Genji did not feel alive or dead. His form resembled that of an undead monster from bedtime stories used to discourage children from misbehaving.
“Can you do what is needed, young one,” Haetorigusa asked. The God’s voice was no longer an external force, but was rather, inside Genji’s head.
Genji was finally able to take a deep breath. He gave the moment all his attention.
Amidst the destruction of his insides, he noticed a connection with the creatures and plants that made up Haetorigusa’s shape. It was as if Genji’s experience of the world had suddenly expanded to include every living thing the God had ever consumed. The energy of these creatures felt like his own but they were less focused than he, and they were selfish and devious. He judged them as interesting and useful, but not to be fully trusted.
Genji’s chest sank, his head felt tight, and his stomach bubbled like a cauldron.
The pain and disorientation did not deter Genji. It led him to a dream-like state. He leaned into his feelings and analyzed the new connection he had with Haetorigusa, using every ounce of energy he could. If he conquered this nightmare, he would be one step closer to a life well lived.
Genji lost track of the time he was in the woods. The longer he focused, the more in tune he became with the beast. He could feel the energy of a million years, pulsing to the sounds of a million different creatures. As Genji listened, the noise took on a melodic quality. It was like nothing he had ever heard before. He hummed the tune to himself and basked in its constantly changing tones and organic rhythm.
He was captivated, but he was restless. Genji found pleasure in the song of the God’s but his connection to the other animals bound to Haetorigusa continued to make him uneasy. Eventually, he grew paranoid and angry. He was convinced that at any moment, these creatures would turn on him, rob him of his essence, and kill him and everything he worked for. Genji’s distrust of Haetorigusa had made him guarded and isolated, but still, he hummed the immortal tune right along with everything that had ever existed.
His dream state was nearly ceaseless, but Genji would occasionally become aware of the clearing in the forest and the sound of birds again. This would remind him of the pain his body was in, as well. Sometimes he would shake and shiver with fever and yearn for relief. “It is temporary,” Genji would say. “Your current suffering will lead to great beauty.”
One day, during a rare lucid moment, Genji felt a wet washcloth on his forehead. His mother sat beside him with a pale of warm water, periodically dunking the cloth and ringing it out before reapplying it to Genji’s forehead. He could hear her voice in the distance, telling stories of the community and of his sister and father. He found it brought him momentary peace.
Every day after, he would find another visitor. Sometimes it was his father, speaking of old battles won. Other times it was his sister, reading him poetry and working on her studies. Soon after that, friends, cousins, aunts, uncles, all made the journey into the forest to sit with him and send word of the regimen on the hill. None of them knew he could hear them, but they came anyway.
Genji did not see how his people could understand what he was trying to do. His horrible appearance and inability to explain his quest for greatness made them all seem very far away from him, even when they were right next to him.
He needed to make them proud. He needed to be worthy of their love.
Genji continued to focus on the song of the God’s, memorizing its rhythms until he could add to them himself. The better he got at creating his own music, the faster his pain was replaced with strength. He was soon able to stand again. Genji would dance around in front of Haetorigusa, singing at the top of his lungs.
“Not as young and weak as you thought I was, huh,” Genji would ask.
“Oh, you’re still here,” the cranky Haetorigusa would grumble.
As his strength grew, Genji learned he could control the vines like the other unbodied creatures. He would practice obsessively, throwing around stones and picking fruit off the trees. In the beginning, it felt as though his connection to Haetorigusa was controlling him, but he was quickly learning how to manipulate the monster to his will. Every passing day, his abilities improved, but so too did his restlessness. To Genji, the ability was only a small part of the journey. He still had not made anything to rival the Gods. There was still no reason to remember or respect Genji Gozen.
