by A. L. Knorr
My jaw dropped. "Where did they take him?"
"It sounds horrible, and it was, but you have to know that Hiroki was eighteen by that time and had been raised with a yakuza father. He wanted into the organization, to follow his father's footsteps. I did not do a sufficient job in warning him of the realities of the yakuza life. He had romanticized the notion, and I had done nothing to disabuse him of it." He rubbed a palm down his face and tugged on his short beard. "I failed him. In my torpor and possession, I could not do what needed to be done while he was young."
"You're saying that even though they took him by force, Hiroki actually wanted to join them?"
He nodded. "His mother would never have allowed it. Their relationship was strained because of this. Eventually, he would have joined them. I am certain of it. There comes point when a parent cannot direct a son's choices anymore. You've had your chance to parent your child and you don't get to do anything over." Inaba's eyes were filled with a heavy sadness.
"Could you not talk to him?"
His brown eyes found mine. "Do you think that I didn't try? My son made his choice. He no longer considers me a father. Turning my back on the yakuza has made me a coward in his eyes."
"He is still with them?"
"Far as I know, yes."
"And your wife?"
"She left me. She blamed me for Hiroki's choice, and she wasn't wrong. I can accept every accusation she would fling my way and would be guilty still of more than that."
The room lapsed into silence. I didn't know what to say. My own captivity, though it was everlasting, seemed to pale in comparison to the suffering and loss Inaba had endured.
Inaba's eyes brightened a fraction. "Not too long afterward, my son and wife were gone and I was a poor bachelor looking for honest work. I had submitted my application to a textile mill and it had not gone well." He held up his right hand again. "This betrays me wherever I go." He put his hand down. "I was sitting in a park not far from the mill. It was when the cherry trees were in blossom. I love that time of year. A young man with long black hair sat down beside me. I remember thinking he was the tallest and broadest man I had ever seen, with long powerful limbs. At first I thought he might be yakuza from another city, perhaps in Kyoto on business. I glanced at his hands, but he wasn't missing any fingers, and his sleeves were rolled up and there were no tattoos on his forearms. So I stayed on the bench and relaxed. Then a breeze came and blew the scent of this stranger toward me." Inaba shook his head and his eyes grew soft with affection. "That smell." He focused on me. "Your smell. It took me right back to the moment on the boat before I lost consciousness. I turned to look at him but he spoke first. He said, ‘You are still in danger.’"
"He had been watching you?"
"I guess so. I thanked him for killing the Oni but he laughed and said, ‘They cannot be killed. Or if they can, it is not my job to do it. It is my job to unseat them. You will make my job a lot more difficult if you remain marked the way you are.’"
"He was worried that you would become possessed again?"
"Yes. It was then that I realized how I had welcomed the attentions of the Oni. I began the flaying process immediately after that encounter."
"Did you ever see him again after that?"
Inaba shook his head. "No. There were times when the smell of ozone would come and go. I would look for him, but I never saw him again. My final flaying took place over twelve years ago now, and the first time I have smelled that scent since then was today, when you came into the museum. So you can understand now how I might feel like I owe your kind some sort of help. Whatever little I could offer."
A longing spiked through me to talk with this Hanta. "He never told you his name? Gave you a way to get in touch with him?"
Inaba gave a hearty belly laugh. "Why would he do that? You are creatures of the Æther, not doctors or dentists. If I could have him for dinner every week to have that scent around me and to ply him with questions, I would. He has more important things to do.”
Yes, and so did I. I let Inaba's story sink in as I sipped the hot tea. This one conversation had done more to shed light on my purpose than any other I'd had, even the ones I'd had with Aimi so long ago. The desire to get the short sword and regain my freedom flared hot within me. The Hanta who had helped Inaba had changed his whole life. It was too late to save his son and his marriage, but who knew what horrible things Inaba would have wreaked on Kyoto had the Oni been allowed to continue using him.
"Which brings us to you." Inaba's voice broke through my thoughts. "You wanted to see the swords that were on display in the museum?"
"Just one wakizashi. It has a blue handle and sheath, with a pattern of trees on it."
He tugged on his beard. "I have seen it. A beautiful piece of work. Why do you need to see it?"
"I don't need to see it." I hesitated before continuing, but Inaba had given me no reason not to trust him. "I need to steal it."
Inaba's eyes grew wide. "That seems a strange thing for Hanta to do."
"I can't explain, but it’s very important. Without that sword—" The words froze up in my throat. My lips kept moving but no sound came out. The commands I was under silenced my voice.
Inaba shook his head. "I don't know what kind of trouble you are in, but I would advise you to find some other way to change your circumstance. A way that doesn’t include that wakizashi. You may be immortal, but you can still be killed, am I right?"
"I think so," I said. My voice had returned but it was breathy.
"Then forget the wakizashi, please." His eyes turned pleading. "That sword belongs to a very dangerous collector. Taking it from him would be suicide.”
"Whose is it?"
"Our earlier conversation will give you some idea of his notoriety. The sword belongs to Raiden Yukimura, the reigning yakuza father."
The small space grew heavy with silence. My heart thudded in the cavern of my chest. This was far worse than stealing an artifact from a museum. I could be killed in pursuit of it. I frowned, and another thought materialized.
I would rather die than face another hundred years as a slave.
"Raiden took the sword because he wanted it for the yakuza gathering on Tai Island. There are always ceremonial sword fights during these events. The yakuza enjoy sparring with one another, Raiden above all. He is impulsive and subject to changes in mood. He might have been feeling generous when he agreed to loan it to the museum, but apparently he changed his mind and decided he wanted it back. The museum would not dare protest. I warned the supervisor that putting the sword in their promotional materials was courting disappointment."
A horrifying thought came to mind. "Were you there when Raiden came to take it from the museum?"
"I was. But don't be concerned, I am of no consequence to Raiden anymore. He has my son, he destroyed my marriage. I am subdued. He didn't even look at me."
I chewed my lip, visualizing the fortress on the distant island. I never thought I would see the places of my childhood ever again. Instead, it seemed I was destined to return, for the sake of my freedom.
"Have I dissuaded you?" came Inaba's voice, quiet and hopeful.
Bring me this wakizashi and I will give you your freedom.
"No," I said.
Inaba frowned and then leaned forward. "Is getting this wakizashi important enough to risk your life for it?"
"Yes," I said stoutly. "This task is the only thing that matters right now."
Inaba sighed. "I hope that your Hanta abilities can provide you with enough stealth and wits to carry out such a suicide mission. It might not be difficult to find a way in, for you are a beautiful young woman. Beautiful women are a fixture at yakuza events. The difficulty lies in getting out. Especially in possession of one of Raiden's prized artifacts." Inaba's gaze held mine and the warning in it brought cold into my bones. "You will need more than luck to succeed. That fortress will be crawling with yakuza."
13
The train to Tottori wound swi
ftly and smoothly through the scenic mountain ranges of the Chugoku region. City and town went by in a blur, all nestled in vibrant green trees, along valley floors and staggered along the mountainsides. Excitement buzzed in my stomach like bees as I got closer and closer to my old home. The Tottori prefecture was the least populous region in Japan even to the present day. Rich with natural parks, famous for waterfowl and the largest sand dunes in the country, the Chugoku region was nearly intoxicating in its beauty.
I stepped off the train at dusk, inhaling the air of my childhood. It had the same sweet and salty tang, the same cloying humidity. Tears pricked my eyes and I closed them. The lined faces of my parents flashed in my memory, my mother's soft brown eyes, my father’s high strong cheekbones. Toshi's image materialized, still young and beautiful. Had he had a good life? Had he married Aimi after I disappeared? If he had, had she been good to him? The knife of remorse and anger at what had been stolen from me sliced through my heart and forced me to take a seat on a bench outside the train station. Bitterness filled my mouth at the thought of Aimi's betrayal. Where was she now?
My legs trembled as I left the train station for the main street and the hotel room I had booked from Kyoto. Later, once the wakizashi was in my possession and my task was finished, I would go to the Susumu family grave. If I didn't die before then.
My room was spare but clean, with a single bed and a tiny bathroom. I locked the door and inspected my meager surroundings, looking for the most important feature of the room—the safe. I had spent the better part of a morning calling hotels to confirm that each room had a safe. It took over a dozen calls to find one with a safe large enough for a short sword.
I stripped off my clothes and underwear, folded them and put them in a drawer. I put my purse into the safe along with my cell phone, ID, and wallet. I took my hair out of its clip and shook it out. I took my black silk robe, folded it into a collar and knotted it around my throat.
I opened the single window and the shutters. Fresh evening air blew over my naked form. I took a deep breath, visualizing Tai Island. I didn't need a map to know where I was going. For many years I had thought of Tai Island as my island. I lifted my arms and let the feeling of phasing sweep over me as I transformed into a strix, a small owl. I hopped up on the windowsill, scrabbling on the smooth wood with my black talons, my wings out for balance. I'd have to leave the window open because I couldn't shut it in this form.
Getting the edge of the sill under my claws for leverage, I opened my wings fully and took off silently into the evening.
The world looked completely different through my owl eyes. The form I had chosen was equipped with silent wings and binocular vision, especially powerful at night. I could hear a mouse stepping on a twig over eighty feet away. My strix face was shaped like a satellite dish, capturing everything going on in front of me.
I headed straight for the ocean and then south along the coast, riding the air currents coming off the water. The sounds of rodents, other birds, and even insects became the backdrop as I focused in on human noises—voices carrying over the water, the sound of a chain rattling along a wooden dock, and the stacking of plastic bins as fishermen cleaned up a boathouse. The scent of smoke from their cigarettes didn't bother me, since I had no sense of smell, but for a brief moment it assaulted my lungs. I gave a small owl cough and flew higher.
Tai Island soon appeared as a jagged shape on the horizon. I caught an updraft as I tilted away from land and flew across the water. I could take the shape of a bird, but I was unencumbered by a bird's instinct; instead my mind toiled over the task ahead of me. I had no real ability to plan my break-in and break-out until I knew what I was dealing with. As long as I was in winged form, I was safe. The danger would come when I had to become human again.
The island zoomed by underneath me. It was a sharp contrast of rocks and trees, bare slabs of gray rock dotted with green moss. The sounds of voices and boat engines became distinct. The Tai Island fortress appeared as I crested a bluff. If I had been in human form, my jaw might have dropped. The fortress was enormous and striking. Half built upon a rocky promontory jutting out into the sea, the outer walls seemed to rise up into the sky forever. Surrounded by a rectangular courtyard stood the heart of the fortress and the most spectacular tiered structure. The corners of each roof winged up slightly in classic pagoda style. Built by the Imperial Japanese Army, behind the outer walls there would lay a labyrinth of interconnected underground passages and trenches connecting every above ground emplacement and every below ground bunker.
Some buildings and sections of wall were crumbling and overgrown with vines and moss. Only half of the fortress was lit, the half closest to the ocean and the center fort. Three of the six floors of the interior castle were illuminated.
I winged over the courtyard and settled in the branches of a tree. Sitting still, with only my head rotating on its axis, I took in the full view of the courtyard, the open gate leading to a dock, and the front steps of the castle. The ground was steep and uneven, leading down to the sea. At the lowest point was an open gate where new arrivals would enter. The sound of a boat could be heard through the open gate and voices on the other side of it.
A new wave of yakuza poured in through the gate. Men in simple clothing and demure postures appeared from the castle and descended the steep crumbling steps to meet the arrivals. Luggage, both square and strangely-shaped, was ferried into smaller buildings. It was easy to separate the servants from the masters during all this activity.
Men and women, dressed mostly in business attire, strolled the overgrown and unmanicured gardens in the courtyard. They smoked and talked in small groups. My owl eyes easily picked out many hands with missing fingers.
As a bird, my sense of time was tied to the movement of the sun and moon, and the changing light throughout the day. It was easy for me to tell how the hours were passing within any one day, but pile day upon day and I easily lost track of time. I sat in that tree until the sky grew black and the human shapes all drifted inside the castle. More lights flickered on and the sound of talk seeping from the windows thickened.
I flew to the eaves of the first-floor roof and landed, changing into a pigeon. I hopped along the eaves, soundless, my little head darting and listening. I found an open window and dropped onto the sill, peeking inside.
The interior of this room was dark and heavy with wooden beams and timbers. People sat in small groups, talking. A wall to the rear of the room slid sideways and a woman in full geisha dress entered, carrying a tray of drinks. She floated through the room like a ghost, as though simply standing on an invisible conveyer belt.
The sound of women's voices talking softly behind me had me flitting back up the eaves and taking the shape of the strix again. At least a dozen women, all petite, slender, and attractive, were being escorted from the gate to a building across the courtyard, separate from the castle fortress. I watched them walk, heads tilted slightly down, glossy black hair reflecting the moonlight, floating along on tiny steps. More geisha, I guessed.
Women's voices directed my attention back to the gate, these ones louder, and with more laughter. Half a dozen women followed the first group, but these without the mincing steps. All of them were blondes. They went to yet another building.
I watched as the last of the geisha disappeared into a small castle structure of their own, followed by a couple of older-looking women. My opportunity had presented itself.
At the sound of another boat engine, I flew over the courtyard and past the outer wall. There, I perched in a tree where I could see the dock. The lights of two more motor boats were drawing close to the dock where men stood waiting to help unload the boats.
I watched as another dozen women were helped onto the dock. The same older lady I had seen leading the first batch of girls appeared from the fortress entrance and picked her way down the dark steps and to the trees. I could see easily that she was unsure of her footing from the lack of light. The steps were uneven, and p
robably slick with moisture. She wore a black suit jacket and slacks and had a small clipboard in her hand and a pen between her teeth.
She finally made it to the water’s edge, stepped up to the dock, and clapped her hands like she was herding schoolchildren, not grown women. The ladies gathered close and I could hear the madam taking a kind of roll call. All of the women carried purses, but only some of the women were carrying larger bags. Costumes, I presumed.
Satisfied that her girls were accounted for, the madam led them off the dock and up the stone steps.
Two possibilities raced through my mind. I could change now in the privacy of the bushes and trail behind the last girl, hoping that no one noticed in the dark, or find a way inside the fortress as a bird and change then. I didn't know what awaited me once I was inside, so this opportunity seemed as good as any.
I flew into the bushes near the walkway, dumped my black silk onto the earth, and phased. Twigs poked and scratched me everywhere as I scrambled to undo the knot in my robe. I pulled on my thin covering and the silk slippers and crawled closer to the stairs where I could see feet taking the steps up and heard the chatter of multiple female voices. My heart hammered in my chest so hard I felt breathless. As the last pair of legs passed, I glanced at the boat dock and saw the dock men chatting with the drivers and paying no attention. Quick as I dared, I slipped out from the bushes and silently fell in line behind the last girl. Fighting to keep control of my breathing, I followed the crew, feeling like any moment a hand was going to clamp down on my shoulder and single me out. But the madam was far ahead, and the girls were so busy chattering that no one seemed to notice the small girl in the black silk robe and slippers.
Heart pounding, I marched through the courtyard and up the steps of one of the fortress buildings.
14
"We are falling behind schedule," snapped the madam, clapping her hands sharply together. For a moment, I was reminded of my mother, clapping her hands to move Aimi and me along whenever we dawdled. I found myself ushered down a hallway and into a room full of steam and lined with showerheads. The tile floors tilted toward a drain and soapy water swirled and gurgled as it disappeared into the floor. Robes were hung on pegs just inside the door, and reluctantly, I took off my black silk and hung it up. My body was immediately damp.
