Page 4 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

Shumei opened a daily dose, took a clean stirring stick, and mixed in the white willow powder, which quickly dissolved. Akki grasped painfully at the cup and attempted to down the steaming tea in only a few gulps.

This moment was one of the rare times when Akki’s contempt for Shumei was not shrouded in her usual, mean smile. Despite being the lowest-ranking member of the village, Shumei was oddly privileged to see this side of the leader’s wife, who always acted serene and spiritual in front of everyone else.

Akki had been a beautiful woman when she was younger, or so Shumei had heard from her mother. But despite her comfortable home and the power she held over the village, Akki hated her life, and it showed on her face. Lines of stress bracketed her mouth, which was nearly always pursed around her overly large front teeth. Permanent wrinkles furrowed her forehead. Her complaints, given “kindly” of course, were well and widely known, from the food she ate to the clothes she wore to the enviable amount of free time she enjoyed, time which she said was spent in “utter boredom.”

Kimen and Shumei were both silent as Akki returned the cup to the table, hands trembling. Her eyes were closed, so Shumei didn’t worry about being caught staring as she studied the older woman’s complexion, noticing how pale she’d become. All the blood was gone from her face. Akki rarely went outside anyway, preferring not to work, even if “work” was simply visiting and speaking with the other villagers, but even for a woman who hardly saw sunlight, her skin was much too thin and gray. Something else was wrong.

Shumei stared at her hands and searched her mind for what could make someone appear so deathly pale.

“Dearest?” Kimen leaned toward his wife, and Shumei put aside her thoughts for the moment.

“Pay her the fee,” Akki said flatly. Kimen reached into the fold of his shirt, pulled out a heavy coin purse, and withdrew a ten-kol piece.

Ten kols was enough to buy about three days’ worth of meager meals for one person. The small, rectangular currency came in several denominations, but she’d never held anything higher than a ten-kol piece. The one time she’d seen a hundred-kol piece, it had been in the hand of another villager gushing about finding it on the western road.

Eight or nine kols was enough to buy the cheapest pair of shoes, but over the last year, only four traveling merchants had come through their village. Two had come without any shoes to sell, and the other two had been required by custom to sell to crows only after the rest of the village had made their purchases, so they had sold out of any affordable shoes. A run of bad luck. But when had she ever been lucky?

Kimen tossed the ten-kol piece to her from across the table, and it landed on the medicine pouch in her lap with an unceremonious plop.

“Have you seen my symptoms, little Shumei?” Akki asked with a sneer.

“Yes, madam.” She closed her fist over the money in her lap.

“As observant as ever.”

Shumei didn’t respond.

“Find a cure for it, then.”

She nodded without looking up. Perhaps her mother would have some advice.

“Now then, I suppose you should be going, child,” Kimen said, making to rise.

“Not yet, idiot. We’ve yet to discuss her future husband,” Akki pointed out, swiping her hand through the air as if cutting off someone’s head. Kimen settled, nodding uncertainly. Akki turned her attention back to Shumei. “It’s pitiable someone like you cannot marry by virtue of her own qualities when you are so lacking, but the job of any village leader includes arranging a husband for you on your twentieth birthday. We’ve collected a few offers for your…hand in marriage,” she finished with a gulp, as if disgusted.

“If you please, Madam Akki—” Shumei tried to say, hoping to leave soon.

“Don’t interrupt when a Blessed One is speaking,” she snapped. “As I was saying, this village may have lost many of its finest members thanks to that cursed disease—and we may be temporarily abandoned by our neighboring villages who are too cowardly even to trade with us—but of the men here, three have said they’re willing to take you to wife. And because he asked to be mentioned first…” Akki paused, sighing and rolling her eyes. “Akiji has begged that you ‘accept his undying love and unending passions’ when choosing a husband.”

Shumei wanted to laugh but managed to keep her face still.

“The miller’s two sons also agreed to be candidates, though it was difficult to garner their acceptance. I actually had to praise you once to make them say yes,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. Shumei nearly couldn’t suppress a disbelieving scoff.

“Madam Akki, I know I’m not worthy of your efforts, but right now, my mother and brother are at critical stages of the dis—”

“By the dueling gods, child, calm down. We can talk of this next week. But be sure to save that darling brother of yours. If you fail, and a Blessed One is lost to the Burning, I doubt even my husband and I could find or approve of any match with you.”

Shumei nodded while silently fuming at Akki’s coldness toward her brother’s health. Blondies cooed at each other constantly for being so wonderful, but even that level of self-absorption was an illusion. Shumei was one of the few who knew the truth: blondies despised other blondies. The fewer of them there were, the more they were loved, appreciated, and worshipped. A spoiled blondie hated competition.

“I will take my leave, Leader and Madam,” she said as she stood.

“Yes, you should be off to deliver those medicines, I’m sure. Perhaps you’ll be able to afford some meat this week,” Akki said with a grimacing smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. Not giving the woman the satisfaction of a reaction, Shumei showed none of the anger she felt as she forced herself to bow in respect before leaving.

Upon shutting the door behind her, she breathed in the fresh morning air and was only a little saddened to see it had begun drizzling, but she would rather be chilled and wet than remain in that house another minute.

Huddling over her pouch of medicines, she took the path that ran along the edge of the village even though it was a less-direct route to her next stop. It had the most trees and would keep her drier. A moment later, she knocked on the door of a family whose oldest daughter was pregnant and needed medicine for her morning sickness. After exchanging the medicine and fee, only two kols, the door was all but slammed in her face, but she paid it no heed. Two more families earned her six kols, and then it was time to visit her biggest customer.

The witch. At least, everyone said Majo was a witch. But no one had yet revealed any solid evidence to support such an accusation, or even to suggest it at a volume louder than a whisper.