Journey Through Fire Read Online Free Page A

forehead.
    Looking closer I could see tufts of hair stickingout at odd angles and skin puckering at the temples. I turned my head to look more closely and the reflection shifted.
    My heart thudded in my chest. “It cannot be,” I said in a whisper.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I let Moriyasu’s hand fall and lifted my fingers to my head. The ghost in the water did the same. I reached out to my reflection, drawing closer until my fingers touched the surface, destroying the image. I ran my hands over my head. My hair—gone! Images flooded my mind as I recalled the heat of the fire that chased me. I remembered being dragged out of the hut and how my head had felt ravaged by the molten hatred of the fire. My body did not burn, but my hair did.
    My hands fell to my sides. I felt numb—unable to cry. I turned around and looked at Moriyasu. His lip trembled as he met my glance. I turned away sharply.
    â€œDon’t look at me,” I said, as I brought my hands over my face. I heard Moriyasu walk toward me, and then he gently drew my hands away until he was looking at me steadily, without judgment or disgust. But I knew I looked hideous.
    â€œI don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said, as I turned back to the doorway. “At least when I had long hair I could tie it up and disguise myself as a boy. How do I disguise my bare head? I look like a priest—or a beggar!” I tried to laugh, but it didn’t come easily.
    Moriyasu took my hand again. “It doesn’t matter, Kimi,” he said simply. “You’re alive.”
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    The scent of burning incense filled my nostrils as I stood on the threshold of the room where my sister lay. A futon was surrounded by linen drapes that billowed in the breeze from an open window. It was as if the bed were floating.
    A drape was pulled aside and someone moved away from the side of the bed. It was a monk. He carried a bowl of water with flower petals floating on the surface. Beyond him I could see Hana’s profile. Her lips were parted slightly as her chest rose and fell. Her skin looked as white as a crane’s feathers.
    â€œHana!” I whispered and ran forward. The monk stepped neatly to one side as I pushed past him. I was so worried about my sister that I didn’t stop to think about the disrespect I was showing. I kneeled at Hana’s bedside, searching her face for signs of pain. But her expression was serene. I looked at the monk, wanting some answers.
    Gently he lowered himself until he was kneeling by my side. “My name is Daisuke,” the monk began. I bowed my head in greeting and he did the same, before turning back to my sister. “She is sleeping,” he said. “A very deep sleep.” His gaze remained fixed on my sister’s face. He reached out a hand and drew a thumb across her forehead. I didn’t know what it meant, but I could feel the sincerity and warmth that came from this young man. He could only be good for Hana.
    I leaned back and allowed my head to bow. “What happened to her?” I asked, watching my hands twist and knot in my lap. Daisuke turned to me.
    â€œShe has been through a great deal,” he said. “And so have you.”
    Then he put a hand under my chin, lifting my head so that I was forced to meet his gaze. I recognized the flashes of green among the brown of his eyes—eyes as deep as the lake I’d rowed across to find my mother. This was the man I’d seen when I’d woken from my own illness.
    His gaze rose to my scalp, and when it did, I felt the burning sensation return—as if the ravaged skin knew it was being examined and was protesting. I knew what it looked like. My imagination traced the pattern of burns, the taut skin, and red, angry flesh. I must have looked so ugly to him. He turned my chinto one side and then the other as he inspected my injuries. I felt my cheeks flush with shame as I tried not to pull away.
    â€œHealing