The skies were grey, but even the final suggestion of frost was gone from the air. The flowers of early spring were already in full bloom by the river, their stalks waving in the breeze.
As it happened, it was a perfect day for gathering misfortune.
Hina unlaced her boots and left them on a rock by the shore. She didn't have to worry about anything happening to them: as much as fairies enjoyed pranking people by hiding their shoes, few were willing to break the taboo of approaching her. Sometimes she wondered what being the victim of petty theft actually felt like.
Once her socks had joined her boots on the rock, she descended into the river. During winter, she preferred to stay on the shore or fly just above the water to pluck the dolls as they floated by, but it was time she celebrated the changing of the seasons. The currents were still cold enough to make her shudder as she dipped her feet in, but she gathered the hem of her skirt in her hands and waded in all the same.
She soon found a spot in the middle of the river where the water barely reached her calves and settled there. In a few moments, she forgot about the chill. Which was just as well, since she needed to pay attention.
Only on those rare occasions when the river froze over did the flow of misfortune-bearing paper dolls come to a complete halt. However, today was special: the Dolls' Festival had ended, which meant humans would send away their old hina dolls en masse. It would almost inevitably be Hina's busiest day of the year.
She took a deep breath and focused for a moment on the morning sunlight dancing on her skin. She opened her eyes just in time to see the first dolls drifting downstream.
Over the years, she had devised all sorts of games to play while gathering the dolls: arranging them in her hand so that none directly touched another of the same colour, alternating her hands with each doll, and giving them whatever name came to mind as she picked them up. This time, however, she simply caught them as they came to her, soon losing herself in the rhythm.
Some of the misfortune which had been bled into the dolls flowed into her at once, as easily as if it had always been a part of her circulation. As it accumulated, her heartbeat grew louder and her breathing lighter. She could practically feel her nails and the roots of her hair growing stronger. It was all she could do to resist the urge to spin.
Just as her hands were getting full, the flow of dolls tapered out. She had long suspected the villagers coordinated when they released the dolls to allow her breaks. She had meant to ask about it, but the question always slipped her mind on those rare occasions when she had the opportunity to speak to a human.
She left footprints in the mud as she waded back to the shore and set the dolls on the ground to dry on the meadow next to it, laying them out in two long neat rows. She hummed to herself as she worked, absorbing more misfortune from the dolls as she moved them.
A sudden speck of colour diverted her attention back to the river. It was vanishingly rare these days for anyone to place their hina dolls in a floating basket before sending them downstream, but here was one now all the same, approaching with surprising speed.
She hurried over just in time to catch it. She glanced upstream to ensure no more dolls were about to come rushing in before returning to dry land to examine her unusual catch.
There were two neatly folded dolls in the basket, one a delicate pink, the other a pale yellow. Hina was already reaching for the former when she saw the envelope lying beneath them.
She sat onto the grass to inspect it more closely, spreading her hem in a circle around her to dry and facing the river just in case the next wave was about to begin. The envelope was plain and held no name or address. She felt self-conscious opening it — surely it couldn't be for her — but then, how was she meant to find its true recipient with no clues to go on? Bolstered by the thought, she unfolded the letter and began reading.
Dear Miss Kagiyama,
I hope the misfortune which will plague me for breaking the taboo is of the manageable sort. However, even knowing the risk I face writing these words, I find them necessary.
Late last autumn, several of my students were struck down by a strange disease. While the illness didn't appear to be particularly lethal at first, it was naturally the cause of great concern. Our fears only grew as several of the patients fell into a deep stupor.
Naturally, the villagers didn't remain idle: when the medicine seller didn't arrive soon enough, several people left to seek an audience with the pharmacist behind her medicines, guided to her home by a trustworthy friend of mine. However, as we waited for their return, another possibility crossed my mind. As you have always shown the villagers great kindness by accepting their misfortune, I suggested that we plead for your help in this matter as well.
Several of the children opened their eyes hours before the medicine arrived. To our great relief, all of them ultimately recovered, but I couldn't help but note that the children of the parents who had joined me in sending hina dolls down the river were the first to be back on their feet.
You have done so much to aid us over the years, all with little acknowledgment or reward. I am perfectly aware of why that is, but regardless, it doesn't seem entirely just. Thus, unorthodox though it may be, and regardless of what it may cost me, I wish to thank you. I'm truly grateful that you have protected the people under my care.
The letter was unsigned. A precaution to mitigate the misfortune about to befall its sender, no doubt, since she had hardly attempted to conceal her identity otherwise.
Hina pressed the letter against her chest. She tried to remember the name of the teacher at the village's temple school, but the correct syllables might as well have been drops of water slipping through her fingers. She focused instead on her hazy impression of a pale-haired woman in blue as she mouthed her own silent thanks, fighting against a sudden mistiness in her eyes.
It wasn't until after she had composed herself and carefully returned the letter to the envelope that she caught something glinting inside the boat. She quickly fished it out.
She found herself holding a bead bracelet. The glint had come from sunlight striking one of the two metal beads at the opposite ends of the band: the rest were wooden, finely sanded and painted in bold primary colours. It had a charmingly child-like feel to it: Hina could practically see each child in the classroom painstakingly painting one of the beads. She was suddenly very grateful that indirectly giving her something didn't mean breaking the taboo.
She turned the bracelet around in her fingers, scarcely believing in its existence even as she heard the beads clatter against each other. Finally, she slipped it onto her wrist. It clashed with her other accessories, but then, didn't colourful wildflowers clash with the rest of the meadow?
She stood up slowly and began to spin, drawing more and more misfortune from the hina dolls drying on the meadow while the beads jangled along with her movement. It wasn’t long before she found herself smiling as broadly as she ever had.