by A. L. Knorr
"No, not kin. Hanta?" he hissed as he pulled back, amazed. A slow, wicked grin crossed his face. "But you are terrified. I can smell your fear. What kind of Hanta are you that you should fear us?"
As he spoke, his fingers dug into the flesh of my shoulders. Something sharp and pointy emerged from the ends of each finger.
I bit off a cry of pain as the needles poked at me.
"What's wrong with you, Hanta?" His voice descended and became multiple voices in one.
The points at the ends of his fingers punctured my skin and the pain of it jolted me like electricity.
I shimmered and phased into a finch. The desire to chirp and scream was nearly overwhelming, but I stayed silent. As my kimono fell to the floor, the arm hole opened just wide enough for me to dart through it and up toward the ceiling. But there was nowhere to land and I fluttered in panicked circles.
Raiden gasped in surprise and then laughed as he looked up. He abruptly stopped laughing when he saw the small open square between the rafters. I flew toward it but at the last moment turned away. I needed that wakizashi. I wouldn’t get another chance.
I fluttered around the room as Raiden craned his head up at me. The room spun and flipped and jumped as I flapped wildly, my brain skittering.
Raiden retrieved his samurai sword, still marked with Fujio's blood. He held it up with both hands. He eyed me and laughed with the voices of many demons.
I had run out of time. One well-placed swing of that sword and he would cleave me in two. Taking on a larger form would put me at greater risk, but I had no choice. I needed to be much stronger than a finch.
Midflight, I phased into an osprey. I screamed down at him and flew straight toward his face. My sudden change caught him by surprise, and the fear in his eyes as he took an abrupt stagger backwards filled me with satisfaction.
He took a panicked swing at me and I barrel-rolled, thankful for my incredibly sharp eyesight and reflexes. I avoided the blade by a hairsbreadth. I shot over his shoulder and went straight for the wakizashi. My talons closed around it and I lifted it from the rack.
Multiple cries of shocked disbelief sounded off behind me. It must have looked to Raiden as though I intended to fight him with a sword, and as a bird. Sounds of confusion from many voices filled the dojo and the voices spoke in some kind of ancient tongue to one another. It was as though the Oni were having a conversation and looking for an explanation for my strange behavior.
My osprey form was too small to carry the sword and the weight of it pulled me down. I twisted awkwardly to the side as the blade swung at me. It bit into the wooden rack just under my right wing. The rack, carrying multiple swords, wobbled and something let go. It tilted onto its side and the swords slid off the rack and clattered to the floor.
I shimmered outward and became an eagle. The sword instantly felt lighter and my powerful wings buoyed me up, but now what? I flapped around the room above Raiden's head, just out of his reach. The dangling rack dislodged from the wall and the whole thing fell down with a crash, Raiden leapt out of its way with a growl of annoyance.
I struggled for space and height. The room wasn't big enough and there were no winds for me to ride, nothing to bear me up. I began to take wide circles, as big as I could make them, but with each rotation I lost height.
Raiden began to laugh again. "What are you going to do now, you stupid creature?" The laughter continued underneath the words. "You want one of our swords? That is what you are going to give your life for? For a moment, we thought a real Hanta had come for us and we were afraid." The backdrop of laughing voices grew louder, even as the speaking voices increased in pitch. "You are no instrument of God. You are no gift from the Æther."
Another circle of the room and I'd be within reach of the razor-sharp blade. The wakizashi was growing heavier, and I felt it slide in my claws. I squeezed the slippery surface tighter, feeling it shift again.
He laughed and lifted his sword. "You are a tragedy."
The words washed over me. I screamed with frustration. I had nothing left to try. Nowhere to go. A roof over my head with a hole too small to escape from, and a host of demons wielding a sword beneath me.
I hefted the sword and closed my talons more firmly around it. With the piercing scream only a raptor is capable of, I used everything in me to shoot towards the wall between two beams. Beak stretched out, wings tucked in, wakizashi dangling from my claws, I hit the wall with all the force and speed I could muster from the small space. The thick paper tore and, nearly dropping the sword, I exploded through to the other side as Raiden’s frustrated screams followed me. I hefted the wakizashi to shift my grip and the beautiful sensation of an updraft filled my wings.
Fresh air swept over me. It filled my lungs with oxygen and my whole body with relief. Below me, the courtyard opened up. Riding the wind like a surfer, I climbed high into the sky over the fortress, screaming my relief toward the moon.
I didn't look down. I didn't look back. I shimmered and pushed outward, doubling the reach of my eagle's wings. The burden of the sword lightened again. At this size, I could carry it forever. I climbed higher on powerful wing strokes. The sound of waves crashing on rocks made me want to weep with relief. I was free. I found a warm current. Letting it lift me, I hung in the air with no effort at all. I rode that current all the way to Tottori.
18
Grateful for the late hour, as I no longer had my black silk, I transformed on my window sill and nearly fell into my small room. The short sword clattered onto the floor.
Naked and trembling with adrenalin, I lay on the hardwood, listening to my heart slow. The wakizashi lay at my feet. I lay in a crescent moon shape, staring at the blue sheath with its pale pattern. I couldn't allow myself to think too hard about what this meant. The hardest part of the task was done, but it wasn't over yet.
After a few minutes of rest, I got up and closed the window. I turned on the light and wrapped myself in a towel from the shelf in the bathroom. Sitting on the small bed, I considered the item which I had almost died to retrieve. I examined the sheath and the handle. It was a work of stunning craftsmanship. Blue, with a mother of pearl pattern of trees down the length of it. The leather wrapping on the handle had been dyed blue long ago, but it had faded to blue-gray with time and from the oils from the hands of its handlers.
I slid the sword from its sheath. The blade had been oiled and well kept. It was sharp and shiny and had been stamped with a small imprint of chrysanthemum blossoms and curling stems near the hilt. I held it pointed upward and gripped it in both hands. The wakizashi was not nearly as intimidating as the longer samurai swords, and other than its beautiful sheath and imprint of flowers, the sword itself seemed somewhat unremarkable. I wondered why it was so important to Daichi.
Now that I was out of danger, exhaustion settled into my bones and I sheathed the sword, stowed it in the safe, and took a long, hot shower. I washed my face repeatedly. Even though the geisha makeup had gone once I'd phased into a bird, it still felt like it was clinging to my skin. I shampooed my hair three times and soaped and scrubbed my body until it was almost raw.
There were several puncture wounds in both of my shoulders from the pins that Raiden had somehow pushed from his fingertips. I soaped them and gritted my teeth as they stung. I shivered at the memory of the winking Oni face, and the tongue that snaked out to lick up the blood splatters on his skin.
I dried myself off and crawled into bed naked, with my wet hair wrapped up in a towel. The last thought I had before losing consciousness was the hope that no one had seen a large golden eagle carrying a sword land on the windowsill of the hotel, and then disappear inside.
* * *
"What do you mean you want me to stay here?" I said into my mobile, hoping that I'd misunderstood Daichi. "I have the sword. Why can't I leave?"
"Wait for me in Tottori," he said. "I will finish up my business here and come to you as soon as possible."
"I thought you wanted me to bring the wakizashi home to y
ou," I said, raking my hand through my tangled hair. I had fallen asleep with it wet and woken up to a mess of knots in the morning. The puncture wounds on my shoulders felt bruised and tender and I winced as I probed them with the pads of my fingers.
"I never said that." He sounded distant, and there was a bit of static on the line that distorted his voice.
I had no right to ask Daichi to explain himself. I didn't even have the ability to do something against his will. I waited, hoping for more, but the line went quiet. Nothing but the sound of muffled static hummed in my ear as I waited for Daichi to give me more information. He didn't.
"How long will you be?" I asked.
"A few days. I will come as soon as I conclude my business here," he repeated. "I will call you as soon as I arrive in Japan. Don't get into trouble. Make yourself of no notice. Soon, you will have your freedom." The static went silent when he hung up.
I sat on my bed for a long time, bemused. Daichi was old. Far older than any human would ever live without a tamashī. As he liked to remind me, he'd been old when I had run into him in the forest that fateful day. My tamashī was keeping him alive in a state of suspended aging, but it didn't give him superpowers, it just gave him longevity and the indentured servitude of a Hanta. The journey wouldn't be easy on him, so why did he want to come to Japan when I could bring the sword to him?
Shrugging, I got up and put on my last set of clothes—a pair of black pants, a gray cotton button-up with short sleeves, and a simple black jacket with a hood. I had nothing more to do but wait for Daichi's arrival.
I no longer had my black silk, so I looked up the name of a tailor to see if I could commission another wrap. Daichi had been brilliant to think of such a thing, I admitted grudgingly. I took my small purse, dropped in my wallet and cell, pulled on my canvas sneakers, and left the hotel. I left the window open just in case.
The day was humid and still, and I soon doffed my jacket and carried it. I half expected to be recognized by some girl who'd been at the fortress the night before, but my fears were irrational. All of the girls would still be there—playing geisha for their yakuza employers. And even if there had been someone in downtown Tottori who had been there last night, the odds that they would recognize me without the geisha costume and makeup were slim.
I wondered what Raiden and his Oni were thinking about the Hanta who had stolen his wakizashi, or if he'd question the other geisha about the girl in the blue kimono with the crane pattern on it. I shoved thoughts of Raiden out of my mind as I walked to the train station. He didn’t deserve to take up any more real estate in my thoughts than he already had. But the niggling idea that I was supposedly powerful enough to rescue Raiden from his possessors never went fully quiet.
I found my way into the shopping district and used my GPS to locate the tailor’s shop. I pushed my way into the tiny store and the subtle smell of textiles and dust came to my nose. A small counter was surrounded by bolts and bolts of fabric stacked in deep shelves on every wall.
The voices of two men could be heard talking through a narrow doorway closed only by a curtain. At the sound of the door, the drawn face of a man appeared. He emerged and stood behind the counter, giving me a small bow.
"How can I help you, miss?" he asked, his words thick with the local Tottori accent. He was missing a few teeth from his lower jaw, and he had dark circles around his eyes. Otherwise, he smiled obligingly.
I returned his small head-bow. "I need a simple black robe made. It needs to be one hundred percent silk. Can you do that?"
"Certainly." He nodded. "Do you have a pattern you'd like me to use?"
I shook my head. "Could you work from a drawing? It is not a complicated design."
"If your drawing is good." He turned and pulled down several bolts of black fabric. Laying them across the counter he said, "These are all silk." He produced a box from beneath the countertop and opened it, displaying several spools of thread.
I fingered the fabrics, choosing the thinnest and lightest one.
"That is beautiful silk from China," he said. "It is very delicate, but also strong."
"The lighter the better." I peered into the box of threads. "The thread needs to be one hundred percent silk, too. Which ones of these are silk?"
"Oh." He paused and tapped his chin thoughtfully with a finger. "One minute."
He disappeared behind the curtain and I heard more murmured voices. He reappeared carrying a smaller wooden box. Putting the other one away, he opened the older looking trunk. He took a pair of spectacles from his pocket and searched the jumble of half-empty spools of thread. He retrieved one and perched the glasses on the end of his nose to read the tiny words on the bottom of the spool. "Yes. One hundred percent silk," he said, and handed it to me.
I held it in the light. "Perfect."
He nodded and put the remaining fabrics and spools of thread aside. He rolled open the bolt I had chosen and pulled a notebook out and lay it on top. "For the design," he said, handing me a pencil. He patted his chest pocket. "Where did I put my tape measure—"
I began to draw the simple robe, including the pocket and the little slippers. The man disappeared again and reappeared with a soft, flexible tape. He peered at my drawing and nodded, satisfied. "Very simple. I have made something similar before," he said, "only longer. I've not done these before." He pointed to the slippers. "You need these done in silk as well?"
"Yes, one hundred percent."
He frowned. "They will not last."
"That's okay," I said. “They don’t need to—”
I was interrupted when a second man appeared from behind the curtain to watch us talk. My mind skipped a cog when I saw the edges of a tattoo peeking out from under his collar. He was broader and younger than the tailor. He didn't say anything, just watched me through uninterested eyes.
"Um," I scrambled for my train of thought, "the slippers don't need to be sturdy, either. They are mostly for ceremonial purposes." I cleared my throat nervously.
"All right," the tailor said, "if that's what you want." He gestured to a low stool against the wall behind the front entrance. "Step up here, please, and I'll take your measurements. It is for you, I presume?"
I nodded. I stepped up and held my arms out patiently while he measured me, jotting everything down in his notebook. I tried hard not to let the other man's eyes unnerve me, but after the events of the night before, it wasn't easy. Who was this fellow, and why was he just watching the tailor work? Was he yakuza, or was the ink barely visible at the edge of his collar just a regular tattoo?
"How much time do you need?" I asked as the tailor finished my measurements.
"A week should do it," he said.
My heart sank as I stepped down from the stool. "There is no way it could be done faster?" If Daichi happened to arrive tomorrow or the next day, I didn't want to have to be in Tottori any longer than was necessary.
He frowned. "It is an emergency?"
"I would pay a little extra to have it in a few days," I said.
The younger man crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers were adorned with many rings. It wasn't the rings that made my heart stop. He was missing the ends of both of his pinkie fingers. He was yakuza. I comforted myself by thinking that if he knew Raiden, he wouldn't be here, he would be at the fortress with the rest of his brothers. He must be from a different group.
"Very well," the tailor said. "I have access to a few seamstresses. But any sooner than four days is impossible."
I nodded. "Thank you."
He took my cell number and the address of my hotel in case he had questions, and I gave him a down payment of half.
The younger man watched the entire transaction, never taking his eyes off me. I had sweated through my shirt by the time we concluded our business. I left the shop in a hurry.
19
I took the train to Furano and stepped off onto the streets of a town I no longer recognized, the town of my youth. Even the shape of the earth under the tow
n had changed. What hadn't changed was the smell of the sea air and the humidity that softened my skin and made my hair feel cool and damp.
I walked the sidewalk of the main street, taking in buildings and homes that had been erected after I'd left. People bustled past me, talking on cell phones, carrying bags and backpacks, all of them walking somewhere with purpose.
My childhood home had been beyond the end of a street that had backed onto a forest, and beyond that, the sea. Multiple trails had led from our yard into the woods. Aimi and I had been able to take our pick. Up to the cliffs, down to the ocean, into the woods, toward the gorge. But now?
I walked slowly, my eyes scanning for some sign of my previous home. There was no indication that my family had ever lived here. Narrow bungalows and apartment buildings, one after the other with a mere few feet between them, spread out before me as far as I could see.
I wandered off the sidewalk and toward a park. It was the first green space I had seen and it bordered a soccer field. Kids kicked a ball around on the field in a chaotic match. More children watched from the stands or played on the swings and playground equipment. I wandered to the stands and took a seat on the warm wooden bench.
I was still watching the kids play when an enormous shadow passed overhead. It was so large I looked up, expecting a low-flying zeppelin. It was too dark and its edges too abrupt to be a cloud. It was also fast-moving. But there was nothing in the sky. My gaze snapped back to the soccer field where the dark shape was still visible. My eyes narrowed and I stood up in the stands. I got up and climbed to the highest seat. None of the kids I passed seemed to have noticed anything strange. I squinted at the shadow as it moved over the field.
My breath caught in my throat. It was the shape of a bird. I looked up again but there was no bird to be seen. All of the hair on my forearms and scalp stood at attention. The shape swept across the green, the span of its wings now visible to me. My jaw went slack. The wingspan covered the entire soccer field, the tips falling across houses and treetops that lined the borders on either side of the park. It glided on until it was out of sight.
