Cascade, paper.planes [free ebooks romance novels .TXT] 📗

Beads of sweat formed on the nape of Yaku Watanabe's neck, before tricking down his spine and pooling in the small of his back. Yaku raised his axe once more, bringing it down hard on the trunk of an Osakazui tree. The bark splintered, revealing the supple white flesh beneath. As Yaku ploughed through the remaining tree, he fleetingly wondered why this lush, expansive maple forest was so vastly untouched. It seemed like a goldmine to him; he could get hundreds of yen for a single tree. The sap-drenched axe gleamed in the midday sun as Yaku raised it to deliver the final blow, but as he moved to strike, his sweat-slicked hands lost grip of the handle, and the axe slipped from his grasp. Yaku watched in dismay as the axe sliced through the summer air, before disappearing beneath the welcoming liquid arms a nearby waterfall. Yaku clamoured to the edge, peering into the azure depths of the waterfall, and the serene lake below.
What's a woodsman without his axe

? Yaku thought, digging his fingernails into the soft soil bordering the waterfall.
Despite the fact he could not swim, Yaku felt himself plunging into the waterfall's reservoir, the cooling aqua embrace an immeasurable relief from the oppressive heat. He could make out the familiar glint on the axe's blade resting on the lake bed, and he began to swim towards it. But his ungainly technique ensured he moved nowhere fast, and no matter how intently he flailed his arms and legs, he seemed to get no closer to the unattainable axe.
His chest tightened, desperate for air. A subtle burn settled on his limbs, vague at first but which grew more urgent as the moments passed. A black haze began to encroach on the edges of Yaku's vision, but still he refused to surface, his arm stretched outright in the direction of his axe.
But despite Yaku's determination, his body eventually gave out. He sank through the pristine depths, his final sight the sun-dappled surface shimmering beyond reach.
And then, without warning, Yaku felt a tight grip encircle his waist, and suddenly he was being rushed towards the outside world.
He fell onto the rocky shore hard enough to knock the water out of his lungs, and herald in the intake of oxygen. All at once, he regained his vision, and the aching in his limbs ebbed away, as if it had all been a terrible dream.
He propped himself up with his elbows, wondering how on earth he had been saved. He was at the base of the waterfall, and the rhythmic melody of crashing water filled the cavern in which he found himself.
And that was when he saw it; at first but hints of ripples beneath the surface, which then morphed into a hazy object rising from the abyss.
When he saw her appear, he could scarcely believe his eyes.
I'm dead

. He thought to himself. Surely I must be dead. And this is Heaven

.
The woman gazed at him warily from above the water, her onyx hair swirling around her head like an ominous halo. Gripped in her ivory hands was Yaku's axe, which she proceeded to lay at his feet with mesmerising grace.
“Who are you?” Yaku managed to ask, his voice trembling. He wasn't sure if it was the near-death experience, or the breath-taking beauty that stood before him that caused him to shake.
But the woman merely raised a single, slender finger to her lips, and closed her eyes. “Do not tell anyone you saw me here.”
Yaku opened his mouth to protest, but the woman was already gone, vanished beneath the water almost as though she had been nothing more than an apparition, a figment of his imagination.

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Try as he might, Yaku could not let himself forget the ghostly woman who had rescued him from certain death. She haunted his dreams, her lilting voice echoing around the caverns of his mind. And against his better judgement, he returned to the waterfall, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious and seductive woman. He stayed at the cavern's edge for many hours, calling out for the woman for which he had no name. And as the sun began to dip beneath the trees, Yaku resigned himself to the fact that he would never see her again.
He rose to leave, pausing to brush the dried summer grass from his pants, when he noticed the familiar swirl of raven hair, followed by the angelic, up-turned face of his rescuer. And as Yaku lay eyes on the woman for a second time, he knew in that instant that he would never be able to live without her.

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From that day on, Yaku travelled the hour-long journey from his home to the waterfall every day, to see the woman he knew only as Joro. Her caresses were like the sweet kisses of butterfly wings, her words the most soothing harmony Yaku had ever experienced. But never once did Yaku think to ask her why she lived here, in the cold and cavernous waterfall's basin. Perhaps he was afraid of the answer, knowing deep in his heart that Joro was not like other women. And perhaps that's why he was so drawn to her, so irresistibly infatuated.
And every time Yaku left for the evening, Joro would whisper the same words: “Do not tell anyone you saw me here.”

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But as time progressed, the explosive secret Yaku was harbouring became too much for him to handle. He had to tell someone, he decided, about the woman who'd stolen his heart. So one morning he rose early, even earlier before the taiyō

had spread its golden rays upon the earth, and set out towards the ancient Buddhist temple nestled high in the mountains.
There he was greeted by an elderly monk, his eyes weary with fatigue and foreboding. He ushered Yaku into the courtyard, and with his face obscured by the rising haze of hot green tea, Yaku told his tale of the enigmatic woman Joro, and all that he knew of her.
As he spoke, the monk's face became increasingly gaunt, and the innumerable lines that creased his forehead and cheeks deepened like great ravines.
“Yaku,” he whispered, his voice grave. “Since you have been in contact with this woman, have you noticed anything different about yourself?”
Yaku stared at the monk in confusion, not comprehending the meaning behind his words.
“Have you noticed, perhaps... The inability to perform everyday tasks? Or the unwillingness?”
Yaku had never thought about it. True, he hadn't done a day's work as a woodsman since his encounter with Joro, but that's because he hadn't been feeling his best as of late. As he thought more about it, a crushing realisation began to form in his mind.
“I've been feeling weak,” he said at last, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Very weak. Weaker and weaker with every coming day, it seems.”
The monk's face darkened. “Take me to her.”

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Yaku had worried that the frail monk wouldn't be able to withstand the long and arduous journey to Joro's waterfall, but he was more resilient than his appearance would suggest. Clutched in his bony and arthritic hands was a book bound in aged red leather, from which the monk would sometimes open and murmur silently from as he read.
When at last they reached Joro's den, the sun was low in the sky, and the shadows of night were fast approaching.
“Do no speak,” the monk whispered, and the look in his eyes made Yaku nod without hesitation.
The monk opened his ancient book once more, and began to utter the words of the Sutra

with a booming, compelling voice.
A shriek resonated from the depths of the cavern, so intense that the bordering maple trees shook with the force. Silk-like threads emerged from the lip of the cave, spreading their tendrils across the meadow towards Yaku. They glittered in the setting sun, and for a moment, Yaku thought them almost beautiful. The monk's chants grew in intensity, but still the threads moved forward, entwining around Yaku's ankles. The threads continued to encircle the length of Yaku's body, pulling him forward with surprising force. He sent a panicked glance in the monk's direction, but still he did not speak.
The monk's cries seemed to reach a climax, and soon his voice was loud enough to drown out the roar of the waterfall. The threads of silk made a swift retreat, releasing Yaku from their deadly grip.
As soon as it was over, the monk closed the book without a word, and lead Yaku further into the forest.
“What was that?” Yaku asked breathlessly, as soon as he was sure he was out of Joro's earshot.
The monk looked grim. “The woman you fell for is no woman.”
“Then what is she?”
“She's the legendary Jorogumo, a creature that can transform into the image of a seductive woman to lure her prey.”
“Transforms from what?” Yaku asked, fear twisting in the pit of his stomach.
“She's a spider, Yaku. A yokai

. You must stay away from that demon, or risk certain death.”
Yoku could barely muster the courage to respond, and the hot threat of tears pricked at his eyes.
The monk placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and for the first time that day his face softened. “You may reside with me at the temple until you have recovered. The Jorogumo has sapped you of most of your life-force... You're lucky you came to me when you did.”
Yaku shook his head, his fists clenched.
“If you are sure, I must return to the temple myself.”
“Please, just go.” Yaku said, his nostrils flaring with suppressed grief.
The monk didn't need to be told twice, and made his way back along the weathered forest path towards his mountainous home. He watched Yaku for a moment or two, before disappearing behind the trees.
Yaku dropped to his knees, finally permitting the tears to break free from their confines and spill down his cheeks.
“Oh Tengu

, master of the spirit of the mountain, how could I have allowed myself to fall for a demon?”
Yaku raked his fingers through his hair, the repulsion of Joro's true identity steadily being outweighed by his desire to see her.
“Tengu, what shall I do? I love her too much to leave.”
But Tengu was silent, leaving Yaku alone in his agony.
The sun finally vanished beneath the horizon, plunging the land in darkness. Shafts of moonlight filtered down between the leaves, giving the forest an ethereal glow.
“I cannot forsake her. I cannot forsake my Joro.” Yaku whispered, slowly rising to his feet. “I will not give up my love for her.”
A pained howl sounded in the distance, and for a moment Yaku wondered if it was Tengu's disapproval of his decision. Yaku clenched his jaw, forcing his feet forward, away from the path that the monk had taken. Yaku was determined to return to Joro, whatever the cost.
By the time he reached the clearing, the moon was high in the sky, illuminating the waterfall and making it glow.
“Joro!” He called out, stepping towards the edge of the cavern. “I have returned for you, my love.”
But he did not get a response. Instead, the familiar silken threads of the Jorogumo's web emerged from the darkness, wrapping around Yaku's feet and legs. Yaku did not resist as the