On the Hills of Eden

“Alright,” Qingxi said, closing the door to their accommodation behind her. “It’s ready.”

Rumi and Pallas turned to look at her, the two girls sitting side by side atop their porch, basking in the pure warmth of the sky.

“Do you still have the warabi-mochi?”

Rumi grabbed the small glass that sat beside her, holding it up so that Qingxi may see it. Its individual gelatinous cubes were still solid and separate, and the powdery coating of deep green matcha powder that covered them was still distinct from the jelly itself.

“Good,” Qingxi nodded. “Shall we go now?”

Pallas’ eyes shot to her left, glancing through the partially opened paper windows of one of the two alcoves that sat on either side of the main entrance. Though it was dark, and her bright-adjusted eyes could discern little from the interior of the building Qingxi had so meticulously taken upon herself to set up, she could– at the very least– tell that there was a paper divider present within.

“Could you give us one last rundown of the rules?” Rumi asked.

Qingxi pulled her hand out of the recessed door handle.

“Sure.”

Pallas and Rumi were to go up against each other.

The inside of the inn was dimly lit, what little light that filtered in through the windows on the walls prevented from penetrating all the way through the space’s interior by columns and furniture and a labyrinth of paper dividers.

The idea was that this would help the both of them refresh themselves from their brief week-long journey from Hibara to Shirobanegawa, honing their fighting skills and sharpening their wits in a friendly environment that could prepare them for Isami’s challenges.

Qingxi balanced herself in a squat, resting her hand on a column as she perched atop a wooden bar suspended above the space below. She had placed herself there so that she could traverse the sub-ceiling net of supports, remaining out of the way of Pallas and Rumi while still being able to ensure the game remained fair and effective.

She had set up every single paper divider that now stood firmly in place below her, and she had even taken the effort to stock some of the empty tables and shelves with objects so that the two of them would have more freedom to interact with their environment.

She could see, not too far away, as Rumi shuffled about, her eyes scanning the tight area about her as the little glass of warabi-mochi sat in between her feet.

That was Rumi’s primary objective. The protection and subsequent evacuation of the warabi-mochi outside of the inn.

Further along, just beyond a few walls of paper dividers, Pallas slunk about. She treaded lightly, each step slowly releasing its weight over the course of the entire movement so as to appease the already irate wooden floorboards beneath her.

Pallas’ primary objective, on the other hand, was to steal the warabi-mochi. To intercept and eat it before Rumi could escape with it, or to herself bring it outside the boundaries of the inn.

To make things more challenging, and to force the two girls to use their brains to navigate the tense situation, Qingxi had imposed limits upon the both of them.

Pallas traced her right hand across the floor, her fingers pressing up against the wood to help support her as she snuck about, weaving from divider to divider. Her other arm had been tied to her back, the thick coils of hemp ensuring she wouldn’t be able to accidentally bring it into use.

Across the maze of dividers, Rumi waved her wooden sword about– the blunt thing surveying its surroundings as if it had a serpentine mind of its own. She squatted to the floor, wrapping her left palm about the cool glass that held the warabi-mochi.

But she wouldn’t be able to hold onto it for long. Qingxi had chosen this type of warabi-mochi specifically because it had a tendency to melt when exposed to warm temperatures for long enough– like the inside of Rumi’s palm. In that vein, Rumi would be forced to set it down whenever she wasn’t on the move so as to prevent it from being ruined and winning Pallas the game. Though, that too came with a caveat, as every time Rumi set the warabi-mochi down, she would be forced to distance herself from it by a metre for about ten seconds.

That wasn’t all, though.

Rumi crept along, passing a dinner table and preparing to round a corner set by a paper divider– leading directly into the maze.

The two of them could also win by tagging the other.

She set her foot down, her sock-covered sole infringing upon the flimsy form of a floorboard and forcing it to cave.

Forcing it to screech.

Rumi froze. And not too far away, hidden from direct sight by the paper dividers, Pallas froze too.

Rumi only needed to tag Pallas once, striking her body with her sword. Pallas, on the other hand, had to hit Rumi three times with some part of her body, be it a kick, a punch or a poke.

Pallas slunk forwards slightly, her legs now letting the floorboards creak softly below her as she positioned herself just by the final paper divider that stood between her and Rumi.

Dust hung in the hair. Rumi could see as the fine, ethereal particles passed into and out of her vision, surging into being as they caught the line of the outside before fading back into the shadows as they floated to the ground.

Slowly, she set the warabi-mochi down, shuffling without noise to the side so that she may still lunge forwards to intercept and prevent Pallas from snatching it away.

And then, she froze. Silence fell over the inn, and neither of the two girls moved.

Though, while Rumi had frozen out of fear, Pallas had frozen out of calculation.

She crouched slightly, lifting her heels just barely off of the wooden floor. Shifting her feet about and probing the rough, ridge-covered surface of the floorboards, she found her just the right footing.

She didn’t know where Rumi was exactly, given that she had done well to mask her movements past the singular initial mistake. What she did know, though, was how to figure that out.

She suddenly began running on the spot, exerting little pushes of force onto the especially creaky floorboards and prompting them to scream out in agony.

She started off slow, moving her weight from one foot to the next, increasing the strength of her pushes and the speed she carried them out with each subsequent effort. It was a march at first, but then a trot, a canter, a rising drum-roll that grew in intensity and volume into a burgeoning crescendo of galloping hooves on dirt.

Rumi leapt from her position, the floorboards roaring out beneath her as she lifted her sword and levelled it at the corner where Pallas would emerge from.

Though… she never came.

Pallas shot out from above the paper divider, her eyes darting about the small space around Rumi before she leapt onto her.

Her one free hand met the wooden blade Rumi had raised to meet her, forcing it into her and throwing every bit of her momentum against Rumi’s body– burrowing her forehead into her chest.

The two of them slammed against the wooden floor, bouncing slightly as the wood flexed in protest, a singular clay mug that had been arranged on the nearby dining table falling onto the floor in response to the impact.

“One out of three for Pallas,” Qingxi said.

The two girls wrestled on the ground, Rumi twisting and turning beneath Pallas in a futile attempt to break from her pin. She threw her hand up against Pallas’ face, squishing her cheek as she fought to keep Pallas from getting a second headbutt in.

Pallas maintained her position, her waist lifted and her legs fixed and planted like steel supports to prevent herself from being moved off of Rumi. She let herself fall onto Rumi, nestling the shoulder of her bound arm against Rumi’s chest as she began trying to yank the wooden blade from Rumi’s clutches.

“You’re too dangerous, Rumi!” She managed, her body jumping slightly at even the slightest risk of Rumi touching her with her blade. “No more sword… for you!”

Rumi groaned, repositioning her arm to press her forearm against Pallas’ chest, heaving against her in one great endeavour to give herself some breathing room and to force the attack on her sword to a halt.

“Too bad,” she gasped, smiling slightly. “You’re not getting it off of me!”

She wormed, forcing her legs against the ground and transmitting the energy of the motion all throughout her body in a singular wave.

She placed her left arm against the floor, planting her shoulder against Pallas and keeping her head close by so that Pallas wouldn’t be able to headbutt her.

Pallas’ eyes broke momentarily, shooting off to eye up the dessert. In the position Rumi had put herself in now, there was a good chance that she would be able to disengage and make a break for the dessert without getting tagged.

A chance that was fair enough for her to take.

She threw herself off of Rumi, surging towards the warabi-mochi.

When she saw a blur of movement in the corner of her eye.

You see, Qingxi had put in a special rule that gave Rumi just a little bit more freedom than Pallas.

She ducked, the clay mug soaring over her head as Rumi’s hand arced wildly, sending it clanking against the floor as it tumbled away.

Rumi could tag Pallas, registering for half a point, using regular objects.

Pallas rocketed forwards, grabbing a hold of the warabi-mochi. She exploded back into a sprint, the glass in tow as she bolted for the maze-

When a hollow object thunked against the back of her head.

“Freeze!”

Though, really, this mechanic was more to give Rumi some allowance given the already difficult restrictions she had to navigate around when it came to handling the warabi-mochi.

“Wh-”

“Sorry, Pallas!”

Rumi scrambled forwards, grabbing the glass from Pallas’ hand as she disappeared into the paper maze.

Four seconds left.

Pallas looked up at Qingxi, still balancing herself atop the wooden beams as she monitored the two of them closely.

“How did she do that?”

Three seconds.

“She picked it up with her sword,” Qingxi replied. “Transferred it to her hand, then pelted it at you.”

Two seconds.

“Wow,” Pallas huffed. “Fair play.”

“Grown a lot, hasn’t she?”

“Mm.”

Pallas heard as Rumi hurriedly creaked her way through the maze.

…

“Are you keeping track of the time?” Pallas asked, breaking her gaze from the maze to interrogate Qingxi.

“...No.”

Her shoulders dropped.

“Well, I’m sure you can go now,” Qingxi said. “Probably.”

Rumi fumbled, her fingers somehow more clumsy than ever as she fiddled with the miniscule steel key in her right hand. The cold thing slipped and slid in between her sweaty fingers, and even when she did get it to cooperate, it refused to fit into the notched slit of the lock that led to the outside.

And the crescendo of footsteps not too far behind her was quickly approaching its zenith.

She fiddled with the thing, her left palm tightening about the slowly melting warabi-mochi as she pushed it in once.

It wouldn’t fit.

Ten metres.

She pressed it up against the slit again.

Seven metres.

Nope.

Six.

Was it the wrong way around?

She brought it closer to her face, analysing it.

Four.

Panic gripping her fully now, she slammed it into the lock, the thing somehow miraculously yielding and sliding into place.

Two.

Rumi tore it from its place, diving to the side just as Pallas emerged from the paper maze and slammed herself into the sliding door.

“Pallas!”

Rumi huffed, sliding backwards, her blade sheathed and the tiny iron key clutched in her hands glittering gently in the diffuse light of the alcove window.

“Rumi.”

The two girls froze, staring each other down as red reflected in gold and gold reflected in red.

Pallas slid a leg forward.

Rumi raised the key towards Pallas, pointing it towards her.

“I’ve already tagged you once, Pallas,” she said, her left palm adjusting about the quickly melting warabi-mochi. “Just one more and I’ll win.”

Pallas stopped.

But not out of fear.

“Sure,” she responded. “But I might not even have to touch you to win.”

Rumi’s eyes followed Pallas’, landing on the warabi-mochi. The individual cubes of jelly now almost beginning to melt into and fuse with each other.

She panicked, quickly setting the glass down onto the ground as she prepared to unsheathe her wooden blade.

“One metre, Rumi.”

She rose back to full height, shuffling along towards the paper windows and the thick, insulating curtains bundled up by their sides as Pallas bolted into action.

Rumi sprung back the moment she crossed the one metre threshold, thrusting her sword forward just as Pallas entered the alcove.

But she hit nothing.

Pallas had leapt up into the air, jumping against the paper divider so solidly fixed into the floor by Qingxi, and now soared towards Rumi.

She twirled through the air briefly, her foot smacking against the wooden sword and throwing it to the ground before the rest of her body collided with Rumi’s.

The two girls slammed into the thick curtains, Pallas pressing her up against the wall and feeling as it bent softly in response.

“Are you okay?” She checked, nevertheless using her free hand to grab Rumi’s left.

“Mm,” Rumi hummed, struggling in between breaths. “Thanks.”

“Shall we continue?”

Rumi nodded.

Pallas reeled her head back, throwing her forehead against the curtains as Rumi managed to slip out of the way to avoid the second tag. Moving with her momentum, Rumi continued onwards, falling along and dragging Pallas to the ground with her– closer to her sword.

But Pallas fought back, heaving Rumi back upwards as a parent would lift their child.

She heaved Rumi onto her shoulders, preparing to gently throw her against the floor as she felt Rumi’s right arm wrap around her neck.

Nothing to worry about-

She collapsed to her knees, her grip about Rumi suddenly fading away.

“Rumi!” She gasped, her body suddenly squirming about uncontrollably as Rumi’s fingers danced about and tickled her neck. Her singular weak spot. “Wh- stop!”

Rumi set Pallas down on the floor, smiling slightly in response to the fit of laughter Pallas fell victim to. She repositioned herself, recruiting her other hand to assist in the assault.

“Rumi!” Pallas begged. “Who- who told you!”

“Soleiman, of course!”

Rumi disengaged her right hand, continuing to rub the stubs of her left’s fingers against Pallas’ neck as she grabbed her sword off of the ground.

One tag was all it would take.

She lifted the sword into the air, its sleek, wooden form catching the silver light of the outside-

She suddenly folded, dropping the sword as she clutched at her abdomen.

Pallas shook off her two fingers, like a hunter shaking the blood off of his knife after having dealt the killing blow to his catch.

“Well,” Pallas gasped, still recovering from the tickle attack. “You won’t believe what he told me!”

“Gah,” Rumi coughed. “Soleiman!”

Pallas grabbed the warabi-mochi, surging back to her feet as Rumi struggled to rise to hers. She bolted forwards, stopping once more before the sliding door.

The still locked sliding door.

The key was still with Rumi.

Her eyes darted to the right, seeing as Rumi grabbed ahold of her blade, her left arm wrapped about her sensitive tummy as she readied herself for her vengeance.

Pallas recalled the sensation of the paper windows bending slightly as the two of them slammed into it.

At once, she ran from the door, sprinting into the other alcove– identical to the one she and Rumi had just fought in.

And she threw herself through the window.

The soft structure tore and splintered as she vaulted through it, paper and wood all flying through the air as she careened into the outside and rolled onto the soft dirt just beyond the porch.

Rumi froze in place by the door. Qingxi froze too, and they both slowly looked at each other in disbelief.

“Pallas!”

The two of them appeared in the broken window frame, their eyes wide with as much concern as disbelief.

“Are you okay?” Rumi asked.

“Yeah,” Pallas said, sitting herself upright. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She placed the glass of warabi-mochi before her. And, though almost half the matcha powder had been lost and each cube had essentially turned into a soft goop, it was still technically intact.

“Did…” Rumi began, slowly turning to look at Qingxi. “Did she win?”

It didn’t look like she knew.

“I… I mean…” Qingxi struggled. “I didn’t expect you to do that, but…”

“It's not against the rules, though,” Pallas said. “Right?”

“I… guess,” Qingxi mused. “Sure, then.”

Pallas pumped herself softly, muttering a silent celebratory ‘yes’.

Rumi laughed slightly, a strange mix between a half-attempt at calming her own nerves and reconciling with the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Wh… what do we say to the innkeepers?” She asked.

Qingxi was silent.

“Mmm,” Pallas hummed. “I’m sure we could pay it off… somehow.”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

Pallas played with the glass of warabi-mochi, watching as the glint of the yellow sky above head reflected brilliantly in the intricately cut surfaces of its form.

“No,” she said, setting the glass back down onto the dirt as she turned to face the two of them in the window frame. “Not yet.”