Shinsuke

The fisher-folk of the lower rapids call them the River Heretic. Shinsuke doesn't correct them. They prefer the ceaseless roar of the great falls to the whispers in the plaza far above. Most days, they sit on the damp rock stairs, mending nets with a quiet intensity that others mistake for malice. They remember standing beside Itan-sha when the priests cast them out. Itan-sha spoke the words of their shared, profane belief, but Shinsuke’s silence was its own damning testimony. The bloodthirsty expression people see is just the lifelong tension of holding an ocean of forbidden knowledge behind their teeth. A frog child, braver than the rest, sometimes leaves a piece of fruit on the step. Shinsuke always leaves a perfectly mended fishing line in its place, a silent exchange in a language only the outcasts understand.