Kuro: A Land in Eternal Night

Chapter 12.1: A girl named Vannah

Vannah

I was born six hundred years ago in the Kami valley, and grew up in the fields. The mountains stretched all around us, and crowned the valley with their splendor, even in the darkness. Beneath the mountains, trees, flowers and grass grew everywhere. Had there been sunlight, the view of the mountains framing the greenery and the colored flowers would have been breathtaking. Unfortunately, none of us at the time could have beheld such a sight. Still, under the pale light of the Aurora, the valley in the darkness provided a hint of the splendor that had been there in the days of the Goddess.

The winding river of Tenyo-gawa ran through the valley and provided our village with a water source. Our village was one of three set along the riverbank. There were not a lot of people at the time, but enough trade existed between the villages that a small, mutually beneficial relationship developed.

We never quite knew how the valley could prosper so much in the darkness, but it did. Though she was long gone by the time I came to life, Amaterasu's presence could be felt everywhere in the valley. Life was present at every bend, every stalk of grass screamed abundance in the wind, happy to be alive. When the wind blew, it was with the breath of the Goddess. At the time, we did not yet know that the valley was a Trove, a place where the Goddess Essence was abundant. The Goddess Essence caused the plants to grow continually despite the absence of light. We were fortunate. My parents were farmers. We toiled in the fields, and it was difficult work, though I never thought much of it, having been born into such a life. We would bring lanterns outside, stick poles into the ground to hang them on, and work throughout the Waking and well into the Winding.

It was one of the few times in my life where I considered myself truly happy. We got up early, worked the fields, and got to eat the fruits of our labor afterward, reaping what we sowed.

Early, between the hours of the Slumber and the hours of the Waking, father would pack his cart full of fresh produce and bring them to the neighboring villages to sell. When he returned, he brought fresh fish from the river that we would grill by a fire or consume raw, dipped in vinegar, and wrapped in rice and seaweed.

I remember running through the fields without a care in the world, the wind in my face, the stalks of grass brushing against my face as I ran. I still see my mother dutifully preparing breakfast in the wee hours of the Waking, a smile on her face as she did, occasionally turning to me with her beautiful eyes. I remember my father's smiling face as he lovingly gazed upon me before he left the day to toil in the fields.

He called me many names. Every day he came home, and I would see his shadow in the window by candlelight as he walked to the door. He'd knock, and you knew it was him, a friendly, enthusiastic rapping on our door. Then he would call my name, from behind the door. Princess, Sweet Cake, Honeybunch. Sometimes, the name would be utter gibberish, but my mother and I enjoyed it nonetheless. As I grew older, I learned to look forward to those names.

I loved the stories they would tell me at bedtime. They made a game of it. Whoever told the better story got to tuck me into bed. I felt loved then, secure in the knowledge that there were two people who loved me more than anything else.

But my happiness was short lived. In my sixth year, a plague swept through the village taking our beloved indiscriminately. We lost many friends. Like the shadow of death, it swept unannounced. Sadly, father fell victim to it.

I prayed hard for my father. I asked the Goddess to spare him, so that he might stay with my mother and me forever. I prayed so hard my tears left me. The desperation of a six year old is akin to the desperation of a mother trying to save her child.

In the end, none of it mattered. In the third month of the cold bitter winter that followed, my father's spirit departed Kuro and left my mother and I to fend for ourselves. I had never known sadness before that. Mother tried to console me as best she could. I put up a brave front for her sake, pretending not to understand what was happening, but I could see how she suffered so. All we had was each other.

Father's death was a turning point in my young life. Grief-stricken by the loss, my mother was never the same afterward. She strove to continue living for my sake, but it was clear life had lost its meaning for her. The only thing that bound her to this world was her love for me.

It was not enough, however. With her soul exhausted and her heart broken, mother's health began to fail. As the only one who could take care of her, I was left to shoulder the burden. She lasted a total of nine months. They say love birds die when their mate leaves them. It was the same for my mother. Much as she loved me, she could not continue living without father.

I do not remember the details of mother's passing. It was a blur of events, voices, faces, and tears. I remember the anguish, the anxiety, the fear that crept up when it was time to go to bed and I had not the slightest idea how I would manage the next day. Like the shards of a broken mirror, memories of my past lingered, glass fragments holding sweet remembrances. The same glass shards cut deep into me, severing me from the past. Every orphan feels the same thing – the sense that they no longer belong and have no one in this world.

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