by Wen Spencer
At least Sato and Iwanaga were at the same point as they were.
“Go home and tell your goddess that her sister is going to destroy the world.”
“She knows! She says nothing in the world lasts forever, not even the world itself.”
Nikki wanted to scream in frustration and anger. This wasn’t helping Leo! With the spear still lost, he was all she could think about and yet she wasn’t getting any closer to him. She wanted to know he was okay, that she hadn’t killed him with neglect.
“We should kill her,” Atsumori said.
“No!” Nikki snapped.
“She will tell them . . .”
“That we know what they’re doing. Yes, yes, but they’re already looking for us.”
“That we are in Kyoto on Shijo-dori,” Atsumori finished. “Tanuki can track with their noses, and they cannot be that far away. We would have to fight or flee the city.”
A sword fight in this jostling crowd of people? And if the tanuki had guns again?
“And you can’t take her over?” Nikki asked just to be sure.
Atsumori was silent a moment before answering. “I cannot take her over without her consent, but I believe I can make her forget this conversation, that she ever saw us.”
“Will it hurt her?”
“Not as much as beheading her.”
Point taken.
Nikki stood in the shadowed courtyard with the teenage girl sobbing at her feet. How did it all come to this? She didn’t want to hurt this girl. Their choices were “bad” and “worse.”
“Make her forget,” Nikki whispered.
It started to rain gently, as if the sky were weeping along with Umeko.
Atsumori took the girl’s head in their hands, tipped it back, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. She smelled faintly of flowers. She was trembling within their hold, tears slipping hotly over their fingers. Nikki closed her eyes, not wanting to see Umeko’s fear. She felt her lips touch the shrine maiden’s feverish dry skin.
Umeko jerked and gave a quiet high whine. Nikki whimpered in sympathy. The trembling became shaking. And then the girl gasped—more from surprise than pain—and went limp.
They eased her onto the ground. Atsumori tried to turn away, but Nikki forced them to stay and check her pulse. It beat strong at the column of her neck.
“She will awake momentarily,” Atsumori whispered. “We must be away quickly.”
She found Miriam and Pixii at Lawson’s. She was trying to keep her face neutral, but they both hugged her tight without a word.
“We need to get away from here, now,” she said.
They didn’t ask questions. They nodded and they went.
33
Naginata Hoko
A mile down Shijo-dori, across the shallow Gion River, and in the heart of Kyoto center, they found the Naginata Hoko. It sat at the intersection of Shijo-dori and Karasuma-dori, a few blocks from where the parade would officially start in the morning. It was a three-story-tall wooden cart. The black wooden wheels alone were taller than Nikki. Painted bright red, it was hung with rich colorful tapestries showing kirin galloping through clouds. Tucked up under a peaked roof, a dozen musicians clad in white and blue yukatas perched on the edge of the cart, their backs to the crowd. They were playing chimes along with drums and a shrill flute. There were ribbons attached to their instruments that trailed down over the sides of the float to large bells and brilliant-colored tassels that jumped and leaped like fish on a line with every bright chime of their instruments.
A sixty-foot-tall halberd towered straight up from the roof into the dark night.
They stood staring at it as the crowd moved around them.
“It’s not the real one,” Miriam said.
“Nope, it’s just a big old pole,” Pixii said. “Right?”
Still they turned to Nikki, or more accurately, to Atsumori, for confirmation. “It is merely a decoration.”
“Thank God,” Nikki breathed. There would be no way they could move it. None of the photos that Nikki had seen had captured the size of the float. In order to get the entire spear into the frame, a photographer would have to be nearly a city block away. Up close, the scale was intimidating. “Is the real one that big?”
“I do not believe so.” Atsumori didn’t sound sure. “Kusanagi was used by . . .”
Three pairs of hands slapped over Nikki’s mouth. “Omph!”
Cautiously all the hands retreated as Miriam and Pixii promised more violence with their eyes.
“Code speak!” Pixii growled.
Atsumori huffed slightly. “He who shall not be mentioned and was not going to be mentioned used Kusanagi as a sword. As did several other less heavenly figures. It is part of the imperial regalia, and there has never been any mention of it being outlandishly large.”
“Point taken,” Pixii said.
“Tanuki. A pack, I think.” Miriam caught their arms and started them down Shijo-dori toward the other floats staged for the morning parade. Each was lit by a pair of metal frameworks supporting seven strands of large paper lanterns. Everything was discreetly sheeted with plastic to protect against the rain.
As they moved down the street, Nikki realized that a set of stairs and a walkway had been built beside the three-story float so festivalgoers could tour it. Some of the tanuki were already climbing the steps to search the Naginata Hoko from the inside.
“Are you sure it’s not there?” Nikki asked.
“I am sure,” Atsumori said.
There were thirty-two floats in all, spread throughout the heart of Kyoto like little keyholes into the past. Nikki had been in Kyoto the week before to see them being constructed from scratch. At that time they’d been nothing but big frames of lumber and coils of jute rope as no nails were used in building the floats. In a week, they’d been transformed. Elaborately carved and gilded pieces had been added to the framework. Rich silk tapestries hid all the rough wood. Paint, statues, small trees, and a multitude of rich finishing touches had changed them in ways she hadn’t imagined, despite her research.
Somehow she’d missed the existence of Fune Hoko, a massive wooden boat on wheels. Its bow had a golden phoenix larger than her with wings outspread. There was a tree on the roof of the Minami-kannon Yama that looked twenty feet tall. Houka Hoko had a wind-up doll that could dance. Kamakiri Yama had a giant praying mantis that moved its legs and spread its wings. There were dozens of larger-than-life statues, some of them five or six hundred years old.
The floats all had aged wooden boards explaining the story behind the float. Neither Nikki nor Pixii could read the text, which left the translating to Miriam. The sign for Kakkyo Yama had Miriam shaking her head.
“What?”
“Oh, what I’ve always liked about the Japanese is that they acknowledge it’s all real. In the United States, if I talked about a ghost roaming the dormitory, everyone would think I was making it up or I was crazy or something. I was afraid to even tell you. Here, it’s like they’ve never closed their ears to the truth and refused to listen to the people who could see what’s really there.”
Miriam’s obsession with Japan suddenly made sense. Nikki wondered if it was the same reason Pixii was in the country. If so, then all three of them had a secret sisterhood of escaping to Japan so they wouldn’t be labeled as crazy.
“Why are you shaking your head?” Nikki said.
“This float tells the story of Kakkyo. He was too poor to feed his mother in a manner that he wished, so he and his wife decided that they would bury their three-year-old alive in the mountains. That way they could afford to take care of his mother. Their reasoning? They could always have another child, but they only had one mother. Luckily, as they dug a hole, they found a golden axe.”
“Oh my God.” The float had two statues, one man in a dark kimono and the other a smiling child. Did the scene show the two before or after daddy tried to kill the little boy?
“It makes me wonder,” Miriam said. “Is it really
a good thing to glorify magic like that? Take your kid into the mountains, dig a hole, bury them alive—you might get a rich reward.”
“The danger of belief,” Pixii said.
Miriam nodded. “Of all the countless stories to tell, why pick this one?”
“Someone loved their mother more than I do,” Nikki said.
Each float had stalls run by the neighborhood that sponsored it. They were selling good luck charms and talismans wrapped in bamboo leaves. The Housho Yama were selling love knot charms. Nikki bought one shyly despite being teased by Miriam and Pixii teasing her.
They crossed and re-crossed Shijo-dori, weaving through thick crowds, to hit all the floats. It felt like they’d walked for miles as the rain sprinkled on them lightly. Judging by the density of the crowds and the distance they walked, there had to be hundreds of thousands of people in Kyoto, all celebrating the event. Eventually the rain started to come down more heavily.
They stopped under an overhang, soaked to the skin. Pixii surprised Nikki by pressing a hand to her neck and then tilting her head down to look her in the eye.
“He’s all that’s keeping you upright, isn’t he?”
“Huh?” Nikki stared at her, not understanding.
“She was shot a few days ago,” Atsumori said.
“Oh, shut up.” Nikki knew the reaction that was going to get.
“Shot!” Pixii made a noise of disgust. “And you didn’t tell us about that part? That’s it. We’re getting someplace to stay for a few hours.”
Nikki shook her head at the possibility. “The parade is tomorrow morning. Every place sold out months ago. And if we use our passports to check in, Shiva and Sato will know where we are.”
Miriam laughed. “If you’ve forgotten to add your mother to that list, then you’re really out of it.” She held out her hand to Pixii. “Let me borrow your phone. I don’t call myself SexyNinja for nothing. I am Master of Google Fu! If it’s out there, I will find it!”
“I’ll check in with my gaijin card,” Pixii said. “They don’t need to know you’re in the room. Find a big place with lots of people coming and going—not a small family run place.”
“Bingo!” Miriam said after several minutes of muttering. “There’s one opening at Hotel Granvia Kyoto on the top floor. Someone must have cancelled. We’ll have to pay through the nose, but it will be worth it.”
The name sounded familiar. “That’s at the train station?”
“Yes, it will be perfect. Lots of coming and going.”
34
Third Eye
Pixii checked in. Miriam and Nikki waited for a crowd of returning festivalgoers to come hurrying in from the rain and walked through the lobby with them. Pixii met them on the elevator, squeezing in. She used the room key to get them to their floor after the other guests had gotten off at lower levels.
Nikki whimpered as she pulled her notebook from her purse and discovered it was waterlogged, the ink smearing on the page. “I want to write about Leo. Make sure he’s okay. Try to find him.”
“There should be paper in the room,” Miriam said.
“I’ll run out and find another notebook,” Pixii promised.
The room was a blur as they hunted for the hotel stationery. It was a mere two sheets and two envelopes of creamy, amazingly rich paper. She sat at the desk and lost herself to the writing.
The goods news was that he wasn’t dead yet, which meant Shiva wasn’t sure what was going on. Williams had gone off to investigate and hadn’t come back. Somewhere much chaos had to be ensuing, but he wasn’t sure what it meant for him except he had gone a day now without water. Surely this time they didn’t mean to kill him through just locking him up and walking away. He didn’t know which stronghold he was in, but normally they were all manned well enough that prisoners didn’t die of neglect. Beheading? Silver bullet? Stake through the heart? Cremated alive? Yes. Dehydration? No.
What was happening in the levels upstairs? Why hadn’t been anyone been down to check on him? Leo tested the bars. The cage had been built with someone like him in mind. He couldn’t break free. Growling with frustration and anger, he settled in to wait and pray that Williams would actually come back with better news.
Nikki clicked her pen, re-reading what she had written, trying to find clues that weren’t on the page. By his wristwatch, it was tomorrow, either nine in the morning or nine at night. He was in a bare cell without a toilet. There was a three-inch drain cemented into the floor; he’d been forced to piss like an animal. He had no access to water. The door was electronically locked, requiring a key card to open. His cell was lit by a lone spotlight, the fixture outside the cage, beyond his reach. His mouth was dry as sandpaper, and his eyes were gritty from dehydration, but he was ignoring the symptoms.
Miriam came to read over her shoulder. “You’re getting more control.”
“What?”
“When we first met, you’d scribble for hours before you could stop. And the prose would be all over the map, stuff about the how the steel of the axe head had been forged, about the tree that grew in the woods before it was made into an axe handle, and oh yes, how the axe itself is now buried in the head of the main character. This is light years beyond what you could do then, but it’s even more controlled than two months ago.”
Nikki could laugh about that now. When they first met, writing was something her fingers did of their own accord, flooding her mind with insanity. All the doctors had focused on the fingers moving. Miriam was the first to help her focus on the story, weed out the insanity and leave something more than just disobedient digits. To find the truth in the madness.
“Knowing what you’re doing,” Miriam said. “It helps, doesn’t it?”
Nikki laughed slightly. “Oh, it didn’t seem like it at first—with dead bodies, gods and yokai popping up everywhere—but since then, yeah, actually. The world is more off-kilter than I suspected, but I’m not crazy. I’m better than not crazy. I’m not helpless. I can see through time and space and know the truth.” She spread her hand on the paper. If she focused, she could still sense the rhythm of Leo’s angry breathing. “And somehow, I will figure out how to save Leo. Save everyone.”
“Cool.” Miriam grinned. “Do you know what would be really great? If you could figure out how to do it without writing everything down.”
Nikki squinted. Could she? Certainly there had been moments in Leo’s car when she didn’t have to be moving her pen to see the characters moving across the distant stage. Could she wean herself from needing the pen and paper? Could she stop moving her fingers completely? After a lifetime of fighting it, was the answer to embrace the ability totally?
Miriam hugged her tight. “Why don’t you take a hot shower and a nap? You’re not going to be able to save anyone if you collapse.”
There was a flash of lightning outside, lighting the night. She looked out the rain-smeared window. Leo was safe for now. A few hours rest and then what? She needed to fix this somehow. If she didn’t upset Iwanaga and Sato’s plans, her novel would barrel on, taking out every single person she had written about and thousands, if not millions, of others. Finding the spear first might derail Iwanaga, but she didn’t know what she would do with the spear if they found it.
Proving that her friends truly knew her, Pixii returned with ten Campus notebooks, two pens of every color, Post-In Notes in a dozen different colors, four Cokes, and a fistful of Snickers bars. Nikki woke to find them spread across the foot of her bed like Christmas presents. She fingered the trappings of her hypergraphia with mixed emotions. A divine gift, Atsumori called her ability. It seemed to imply that she was channeling the power of the gods. It felt good to know she wasn’t insane. That she wasn’t helpless.
Yet she wasn’t even sure where to start.
“Okay, it’s a novel. I’ve been doing this all my life. Writer’s Block 101: re-visualize the storyline. Post-It notes or colored pens?” Taking a long swig of Coke, she considered her weapons. “Post-It not
es!” She tore open a Snickers and bit savagely down on the candy bar. “Plain yellow only!” She drained the first Coke and picked up a red pen. “Time to channel the divine!”
She quickly wrote the name of a character on the top sheet of the pad, pulled it free, and stuck it to the wall. Gregory—dead. Misa—dead. Harada—dead. Kenichi—fleeing to Tokyo, hopefully—no, he was safely in Tokyo. Simon—safe but exhausted. Dozens of names—most of them wrong, but all of them representing real people.
When she was done, she studied the wall, looking for some hidden connections, some clue where the story was going, how to change it, how to stop it.
It still didn’t help.
She paced back and forth, glaring at the pieces of paper. She had forgotten Leo. Reluctantly she added him, and then herself, and then even more reluctantly Miriam.
“And me.” Atsumori’s voice made her jump.
She swore softly and added him to the wall. “Wait,” she whispered. She was missing a lot of characters.
Pixii. Chevalier. Sato. Ananth. Williams. Umeko.
She went to add Yamauchi and realized she was running low on plain yellow and used dark blue and black pen for the mountain god. And then she swapped Atsumori to blue too. Inari. Iwanaga. Konohana Sukuya—mistress of the doomed shrine maidens. He that couldn’t be mentioned.
She paused a moment and started to re-sort the yellow notes around the blues. She was with Atsumori. Pixii with Yamauchi. Simon? With Yamauchi. Sato with Iwanaga. Umeko joining together the two goddess sisters.
The twins with Susanoo . . .
She stopped and then slowly backed away from the wall.
She’d put the twins and Susanoo at the center of a hurricane. Everything spiraled in toward the two little boys.
“Oh shit.”
She supposed it could only be expected; the twins had both been in the running to be chosen as the celestial child. In a few hours Haru would cut a rope that stretched across Shijo-dori to start the parade and then ride in the Naginata Hoko. The thousand-year-old float was the center of the entire celebration, and it was believed that it would cleanse the country of evil spirits. The tanuki had already checked it out at least once. The girls had narrowly missed being seen by the pack that obviously crawled all over the float looking for . . .
