by A. L. Knorr
A soft gasp escaped from several of the spectators. But the aged yakuza's body betrayed him, his visibly stiff shoulder joints and back slowing him.
Roaring savagely, Raiden drove a fist upward and outward. Fujio's head led the rest of his body in an arched flight backward. It seemed a stunned fraction of eternity before he hit the ground with a heavy thud. Even the timbers seemed to vibrate.
The men around the room visibly winced at the impact.
Raiden was already walking forward, no more playfully stalking by the way he rolled his broad body into the slow gait. Either he did not realize how very close he came to actual defeat or he refused to acknowledge it. He radiated a serpentine arrogance.
Fujio, blood oozing from a mouth twisted out of shape, made to rise, leveraging himself on the katana still gripped in one fist. His eyes were screwed shut and his breath came in wet pants.
Raiden let Fujio stagger to his feet, but only just before his sword licked out in a contemptuous one handed slash. My hands flew to my mouth as a long gash opened the meat of Fujio's forearm. The old man gave a hoarse cry, the sword falling from his mangled limb, and collapsed to one knee. Clutching his savaged arm with his disfigured hand, Fujio choked out a gasp and raised his agonized eyes to meet Raiden's.
Raiden met the stare, unflinching and almost playful, and then laughed again, a cold, hungry sound. The sound seemed like it might have come from the dark water in which the tattooed koi swam; something subterranean, dark and evil.
The oyabun raised his heavy sword to his shoulder, as if preparing for a decapitating stroke, but then delivered a front kick to the old man's chest. Fujio hit the floor hard and slid a foot or so, and then lay still, the puddle of blood around him slowly growing.
Fujio lay upon the floor his hand and arm bleeding freely, but he still clung to life with each hitching breath.
"You are absolved," Raiden said flatly as he turned his back on his broken opponent and moved away. His gaze fell on me as he passed and the grim arrogance in his eyes turned my blood cold. It took everything I had to keep my face impassive and for a second I was thankful for the white paste which hid most of my expression.
As though the words gave permission for the men to move, half a dozen of them went to Fujio's side and helped him up. A towel was bound around his arm and the man half-stumbled and was half-carried from the dojo.
"All of you," Raiden said, and the handful of men standing back made their way toward the door. I moved to get to my feet when he pointed at me and added, "Not you."
I sank back down, swallowing hard, my eyes darting to the wakizashi. Whatever Raiden had in mind for me, it wasn't going to be good. I had to make a move of some kind.
The last of the men left the room, sliding the door shut behind them. Only the sound of Raiden's breathing could be heard. My heart doubled its rhythm and I closed my eyes and steeled myself.
"Stand up," he said, his voice deceptively soft.
I slowly got to my feet, keeping my eyes down. My mind raced and my palms grew clammy.
He spread his long arms wide. The splatters of blood across his face and chest were not his own. The blood on his chest looked like part of his tattoo. The Oni faces rising out from between the koi grinned wickedly at me. A tongue snaked out of one of the Oni's fanged mouths and licked at the splatters of Fujio's blood. The blood disappeared into the ugly maw, and the Oni smile grew wider.
I swallowed my own gasp and Inaba's story came rushing back to me in full force. I began to crave the feeling of blood on my skin.
"Was I not magnificent?" Raiden asked, taking a step toward me. His tattoos glistened with sweat. "Was I not merciful, in the end?"
Nausea rose in the back of my throat and I swallowed a gag. I kept my eyes down so he couldn't see the disgust, the anger, and the fear simmering there. "Magnificent," I murmured.
He closed the distance between us with a few strides. The smell of sweat and blood and salt swept over me. He put hot, damp palms on either side of my shoulders.
"You are afraid. You do not need to fear me," he said, bringing his lips close to my ear, "as long as you do everything I say, you will be protected. Cherished, even."
The softer sounds in his words hissed out and lingered long under the hard sounds. It was not the voice of a man. He towered over me, his chin easily clearing the top of my geisha wig.
He leaned in close and I was at eye level with an Oni face tattooed just under his collarbone. One piercing Oni eye shut slowly, and reopened.
I cringed and bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. It was my job to remove these evil spirits from this man's body. But I was completely outmatched and incapable. I was small and weak by comparison. Worse, I was full of doubt. I might not make it out of here unscathed.
Raiden's hands slipped around me and went to the ties at my back. Panic exploded in my chest and flapped wildly under my ribs like a caged bird. I took a breath in, my mind racing for what to do. My eyes darted to the wakizashi, visible over Raiden's shoulder. I stood there, rooted to the spot like a petrified tree, as he untied my belt. I felt my dress loosen as the belt fell to the floor. Next he pushed the wig and cap from my head. My own black strands fell loose around my shoulders.
He made a deep humming sound in his throat. "Beautiful," he growled. "You know what I like to do to beautiful things?"
He moved his hands back to my shoulders, his fingertips hooking at the collar of my robe. One tug and the whole thing would fall open and leave me exposed. He bent lower still and I felt the tip of his nose graze my cheekbone. He inhaled deeply.
Then he froze, his face next to mine. His fingers dug into my shoulders hard and he pulled his face back abruptly. His countenance had changed, his eyes were wide with shock and surprise.
"Kin?" He breathed the word out underneath the hum that seemed to have no end as it vibrated from his throat. He took another inhale.
My entire body was trembling now, every nerve and cell screaming to run. I could not leave without that wakizashi, and there was no way this man would let me leave with it, let alone take a step.
"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.
Chapter 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 you," 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?"
