High above the urban sprawl and amber glow of Meilin, the night sky was almost void of all light except for a ribbon of stars that clustered along a deep tear in the heavens; though even that was soon smothered by cloud. Even in the darkest hour of night, the heat intensified and the air took on a stifling pressure; heavy with the sweet, rosy fragrance of peonies from a nearby garden.
The one, solitary figure still outside when everyone else was asleep and deep within dreams turned his head away from the sky as lightning traced a brilliant path right across the valley, his attention caught by something that captured the blaze of searing white and reflected it back just as quickly.
Wind begun to howl through the empty streets and carried large droplets ahead of a fierce rumble that caused the buildings to shudder. The man spared a quick look in the direction of the coming storm before crouching down and hastily untangling an old, rusted key from among the brambles and grasping it in his hand. More flashes of lightning lit the alley up and the man could just make out a curious engraving of a magpie perched atop a branch, a single teardrop forming from its eye as it looked skywards. The man shook his head as the storm broke above the town and took off in full sprint as heavy rain pummelled into every surface.
Blue skies and harsh sunlight bore down on Ibsen relentlessly as he stared blankly at the computer screen in front. Numbers trailed across the spread sheet and bled into one another until they formed a senseless, migraine inducing blur. Even with all the office windows opened as far as the hinges would allow, there wasn’t the slightest breeze to shift the air and offer relief from the humidity and sweltering heat. He rested his forehead in his fingers while his colleague behind him cursed and took to hitting the computer as the fan ceased to work. Ibsen raised his eyes back towards his own monitor as it flickered several times before the power failed all together.
“Well that’s great. Now what do we do? We need to submit these accounts by four o’clock.” Ibsen’s colleague grumbled.
“Power’s out across the whole town by the looks of things. There’s a huge storm over Daihilu. chances are it’s hit the main power station this time, we won’t have any power back until sometime tomorrow. Probably. Anyway, there’s actually another week before everything needs to be submitted. Boss wants everything done so he can take a few days out.” Ibsen replied stoically. It wasn’t like either of them had been getting anywhere even with power functioning.
“You mean he wants us to work our magic so he has enough budget left to invest in some fancy bullock being shown off where he’s going to.”
“Something like that. Might as well go home and do what we can later.” He shrugged at his colleague with a grin and left the office. The smell of spiced cloud noodles being cooked in the street below had tangled in the humid air with the sweet aroma of fried bean tea, distracting him all together for several hours.
Knowing that his small top floor flat would be as unbearable as the office until night fell, Ibsen set off towards the lake at the edge of town with his dinner. Meilin was slowly building its way around the whole lake, but for now at least, it still offered breath taking views towards distant mountains and the cold breezes the had rushed down from snow and ice of the peaks.
The sweet scent of peony lingered in the air and Ibsen found himself taking a detour down the same overgrown alley that led to the older district of the town where he’d seen the strange magpie engraving before. His free hand automatically felt for the key that he’d strung on a leather thong around his neck since, eyes scanning for the bird among the brambles.
He passed under a brilliant red torii gate at the far end which opened onto a street of houses built from thick grey stone either side of a deep and fast flowing stream. Arched bridges crossed over the water frequently and buckets of peonies adorned either side of all the doorways. People bustled around him focused on their business of setting up for the festival. The slightest breeze shifted through the street and traced across his skin, carrying his focused towards a small gate at the end of the street.
Unlike the rest of the street which was immaculate, the gate and the path leading into the trees were slowing being consumed by wildlife. He felt for the old key again, suddenly overcome with a desire to see if it would unlock the gate; knowing somehow that it would, and deeply curious to see where the path went. The pressure in the air intensified and a sense of urgency rushed through him, that he needed to get to the end of wherever the path went before the weather changed. Behind him, towering black clouds were gathering and seemed to consume all of the light and air from the world. Magpies chattered angrily from a nearby cypress and hopped up and down branches, their irritation with the whether catching throughout the street.
Ibsen pulled the key free as he walked towards the gate. It bore the patina of age and countless years buried in the undergrowth, but a lot of the corrosion had been sanded away and the stem of the key had a soft sheen to it from the years of being held again. He had no idea why he had picked the key up then, or why he was now so intent on going through this gate; or even if he should. Instinct was calling him, carrying him to the gate. Trying to look like he was meant to be there, Ibsen carefully brushed the ivy away from the lock and inserted the key, scrunching his eyes shut as he lightly turned his wrist. The lock clicked quietly. Even though he’d somehow known the key would work, he let out a small sight of relief all the same before hurrying into the jade shadows of the path and securing the key back around his neck.
He went forwards without looking back, occasionally having to duck under heavy limbs of ancient cypress or covering his face as dense fronds whipped back savagely if he moved the younger branches, causing him to walk blind until the trees finally thinned back out and he found himself at the edge of the lake. Clouds of dense mist obscured much of the view in a gauze of refracted light as cold air from the mountains collided and entwined with the hot air of Meilin, though the skies above were still an idyllic azure.
From the central depths of tranquil black waters, a white pagoda glistened subtly from within the gauze clouds reached by an ornate stone walkway that lead from either shore. He could faintly make out the sounds of Meilin a short distance away, yet in all his years living in the city he’d somehow never come across this place. There was another torii gate a short walk along the lake’s shore that opened on to the bridge, a small bell suspended in the centre and chiming gently as the breeze shifted it from time to time.
On each column that adorned the bridge, handsome magpies had been carved from marble. The style reminiscent of the carving he’d seen before, though these seemed more cheerful in nature. The water of the lake was dark as pitch though the surface sparkled beneath the sun and the balustrades either side were an intricate web of finally carved stars; and walking across the bridge reminded him of the milky way constellation that was the highlight of the summer nights.
Magpies chattered and trilled all around the lake and the bells of the torii gates knelled softly, the only sounds aside from a gentle clacking and intermittent thump of a loom being worked inside of the pagoda, though as Ibsen passed under the last gate of the bridge, the sounds from inside the pagoda stopped abruptly and a young woman with brilliant silver hair stepped out, amber eyes barely noticing him as they focussed intently on the small box in his hand.
“You have Meilin cloud noodles?” She asked, her gaze finally meeting his with a startling intensity. He nodded, uncertain of what to say or do. “You…don’t remember me, do you?” She sighed and dropped onto one of the benches circling the building, looking wistfully towards Meilin. Buckets of peonies adorned the circle walk round the building here as well
Memories begun to surface. A different hot summer when he was still a child, another storm…he’d wandered far from home and taken shelter in a small shrine to the wolf spirit. Back then he’d been petrified, but he’d met a girl close in age to himself that seemed overjoyed by the storm and kept peering out from the eaves to watch the heavens clash and thunder as the rain kept them both captive. He’d felt outside of time or in a dream that day as they shared a flask of sweet bean tea, both wondering how much trouble they’d be in when they finally made it home; the girl otherworldly with her bright pewter hair and sparkling amber eyes…“…Fen?”
She looked back up at him, an infectious smile lighting up her face. “You do remember!” Ibsen sat down next to her and set the noodles and tea between them. “Are you sure you want to share this tea with me for a second time?” Fen asked, a note of mischief creeping into her voice. Lightning flickered across the horizon and the wind shifted towards them, the bells around the lake sounding with a deeper song that resonated across the still waters.
