Page 19 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

“That…sounds extremely patronizing,” he said. “Maybe even humiliating.”

She blushed. Well, as she considered it, perhaps to an outsider it would give that impression. Never to her, of course.

Despite his reservations, Painter didn’t object when the attendants returned and set out their things. They’d prepared a new bowl of rice, and—with Yumi’s coaching—he did the appropriate ritual moves, letting them feed him bite by bite. Liyun haunted the doorway, though she normally wouldn’t come to Yumi until after morning prayers.

As the meal progressed, Yumi managed to calm herself. Painter took direction well. She would have expected a hero to be more arrogant, but he did as she asked. By the end of the meal, Yumi was feeling far more composed and confident. They could manage this. They could approach the spirits, and receive direction. All they needed to do now was…

Was…

Oh.

Oh no.

The attendants rose and fetched their fans. Liyun gestured for Painter to stand and leave.

“Okay,” he whispered to Yumi as she stood up with him. “I think I’m getting the hang of this. What’s next?”

“Next,” she said, “we need to take our ritual bath.”

“Ritual bath?” Paintersaid, thoughtful. That sounded nice. This place was much hotter than back home. A little refreshment would be welcome. “I suppose I could use a bath. It won’t be too hot, will it?”

“The ritual bath is in the town’s cool spring,” Yumi explained. “Each day I work in a new town, so I do not know the layout—but the spring should be upon high ground. While you are here, it will be reserved exclusively for you, hero.”

Thatdidsound nice, particularly following what he’d been through. How could a simple meal be so taxing?

Unfortunately, his conscience was working on him. Painter had gotten himself into some trouble with issues like this—expectations from others, warranted or not—in the past. While thinking of those days brought pain, he’d sworn he would never get into that kind of trouble again.

Nonetheless, here he was. As the two attendants were out of theroom, he found himself standing and staring at the strange ghostly girl with long hair. And words came out.

“You asked if I’m a great warrior,” he said. “Are you needing me to fight something, then?”

“I don’tthinkit will require that,” she said. “I don’t know, honestly. The spirits will need to be formed, and then asked. They said they’re trapped somehow; perhaps you can rescue them?”

“By forming them?” he said, relaxing a little. “Does this require painting?”

“Painting?” she said, cocking her head. “We call them. Through art.”

Through art.

Right. Okay. That he could do. Maybe even something other than bamboo. Was it true—had he been summoned to an entirely different world simply to…to paint? He should probably make sure, he thought. He looked to the girl to explain more, but…

She was just sohopeful. Emotions flowed inside him like blood from wounds, warm and sharp. How long had it been since he’d feltneeded,wanted? He didn’t mean to lie. He wasn’treallylying, was he? Her spirits had chosen him, brought him here, perhaps to paint them.

In that moment, he wantedso badlyto be the hero someone needed. To have a chance to make up for the mistakes of his past. To become something. It wasn’t arrogance, as some of you might assume. It was more desperation.

Deep down, Painter saw himself as a ruined canvas—the painting spoiled by spilled ink, then tossed into the trash. This was his chance to spread himself out and start a new drawing on the back. He seized that opportunity like a ravenous man at his first bowl of rice in days.

“Lead on,” he said, dropping his mysterious loner affectationsand speaking with a heartfelt passion. “I’ll do it. Whatever it is you need, I promise, I’lldoit.”

Yumi gestured to the doors. The attendants and that awful woman—Liyun, Yumi had called her—had gone that way. He leaned out of the doorway and looked around, hoping he’d be able to walk this part rather than being carried or something. Curiously the building—indeed a wagon as Yumi had said—appeared to be floating. That was…odd. But not much more than—

He stepped on the ground.

Barefoot.

Painter yelped and leaped back onto the wooden steps, shaking the wagon-room. The ground washot. Extremely hot; like as hot as astove.

For the first time, he looked specifically at the clogs everyone was wearing. Liyun and the attendants, in turn, stared at him with horrified expressions. It was the same sort of expression you might have given a person who sat down to dinner, then started eating the plate.

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