Fujiyama
By Kawaii Kitty

No words may tell of it
No name know I that is fit for it
But a wondrous deitity it surely is!
It is the peace giver, it is the god, it is the treasure
On the peak of Fuji, in the land of the Suruga
I never get weary of gazing
-"Manyoshu"

"Less than ten thousand years before previous times, nearly sixty miles from present-day Tokyo, Japan on the island of Honshu, existed a small village that lived peaceful lives amongst themselves in their still-forming civilization. There was a lovely young woman who loved to look out her window every day at the gentle hills that ruled the land of her home surrounded by the swamp-like rice paddy fields. Her name was Ichijouji Miyako. Miyako loved nothing more than the landscape outside her own window. She would have gladly given her soul to the Tatari-Mokke(1) or the Kitsune(1) spirits to be able to paint the scene just one more time and write just one more poem about its incredible beauty.

"However, not everything about the landscape was fine. There lived a massive god resting beneath the earth who had been sleeping for the past ten million years or so. He too loved the land above his blanket more than anything, choosing to nap beneath it. However, around the time of Miyako, the god had began to feel the cultivation and digging into the ground above him, causing him great grief while he slept. The god began to toss and turn, causing great disturbances in the ground. The land at which Miyako enjoyed gazing began to change shape, looking more different with each passing day. These changes became more and more obvious in Miyako's paintings.

"Miyako was not the only one who noticed the changes in the beautiful Japanese landscape. Sensing eminent danger and much spiritual energy from the restlessness of the ground, many of the priests and political figures of the day were becoming concerned with the damage that the quaking land had been causing and the movements of what lay beneath their precious homeland and began to take precautions, setting up shrines to the gods to protect the land around the most active spots. This activity above only seemed to enrage the slumbering god. He continued to toss and turn, creating more disturbances. Soon, all of the island of Japan was experiencing these massive tremors in the ground.

"Thousands of letters were sent between the priests, each of them agreeing to seal off the areas around where the activity was taking place. Infuriated, the god finally woke up from his slumber, reaching up his hands, his claws piercing the earth and rising above the ground, some of his fingers being broken in the process. This activity caused a great disturbance in all areas of Japan, except in the house that Miyako had been dwelling. As the earth shook and cracked beneath her homeland, all she did was smile and paint pictures of the rapidly changing land she loved so dearly as the thousands of priests called on the power of the gods and goddesses to protect their homes and calm their enraged brother beneath the ground. Eventually, the god was put to rest, but his fingers remained above the surface, the largest and most god-like of them all taking residence near Miyako's home.

"To keep the god asleep, the priests arranged for residents to take gifts and sacrifices to the peak of the god's tallest finger and leave them there. Since Miyako felt she had taken so much from the beauty of the land, she found herself ascending the peak the moment that the priests had given the word, each and every one of her paintings in tow. Being the first to reach the peak, she found a gaping hole into which she could see the blood of the god boiling and popping, giving off massive amounts of heat. Miyako smile, she gave thanks to the god, prayed, and tossed the paintings inside, pleasing the god as the images were brought to his mind, making him smile. Since then, the finger has been dubbed a mountain, and then a volcano in 1707 when the large lump on its side, Hoeizan, formed and caused a massive eruption which is now referred to as 'the Upthrow of Hoei'. The mountain is called Fuji-san, or 'not mortal', insisting that the mountain is a god."

"What a load of junk!" called a teen as he sat at his desk in his literature class. "There's no way ANY of that can be even partially feasible!" he pushed his silver-framed glasses up his nose bridge and blew some of his dark brown hair from his sparkling brown eyes.

His teacher looked up from the book on her desk and raised an eyebrow at the loud child. She gave a sigh and rolled her eyes, placing a bookmark in her book and closing it. "Is there a problem with the stories again, Yamato?" She said in an exasperated voice.

"Yes, there is a problem, Mrs. Takarai!" he said, standing up in his seat. "All of this is completely fake! Everyone and their mother know how Fujiyama really formed." As he cleared his throat for an explanation, the class and the teacher gave a loud, collective groan, used to, but not excited with the boy's matter-of-fact attitude.

"The Stratovolcano, Fujiyama, really began taking shape about ten million years ago," he said with a smile. "The only fact that that stupid story got right. Back then, it was only a little volcanic mound of FossaMagna leftover from when Japan broke off from China. Scientists today call it 'Mikasa Sanchi'. When that erupted from too much pressure building up by the sliding of the Pacific Plate under the Eurasian and Philippine plates, it formed 'Komitake', which then erupted to create 'Kofuji'. That erupted and created a volcano called 'Shinfuji' which erupted about ten times or so before Fujiyama formed over it. And of course, we all know about the Hoeizan eruption. Even today, Fujiyama remains active, threatening the lives of everyone in this city."

"No kidding, idiot!" said a loud boy in the back of the class who threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

The girl sitting next to the boy named Yamato gave a sigh and threw a hard candy at him. "Yeah, seriously, Yama. Can't we have just one folktale without you butting in with your stupid realistic head?" She rolled her eyes and adjusted the ribbon on her school uniform. "I mean, come on. Not everyone cares like you do."

Yamato dodged the various objects now being thrown at him. "Well you should." He said, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "It's not like you know anything anyhow, Sora."

"Is that so, Ishida?" She said, rising up from her seat to meet his eyes. "I've made many pilgrimages up that beautiful peak, listening to my blabbermouth geologist father the entire way up each time! Not only that, but my mother comes along with us, who, by the way, is a mythology NUT!" She glared at the boy. "I think I know just about everything about that stupid mountain."

Mrs. Takarai raised her hands to calm the two students. "Alright! All right! That's enough, you two. Ishida, Takenouchi, take your seats now." The two students grumbled and sat back down in their seats, smoldering like the volcano itself. Mrs. Takarai gave a sigh of relief and took a seat on her desk, smiling at the teenagers before her. "Well, since Sora mentioned mythology of Fuji-san, we should elaborate more on that, shall we?"

"But there's no-" Yamato began before Sora grabbed him and clamped her hand tightly over his mouth to stifle him. She smiled at Mrs. Takarai and nodded, allowing her to continue.

"Thank you, Sora. you have NO idea how much that will help." She smiled and turned back to the class. "Now, there are many legends about spirits that have been seen wandering that mountain. Particularly the pesky demons like the Kitsune spirits who steal the bodies of young women to cause mischief." Everyone nodded, remembering the old legends and stories. "There was, however, a particular Kitsune who wandered up the perfectly symmetrical slope of Fuji-san. She had assumed the form of the lover of a young man who she had fallen deeply in love with and followed him on his pilgrimage to the top. However, near the large crater on Fuji-san's side, a horrible snowstorm came.

"The Kitsune insisted that the two of them stop and make camp, but the young man didn't hear and kept on going. The Kitsune made camp, assuming he had gone to gather some snow for boiling, but he never came to her bedside and froze over without the Kitsune knowing. To this day, the Kitsune, still wearing the guise of the young woman wanders the mountain, searching for her long-lost love."

The class, minus a frustrated Yamato, stared in awe at the story. "How tragic!" Sora cried out, tears welling up in her dark brown eyes. "That's so sad! Even though Kitsune aren't nice spirits, they can even fall in love!" She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her uniform, letting Yamato free.

"Finally!" the boy wiped his mouth and looked up at his teacher. "I hate stories like that. They're so lame and so totally fake."

Mrs. Takarai eyed Yamato carefully and gave a smirk, her eyes darting to a painting on the wall of the classroom of the symbol of their country, Fujiyama. "How do you know that, Ishida Yamato?"

"Huh?" He said oddly, following the woman's eyesight to the painting. "What do you mean.?"

She gave a small laugh and smiled. "There's truth to every legend, Yamato."

Tatari-Mokke- A usually calm spirit given life by the souls of young children. It plays with the ghosts of newly-dead children and guides them to judgment. Kitsune- Dangerous spirits who can steal the bodies of living creatures, most commonly young women. They steal bodies in an attempt to seduce older men and drain them of life. There have been stories of such spirits falling in love.