by Ashley Capes
“Give it up,” Hiroshi snapped.
“You see, I cannot – after I read the journal I took a precaution. I have eaten a single page. If you wish to complete your rebirth, you will have to kill this poor young lady.”
Riko gasped.
Hiroshi lowered the rake. “You what?”
He laughed. “The ultimate insurance.” Saburou kept his pacing. Beyond him, the forest darkened as the sun moved behind a cloud. “Now, one of you cut that abomination down and the other can build up the fire. Time to free Makiko’s spirit.”
“No.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “Then I will impale this girl on your rake then take Riko there, or you yourself, old man, and complete the task.”
Riko faced Hiroshi. “She’s my friend.”
“And Makiko is my wife.”
Saburou crossed his arms. “Hurry.” The darkness grew behind him. Riko turned. Within the clearing, the light remained as day, but beyond its borders the shadows deepened.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“The coming night?” He smiled. “I’ve hardly been idle while you two chatted. I invited someone to clear up any lingering sense of defiance you might have.”
In the shadows a huge shape loomed in the distance.
Shinigami.
Its white linen kimono barely rustled as it moved, pale face and downturned mouth solidifying as it neared. Black hair fell in straight lines and the clicking of its bone necklace filled the hush.
Riko’s hand shot to her jeans pocket, to the omamori. Her pulse doubled. Still broken. She didn’t have anything. Hiroshi’s jaw was clenched but he stood his ground. “A god of death, that’s your friend, Saburou?”
“Do as I say and I won’t have to invite him in.”
Hiroshi threw his rake aside and charged Saburou, hands outstretched. The ghost smiled, even as Riko stumbled after the old man. Hiroshi wrapped his arms around Kiyomi’s neck and a white light blazed, so bright it stung her eyes, even as she looked away. The old man’s scream was buried beneath the white, and when it cleared, he was on his hands and knees, scrambling back.
The ghost pointed to Riko. “Save three lives and build up that fire.” He sneered down at Hiroshi, twisting Kiyomi’s slack face. “You stay put.”
Hiroshi swore, pushing himself up on trembling legs, only to fall back to the grass.
Riko stepped into the black, blinking when the forest became light. It didn’t matter. She had to save everyone, which meant sacrificing Makiko. She’d lived once; Hiroshi would have to accept it.
Riko collected branches and heavier logs too. One was a fair heft. She shivered. Was it worth using as a weapon? A piece of wood to take on a powerful spirit? Knocking Kiyomi down would do nothing. She was already unconscious, Saburou would simply keep using her. There had to be something she could do.
Back within the circle of light, the ghost had climbed the tree and was sawing at the Makiko-fruit with Kiyomi’s nail file – only the pink-handle and blade were now large as something from a hardware store.
The shinigami stood motionless beyond the clearing.
Riko bit her lip. How in God’s name had Saburou become so strong? Was he fuelled by his obsession? Did he feed off the forest itself? Or maybe he drew strength from the shinigami – if that was even possible. Who knew? Who cared? She had to keep it away. Riko dumped the wood into a stack and shouted up to Saburou. “There. Now you can call off the shinigami.”
Hiroshi groaned as sparks leapt from the pile of wood.
The sawing paused and tendrils of light stared down at her. “Let’s be sure, first – shall we?”
The sawing resumed until a splitting filled the clearing. The woman-shaped fruit fell to the ground with a thud. Hiroshi cried out, crawling forward, eyes wide and staring, hands feeling about the grass in desperation. The flash of light had blinded him.
Makiko’s wooden cocoon rolled toward the fire, coming to a halt at its edge. A wind whipped through the clearing, stirring the pages of the journal. It lay in the grass at the foot of the tree. Saburou must have dropped it to climb and saw. She dashed forward, ignoring the cry from above, and cast the journal into the flames.
A branch snapped. In the tree, Kiyomi’s body was ensnared and Saburou screeched, eyes blazing as he struggled to free himself.
“Help me.” Riko tugged Hiroshi to his feet and guided him to Makiko. Tears streamed down his face as together, they lifted Makiko and held her sleeping form over the flames. The heat seared Riko’s fingers but the smoke was absorbed into the wood. “It’s working.”
“Steady,” Hiroshi commanded. She lifted her end higher. Makiko’s cocoon blushed with colour, a warm orange. It spread along the grain, as if a glittering fire lay deep inside.
From the tree the screeching continued but Riko saw only the quickening wood.
And then it stopped, fading, pulsing.
“You need the final page,” Saburou hissed. He was free now, hurrying down to leer at her. He knew she couldn’t push her friend into the flames.
“Move her,” Hiroshi gasped out. Riko set Makiko down on the grass. The glow faded further and Hiroshi collapsed before the wooden fruit, running his wrinkled hands over the surface. “She’s lost forever,” he cried.
Bones clinked.
The shinigami stepped into the circle, eyes closed. Saburou was waving it on. Could the death-spirit take a spirit? Saburou was probably safe. The ghost stood behind Hiroshi, who’d reached his knees, head twisting from sound to sound.
“You must choose, Riko. Kill your friend to try completing the rebirth? Or perhaps die now, along with both Kiyomi and the old man?” He pointed at her. “Or do you actually value your life enough to help me?”
Hiroshi’s mouth worked but he wasn’t speaking. Riko’s shoulders slumped. “How can I trust you?”
“Because once Makiko’s spirit is free, I will have no need for this body. I must meet her as spirit.” Saburou’s expression was one of supreme confidence, standing beside the blind Hiroshi, the shinigami towering in the background, hands by its side.
Riko made a fist. “Fine. Fine! I’m sorry, Hiroshi. But Makiko has lived. I have to save my friend.”
He choked out half a word, but seemed spent. He didn’t move and tears streamed from his sightless eyes, his misery complete.
Wait. Was that the answer?
Saburou only held power over them if he could threaten their lives. If she took that power away from him...but could she make such a sacrifice? Could she fail to make it? Could Kiyomi afford hesitation?
Riko walked forward, keeping her eyes downcast, as if defeated. She stopped before Hiroshi. She bent down and caught his hands. She leant in to kiss his cheek. “Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“Trust me. Everything will work out.” She took a breath, then drove both hands into Hiroshi’s chest. He flew back with a cry, rolling into the shinigami. The moment his flailing limbs touched the pool of black hair and the robe, his voice was cut short and his body collapsed into a heap.
Riko fell back, stomach churning. He was gone.
God, had she done the right thing?
The shinigami’s hands rose, dirt falling between its fingers, and it slowly arranged Hiroshi’s body on the grass. It moved with a stately grace, straightening first his legs and then his arms. Tiny puffs of dust rose whenever its hands paused, and the animal and human skulls knocked together in a sombre music.
Saburou gaped at the scene, disbelief pouring from him in waves.
She had to keep moving. Finish it, Riko. She clenched her teeth but kept her own movement glacial. A twist of the ankle, a turn of the knee, a soft step, bend down, reach out...her hands gripped Makiko’s wooden form. The surface was cool and dark, it rocked gently beneath the weight of her palm. It was so much lighter; had Makiko started to le
ave already? She braced herself and spun, heaving it onto the flames.
The shell disappeared in a whoosh of orange.
Saburou whirled. Tendrils slithered from Kiyomi’s eyes, ears, mouth and nose now. “What have you done?”
“I’ve reunited them,” she shouted. It was the only way to stop Saburou. It had to be. Otherwise she’d made a hideous mistake.
“No! She is mine, I loved her first.”
“You’ve failed, Saburou – now give Kiyomi back. There’s nothing here for you now, the journal, the sacrifice, none of it means anything now. Makiko and Hiroshi are together, give her up.”
The eyes flickered. “This is your price to pay now, usurper.”
Riko stood her ground. “You started this.”
Kiyomi jerked forward, leaping over the flame and crashing into Riko. Fingernails dug into her throat and she beat at her friend’s arms, but Saburou did not let go.
His tendrils turned dark.
Bright spots burst across Riko’s vision. She rasped for air, chest constricting. The oak tree faded, only Kiyomi’s face, twisted in rage, remained beyond the spots. Riko kept beating on her attacker’s arms, but they had turned to stone for all the good it did.
She’d join Hiroshi and Makiko soon.
Did it matter?
Wait, no. Where did that thought come from?
And yet, she wouldn’t have to worry about Dad anymore; his disappointment, his illnesses. Not Mum’s worry either. Explaining all the lies away, winning back Kiyomi’s trust. Dealing with Yuuki’s father; the police; her job. Being deported.
Life lay poised on a knifepoint.
Wings swept down, surrounding her in a gentle cage of feathers, black and white everywhere. Her breathing eased. A long beak and liquid eyes hovered before her, and when the head turned to snap at something Riko couldn’t see, a red stripe was revealed. It ran down the crane’s head and along its back.
The bird turned its gaze back to her and the animal face wavered until a woman’s face replaced it. Of an age with Riko’s mother, her smile was gentle and her dark eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Be at ease.”
Makiko.
16.
Snow crunched underfoot when Makiko helped her up.
The pressure of fingers at Riko’s throat was gone, the memory of Kiyomi’s weight on her chest vague. Even her limbs were light and she shivered – not from the cold, but a long sigh of relief.
Safe.
She stood in the same clearing, only now the oak was black with winter-ice, a network of bare branches sitting against a white sky that clung to blushes of pink. Barren, and yet beautiful, too. Was this some sort of spirit-world? Heaven in winter? Thunder boomed, faint, but no storm clouds lurked on the horizon.
It didn’t seem like she was dead, but what would she know?
Makiko waited nearby, hands near-to-lost in the sleeves of her black kimono. Riko opened her mouth to thank the woman, to ask about Saburou, about where they were, was she even alive – but she couldn’t make a sound.
Makiko was unfinished.
Parts of the snowy landscape were visible through her robe, even a large half-circle in her neck and flecks in her hair.
Her smile deepened. “Riko, you must be concerned and confused. But know you are alive and all is well. Will you help me at the tree?”
“Of course, thank you.” She joined the older woman at the trunk, which glistened in the winter air, and knelt in the snow. There was no cold and when she reached out to copy Makiko, who brushed away the snow, her fingers remained warm and dry.
“What are we...” she trailed off. Someone was buried beneath the snow. Clothing...shoulders...a face. She flinched back.
Thunder cracked again.
“It’s only Hiroshi,” Makiko said. She glanced at the sky with a slight frown before brushing the last of the snow from his cheeks. Riko shuddered. This wasn’t what she’d imagined when she played her last, desperate ploy. In death all the anger was gone from his face, the lines softened – and she’d killed him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think...”
“Do not be sad.”
She spun to face Makiko. “Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything else. I thought it was the only way. Saburou was supposed to give up once he had nothing to hold over us, Makiko, I only wanted –”
Makiko put a hand on her own. “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s lift him up.”
“All right.” Riko took a shoulder and helped raise him, snow fluttering to the ground soundlessly. Makiko leant in and kissed his blue lips and stepped back, one hand still holding him. Riko kept hold at a nod from Makiko, then blinked when Hiroshi’s eyes snapped open.
He cried out but when he saw Makiko he quietened. Hiroshi’s eyes filled as he reached out to brush her cheek with his fingers.
“Makiko,” he breathed.
Riko moved away. They deserved a moment alone – as alone as Riko dared anyway, wandering off in the white...place...was probably a bad idea. She stared across the snow to the pale sky. Mt Fuji should have been visible, not to mention the forest itself. Only there was naught but a distant glow hovering where sky met land, as if a giant paint set had fallen and orange and pink had clashed.
“Riko.”
Hiroshi and Makiko stood before her. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded. “Better. Thank you.”
“You’re not angry that I...killed you?”
He laughed. “Wasn’t what I planned but I’m happy. You thought on your feet.” He faced his wife and now regret replaced his laughter. “I wanted to bring you home. We could have finished the garden and the –”
She placed a finger against his lips. “But we are together now.”
“You’re right.”
“And perhaps for the better,” she said. “I was...in a hell and you drew me forth, even as you trapped me in that tree, beloved.”
“I trapped you?” His face was almost comical in its distress. “But I was close, only the journal remained and...” he trailed off when Makiko laughed at him, a hand covering her mouth.
“Just be pleased. It is my turn to protect you.”
He smiled.
Thunder roared overhead, rocking the oak. Riko looked to the sky. “Are we safe here? And what about Saburou and Kiyomi?”
“Ah.” Makiko’s own smile fell. “I have driven him from your friend, but he makes trouble yet.”
“That’s him, making the thunder?”
“Yes.”
Hiroshi shook his head. “Fool. He’s failed.”
“But he cannot accept it,” Makiko said.
“Can’t you stop him?” Riko asked.
“Perhaps. I am slow to recover my strength. Being trapped inside our tree for so long, I haven’t been able to change much at all in the living-world.”
“But you sent me messages didn’t you? Like the smoke? You can still do things.”
“I did. Although often as I tried, Saburou interfered. He has never stopped watching me. But the ancestors must have granted me luck to lead you to the journal. Toward the end, poor Hiroshi could never hear me.” She glanced at him. “You have quite the one-track mind, sometimes.”
“You used to say I was focused.”
She smiled again but a sigh followed. “Well, no matter. Once you neared the end of your task, Saburou began to scatter every message I tried to send you anyway. As his jealousy and fear grew so did his strength – though I feel it ebbing now.”
“But what about Kiyomi?” Riko asked.
“She is alive but we should be sure of Saburou. Your friend is vulnerable to him still.” Makiko held out a hand. “Come, we will put an end to his madness together.”
Riko hesitated. “I can’t do anything, I’m just –”
“Nonsense. Lend
me your strength.”
Their hands met and the tree began to recede. Makiko blew a kiss over her shoulder to the waiting Hiroshi, whose expression was uncertain, and then the clearing, the snow, the breath-of-fire sky, all of it was gone and they were flying.
She rushed through air, though her body still lay on the grass in the world of the living. Everything was soft. The wind gentle, a hint of the ocean on it and beneath, the entire forest spread in a green sea. Lake Saiko flashed blue. The crane had returned. Its wings tilted and they dipped, gliding down, each movement smooth.
“Makiko?”
She gave no answer, save for a tensing of muscles and a dip in their flight. Makiko swooped low and Riko’s stomach flipped. The treetops rushed up and then another plunge as the crane skimmed the surface of the lake. Riko reached down and bounced fingertips along the water.
Something shimmered ahead.
A black shape flew across the lake, skipping and dodging. Saburou. The crane tracked its movements, gaining ground steadily until the spirit splashed beneath the surface. The crane speared the water and Riko took a deep breath as darkness surrounded them.
Only she needed no air.
And Makiko was no longer a crane. Instead, Riko clung to a giant goldfish of shimmering white. It cleaved black water, chasing Saburou – though where he was in the depths of the lake was impossible to tell. Makiko twisted in the water, changing direction, then arching down and thrusting up toward a blue glow. It was like a soundless rollercoaster. The white fish burst from the water and splashed onto a cave floor.
In the corner a shadow lurked, blue light bouncing from its edges.
A young man in an army uniform resolved from the shade. He inched forward, smooth hands outstretched. Riko flinched when he reached the light. His face was twisted, deep lines carved into greying skin, his teeth ground down to nubs and eyes pig-like, buried in dark sockets.
“Makiko, please. Forgive all I have done. I wanted only to be reunited with you. As we promised each other.” He hesitated. “Please, why can’t I see you?”
