Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction ❯ Grass Whistle ❯ One-Shot

Author's Notes: This was written as my entry for Media Miner's Evil Spring contest, 2005. The spirit's name is derived from Lesidhe, the fae race after which it is modeled, in addition to some sort of mushroom (a connection which was entirely unintentional). It's also based on the Hamadryadniks, for those interested. It's said they cannot leave their trees after nightfall or they disappear. These fae are not native to Asia in any way, but then, my choice of tree doesn't match the area well either. No great matter. The reference to the name Erin is for Ireland, which is called that sometimes. YYH belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi/Shueisha, Studio Pierrot, and so on.

Warnings: Violence? Well, body count, at any rate. Horror, general.

Grass Whistle
A Yu Yu Hakusho Challenge Fic by Kitsuneko

There was no rest for the wicked, obviously. If there had been, my day, consisting of exams, part time work, and tutoring for classmates, would not have culminated in Koenma's floating head trick. As it was, the overly empowered infant was taking up a large portion of the skyline, one hand raised in greeting.

"Kurama, I'm sorry to have to bother you. But there's a new case and I think Yusuke is going to need your help on it. Moreover, I think you might find it interesting."

"Interesting in what way?"

"It involves plants."

"That's not as much of an incentive as you imagine."

"Kurama, please, do this for me as a friend." Koenma seemed to be expecting my ill temper; he would not normally jump to pleading so quickly. It was likely he had been watching me all day, waiting for a moment of convenience (or weakness), in which to spring his request. I offered him my most neutral look, clearly uninterested.

"He needs you. Don't make me play a different card."

"Ah, yes. We wouldn't want to coerce me with reminders of my previous convictions; wouldn't want to admit that my help is not always voluntary. You mean that card?" Koenma pressed the bridge of his nose and massaged around the edges of his eyes. So God had a migraine. That made two of us.

"I realize you've had a long day and that this can't be news you were expecting. So I'll ignore the attitude. But please get in touch with Yusuke. And get some sleep." Koenma squinted at me and I toyed with the idea that biology specimens must have felt the same as I did. "You look like death warmed over."

"Indeed. I'm sure I'll be hearing from you again. Good evening." It's difficult to make an exit sufficiently dramatic to compete with a omnipresent being, but turning one's back on him does a pretty good job of it. It was going to be an unpleasantly long weekend, I could tell.

Yusuke hadn't been surprised when I called him about meeting, which meant Koenma had assured him from the beginning that I would be on the team this time. Aggravating, if normal. They were lucky that my natural curiosity and my post-exam weekend made me inclined to join the mission; purely involuntary involvement would have made for a rather unpleasant fox. He agreed to meet the following day, since 'what else was he going to do on a perfect Saturday morning but hunt spooks?'

The location in question was a secluded corner of a city park (naturally, on the opposite side of town from where I lived, worked, and attended school), home to an ancient ash tree. From the crown of the roots to the branches seven feet up the trunk, it was covered in jagged graffiti, deep cuts put in by pocket knives, grown over and reopened a dozen times. The grass around it, which was perfectly cultivated through the rest of the park and dotted with tiny clover flowers, was withered and brown in a two foot circle. And somewhere, carefully masked, was the smell of death, indistinct and becoming more like rotting leaves or mushrooms. It was, at once, the most pathetic and the most majestic thing I had ever seen.

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"Koenma said there have been a bunch of deaths and disappearances here. And they get weird readings off the tree sometimes." Yusuke had his head tipped back to look up at the top branches, glaring in consideration.

"What do you mean, sometimes?" He looked over at me with his head still tipped back, jackknifing his neck so it looked as though it had been broken.

"They'd find weird energy in it one minute, then, an hour later, it's gone. Or they'd find it four feet away from the tree, but just the same as before." I was tempted to roll my eyes.

"Has it occurred to them that there could be a demon living in the tree, which can come and go as it pleases, and that this case has nothing to do with trees at all?"

"Yeah, that was kinda what I said too. But he said the energy was coming from inside the tree when it was there. Like... in the middle of it, from the tree itself."

"Are they sure it isn't just a tree spirit, in the more mythic sense, that's giving off the energy? Don't they have records of where spirits live or some such?" Carefully, with more of a mind for pit traps than anything else, I circled closer to the base, peering up into the branches as well. Normally, ash trees weren't overly leafy, leaving most of the branches clearly visible, but this one was unnaturally dense, totally obscuring anything above the first three levels of branches.

"I don't think they're sure of anything, really. I don't sense anything. Do you?" I shook my head, lying, and traced some of the carvings without touching or getting too close to the tree.

"It likes for people to touch it ge-n-tl-y." I had sensed someone in advance, but even I was still genuinely startled by the comment and, more importantly, by the thing that made it.

It was impossible to tell what gender the person was. It had short hair that spiked and sprouted wildly, in shades of brown, with something that might have been green woven into it. Its body had no curves, looking like a ten year old child, and its hazel eyes held a similarly childish softness and femininity. I was reminded of old representations of Peter Pan, a wild child who seemed to grow right out of the ground. It was wearing ragged jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that must have once been black. The clothes were not unspeakably unusual, but they did little to diminish its earthy appearance.

"You're here about the tree, yes? And the stories, yes?" The person giggled and shook his (her? its?) head as though the delight was simply too much to stand. "I know aaaaaall about that. You should come with me, yes? And I'll tell you, yes.

"And you are..?" Yusuke's abrupt manners (or lack thereof) didn't seem to faze the person, who skipped over to him, offering its hand.

"I'm Reishi! I live around here!"

"Around the park?" It didn't seem to hear my question or it simply didn't feel inclined to clarify.

"You come with me?"

"We really don't have that much time. What information do you have?" It turned on me with a glare, iced over and blank. The glares of children were more like pouts and Yusuke and Hiei both glared with passion and annoyance. But this person's look was utterly flat and it stripped away the childish cuteness it had.

"My stories are very good," it commented without inflection. Even Yusuke seemed to pick up on the change, looking at me from behind Reishi was a perplexed quirk in his eyebrows.

"Hey, we were planning to come back again anyway. So we can get the full story from you another time, right?" This was apparently sufficient to reassure Reishi of our good intentions and it returned to its bouncy mannerisms. But, having seen that hollow look once, its expressions seemed somehow bereft of life.

"Oh, good, yes! Come sit here!" It plunked down against the tree and patted the spaces beside it. I knelt at the very edge of the circle of dead grass, casting a surreptitious glance at Yusuke to make sure he would avoid crossing it as well.

"You are wanting for to know about the missing people?"

"How do you know about them?" Reishi giggled, a hollow, airy sound.

"Everyone knows about it. This is quiet place, lots of attention when gangs get here." Well, that was unexpected. My disbelieving look seemed to amuse Reishi, who bounced up and pointed to the highest visible part of the tree. The topmost scars on the tree were a series of alternating symbols, which I couldn't help thinking were strangely familiar. In my interest, I was circling the base of the tree, drawing closer to the patch of dead grass, only catching myself at the last moment. When I looked away, Reishi was smiling, seeming to approve of my curiosity.

"Gang signs. Two moved in a few months ago. They say, kids that disappeared are new recruits."

"And the dead ones? Caught in the crossfire?" Reishi shook its head, showing a little more delight than was necessary or normal.

"Initiation. Common. You steal something, kill a cop, yes."

"You seem to know a lot about this." Reishi shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the implications in Yusuke's comment.

"Parents come here to gossip while children play. We are hearing things."

"Mm. Well, thank you very much. I think this is enough to go on for now. Is there somewhere we can find you for a follow up?" Yusuke opened his mouth, on the verge of questioning me, then seemed to think better of it and settled for giving me a perplexed but amused smirk.

"You can find me here until sundown, yes! Glad to help, see you again." We said our goodbyes and cross the street by the park, heading in the direction of our homes. Yusuke walked with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, slouching as though in deep thought.

"Well, fox boy?"

"Well what?" I almost snapped back.

"That kid was way too creepy to be innocent. Why'd you just leave him?" Yusuke was walking backwards down the street, so I could have a clear view of his flailing hand gestures and affected expressions.

"I know. I'm going to do some research and go back tonight, if I can."

"Okay." Yusuke was hesitant, not really having faith in my plan. "You want backup? That kid didn't seem too fond of you."

"I'll be fine. I'd rather go alone anyway." Yusuke didn't press the issue, thankfully, and walked me to my apartment in silence.

My apartment was blissfully quiet and cool and I took my time making a small lunch. In my bedroom, I gathered my lunch, laptop computer, and Western European literature book around me, bracing my back against the wall by my futon. The symbols around the tree had looked strangely familiar and I seriously doubted they had anything to do with petty gang violence or territory wars. The introductory pages of the analysis of Beowulf briefly covered the runic system of writing and the sharply angled letters were similar to what I had seen. But they were not perfect matches. The internet offered numerous pages on the history of runes, ranging from Gaelic to Germanic.

This was the information for which I had been hoping and I could feel the annoyance of the past week drain away, replaced by the subtle pleasure of successful research. The signs on the tree were compilations of runes, stacked on top of each other, to form a new sign. If I broke them down into their separate parts, they held no linguistic meaning, but, using the readings provided by a North American Wiccan coven, they represented ideas, rather than words. The first spoke of protection, fertility, and strength: a blessing on the tree. The second was a message of warning, a threat of danger and defeat for those who would harm the tree. They were wards, placed into the tree itself. Though they seemed to be doing little good, if the graffiti was any indication.

That still didn't explain the child, however. It spoke as though it had an in-depth knowledge of the tree's feelings. There was the possibility of it being a spirit of the tree. But why appear as it did? And what of the missing and dead people? Were the two cases even related? The net provided me with scant few answers about western nature spirits and fairies, but, from the short descriptions, tree spirits seemed generally shy and only mildly harmful to those who threatened their homes. It was unlikely they would be responsible for a series of brutal deaths that involved small body parts being taken as souvenirs. Perhaps the two elements truly were not related. I decided to visit Reishi again, despite it being well into the evening now.

When I returned to the park, Reishi was nowhere in sight, but I was fairly certain how to contact it. Its energy was there, inside the tree, as I had expected. Calling up enough energy to give me some instant protection, I crossed into the ring of dead grass and placed my hand flat against the trunk. There was a space of time, the length of which was impossible to judge, in which my soul seemed intent on shaking free of my body, rattling around inside me until I was on the verge of passing out. It was like death and motion sickness and fever rolled into one. Mind-blowing. Then, suddenly, it stopped and I was inside the tree somehow, in a little room.

"Pocket dimension?" I wondered out loud.

"Fairy ring, actually." Reishi's voice answered, though I could not see it. It sounded like an adult now and strangely world-weary. "They might be similar." Unexpectedly, Reishi appeared in a small chair in front of me, as though its invisibility had been disrupted by the motion of knocking its head against the wall. Slumped in that chair, it looked ancient and withered like a leaf, occasionally hitting the side of its head against the closest wall.

"Is that what you are? A fairy?" Reishi smiled and stumbled out of the chair, moving on wobbly legs over to me. It clasped my hand in both of its, a sweetly childish expression on its face again, as though thirty years had been lifted from it.

"Would you like to know something?" It giggled, pulling hard against the anchor of my hand, perhaps losing its balance, and didn't wait for an answer. "We are dying," it said in a sing-song voice. But in a sudden burst of aggression, it snarled, feral, and lunged at my wrist with teeth bared. I jerked my hand back, trying to dance out of the way in the confined space.

"Reishi, let me help you. I can nurse your tree back to health. And I can keep the humans away from it." It raked at my face with its nails and I caught the narrow wrists in my hands. Immediately, it collapsed, dead weight hanging from me, and cried with thin, breathy sighs. Its skin was cold as moonlight in my hands and I wondered if the lack of sunlight made its condition worse.

"I want to go home!"

"Where is that?" It didn't answer but broke into a song in a language I didn't recognize, though I thought I heard the name 'Erin' repeated regularly.

"I am only wanting them to leave us alone. They are making it worse."

"I can make that happen. I can make guardians, put illusions around the tree, any number of things." Its arms slid out of my grasp and it curled up on its side, staring up at me. I then realized why the smell had been so familiar when we first arrived earlier that day. It was the same scent that had surrounded my mother during her prolonged illness: the subtle, molding smell of death approaching with agonizing slowness. In the face of that smell, with every memory of pain it conquered up, how could I resist the temptation to help? It would be easy, child's play. A whisper, a little hum of energy and I could save them, revive Reishi from its dementia, even make the tree stronger than it would have otherwise been.

"I made them leave. I made..." Reishi trailed off into a shriek of laughter, a forceful hiss that shook its body. Something twisted in my stomach at the sound, a curl of foreboding.

"What do you mean, Reishi?" It crawled to its feet, using fistfuls of my clothing as handholds. With a shaky wave of its hand, the ceiling of the little room disappeared, allowing us to look up the length of the trunk and into the dense branches beyond.

Bodies. Perhaps half a dozen, each nested in the crux of a branch, some slowly oozing thickened blood that stained the light bark of the tree. Likely, every missing person could be accounted for there, though some were beyond easy recognition, decomposition hastened by the insects and animals that had free access. The reek from them was not subtle at all, a quick smack of raw scent.

I was still staring up at them in mute, fascinated horror when something was pressed into my hands. Looking down, I found a carved wooden box being held out. Reishi was smiling, a child presenting its most prized trinket for loving inspection. Steeling myself for any number of possible things, I opened the box, slow, controlled movements keeping my reactions in check. It opened enough to let me glimpse the contents and I immediately closed it again. The case description had said that the bodies that were found were missing fingers, likely taken as proof of the kill. I was not a squeamish person, but my body was tempted to rebel at the sight. But it was more the feeling of betrayal that clouded my senses. I had put a degree of faith in Reishi, believing that it was innocent and, to make it worse, genuinely in need of my help.Reishi recognized my expression for what it was, quickly losing its too bright smile and recoiling from me when I offered back the box.

"You cannot do this."

"They hurt us," Reishi cried, walking backwards through the wall of the trunk, precariously balancing on a branch six feet off the ground. "Yes, you understood! You said you would help! Help us!" I set the box aside, following it onto the branch without much thought of how I too was able to walk through the trunk.

"That does not give you the right to take lives." In a fit of what looked more like despair and mourning than anger, Reishi lunged at me with those nails again.

And lost its footing on the branch.

I was fast enough to just catch its fingertips, the nails ripping into my palm as I grabbed for it. But it was not enough to stop the fall. Before I had time to even think that a fall from this height would not be able to kill anyone unless they landed in a particularly bad position, Reishi had connected with the grassy ground and, instantly, shattered into a cloud of bright dust, which disappeared into the thick blades.

It was only a little after nine o'clock, less than an hour after sundown, but the streets were silent and empty. The long walk home was a blank, as I hunched over under the burden of my self-inflicted guilt. Sleep that night was fleeting and troubled, as I dreamed of chasing after a half-heard melody and pouring over huge books that contained tails of the consequences of spirits leaving their trees after dark.

The following day was the first of the month and with May Day as an easy excuse to celebrate outdoors, there were numerous festivals being held. Yusuke and his entire group of friends had agreed to attend one together. Ironically, painfully, the park it was being held in, which had been selected months before, was the same one we had been investigating. Once everyone arrived, we waiting in line to enter the fenced-off carnival area, indulging in idle chatter, spirits high.

"Kurama," Yusuke called in a low voice, putting a hand on my shoulder, "What's happening with the case? I called you last night, but there was no answer." His eyes were drawn to the gauze wrapped around my left hand, covering the gashes created by Reishi's nails.

"The case is closed. There will be no further deaths." A few yards away, I could see Reishi's tree, leaves becoming crisp and losing color, but the ring of dead grass growing back.

"So, that kid really did end up being evil?" I closed my eyes, unable to look at Yusuke, afraid I could not school my features into a calm mask.

"It would appear that way." I did not add that it would, despite appearances, be tragically inaccurate to call it that. I was exhausted; I could not bear to be there. I wanted nothing but to sleep deep in the ground, where the tangled roots would sing and whisper of living things. And through the grass and leaves around me, I heard the whistling laugh of wind.