The Eternity Curse - Chapter 1

"A house divided cannot stand."

—Matthew (12:25), Bible

The city looked miniscule behind them, though they had not been on the road for long. Henrik peered at the fading metropolis between two stacks of luggage in the trunk, astonished that something so imposing could be reduced to a mere smudge on the horizon.

“Why do we have to move?”

His father stiffened from the driver’s seat. “We’re starting anew.”

There was something about his toneless voice that didn’t invite a follow-up question, otherwise Henrik might have asked what was wrong with the life they already had. In situations like this, he often continued the conversation in his mind.

“Your mother is dead. That’s what’s wrong.”

Though his father would never outright say such a thing, Henrik suspected he thought this—sometimes when he rehearsed a conversation, the other person would veer off script, words spilling from their mouth as if they had been force-fed truth serum.

Could they really be fleeing the city because his mother passed away? It had been months, but Henrik knew grief made people act in unpredictable ways. Hakishi-sensei, his chemistry professor, near went insane trying to concoct a cure for his terminal wife, who had been diagnosed with a rare brain disease. When she eventually slipped away in her sleep, he laid beside her until passing away himself. That wasn’t a logical way to behave, Henrik thought. If grief could befuddle an esteemed scientist to such an extent, then it could surely cause his father, a successful businessman by any standards, to uproot their life and move to the countryside. By comparison, his father’s behaviour was downright ordinary.

Except, mother will be dead no matter where we go.

His imagined father did not respond to this; a good indication that Henrik shouldn’t find out how his real one would.

“I’m happy we’re moving, Daddy,” Conrad chirped beside him. “It will be like an adventure!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” their father encouraged. Henrik briefly met his gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“The countryside is beautiful,” Conrad continued, pointing out of Henrik’s window and then turning his blond head to gaze out his own.

Henrik had focused so closely on the world they were leaving behind that he failed to notice the one they were entering. For miles ahead, the road was hemmed with evenly-spaced cherry blossoms, their bittersweet aroma wafting through the open windows. They had reached full bloom, delicately shedding their pink leaves into the atmosphere, perfectly mimicking snowfall. Had she still been alive, their mother would have told them that the sakura symbolised the fragility of life, how the leaves fell shortly after bloom to serve as a reminder that, even though life was limitlessly beautiful, it was often cut short. Her voice began to say something like this in his head, and he felt the sudden urge to speak over her.

“The city had sakura, too.”

Conrad pouted at him. “You didn’t like the city.”

This was true, he didn’t. But he knew the city. He knew the pollution-stained buildings, the neon lights shimmering in every storefront, the people’s incessant need to string lanterns over everything. Things were better when they were predictable, like when conversations replicated the ones he already practised in his head.

Henrik stole one last glance over his shoulder. The city had all but vanished, lost to the distance they’d put in front of it, veiled by the swarm of gentle leaves caught in the car’s slipstream.

#

“Here we are, boys.”

Henrik started awake, and for one glorious second forgot where they were—or rather, where they were going.

The cherry blossoms had long since been abandoned, replaced by scratchy tufts of yellow grass and miles of barren, rolling landscapes. A narrow bridge lay a short while away, offering an unsure path over a winding river. It was the only notable landmark in any direction. The peeling struts were painted toolbox red, and atop the guardrails were many tarnished lanterns providing an easy glow in the waning daylight. Henrik wondered who would bother to come out here and light them.

Perhaps the countryside won’t be so different after all.

Gravel crunched underneath as their father slowed the car to a crawl, lining up his passage onto the deck. Conrad stirred and lifted his head, rubbing his powder blue eyes.

“Oh, a river!”

The bridge groaned as they passed over. Conrad peered outside, straining to get a good look. “Can we stop, Daddy? I think I saw a jellyfish!”

Henrik sighed. Conrad had a wild imagination, even for an eight-year-old.

“We’ve almost arrived at the new house,” their father said. “We’ll have a river in our own garden.”

“And jellyfish?”

“Maybe. You’ll have to check for us.”

The bridge indeed seemed to announce their re-entrance to civilisation, for no more than five minutes later, the landscape fell away, and they found themselves delving into the heart of a wide valley. The road divided a hamlet nestled on the bottom. On the far side of these dwellings, a river ran perpendicular, shimmering as it reflected the sun’s departure from the pink sky. The opposite wall of the valley was spread with evergreens, their canopies linked together seamlessly, as if in effort to hide the hill on which they stood.

The people who lived here must be arable farmers, Henrik decided. The near riverbank was checkered with rice paddies; staggered parcels of land that would be used to produce grain crops.

It’s not like they will have much else to do out here.

“Why do the houses look like that?” Conrad asked as they passed the first set. The thatched gable roofs were overbearingly prominent, like giant books that had been propped into steep triangles. The top half of each house was lined with white panelled windows, which indicated how many floors the building contained.

“They’re called minka houses,” their father said, slowing the car until they came to a stop beside the last two. “Don’t be tempted to climb the roofs, Conrad.”

A warm glow appeared to their right; a hunched, elderly woman ambled out of the last minka, clutching an andon lamp. Her straw sandals grated on the pebble-strewn road as she closed the distance to the car. When she arrived at the driver’s window, she bowed her head lower than it already was and held this pose for several seconds (their father also did this). She then straightened up, regarding them with a determined expression.

“Welcome to Shinpi farm. My name is Miiko,” she said. Henrik was surprised by the sharpness of her voice. She gestured to the end of the road with a sweep of her arm, her grey kimono fluttering in the breeze. “You must continue the journey to your house on foot. The bridge hasn’t taken the strain of a vehicle for quite some time.”

Henrik and Conrad stiffly exited the car and waited beside the woman, who stared down at them with a neutral expression. “Tell me, children, are you prepared for life on the farm?”

Henrik decided not to answer the question because what he wanted to say would surely be ruder than not saying anything. Something about the woman unnerved him. Though he could tell from her question that she meant well, she seemed to have an edge, a calculated gleam in her glassy eyes. Perhaps it was the way the lantern cast unflattering shadows over her face, but he wasn’t able to read her like he could most people.

“Yes, Miiko,” Conrad said, bowing almost into the shape of a minka roof. The woman chuckled, though it sounded reserved. This was one of the only aspects Henrik liked about his younger brother. His ability to capture the positive in most situations seemed to resonate well with the elderly and often spared Henrik the laborious exchange of pleasantries.

Their father appeared from behind the car clutching rolls of bedding material over one shoulder. With his other hand, he swung a lumpy parcel over to Henrik. He hoped it contained snacks of some description because his stomach had started to beckon.

“Please, this way,” said Miiko. The bridge was much like the one they crossed before, except the lanterns were unlit, and if the red paint peeled any further, it might’ve been impossible to tell it had ever been painted at all. Everyone remained quiet as they traversed across, as if this would prevent the bridge from collapsing. The silence was broken by the decking as it groaned under every footfall, and the occasional trout breaching the river. A foul stench permeated the air, emanating from Miiko’s smoking lantern.

“You’ve come at an appropriate time,” Miiko said, leading them onto the opposite bank. “Spring is a time for new beginnings. Can I trust your children will help prepare the rice paddies for seeding?”

“They will be glad to,” their father said.

“I’m pleased. The families of Hato village are reluctant to send us their children, though I don’t begrudge them.”

“Their fear is understandable.”

The woman stumbled slightly in spite of the unencumbered path. “I didn’t expect a city dweller to be aware . . .”

Henrik’s mind raced as he scrambled to memorise their conversation. He was just as taken aback by his father’s awareness of what Miiko was referring to, and he was confident that a few carefully worded questions would help him fish for more information at another time.

They came to a stop before one last minka on the forest edge. Two rows of white panelled windows confirmed it bore a generous attic space. The dwelling seemed haunting and unnaturally shrouded, as if it clung greedily to the shadows cast by the evergreens.

“We kept the house maintained for the previous owner,” Miiko said. “They sent us payment from time to time, though they never appeared in person. May I ask how you came to acquire it?”

Henrik noted the pause his father took before answering.

“It’s a very uninteresting tale,” he began. Henrik could tell he was being deliberately cagey, as if politely prompting a change of conversation.

“Please excuse a prying old lady,” Miiko said, offering an apologetic bow. She handed the lantern to Conrad. “You may borrow this if you return it to me tomorrow. The fish oil will burn for several hours.”

“Thank you,” their father said. They both dipped their heads respectfully one final time, and then Miiko departed.

Their father took a moment to survey the house, a hint of satisfaction curling the corners of his mouth. “What do you think of our new home, boys?”

It doesn’t look so new.

“It’s awesome, Daddy,” said Conrad, rushing to the front. The lower section was panelled with translucent paper walls, latticed with bamboo. He slid one of them open, revealing the entrance area.

Once they were all inside, Conrad set the lantern on a wooden bench whilst their father steered the door back into place. The earthen-floor kicked up a musty smell as Henrik shuffled around, inspecting their new home. The area was littered with metal tools and equipment that were unrecognisable in the deceptive light of the lantern. Some of them looked oddly skeletal, like the ancient husks of creatures that had long ceased to exist.

A corner of the room had been reserved for the preparation of meals; a clay stove sat beside a tall table, and hung above were an assortment of battered pots. Again, his stomach beckoned. He yearned for the days his mother would serve cuisine that had been perfected through a long lineage of imparted knowledge. He could not imagine this crude kitchen would enable them to produce such culinary eloquence.

The second portion of the house was raised a foot off the ground. The bamboo wall slats were already open, exposing the central living quarters. They removed their footwear before stepping up onto the smooth, wood plank floor. Henrik flinched—the decking was ice cold and numbed the soles of his feet.

The centre of the room was dominated by a square, sunken firepit. A metal rod was suspended over it, the end curled into a dull hook. Cushions were dotted around the edges of the hearth, inviting them to take a seat.

“We’ll sleep here, on this occasion,” their father advised, placing the rolls of bedding on the floor and taking a seat with his back to a vast, timber pillar.

Henrik started to settle on his father’s left, but was immediately directed to sit with Conrad on his right instead. The instructions sounded oddly sombre, as if this caused his father a great deal of agony.

The lumpy parcel indeed contained food. Henrik passed a steamed bun to Conrad and then tore into his own. Usually they would wait for their father to start his meal first, however, he had busied himself with lighting the hearth and Henrik could not restrain himself.

It took a while for the fire to dispel the shadows from the exposed upper levels of the house. The orange blaze gleamed off the many timber posts that crisscrossed each other, creating the framework that supported the thatched roof. Overhead, a balcony led to twin attic rooms on either side. A disturbing sense that someone was up there crossed Henrik’s mind, and it seemed to cross his father’s, too, as he left his sons to explore.

The twisting flames hypnotised Henrik and Conrad into lethargy, though the long journey had not left them with much energy to begin with. They watched the occasional spark rise from the pit and snag on a bamboo shelf above the hearth.

Their eyes grew heavy until they could no longer follow the movements of the flying cinders and their thoughts slowed to a nonsensical haze.

#

Henrik woke to the sound of his brother whimpering beside him. They shared a futon beside the dying fire, though he could not remember moving there.

Conrad often roused them like this, as it had been since their mother’s passing. Henrik stroked the back of his brother’s hand until he settled, telling himself that he only did this to quiet him. But the truth was that it brought him his own measure of peace. He could almost feel his mother watch over them, and the smile that would surely warm her face if she could see him care for Conrad in her absence.

Once Conrad’s breathing plateaued, Henrik rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head, shutting off the last vestiges of light flickering in the firepit.

Inside this makeshift tent, he slowly peeled away his left sleeve, exposing his forearm. As he did this, a soft, azure glow spilled throughout the enclosed space, staining his black hair with a blue hue. The light emanated from five intricate symbols etched into his skin, strange characters he had not seen before the day he had been branded with them.

He gazed, transfixed by the radiant symbols, allowing his mind to wander back to the final time he saw his mother alive.

#

A/N:

• Henrik and Conrad are German names, the setting clearly is not Germany. I don't spend too much time selecting names for first drafts, will fix later.
• Henrik has absolutely no influence over the plot. Where even is the plot?
• This is a very slow starting novel, I go a bit heavy setting the scene here.
• Took a tad too long to introduce Conrad at the beginning.
• Extremely lame title