs slung over their shoulders.
The rickety bus creaked as it wound its way up the steep slope into the forest. A cool breeze wafted through the open window. The fragrance of the forest was much stronger than on the mountain path to Kanabe. Jet sniffed the air from the bus window.
“The smell is Hiba.” Ojiisan pointed to big trees shooting up to the sky.
“The wood our dinner trays were made from,” Hiro added. “Remember?”
Jet nodded, struggling to focus on the trees and not on the un-ease in her stomach.
“Hiba’s termite-proof and lasts a thousand years,” Ojiisan said. “But now, unfortunately, almost all the Hiba forests are gone.”
“At least we still have this one,” Hiro sighed. “You can visit it every year in winter to see the flowers bloom. Their yellow pollen covers the snow.”
“It must be beautiful.” Jet said. She’d never paid that much attention to trees, but now that her grandfather had mentioned it, she realized trees had unique characteristics, too, like people.
“It’s like the sun against heaven,” Ojiisan replied. “We can come back together in the winter to see it. Hopefully, I’ll still be alive,” he chuckled.
“Of course you’ll be alive!” Jet said, alarmed.
“It’s just a joke,” he replied.
Soon an aquamarine lake appeared, as if suspended in the white-gray landscape. Jet had never seen water so transparent and brilliant, like crystal.
“This is Lake Usori. It’s Ainu for ‘bay,’” Hiro explained.
When the bus doors opened, the scent of sulfur swept in on the cold air from the rugged hills that loomed beyond the temple walls, almost knocking Jet over.
“The lake used to be volcanic crater,” Ojiisan pointed out as they walked around the grounds. Black burn marks scarred the hills’ flanks. There was no trace of greenery or plant life. “In the ninth century, an oracle told the Chinese priest Ennin to travel east to a sacred mountain. It was supposed to take him thirty days. Ten years later, he found Osore-zan, a huge volcano surrounded by eight mountains,” Ojiisan said.
“But our ancestors discovered Osore-zan long before Ennin did,” Hiro said defiantly.
Ojiisan shot Hiro a look, but Hiro shrugged it off.
“I just want her to know the truth,” he said.
“She’ll find out soon enough,” Ojiisan replied. “Let’s show her the lake. Then we can go to the temple.”
He took Jet’s arm and led her up the hill. She felt urgency in his grip, and they walked quickly, their feet crunching against small ash-stones left from the scorching lava.
“It looks like a lotus. That’s why it’s a perfect place for sacred Buddhist land,” Ojiisan said.
“A lotus!” Jet exclaimed. Whenever she’d complained about life, her mother spoke of the lotus, explaining to her how something so sacred, so beautiful, grew out of mud.
Remember, it’s not what you come from, she’d said. It’s what you grow into.
Soon, the aquamarine expanse of Lake Usori spread before them. The shimmering blue surface, uninterrupted by waves, accepted the soft rays from the autumn sky. Huge domes of lava were draped with braided ropes. The Emishi had put them there, Ojiisan explained. They’d believed the domes were deities themselves and that beyond the volcanic shores of Lake Usori was the home of the spirits.
The sulfur stung Jet’s lungs. Steam rose from holes in the ground. A pure white beach glistened ahead.
“Why are mountains sacred places?” she asked, remembering the Navajo mountains back home.
“The spirits of the dead fly up to heaven. We want their journey to be as quick and easy as possible,” Ojiisan said.
He dropped his gaze to the silk cloth containing the box of Satoko’s ashes that Jet held close to her chest. He took off his shoes and socks, walking along the sandy beach for a while. Then he crouched beside the lake and motioned her forward.
“I think this is a good place. Don’t you?”
Jet joined him and moved her