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There was a river to the left of the road. As Manji trudged along with Rin on his back, she could hear the sound of the water rushing. Although there had been snow showers all day, the air was not cold enough to freeze such a busy stream. Now she could see a small dock, with a man wearing a sedge hat and cloak, fishing. The water was iron grey, the sedge and wooden dock a muted silver; the reeds and the fishing pole and line were black, and the snow scattered white over it all. The scene was as pretty as one of Master Sori's paintings, but Rin shuddered at the sight.
"Cold?" said Manji. His voice rumbled through her, and he was warm and solid and real, unlike the terrible pictures in her head.
"N-not really. Just a little tired."
Manji stopped suddenly. "I smell smoke."
"So do I. It smells like … incense? Oh, look, Manji: it's a shrine."
The little structure in its yard and gateway arch was just off the road to their right. It seemed to be completely unoccupied, but a thin plume of smoke was coming from just in front of the actual building, where there was a sturdy table with a brazier, a money box, and a number of other bits and pieces.
"Huh," said Manji. "Looks like there's a whole village ahead, too."
Rin craned her head to peer over his shoulder. Yes, she could see what appeared to be a tavern or perhaps a small inn, appearing and disappearing as the light snow blew in the wind. Manji started to walk toward it. Rin tugged at his shoulder. "Manji, wait. I want to do an ema."
"What? Why? Waste of money."
"Well, I still have my feet. And my fingers."
"Then we should have given the money to those shinobi. Or even that poor slob Magatsu. Or hey, what about the horse? That's who saved your hands and feet, at the end of the day. Not some invisible thing that lives in a roadside shack."
"Manji! That's — "
"That's just the truth, Rin." He sighed and gently set her down. "It's your money. What there's left of it. I'm gonna check out that tavern, see if they've got beds. Don't try to be tough: give me a yell if anything happens."
"Thank you, Manji."
He grunted and walked off. Rin turned and went through the arch. The two little guardian statues had a light coating of snow, as did the table where the warmth of the brazier didn't extend, but it was plain that someone had swept everything off at least once already today. And the water for purification in the pavilion off to the side had only a thin sheet of ice on its surface.
Not that she could really wash her hands anyway. She looked at the bandages and sighed. Then she dipped out some of the icy water and rinsed her mouth.
The hand clapping wasn't very effective either, but at least it didn't actually hurt. The shrine bell was small and sweet-toned, and that would have to do instead. On the table, near the brazier, was a box containing a stack of thin wooden tablets threaded with cords, an inkstone, a little pot of inky water, several small brushes, and a stone bottle of clean water.
Rin pulled a couple of coins off her money string and dropped them through the slats at the top of the money box. Then she dribbled water onto the inkstone and managed to pick up the brush. Ruefully, she realized that she would be lucky to be able write anything that was even readable.
But the shrine's kami should be able to understand her wish anyway.
Slowly, laboriously, she managed to trace health and life on the tablet. The characters were ugly, messy, and she got ink on her bandages. But at last it was done. She held the tablet near the brazier until the ink dried. Then she hung it on the rack with its fellows, left by others: dozens of wishes, all clustered together like birds sheltering from a storm. She rinsed out the brush as best she could and made her slow way to the gate.
There was Manji, waiting for her. Wordlessly, he hunkered down for her to scramble onto his back. "They got a room we can use," he said, as he stood. "It's clean enough."
The tavern was tiny and stuffy, warm and smelling of good food. Manji deposited her at a well-scrubbed little table in the corner. On it were two large, steaming cups: not tea. Rin cautiously picked hers up and sipped: amazake, thick and sweet and comforting. A short, dumpy woman in a homely kimono all in shades of brown pattered over and deposited dishes on the table: rice, nabemono with mountain vegetables, pickles. And a plateful of dango, gleaming with syrup.
Rin's hand went out toward the sweets, seemingly of its own volition. She managed to pick up one of the skewers and then looked at Manji, confused. "I thought we agreed that we didn't have money to waste?"
"We don't," he said. "And I don't believe in kami granting wishes at roadside dumps. That doesn't mean I don't believe in anything, though." He met her eyes and smiled.