by Dave Ferraro
“No, please,” Yumiko protested. “You’ve piqued my interest.”
“See what you’ve started, now?” Watanabe scowled at Mr. Arai.
Mr. Arai smirked, but didn’t reply.
“The fog is thickening,” Yumiko observed, her eyes once more drawn out to sea, where a large wall of white cloud had appeared out of the darkness.
Even Mr. Watanabe gave pause at the sight, and withdrew his cigar from his mouth to peer at it. “Yes, it is,” he said, softly. He glanced at the helmsman. “Mr. Arai, please keep Miss Sato entertained for a moment.”
Mr. Arai nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The captain hesitated on his way down the stairs and looked back over his shoulder at them. “And don’t scare her with any more of your superstitious nonsense.”
“Yes, sir,” Arai repeated, hiding a smile.
When Mr. Watanabe had descended the stairs, Yumiko turned to Mr. Arai. “I didn’t see anybody at the helm earlier.”
“Yeah. That’s because it was on autopilot.”
“And why isn’t that the case now?”
Mr. Arai looked sheepish. “Part of the machine seems to have disappeared.”
“It’s gone missing?” Yumiko tinged her voice with alarm.
“Oh, there’s no need to worry. We still have control of the ship. That’s why I’m up here now. To navigate and make sure that you reach Hachijo Island in plenty of time.”
“That’s a relief. Thank you for your dedication.”
Mr. Arai beamed.
Yumiko looked ahead to see something dark rise within the wall of fog. A loud creaking split the air, as if something in the fog was settling.
Mr. Arai licked his lips nervously, and blinked ahead at the fog. Yumiko could see that he was tense, and turned curiously back to the fog as the darkness within took shape. It looked like…a ship. And then the shape broke through the veil of fog, and indeed, it was a clipper ship. It looked old, nothing like the modern ships one saw on the waters today. Its sails were in tatters, and hung limp, the dark wood rotting, and covered in lichen as if it had just arisen from the depths of the ocean. A headless mermaid led the ship, hanging from the prow as the ship sliced through the water beneath her, sending up a fine mist. And aboard the ship, Yumiko could make out dark shapes. Black shadows that roiled over the deck, vaguely shaped like men.
“It’s them!” Mr. Arai swallowed hard, and Yumiko turned to see sweat standing out on his forehead. His knuckles stood out white where he gripped the wheel. “The Funa Yurei.”
“Yes, it is,” Yumiko agreed, her heart skipping in her chest at the sight. “Finally.”
“Finally?” Mr. Arai turned to her with a questioning look, but Mr. Watanabe had returned.
“Turn to avoid the ship!” Watanabe shouted. “Quickly, you ingrate!”
“No!” Mr. Arai held his chin high. “If we don’t change course, if we sail through them, the Funa Yurei will allow us to pass safely. Otherwise, they will give chase.”
“Those aren’t ghosts, man,” Mr. Watanabe frowned, looking back up at the ship fearfully.
The dark shapes aboard the ship began to glow a sickly green, and a few shapes could be seen on either side of the ship, in the water, hovering over the dark sea, as if escorting the ship. And as it drew closer, Yumiko could make out the features of men. Or, their skulls, at least. They gleamed in the sickly light they gave off.
“Oh, god!” Mr. Watanabe took a subconscious step backward.
Yumiko jumped into action, however, and grabbed the wheel from Mr. Arai, pulling it sharply to the right to avoid the oncoming ship.
“Are you mad?!” Mr. Arai yelled at her. He shoved her to the floor, where she slid gracefully. “You fool! You may have just damned us all!”
Yumiko watched as the ghost ship changed course to follow them, and satisfied, scrambled down the staircase to the deck below. She’d left a guitar case beneath the stairs, and quickly opened the clasps to reveal a sword. She pulled the sword from its sheath and turned the blade in her hand, examining the razor sharp double edge, its surface so clear that she could see her reflection in the steel. A mirror. Her dark brown eyes looked back into her own intently, as if trying to search for something beneath the surface. They were calm and steady, and perhaps a little excited for the coming confrontation.
A crewman ran her way, and she stepped into his path. “I need you to bring me all of the ladles and buckets from the kitchen and closets.”
The man blinked at her, and moved to try to pass by.
“If you want to survive this, do as I say!” she ordered, her voice confident and commanding.
The man hesitated, then nodded and turned back the way he’d come.
Satisfied, Yumiko sauntered along the deck to the front of the ship. The Funa Yurei were nearly upon them. From her vantage point, she could see one ghost with a tall black hat standing at the prow, watching the yacht with hunger. Most likely the captain. A strand of seaweed stuck out from between his skeletal teeth, an eye patch lowered over one of the holes in his skull.
Leaning over the railing, Yumiko noted the ghosts floating over the water, robes covering their torsos, appearing radioactive green. Black slime covered much of the side of the boat, leaving little doubt that the ship had emerged from the ocean floor to carry out the nefarious work of this crew.
“Miss Sato!”
Yumiko looked back to see three men, carrying buckets and ladles. They looked to her for direction, eager to do what they could in the crisis, as they felt helpless. “Set them down.”
The men obeyed, and with a flash of her blade, she cut out the bottoms of the dozen buckets, and poked holes in the eight ladles. She moved quickly, like one accustomed to handling a blade, slicing through metal and wood with graceful strokes. Her movements were more like an artist at a canvas, running a brush over a painting, than a swordsman accustomed to horror and violence.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Watanabe demanded, stalking up to her.
Yumiko didn’t look up as she worked. “One way to outsmart The Funa Yurei is to leave out ladles and buckets for the ghosts that have been sabotaged. They will try to fill the ship with water using them, in order to sink it, but will be unable to. They’re too possessed by rage at their deaths to consider that their work is for naught.”
He frowned at her. “How do you know this?”
“I have heard stories myself.”
He contemplated her for a moment, and when she’d finished with her work, she looked up into the face of the captain expectantly. “Seems to me, you were expecting The Funa Yurei,” he said.
“I’m making the most of a bad situation,” she replied, noncommittally.
He looked up at the ghost ship, which was almost upon them, and then back at Yumiko. “You’re that yokai hunter.”
“I’m here to keep the seas safe for crews such as yours,” Yumiko told him. “Please, keep your men back, and let me handle this.” She turned toward the ship as it slid silently alongside them. It would have been better if the ghosts moaned or shook chains at them. Instead, they worked in utter silence, as if they had no tongues to work with, and their bodies were but fog.
She heard the captain leave her, along with his men, and Yumiko took a deep breath as she lifted her sword in a defensive stance, gripping it with both hands. “Come to me, tortured souls. It is time to end your rule of fear.”
A ghostly hand appeared on the railing in front of her, and one of The Funa Yurei pulled himself onto the ship. He floated over the deck by about an inch, no feet apparent beneath his robe. His skeletal hand reached out for the buckets and ladles that Yumiko had laid out, and he tilted his head in Yumiko’s direction, as if mocking her, his jaw falling open in a silent laugh.
Then she allowed him to leave her side with a bucket. A moment later, he returned, splashing a few drops of water onto the deck, before disappearing again.
And then ghosts arrived by the dozens. Yumiko stood stark still as they swirled around her, grab
bing for buckets and ladles, and dropping over the side of the ship to retrieve water. She didn’t move until all of the ghosts had vacated the ghost ship. Then, when the captain stood before her, she looked up into his lone empty eye socket. “I am sorry for your suffering.”
The ghost lifted his head, as if considering her words, before Yumiko sliced into his body with her sword. The moment her sword connected with him, he vanished.
And then she went into a feverish dance, her sword flashing over the bodies of ghosts as they reboarded the ship with their buckets, barely wetting the deck. With every stroke of her sword against the ethereal body of a ghost, another ghost vanished. They didn’t seem to notice what was happening to their brethren. They were so caught up in their task, in the anger that seethed within them, burning green through their spirit bodies, that they didn’t realize what was happening until they felt Yumiko’s cold steel. And by then, it was too late.
It was a graceful choreography of death that had her arms arc wide, as if to embrace the dead, her body leaning into them without a shadow of fear flickering across her features. She kept swinging her sword, like she sensed their approaching presence rather than saw them. It was almost like she could intuit where the specters would appear, and their actions. Anyone watching would assume that she was calling them to her, as if she was the very siren who had caused their untimely deaths initially, come to finish the job.
When Yumiko cut down the last of The Funa Yurei, the ghost ship suddenly pitched forward and began to sink into the ocean once more. She stopped to watch the mermaid as it penetrated the water, and was swallowed by it, the rest of the ship following its lead. After the entire ship had once again disappeared beneath the surface of the water, all was still and quiet once more, as if it had all been a dream. Even the fog lifted, bringing them back to reality.
Yumiko lifted her sword and stared hard at the surface for a moment, watching the swirling green figures trapped within as they roiled and protested. And then they disappeared, and she was left staring back into her eyes again.
Sheathing the sword, she turned to find Mr. Watanabe standing behind her. “You used us,” he accused.
“I am sorry for any trouble I’ve put you through,” Yumiko said, bowing deep.
Mr. Watanabe watched her for a moment, then sighed. “I can’t believe what I just saw. You’ve made the seas safe for us again.” He shook his head.
“That was my intent,” Yumiko said, standing straight and looking around at the buckets and ladles left strewn over the deck. “I will pay for the damage I’ve caused to your equipment.”
“You do that,” Mr. Watanabe said, crossing his arms. “Now, may I have the part you stole from our autopilot?”
Yumiko reached into her pocket and held out a small cylinder with wires coiling out from each end. Mr. Watanabe accepted it, looking it over with a shake of his head. He glanced up at her with a mixture of annoyance and appreciation. “I am grateful for what you’ve done, Miss Sato, and don’t take it personally when I tell you that I never want to see you again. You put my crew in danger.”
“I know,” Yumiko agreed. “And you will never see me again.”
“See that you’re true to your word.”
Yumiko watched him as he rounded the corner and disappeared, then turned to stare out over the calm, dark water again. She reveled in the cool balm of the night air following her fight, and felt satisfaction fill her chest. She’d never desired gratitude for her work, hadn’t expected it, so the captain’s cold treatment hadn’t come as a blow to her. But she’d done well. No more sailors would suffer. No more families would be steeped in grief after hearing of their loved ones’ deaths at sea. She had made the world a little safer tonight. And she could be happy with that.
Chapter Two
Yumiko dreamed of it often, the day she’d been spirited away.
She was seven years old at the time, drawing on the sidewalk with brightly-colored chalk. Sometimes in her dream, she was drawing her mother and herself, other times an elaborate image of the sun, and still others, large ogre-like yokai called oni, with red skin and intimidating horns curling up from out of their foreheads. Her mother had told her many tales of their foul deeds, and they’d made an impression on her.
The rain came on suddenly. One minute she’d been drawing peacefully under the sunny sky, and the next, shadows had raced over the sidewalk, like a curtain being pulled over the land, sending it into darkness.
She looked up just as the first rain drop fell, hitting her squarely between the eyes and splattering, causing her to close her eyes against the spray of shattering water. When she opened her eyes again, the rain came full force. She squeaked as she ran to the shelter her front porch afforded, but then turned back to see her chalk lying on the sidewalk, the rain beating the color from them until they bled rivulets of crimson, gold and indigo. Unwilling to leave them behind to be ruined, she dashed back out into the rain, squinting against the onslaught of rain, her little blue dress quickly soaking through.
She reached down to scoop up her chalk, but something caught her eye, from up the sidewalk. A woman was standing out in the open in a gray kimono that matched the clouds overhead, her black hair loose and dripping. She didn’t seem to mind the rain, but rather enjoyed it. So much so, that she was licking the rainwater as it accumulated on her hands and wrists, like Yumiko imagined a cat would do.
As if sensing Yumiko’s stare, the woman looked up and met her eyes. “Hello, child,” she greeted pleasantly, as if this were an everyday occurrence. “Come, you should get out of the rain.”
She lifted a hand to Yumiko, but Yumiko turned back to her chalk, scrambling for the pieces. As she grabbed for one of them, it slipped out of her reach and rolled away, up the sidewalk. She stood to give chase, and paused when she saw it roll up to the foot of the woman, who stooped to pick it up.
“Very slippery when wet,” the woman observed, lifting the chalk and turning it over, as if appraising it. “What a wonderful shade of red. Almost like blood.” She looked up at Yumiko and held it out to her. “Here you go. You must want it back.”
Yumiko hesitated. The woman, sensing her indecision, smiled kindly. “There’s no reason to be frightened. My name is Ame-Onna. What’s your name?”
Shielding her eyes from the rain with a hand, Yumiko considered the woman, and decided that she looked harmless enough. She was just a kind lady returning her chalk to her. “I’m Yumiko,” she replied, walking up to her and accepting the chalk from her outstretched hand.
“What a beautiful name,” Ame-Onna told her, leaning down so that she was face-to-face with her. “I love beautiful colors. Do you want to see more beautiful colors, Yumiko?”
Yumiko looked down at the red chalk in her hand, then back up at the woman. “My mommy will be looking for me.”
“It will only take a moment,” Ame-Onna assured her. She held out a hand for Yumiko, and the little girl took it instinctively. “That’s my girl. You’re going to see wonders that few have seen. You are one lucky girl.”
Seven-year-old Yumiko smiled.
And seventeen-year-old Yumiko woke with a start.
“That dream again?” an old woman’s voice inquired.
Yumiko blinked as she oriented herself. She was sitting at a table, lifting her head from its maple finish. Bookshelves lined the perimeter of the room, while mats were rolled out over the hardwood in the large open space at the middle of the room. Stands held katana and sword, sai and bo, silently waiting to be picked up so that they could flash through the air and do what they were made to do. She eyed a bow that hung over a short bookcase. Yumiko knew that a quiver of arrows could be found in a drawer at the bottom of that same bookcase. It was kept locked, but she’d seen her teacher open it before practice once.
Then she swiveled her head back to look at a woman stooped over one of three desks in the room, her face lit up by a small lamp. Her white hair was tied back in a tight bun, her face lined with deep wrinkles that foret
old a long life. She wore a beautiful silk kimono with a floral pattern, in vibrant pinks and oranges.
Yumiko sighed and stretched. “Yes. The same one. Although, I didn’t get to the bad part this time.”
“Being kidnapped by a yokai as a child isn’t the bad part?” the old woman raised an eyebrow at her.
Yumiko scowled. “You know what I mean. Ame-Onna was hardly the most frightening part of that experience.” Not wishing to speak about it anymore, she stood and changed the subject, gesturing toward the thick book open in front of the woman. “What are you looking at, sensei?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” the woman replied. “Why don’t you warm up with the bo?”
Yumiko was till groggy, but she complied. She felt the sturdy wood of the bo beneath her fingertips and couldn’t help but begin to whip it through the air, test its weight, and apply the attack and defense moves she’d used thousands of times before. It felt natural in her hands, and made her feel strong, like she could take on the world with that slim piece of wood.
Her sensei, Madame Mori, drove her hard because she knew that Yumiko had an uphill battle ahead of her, and would willingly endure any training put before her if it made her a stronger warrior. When her aunt had died and Yumiko had had nowhere else to go, Mori, whom she’d been training with for years, had offered to take her in, and Yumiko couldn’t have been happier. It meant that she could concentrate on her training every day for long stretches at a time, without the interruptions living with her aunt had included. Not that Yumiko was ungrateful for her aunt, but she’d been difficult to live with at times, and hadn’t really understood Yumiko or her priorities.
Before long, Yumiko felt sweat accumulate on her brow, and paused to look over at Mori. “Have you had dinner, sensei?”
Madame Mori waved the question away. “I’m busy at the moment. Go have dinner, if you’d like. I will wait.”
“Then I’ll wait too.”
Mori looked up, then scowled. “Very well. Tell Mr. Wada that we will partake in some rice tonight. And look sharp.”
