by M. D. Massey
I turned toward the voice. There, on the flagstone patio, stood one of the strangest creatures I had ever seen.
Twenty-Two
The man—although it was plain to see he wasn’t a man at all—stood a little under six feet tall. His hands were humanoid, weathered and calloused in the manner of someone who worked with tools all day long. As for his shoes, they were human-sized and expensive looking, and since I couldn’t determine the brand or maker I suspected they were bespoke. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored suit, but considering the two enormous black wings sprouting from his shoulders, it was anyone’s guess how he got into it.
So, the second raven appears.
Wings notwithstanding, the man’s oddest feature was his face. Unlike the rest of his body, it was almost completely avian-looking. Instead of human hair, he had an ebony shock of thin feathers that he wore slicked back, old-school style. Beneath a prodigious forehead, his brow was prominent and V-shaped, with dark, feathered eyebrows that swept upward over deep-set eyes.
Those orbs were striking—each with a large black pupil set in a citrine sclera, surrounded by dark, pebbly, almost reptile-like skin. Below those peculiar eyes jutted an enormous ebony beak that comprised his upper and lower jaw. In fact, fully half his face consisted of his bill. Although the flesh and skin around it appeared human enough, it was too dark to belong to any human I’d ever known.
It’s not every day you saw someone with wings, and I wondered if they were functional. They certainly were real; that was plain to see from the way they twitched at random intervals. The creature fairly exuded power and authority, a characteristic echoed by the timbre of his voice and the almost casual poise he exhibited.
If I had wings like that, I think I’d be cocky, too. Cockier, that is.
Rising to my now very human knees, I did my best to maintain some sense of composure. It wasn’t every day you met a tengu, after all.
“Harvey Birdman, I presume,” I said with as much aplomb as I could muster while wearing nothing but underwear, on my hands and knees in the dirt.
The birdman laughed—a full, rich laugh that seemed to convey genuine amusement and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bit of admiration as well. “And there it is, the famous McCool banter in the face of difficult circumstances. Your reputation precedes you, and thus far you do not disappoint.”
Shifting always took quite a bit out of me, so getting to my feet required more than a little effort. “I seem to be at a loss here. You know who I am, but you’ve not yet introduced yourself.”
“I apologize for my rudeness, McCool-san.” The tengu gave a fifteen-degree bow, eshaku-style, back ramrod-straight and eyes slightly downcast. It was the sort of bow you would give an equal, a show of mutual respect. “Hayashi Hideie, although you may simply call me Hideie.”
I didn’t return the gesture. Hell if I was going to bow to someone who worked for the Circle. “Call me Colin. Now, where’s Mei?”
He dipped his beak slightly. “Ah, Mei. You tracked her here, yes? I assumed you would, eventually—although she was most certain that you would not. She underestimated you, it seems, but for my part I am most delighted you found this place.”
The way this guy was speaking, I didn’t know if he wanted to fight me or be the president and founding member of my fan club. “Look, Hideie, I’m not here to chat, and I’m certainly not here to make friends. Mei is a predator. She abducted a young friend of mine, and I’m here to take her down. Besides that, I’m being framed by the Cold Iron Circle for killing the liaison they assigned me, and I think she’s connected. As I see it, you have three options—tell me where she is, get out of my way, or prepare to get your ass kicked. I really don’t care what you choose at this point.”
Hideie smiled, which was kind of weird since he had a beak. “Abrupt and to the point.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Please, explain to me what this young man looks like.”
“Seriously?”
“Humor me, if you don’t mind.”
I sighed and reached into my Bag, causing the tengu to tense up a bit. “Relax, I’m just grabbing some clothes.” I found a spare pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and slipped into them as I described Derp. “He’s about yea tall, kind of chunky, blonde hair, and he cusses a lot. Kind of like a foul-mouthed Chowder from Monster House.”
The tengu arched a feathered eyebrow. “Monster House? I apologize, I am unfamiliar with this—what is it, exactly?”
“It’s a Zemeckis and Spielberg film, nominated for best animated feature the year it was released. Probably the greatest Halloween cartoon ever, right after It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Chowder is the fat sidekick in the movie.”
Hideie raised a finger in exclamation. “Aha! Like Chunk in The Goonies!”
I snapped and pointed at him. “Egg-zactly. In fact, I think Chunk was the archetype they based Chowder on.”
Hideie nodded. “Such a great movie, The Goonies. Very influential on later films. The Sandlot, Stand By Me, Honey I Shrunk the Kids, The Monster Squad—all owe their popularity in some small part to The Goonies.”
“For a yōkai, you have strange taste in movies, Hideie.”
“What can I say, I’m Japanese. Familiarity with pop culture is a moral obligation in my country. But back to the matter at hand. I can assure you, Mei did not abduct your young friend.”
“Yeah? And how do you know that? Were you there when she kidnapped those men I plucked from your vampire tree?”
The tengu shook his head. “No, but I am positive Mei did not abduct or harm any children. I am her superior, and I strictly forbade such actions when she entered my employ. Believe me, McCool-san, she would not disobey a command from me.”
“So, we’re being formal after all. I guess this means we’re not going to be friends. Shocker.”
“That is entirely up to you. But, business is business.”
“Okay, Mr. Hayashi, I’ll bite. Just what business do you have with me?”
“I thought that was obvious. I have been assigned to take that jewel from your head—and by force, if necessary.”
“Balor’s Eye?” I snorted. “Good luck. Better men and monsters than you have tried.”
Hideie gave me a tight smile. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
His confidence was likely well-earned. Although they were classified as mountain goblins, tengu were almost revered as gods in Japan, with powers rivaling demigods. They were also notorious for their martial skills, a detail that was not lost on me as I faced the prospect of fighting Mr. Hayashi.
I took a second to size the guy up—because in my mind he was a guy, if a weird-looking one. He had the shoulders and arms of someone who swung heavy things for exercise, and he moved from his hips, which told me he was light on his feet. I took a closer look at his hands and realized those were a swordsman’s callouses.
Fuck my life.
It’d be a while before I could shift again, so if I got into a fight with this guy it was going to be ugly. Modern folklore had turned tengu into something more human-like and a lot less malicious, but Hideie here was an example of the actual species, reflective of the earliest depictions of karasu-tengu in the mythology of Japan. In Japanese legends, they often trained humans in swordsmanship, or gifted them with magical weapons that couldn’t miss… or they ate them. It was kind of a toss-up with old-school tengu.
The bottom line was they were a lot like the fae in how they operated. They could take a shine to you and help you, or kill you on a whim. And while I was no expert on Japanese mythology, because we rarely saw such creatures in central Texas, even I knew that tengu were not to be fucked with.
Based on Hideie’s demeanor, it looked as though I’d have no choice.
“I take it Mei is in the house?”
Hideie nodded. “She is.”
“And I take it I have to go through you to get to her?”
“On the contrary, I will go through you to get what I want, if necessary. However, my employe
r has not stipulated the methods by which I am to attain the gemstone. That leaves me with many options, including negotiation. I had hoped—”
I was already pulling my tactical belt from my Bag. “There will be no negotiation regarding the Eye, Hideie. I was entrusted with its keeping, and it stays with me.” I strapped my belt around my hips and snapped the buckle in place. “Move, or die. I couldn’t care less which you choose.”
“A duel it is, then. So be it.”
The tengu’s clothing shimmered, morphing from a business suit into Japanese-style monk’s robes. Not the kind you might see a Shinto priest wear, but instead the more practical kind worn by the yamabushi of old. Rather than tight, restrictive vestments, Hideie’s clothing was loose and flowing—like a billowy, over-sized karate uniform. His pant legs were tucked into cloth calf and ankle wraps, and his flat-soled sandals were strapped firmly to his feet with wide leather straps. In short, he was dressed for a tussle.
“Fair warning, tengu—I don’t fight fair.”
Hideie smiled. “It is of little consequence.”
We’ll just fucking see about that.
In the blink of an eye, I drew my Glock and snapped off three rounds at the mountain goblin, two aimed at the chest and one at his eyes. As if anticipating my intentions, Hideie moved a split-second before I pulled the trigger, spinning behind a concrete statue of a lion that sat on a stone pedestal maybe a step or two away from him. It wasn’t a full-on Matrix thing, but it was close, and my gunfire appeared to have missed him.
I emptied the magazine at him, circling to get a clean shot. However, he simply moved with me—not vampire fast, but fast enough to keep his body behind the stone and concrete barrier. The tracers pinged off the statue and whizzed into the night, none of them hitting the tengu.
“At least allow me to arm myself, McCool-san,” Hideie said as he reached behind him to pull a daito, or long katana, out of thin air. He drew the sword in his right hand, keeping the scabbard in his left, perhaps for blocking or striking. He bowed to me while still behind the statue. “Now, I am ready to begin.”
Arrogant bastard, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll kick your ass the old-fashioned way.
I holstered my pistol and drew the flaming sword, willing it to light up. When nothing happened, I willed harder. For some reason, the sword was refusing to play ball.
Hideie had stepped out from behind the lion statue, but he stood watching me, holding his sword and scabbard loosely in his hands. “Ah, I see you do not understand the nature of your weapon. The man it was forged for was a just and generous soul, and his weapon can only be used by someone worthy of the weapon. Your recent lust for blood and violence has likely turned it against you. I suggest you choose another.”
“It’s still a sword, even if it’s not on fire. I’ll stick with what I have,” I said. I stepped forward and raised the blade to strike at the tengu. But as I began the forestroke, the sword turned itself away from the yōkai and snapped right back into its sheath. “Oh, come on!”
Hideie hadn’t moved an inch, so certain was he that the sword wouldn’t obey my commands. “Would you happen to have another weapon in that bag of yours? I can assure you, my own sword is quite mundane, if exquisitely crafted. Any normal blade will do for the purposes of this duel.”
“Fine, sword, have it your way,” I muttered as I detached it from my belt and threw it into my Bag. “Yes, I have another sword. Give me a minute.”
“By all means.” The tengu was so damned polite, it was starting to get on my nerves.
I pulled out one of my standbys, a well-balanced longsword made from S7 “shocksteel,” a very durable modern alloy. “Alright, Harvey—let’s play.”
Hideie gave me only a slight nod this time, instead of a formal bow. A reluctance to take his eyes off me could have been an indication of his respect for my fighting skill. However, I suspected it merely showed his disdain for my sword-fighting prowess. Considering the reputation tengu had as swordsmen, that was the more likely rationale.
Chances were good he’d be faster than the human me, stronger than the human me, and a much better swordsman as well. The one advantage I might have was that he’d only be versed in the Japanese style of swordplay. And while legend and pop culture might lead one to believe that Japanese blade craft was superior to all other sword styles, it simply wasn’t.
In early contact with the Japanese, Portuguese sailors practicing the Spanish style of swordsmanship were known to routinely wipe the floor with samurai. In addition, during World War II, the Filipino Moros slaughtered the katana-wielding Japanese in guerrilla warfare skirmishes. I was intimately familiar with both the Spanish and Filipino styles of blade combat, and was confident this would give me the upper hand.
I was wrong.
My sword was designed to strike a balance between speed and strength. It had been made for parrying and thrusting, but was equally useful for cutting as well. Considering that the tengu had adopted a classic chudan no kamae, or middle two-handed guard, I decided I would attack with a series of cuts, then follow with a thrust when he wasn’t expecting it. My plan was to force him to overextend his parry, leaving an opening for me to run him through.
I launched myself forward with a flurry of cuts—not the full, powerful follow-through strokes that the samurai were known for, but short chopping attacks that came from every angle. Typically, a swordsman would retreat when faced with such a furious attack, but instead Hideie stood his ground, easily blocking each cut with an efficiency of movement that astounded me. After each successful parry, his blade returned to guard his centerline, never once leaving an opening I could exploit.
I backed out during a clash of blades, determined to avoid locking up with the tengu where he could easily overpower me.
Damn, he’s good. Really good.
Hideie smiled. “Excellent, McCool-san! You attack with balance and speed, and with the bare minimum of movement necessary to complete each motion. For one who has practiced the art of swordsmanship over such a short time, your skill is impressive.” He dropped the point of his blade, taking a low guard this time, and beckoned to me with the scabbard in his left hand. “Again.”
This guy is really starting to piss me off. I attacked with a series of thrusts, stepping forward with quick, delicate footwork as I stabbed at Hideie’s face, throat, chest, stomach, and legs. The tengu actually did retreat this time, maintaining the perfect distance so each of my thrusts fell just short of their targets. The fucker didn’t even bother to parry, since he was never in any danger of being stuck.
Incensed by how easily the tengu evaded my blade, I went ballistic on him, cutting and thrusting and stepping and turning, attempting to gain some advantage using angles, half-beats, fakes, feints, combinations, draws, and false openings. Not once did my opponent take the bait, and not once was I able to make contact with anything other than his blade.
I’d stood toe-to-toe with fae who’d been practicing sword fighting for centuries. I’d been trained by a two-thousand-year-old druid who’d taught hundreds of warriors how to handle all manner of weaponry to achieve victory in mortal combat. I’d even survived a run-in with a pair of fae assassins determined to put the pointy end of their blades in my gut.
And yet never, in all my life, had I been so thoroughly humiliated by an opponent. Sure, I wasn’t exactly in peak form—and hell if I wasn’t already spent from shifting and fighting the ent from hell—but I couldn’t even touch the guy. After fifteen minutes of the same, I was so exhausted I could barely lift my sword.
Worst of all, Hideie never once attacked. Not once.
I felt embarrassed, humbled, and disgraced. I was confused, angry, and ashamed. I wanted desperately to shift and rip the tengu apart, but despite my rage and shame, I couldn’t bring myself to make the transition. The truth was, after seeing how arrogant he was, I’d wanted to beat this creature fair and square. My ego wouldn’t allow me to cheat, but now it looked as though I’d have no choice.
&n
bsp; I stood apart from the tengu, shoulders slumped, sword hanging from hands and arms that burned and cramped from exertion.
“You show promise, Colin,” Hideie admonished. “Do not be discouraged by your defeat. I have studied, practiced, and taught the art of the sword, day and night, for thousands of years. This loss was inevitable.”
“I… still… have something left. One more round,” I panted, fully intending to shift so I could knock that cocky expression right off his beak.
Hideie smiled, and despite his bizarre features, it was not an unkind expression. “Unfortunately, there is no time.”
He snapped his fingers, and Mei came walking out the back door of the house in yoga pants, running shoes, and a tank top, holding a limp body in her arms. The woman she carried was familiar to me, but at first it didn’t click because her face was angled away and obscured by the fall of her hair.
The woman stirred slightly, turning her head to reveal her face. There was no mistaking it; that was my mother in the monster’s arms.
“Mom!”
I shifted forms immediately, rage escaping my lips in a scream that started human and dropped into a guttural roar.
“I’ll kill you!” I shouted as I bounded toward the jorōgumo.
Before I could close the gap between us, Hideie was already there with his blade at her throat.
Anger nearly overwhelmed me, but as quickly as the tengu had moved, I knew he could decapitate her with a flick of his blade. And, based on the way he’d handled me during our duel, I honestly didn’t know if I could stop him—not even if I was standing right next to him.
I stopped before reaching my mother, terrified of what the tengu might do. I extended a hand toward her, unsure of my next move.
Hideie’s wings ruffled slightly. “Choose wisely, Colin. If forced, I will cut her throat—even if it means dying at your hands soon after. You have something I want, and giving it up is the only way to spare you the pain of seeing your mother die.”
