by Paula Guran
She strikes the match and drops it onto the blacktop, and the gasoline catches fire immediately, a yellow-orange beast, undaunted by the summer rain, blooming to life to race hungrily back the way she’s come. Dancy gets off the highway as quickly as she can and crouches low in a shallow, bramble- and trash-filled ditch at the side of the road. She squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears, trying not to think about the thing in the iron cage, or the naked woman it pretended to be, or the old man who would have fed her to the monster, trying not to think of anything but the angel and all the promises it’s made.
That there will someday be an end to this, the horrors and the blood, the doubt and pain, the cleansing fires and the killing.
That she is strong, and one day soon she will be in Paradise with her grandmother and grandfather and her mother, and even though they will know all the terrible things she’s had to do for the angel, they’ll still love her, anyway.
And then she feels the sudden rush of air pushed out before the blast, and Dancy makes herself as small as she can, curling fetal into the grass and prickling blackberries, and the ancient, unfeeling earth, indifferent to the affairs of men and monsters, gods and angels, trembles beneath her.
Sanji’s Demon
Richard Parks
Richard Parks has written a series of stories about Lord Yamada, a minor aristocrat in Heian Japan (794–1185) who makes his living as a “nobleman’s proxy”: basically a private investigator who handles situations, mostly of a paranormal nature, that his social betters either can’t handle or would be too embarrassed to try. Here, he encounters a type of Japanese demon, the oni. Although there are different types of oni, some far more benign than others – sometimes they are even portrayed as lovable and cuddly – they are primarily thought of as described by Parks: hideous, savage, gigantic supernatural creatures with the ability to shape-shift and a tendency to devour humans. Masks and other portrayals usually depict them with two horns and huge mouths sporting multiple fangs or tusks. Oni are often found nowadays in anime, manga and film.
Kenji the reprobate priest was in a strange mood, even by Kenji’s standards. “I’ve traveled a great deal, Yamada-san, but I think Echizen may be one of the most charming places I’ve ever seen.”
It was the middle of the afternoon. Kenji and I traveled on foot along the Hokuriku Road on our way to find a demon-queller near the village of Takefu. I happily conceded that Echizen had its charm. It was early fall and the leaves were starting to turn; the breeze was pleasantly warm still but with a hint of chill. Even so, Echizen’s leaves and mountains and wooded hillsides were not much different than those to the west or north and, like them, after sunset would be stirring with creatures both unpleasant and dangerous. I shrugged. “It’s nice enough.”
Kenji sighed. “Nice? Lady Shikibu herself lived here for a year. The poets Nakatomi no Yakamori and Ōtomo no Yakamochi were exiled here. They were two of the greatest poets of our grandfathers’ time! I can see how this place could inspire them.”
I scratched my chin. “Kenji, a great many courtiers get exiled at one time or another, and every single one of them is a poet, by necessity. It stands to reason that some of them would be good at it. As for inspiration, Nakatomi’s love was still in Kyoto while he was trapped here, so of course he wrote brilliant poetry full of regret and longing. Honestly, what’s gotten into you?”
Kenji just sighed. “I could ask the same of you, Yamada-san. You’re in an exceptionally sour mood, and for you that is saying a great deal.”
I started to answer harshly, but that impulse just proved to me that Kenji was right. At first I thought it was simply because I’d given up saké for the duration of my assignment, and that sacrifice always darkened my outlook, but there had to be more to the matter. My hand kept creeping to my sword hilt as if I wanted to strike someone, and I didn’t particularly care who that someone might be. The idea of losing control, even for an instant, and what I might do in that instant, both terrified and infuriated me.
“You know me, Kenji-san. I’m not the easiest person to be near, but I’m neither impulsive nor arbitrary,” I said finally. “There must be a reason. Why am I so angry?”
Kenji rubbed the graying stubble on top of what should have been a properly shaven head, except that, in his case, it almost never was. “How can I know, if you do not? Have I done something to offend you?”
“No more than usual,” I said, because it was so. “Though I will say that you’re a bit more insufferably cheerful than usual . . .” A new thought stopped me. “Kenji-san, you’re carrying demon-wards and sutras with you, are you not?”
He patted his travel bundle, which he wore looped around his neck. “Of course. You were a little vague as to the nature of your client’s need, so I brought everything I could think of.”
“Say rather that my client was discreet. Do me a favor – put your bundle down.”
Kenji frowned but did as I asked. He took one step away from his priestly supplies and his frown deepened. “Oh. I feel it now.”
My hand went back to the hilt of my tachi, but not out of anger this time. “Demon aura?”
“I think so. With my wards and the holy writs so close, I was oblivious. You’ve been sensing it for a while, no doubt. Which perhaps explains your mood.”
“Perhaps. How close?”
Kenji closed his eyes for a few moments, then scowled and went riffling through his bundle. “Very close.”
My sword was clear of its scabbard before we both heard something crashing through the undergrowth uphill of the road, something very large and in a hurry. Kenji scrabbled to find a ward, but it was too late. The oni broke through the undergrowth beside the road and charged straight at us. It was just taller than a man, with pointed talons and long yellow teeth, but I barely had time to note its appearance before it was upon us and my blade was in motion.
I took one quick step to the side and brought my sword across and up as the thing, unable to check its momentum, hurtled past me. I got one clear look at its face before its head separated from its shoulders and went rolling off down the ravine on the other side of the road. It was a foolish thought, but for that moment, I wished I had stayed my hand. In an instant it was all over. The creature’s body took two steps without its head and then slammed onto the road, skidding to a stop at the verge, its hot, dark blood pooling in the dust.
“Well done, sir.”
A burly young man stood just above us on the hillside. He wore the plain brown clothing of a yamabushi, but unlike a mountain monk, he wore his black hair long and confined it with a red headband. He carried a short sword and leaned on a gnarled club bound with iron. He was breathing heavily as if after a run, but he was not completely winded. He bowed. “Forgive me for putting you in harm’s way. The creature was faster than I judged. I am Sago no Daiki.”
Kenji and I bowed in turn. “I was fairly certain of your identity before you spoke, Master Daiki. I am Yamada no Goji. This gentleman is the priest, Kenji. Kenji, Sago no Daiki is our client.”
The young man smiled. “Ah! I was expecting you. I’m also happy to see that your reputation is well deserved, Lord Goji. Again, I must say ‘well done’.”
I pulled a tegami from my pouch and began to wipe the demon’s blood from my sword. “My thanks, but I think the credit for this particular demon-slaying incident belongs more to you than to me, Daiki-san.”
Kenji eyed the creature’s body. “With all due respect to Master Daiki, why do you say so? This was a very powerful devil, and I don’t think even my strongest ward could have blocked its attack completely, off-guard as I was. Yet you took it down with one blow!”
I put my sword away. “The creature wasn’t attacking, Kenjisan. I doubt it even realized we were here until it was too late.”
Kenji almost sputtered. “Not attacking? Then, pray, what was the beast doing?”
I nodded toward Master Daiki. “Fleeing in terror.”
The letter I had received the previou
s week from Master Daiki had, frankly, astonished me. The Sago clan had been demonquellers of great renown for 400 years, starting with the clan’s founder, Sanji the Demon Slayer. The clan’s fame had reached far beyond Echizen, their ancestral province. Yet here was the heir of that noble tradition, Sago no Daiki, asking me for help with, of all things, a demon. The promised reward had been only part of my inducement for agreeing to see him; the remainder was simple fascination. While I was confident enough in my skills, I had no idea what I could possibly do that Master Daiki could not, and I was curious to find out.
Daiki paused in the road only long enough to retrieve the devil’s head, then escorted us to his clan’s compound north of Takefu. He made no more than polite conversation on the way. I took my cue from him and reluctantly asked none of the questions I was impatient to ask.
While the Sago clan compound was certainly nothing like the grand mansions and gardens one could find in the Imperial Compound, it compared favorably with many other dwellings in the Capital. The gate and green tile-roofed wall were in good repair, and the main living and servants’ quarters were spacious and connected by fine covered walkways in proper shinden style. Master Daiki was clearly studying me as I in turn studied my surroundings.
“What you see here is not a home, but the gratitude of generations of people who were protected by my family,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed. “I am but the caretaker until the next heirs of the Sago clan are ready to take on my burden. Speaking of which . . .”
“Chi-chi-san!”
Daiki laid his club and his trophy aside just in time. The words jumbled together almost like the children themselves. Two little boys and a girl, none more than five years old, came scampering down the steps and into their father’s – or so I surmised – arms. They were followed closely by a distressed young woman dressed as a servant.
She bowed low. “Forgive me, Master Daiki, but when they heard you were home, it was impossible to contain them.”
Daiki looked stern, or perhaps as stern as one could look with an armful of laughing progeny. I felt a pang of envy just then, which was not an emotion I experienced often, but I did not bother denying it to myself. A proper home of my own, a wife and family . . . these were things I once thought that I, too, would one day possess. Knowing that such a thing could not be so, and knowing the reasons, did not quite remove the desire.
“You’re not at fault, Aniko. No one can contain a son or daughter of the Sago clan if they do not wish to be contained. Still . . .” He set the children down again and lined them up in proper order. “It was wrong of you to run away from Aniko and wrong also to ignore our guests. Where are your manners?”
The children managed to restrain their giggles long enough to bow formally in my and Kenji’s general direction. Now that they were standing somewhat still, it was easier to sort one from another. The two boys were the oldest, perhaps five and four, with the girl no more than three or so. If this had been the Capital, Daiki’s wife and any children would either have resided in a separate household or remained in the care of the wife’s family, but here in the provinces such arrangements were less common. Daiki kept his family close to him and obviously preferred it that way.
“Lady Takara is away on a pilgrimage, fortunately,” he said. “So she does not yet know of our misfortune.”
It was the first time Master Daiki had touched on the matter that had brought us here, however obliquely. He sent the children off under Aniko’s care, after first instructing her to see that refreshment was prepared and our lodgings made ready. When we were alone again, he merely said, “Gentlemen, if you would follow me?”
Daiki led us through the front garden and around to the rear of the main house. There the compound continued for about a bowshot until the walls ended at the base of a stone outcrop, where sat what appeared to be a large shrine. Kenji was not the most proper of monks, to put it mildly, but to his credit he sensed the demon spoor before I did.
“The place fairly reeks, Yamada-san,” he whispered.
Another few moments and I had it, too – an acrid, musty scent which I can only describe as equal parts animal, decay, sweat and fear. Though what I thought of as a scent was probably the product of a higher sense, rendered, perhaps, in terms more easily amenable to human interpretation. The “scent” was as much sensation as smell, much like I had felt in a different way the demon’s rage and fear earlier that day on the road.
“Yuichi should be here,” Master Daiki said, looking around. He sounded puzzled.
“Who is Yuichi?” I asked.
“He’s been in the service of the Sago clan since before I was born. He oversees our gardens and the grounds and especially the family shrine. He was away visiting relatives, but I was told he had returned.”
“And he’s usually found near the shrine?”
Daiki smiled. “As well one could say that the shore is found near the ocean. The man is scrupulously attentive to his duties.”
Still, there was no sign of anyone near the shrine. The grounds were deserted except for two guards, bowmen wearing the Sago mon, who could be seen patrolling along the outer walls.
“The compound is under guard at all times?” I asked.
“Yes, Lord Yamada. One doesn’t answer my clan’s calling without making enemies, demonic and otherwise. Besides, there are always one or two bandit clans active in the area, despite Governor Ishikawa’s and my own best efforts. It’s wise to be cautious.”
“Indeed.”
We proceeded to the shrine building and went inside, and we immediately understood where the demon-aura was coming from. One look and I revised my perception of the building from “shrine” to “trophy hall”. The building was long and relatively narrow, ending against the rock face at the north end of the compound. The walls were lined with the skulls of demons: some very old by the look of them, others gleaming white as if they had just returned from the rendering vat. There were greater and lesser demons, monsters, and a few creatures I could not identify and frankly had no wish to.
Master Daiki paused. “Yuichi?”
An old man with thinning white hair and stooped shoulders was adjusting a skull that hung crooked on the wall. When he heard Daiki’s voice, he immediately turned and bowed low.
“Greetings, Master Daiki,” he said. “I am pleased to see that you have returned safely.”
“And I am astonished, Yuichi-san, to see that you have entered the shrine. I know how you feel about this place.”
The old man bowed lower. “With so little life left to me, I did not wish to spend what remained as a coward. Besides, my assistant is ill and there was work to do.”
Daiki practically beamed. “Well said. These are my guests, Lord Yamada no Goji and the priest Kenji.”
“I am honored.”
I frowned. “Yuichi-san, am I to understand that you don’t normally enter the shrine itself?”
“Demons frighten me,” the old man said, and he bowed again. “Even dead ones. I have always been ashamed of this failing.”
“More like common sense,” Master Daiki said. “Come with us. Lord Yamada may have more questions for you.”
We continued down the length of the building, Yuichi following a few paces behind, while Master Daiki spoke.
“You have heard something of my ancestor, Sago no Sanji?” he asked.
Kenji grunted. “There are few who deal with spirits and monsters who have not. The founder of your clan, he was a minor provincial official who slew a particularly troublesome monster and was awarded the title ‘Demon Queller’ by the Emperor Temmu himself. Since that time his descendants have carried on this proud tradition.”
Daiki bowed slightly. “I have done my best, as did my father and those who came before him. But it all started with Sago no Sanji, who kept the preserved body of the demon he slew as a trophy. It was to house this precious heirloom that this shrine was constructed. As you see, our clan has added to the collection over the centuries.”
“That is my hope as well,” Master Daiki said, “though the presence of the first demon, as I said, was the reason the shrine was established. Which brings us to the crux of my problem.”
There was little light near the north end of the shrine, and the poor illumination didn’t add to the cheeriness of the place. We were fairly close before we saw what was there. Or rather, what wasn’t there.
A square hollow had been carved into the face of the rock, twice as tall as a man and about half that in width. In that alcove sat a sort of raised dais, and on that was what appeared to be a stool with a low back. It was empty.
Now I understood. Master Daiki’s problem wasn’t a demon, but rather the lack of one.
“The demon’s corpse . . .?” Kenji began, and Master Daiki finished.
“. . . has been stolen.”
Despite the day’s events, sleep did not come easily nor did it last especially long. Dawn was barely evident before I used Kenji’s snoring as my excuse to stop lying where I was and rise. From our guest quarters I could hear very faint voices as if the servants were already up and about preparing the morning meal and getting the household ready for the day. I visited the privy and then took the opportunity to walk around the compound.
There were guards about as before, though a different shift from the previous night. I could not fault their attention; it was quite evident that they took their duties seriously. Yet somehow a thief – or more likely several – had managed to slip into the compound unseen and make off with the corpse of a seven-foot tall demon. Granted, the desiccated trophy could not have weighed as much as the demon did in life, but it would have still been too large and clumsy for even a strong man to handle alone, never mind the problem of getting it over the wall or through one of the gates without being detected. And who would wish to steal a dead demon in the first place?