Clay Day

 

A gasp cuts through the pervasive silence of the dank, dim cavern. Time seems, momentarily, to stand still as the dull thud of a scabbard of hardened clay hitting the ground drowns out the distant plink-plink of water droplets.


Nature’s clock, silenced briefly but uninterrupted, resumes its long count, but a simple act, that of a woman’s eyes springing open, breaks the illusion of stillness in the cavern.


“-TREAAAA...,” comes her commanding scream, echoing through the rocky walls before trailing off into a quiet and uncertain, pitiful, really, whimper. A wave of recognition washes over the blonde, lightly-armored woman, and, crestfallen, she hesitantly turns her head to scan the room, wincing as the sound of the dripping water reaches her ears.

All around her, the memories of a moment frozen in time lie about, strewn throughout the cavern like toys in a child’s playroom. The very rock beneath her feet, charred black, burns in her mind the images of that moment. Even it, however, fails to compare to the clay shards. Roasted, brittle, and shattered, shards of a loyal army of idols, too good for someone like herself, testify to the great loss of that day. Where there are no shards, there are half-busted haniwa soldiers, pieces of their faces missing, arms torn off, cracks running along their bodies, weapons shattered…


Swallowing her emotions, the woman known as the Haniwa Lance Corporal, Mayumi Joutouguu, cautiously takes a step forward. She stretches an arm out, curling her fingers into a fist and relaxing them repeatedly. Another step forward, this one slightly less stiff than the previous, and she feels her foot hit her sheathed sword. Making no motion to pick it up, she instead stretches out her other arm, hesitantly bending her elbow to bring it in and to reach out.


Thousands of bodies over the years, and she still had never grown used to reforming after being completely shattered. She couldn’t be faulted for it, though, could she? The usable clay was different everywhere. Damper and heavier in some places, dryer, well-mixed, and tougher in other places, and brittle and baked in yet some of the other locales she had inhabited. Moving too quickly before acclimating to a new body was undoubtedly a recipe for cracking and breaking, and the last thing she needed after reforming was to waste more time repairing herself.


Rolling her neck, lifting her heels, bending and stretching in every way she’s able to do so, Mayumi goes through all of the steps before eventually reaching down and picking up her scabbard. Her eyes now adjusted to the darkness of the cavern, she once again scans the room.


A sigh escapes her lips, seeing the barren room all around her. It wasn’t as though it had been in its prime even before the bandits came, but at least then this grand entryway to these ruins still had traces of its past… Now, as she surveys the area, she sees nothing except for the remnants of the battle and inanimate haniwa soldiers lined up against the walls of the cavern.


The loss that had happened here, it hadn’t been her loss in battle, but the world’s loss of one of its memories. An entire people, an entire culture, it had vanished because of greedy treasure hunters. Who would remember this place besides herself?


Rather than allow the thought to dismay her, Mayumi raises her head high, puffing her chest out by standing tall but unable to get the full effect without being able to hold in a deep breath of air. Haniwa-themed scabbard in hand, she marches over to the remaining reserve troops, inspecting them with the air of a monarch inspecting a naval fleet. She counts. Twenty-one footsoldiers for infantry or logistics, two cavalry riders, five archers, that would be enough, wouldn’t it? Taking note of the scarcity of usable clay in the area and the time it would take to mold new creations from scratch, Mayumi makes her decision.


“HANIWA! LISTEN! Our mission is a simple one. We protect the memories of this world. We stand guard over the past to protect this world’s history. That is our sacred job. Perfect idols who need neither rest nor food nor reward were made to ensure this world would never lose the chance to discover its story. We are perfect in form. We may shatter, but we do not break. We may be reduced to clay, but we rise from it in a new form. We do not surrender, for we are HANIWA!” Even Mayumi’s rousing speech cannot mask the sounds now reverberating through the cave. A cacophony of dripping water, uncoordinated cheers of “ha-ni, ha-ni,” the faint ticking of a gear, and the shedding of ancient layers of dirt and dust gradually gives way to a more harmonious noise. Soon, twenty-one soldiers of clay replace nature’s clock, keeping the time with stomping and chanting. It’s only with some disappointment that Mayumi notes, as the soldiers group together into a formation, that neither the cavalry or archers show any signs of becoming animate.


Undeterred, however, she continues her rallying, letting emotion creep into her voice. “But we are more than our mission! Our purpose is not to guard, but to contain. We are vessels, empty so that we can be filled with memories! It took only one lonely life asking if it could create a vessel to carry it into the future to create us. We exist to be filled with the memories of the past and to carry them forward over lifetimes.” The climax arrives, the moment to raise her scabbard and instill something greater than mere autonomy in the soldiers she had just called up. “If nothing else remains of this site, we’ll absorb it into ourselves!”

“HA-NI! HA-NI! HA-NI!”

“Six of you will stay behind and become the legacy of what once existed. All others…” Pointing to the back of the cavern, to an easily-overlooked narrow pathway concealed by the darkness, Mayumi issues her command.


“HANIWA! MARCH!”

xxx

 

 

Unbeknownst to the girl of clay, another woman already lurks in the depths of the ruins, having made her way past the charred chamber and ominous clay statues not too long ago. Now, she stands in the small, tucked away room, puzzling over the collection of strange antiques. She pushes up the rim of her glasses, eyes closed as she works out the mystery in her head…


...and promptly sneezes, the plant matter stuck to the inside of her oversized sleeve rubbing up against her nose as she fiddles with her glasses and triggering her allergies. In the process, she drops her book and loses her glasses as she slumps forward. Ever the genius, she promptly attempts to stifle another sneeze by… holding her arm in front of her nose, only exacerbating her allergies.


One sneezing fit later, and she falls back onto her bum, having given up on any hope of winning the battle against her own body. The world fuzzy, she nevertheless makes out the general impression of her glasses and her book, both moving towards her. She reaches out for her glasses first, wiping them off and putting them on so she can see the three miniscule purple creatures that had taken up the burden of delivering her things to her. “Thank you, dearies,” she offers as she takes her book back from two of the creatures.


Dusting herself off and rising to her feet, she spots two more of the creatures, these ones slimmer and white rather than purple, digging through the little mounds of clay in the room. Along with those two, she spots a group of five yellow ones lifting an antique toaster above their heads. “Ahehu, you dearies are spirited assistants, aren’t you?” Even as she shakes her head, she laughs at the sight of the little Pikmin running around, doing as she had taught even when she was too busy fouling things up to ask them for anything. “Thank you all so much for your work, but, please, set anything you’ve touched back where you found it. Treasure hunters aren’t the type to leave everything so nice and neat, don’t’cha know?”


Dutifully, the little organisms - not too dissimilar from mobile, multicolored, carrots - place everything save for the dirt they had disturbed back where they had found it. Under the woman’s watchful eye, they group into their formations, five circles of five distinct colors coming in purple, white, yellow, red, and pink. Flashing her so-called dearies a warm smile, the woman does a quick headcount and begins to depart.


She stops only when the ground begins to tremble, and a strange chanting begins to reverberate in the tiny room in the ruins’ depths.

xxx

“HANIWA! HALT!”


Mayumi stops in her tracks as she exits the narrow passage and emerges in the room housing her private collection. Had she possessed a heart, it would have skipped a beat, her eyes immediately settling on the strange intruder in this private space. It was bad enough that bandits had absconded with history, but now there was a thief in her own room?


Her platoon of soldiers spill into the room and stop just in front of the entrance, as commanded, while Mayumi processes the situation. The eyes of the haniwa girl with troops behind her meet the eyes of a short, oddly-dressed woman accompanied by a contingent of strange little organisms.


But who was this woman, really? From Mayumi’s perspective, she presents no immediate threat, at least in terms of fighting. Rising up only to her own chest only if one included the hat she wore, there was little chance that this strange woman could threaten her, right? The creatures with her… aren’t they too small to do anything significant either. Would a thief come in so unprepared? If said thief were a coward, perhaps…


Before the haniwarrior can collect all of her thoughts, the woman before her greets her with a polite wave and a chipper tone of voice. “Hello! Are you the owner of these antiques?”


“I am.” Caught off-guard - what kind of thief would greet the person they were robbing - Mayumi answers almost automatically, her tone betraying her confusion. As Mayumi responds, the strange creatures with the woman jump in front of her, as if to defend her.


“Only one here, so you have to be, right? You have an impressive collection. Not all of this is from Agama, is it? No, I’d know what was seeded in this soil, and these aren’t native-made. Oh, but where are my manners?” To Mayumi’s continued bewilderment, the strange woman, talking at a mile a minute, gently uses her hand to shoo the creatures with her back behind her, all while maintaining a friendly, eager tone. “My name is Phyllis, Phyllis Karalis. Please, call me Liz. My full name makes me feel like a wilting old woman. You know how it is, don’t’cha? Sprite by nature, botanist by trade. These little Pikmin are my helpers these days. The lil’ sprouts make my life so much easier. It’s a shame there’s not many of them around here, but I try to keep the dearies happy and safe so we can keep working together.”


“And I am Mayumi Joutouguu.” She really, truly didn’t seem like a thief. Why would a thief tell someone that much information about herself? Tugging on one of the pieces of cloth holding her hair back in a bun, Mayumi poses a cautious question while Phyllis clutches her book to her chest. “If you are a botanist, what are you doing in these ruins? There are no plants down here.”


“That’s simple, Mayumi!” The ease with which Phyllis speaks and the way she responds without missing a beat do not go unnoticed by Mayumi, and the haniwarrior relaxes herself just a bit as Phyllis continues. “I am a botanist, but funding is tight. Everyone wants to set aside money to save endangered species, but no one likes it when you talk about how you have to do it. But treasure-hunting is a right blooming profession ‘round here. I’m no treasure hunter myself, though. There’s too many people who would grab me right up, kill the dearies, and hold me for ransom. Dangerous games aren’t for me, don’t’cha agree? But all of those treasure hunters leave their things in all the caves and ruins they go into. Garbage sprouts up like weeds in these caves! I go in and try to clean up what they leave behind. Then I sell it.”


“You sell it?” No longer do Mayumi’s words carry the slightest hint of skepticism. To Phyllis’ delight, the haniwarrior expresses eager interest in hearing more, leaning forward with her eyes wide with anticipation and interest. Her reservations about Phyllis being a thief? For better or for worse, they had melted away while Phyllis spoke. It hadn’t been that Mayumi had taken her words at face value alone. No, Mayumi’s trust came from preponderance of the evidence. Phyllis’ claim that she was no treasure seeker did match up with one crucial detail. The sprite hadn’t touched at all any of the haniwa in the former grand entrance to the ruins. Any treasure seeker surely would have taken them to try and sell, or would have smashed them in hopes of finding hidden treasures within.


“Who do you sell it to? They don’t throw it out and forget about it right away, do they?”


Seeing the intensity with which Mayumi asks the question, Phyllis’ slumps a bit as she answers, her glowing smile dimming. “‘Fraid I don’t know. I sell it to whoever bids the highest online.” Mayumi seems to dim herself, so she quickly appends a statement to her answer. “I don’t know anything about the kinds of people who buy goods abandoned by treasure hunters, but there is one thing I know. You have to think a weed is something more than a weed if you want to buy it. I’m sure that the people buying what I sell are people who truly want it for something.”


Mayumi’s lack of a smile reveals the truth. She can see right through the well-intentioned but half-baked attempt to cheer her up. Still, she regards Phyllis warmly, glad to see someone in the ruins with at least the respect to leave history and memories intact.


It’s the woman’s next words, however, that produce the greatest response yet from the girl made from clay.


“I’m sorry, Mayumi. I’ve barged in and bothered you like kudzu on a telephone wire. If you need me to leave now, I’ll take the dearies with me and be on my way, but if you have time, I’d enjoy hearing about your collection since I’m all the way out here. Would you tell me about it?”


“R-really? You want to hear about this?” Mayumi's eyes light up at the thought of sharing her collection with someone else. “There’s a toaster, and a lightbulb, and a fishing lure, and a spear, and a keyboard, and three dolls from different eras, and-” As Mayumi waves her scabbard around and shakes with anticipation, she rattles off a whole host of objects modern and ancient, tiny, forgotten fragments of history that span centuries of cultural advancement. For her part, Phyllis plops down with a smile, falling back on her bum just as before - sneezing aside - as her Pikmin, save for the few pink fliers who keep fluttering over her head, do the same. 

Without needing a command for this particular job, the haniwa soldiers behind Mayumi march forward and each take an object from her collection in their hands, standing at attention with them so that Mayumi can properly show them off and ramble about them to her heart’s content.


Even as Mayumi’s thoughts turn almost completely to all the things she wants to say about her collection, one nagging thought remains in the back of her mind. All kinds of people had come to the ruins and caves of Agama in search of treasure, in hopes of making a discovery for reasons both selfish and selfless. No, it wasn’t just in Agama, either. Over tens of thousands of years, wherever in the world there was both clay and something long-forgotten, she had met people as friendly as Phyllis, as cruel and cold-hearted as the bandits who had robbed these ruins, as passionate as explorers who had collapsed entire ruins without ill-intent, and as intolerant of history as famous men and women who sought the past only to bolster their own fame. There were so many types of people in the world, but the question remained… With all she had heard about how exceptional these “Kobbers” were, would all of those encounters be sufficient preparation for when they came to Agama and started to plunge into its past?


Well, that didn’t matter right now, did it?


“HANIWA! DISPLAY!”