“He said he would stuff my cunt with vipers, but his was beyond useless.”
“Hah!” Kurogosho chuckled, matching the woman’s movements above him. “We still don’t know who helped him escape?”
“No-one could have broken that rope with brute force. Besides, the break-point was too clean. Someone gave him a knife, maybe cut him free. It could have been an outsider, but that doesn’t explain the open lock. We should consider the possibility that this was the work of an insider, someone with knowledge of the key’s location.”
“Either way, we can take our time sniffing them and Fuminari out once the ritual is complete.”
“And then we finally get to Kukai.”
“Yes.” Kurogosho nodded.
Renobo’s face suddenly darkened, still looking down at him. “I hear of ghosts in Kukai’s room.”
“Nothing to be concerned with. Two, maybe three people have reported strange noises, seen spirits in the building. If anything, I feel reassured. It is evidence, after all, that Kukai remains alive.”
“Of course."
“But this Biku, he paid the L.L.S. headquarters a visit?”
“Yes. The same day Fuminari escaped, earlier that evening.”
“I take it that no one is being allowed in or out of the building any more.”
“No-one has crossed the threshold since we locked it down.”
“And the L.L.S.?”
“Only director Jotaro Itsuki knows of the existence of Panshigaru or of my location. I have instructed him not to leave the building.”
“And the Shinmeikai have arrived en-masse to guard Akio Ishibashi at the hospital. So the only option left is for them to pressure the leaders of the Shinmeikai, or go after Toyama directly.”
“And there’s Geshin.”
“Ah yes, of course.”
“He comes from Mt. Koya, after all.”
“He can be dealt with easily enough after we have completed our business with Kukai. Make sure to have your fun with him in the meantime.”
“What should we do about Iba?”
“Let us consider him after the ritual on August 3rd,” Kurogosho replied, picking up his speed. Renobo’s moans rose a pitch. It was the 31st of July, only three days away from the dark ritual.
6
August 1. Hakone.
The thrumming of cicadas was a constant noise through the open window, two recognizably distinct sounds, the aburazemi and the ninizemi. In a while, their calls would be joined by the dry croaking of the evening cicada, the higurashi, but the hour was still too early for that. It was two in the afternoon, when the day’s heat was at its peak. Hot air, cooler than lower altitudes but stifling nonetheless, poured in through the open window, unabashedly joining the song of the cicada.
There were five people in the room. These consisted of the four men Hosuke Kumon, Biku, Senkichi Fuminari and Tetsuo Shimizu; together with a lone woman, Ryoko Kitano. They gathered around a single table, each sitting in their preferred fashion.
There was a single sheet of paper on the table, clearly a mandala from a school of esoteric Buddhism, but the mandala itself was far from commonplace. The rectangular sheet had been sectioned into a chessboard pattern of smaller rectangles with five sections to a side, making for a total of twenty-five rectangular segments. While it was clearly different, it resembled a mandala of the taizo-kai, the womb realm. The mandala was unlike anything that would be commonly recognized. Each rectangular division contained male and female bodies engaged in fornication. Yet the figures were not human. They were representations from the cannon of deities that graced murals across esoteric Buddhist temples, sects that included the Lama.
The deities were intertwined in a melange of sexual positions. Such mandala often display an image of the Dainichi Nyorai or Mahavairocana to the center as a symbol of the fundamental principles of esoteric Buddhism, but the deity represented in this mandala was altogether different. It stood with its legs planted firmly on the ground, brandishing its teeth in an expression that could have been read as being either rage or delight. The deity had three eyes, the third of which was located in the center of its forehead, open and looking outwards. On top of having three eyes, the deity also had three heads. A wide delta of arms fanned out behind the male deity. Each hand carried a different object. One held a severed human head, another carried the head of Shiva--one of the principal deities of Hinduism. It wore a decorative belt around its waist, from which hung a chilling number of skulls.
The deity was copulating with a female goddess. The goddess’ legs were splayed wide, wrapped around and clinging to the male’s buttocks. The male deity’s huge penis was visible as it penetrated her from underneath. The copy was monotone, but the image still managed to convey an immense sense of force as the two deities joined in what could be construed as either hatred or pleasure.
“This copy is from the archives at Mt. Koya,” Shimizu said, his voice cutting through the humidity. “Usually, the figure in the center would be a rendering of the Dainichi Nyorai, or Mahavairocana. In this case, the deity is Heruka from the Hindu pantheon. The mandala can be seen as a sort of cosmology, in this case, one where Heruka is worshipped as the principle image. Looking at it this way, its function is the same as the original mandala with Dainichi Nyorai at the center. Yet this particular mandala differs fundamentally from the rest, as is clear to see, the ‘cosmology’ consists of couples engaged in sexual intercourse. It is said that sexual intercourse enabled the men and women inside the mandala to form a bond with the universe and thereby enable the arrival of Heruka from the heavens; in this case Heruka is symbolic of immortality.”
Fuminari remained silent, but his eyes had taken on a fierce light as he glared at the mandala, biting down on his lips. He was remembering the scene he had witnessed that night two years ago of men and women engaged in orgy, back in the mountains of Nishi-Tanzawa.
“It is claimed that such a ritual, as you see it here in the mandala, actually took place in ancient India. Some people even say that rituals like this are still being carried out, hidden away in disparate parts of the country. The ritual is said to be the key with which it becomes possible to gain immortality. That immortality is bestowed on the man that takes Heruka’s place at the center of the ritual.”
“Wow,” the exclamation came from Hosuke. His eyes were full of a child’s curiosity, looking almost amused as he stared at the image.
“The women having sex around Heruka are known as Dakini. In the three-months leading up to the ritual, they use a jar to collect and store their menstrual blood. During the ritual they use it to either paint themselves, or they actually drink it; this is a point of contention for the academics. According to some sources--well, actually according to this one particular source,” he placed a copy of an aged book onto the table. The crimson binding was printed with a black font, ‘The Hidden Sangha of India: Miwa Ishibashi.’ “Offerings were sometimes made to Heruka, the sacrificing of a young woman during the ritual.”
Fuminari let out a beast-like growl in response to the last sentence. Everyone turned to look at him. He was biting into his lips, his whole frame trembling. “This is it!” He stood up and slammed his fist onto the table, his giant frame shuddering. “This is what I saw!” His eyes burned like wild fire. The expression was terrifying, the kind that makes a person avert their gaze.
“So this supposedly will be carried out on 3rd August?” Biku asked.
“And I know where.” Fuminari’s voice was unnerving, a subterranean rumbling. Ryoko turned to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot, streaked red. “The Tanzawa mountains,” he spat the words, snarling. He looked like a man possessed.
Thirteen
Chaos at the Dark Ritual
1
The sun was already low, dipping close to the ridge of the mountains.
The sky was still bright, but the surface of the man-made reservoir between the mountain walls was already veiled under a thin darkness. They were at Lake Tanz
awa.
The lake had formed when the Miho dam was erected to block the meandering course of the Kawauchi River that flowed through the deep heartlands of Tanzawa. The lake’s borders stretched over three valleys, tracing the lines of the rivers Yozuku, Nakagawa and Kurokura as they flowed into the dam. A Land Cruiser raced along a bridge strung above the water’s surface. The vehicle’s headlights shone through the mountain air, bouncing off the asphalt as they cut lines in the deepening darkness. Tetsuo Shimizu sat behind the wheel. Senkichi Fuminari was in the passenger seat, his vast frame taking up almost all of the available space around it. Biku and Hosuke Kumon were in the rear. They had come around forty kilometers since leaving the Tomei Expressway at the Oi-Matsuda interchange. After clearing the bridge, the Land Cruiser took a left and immediately entered a tunnel. The road snaked parallel to the Yozuku River, leading towards Asase.
Fuminari’s eyes were fixed ahead and heavy. His mouth was shut tight, thick arms folded together. His huge chest rose and fell under them, in time with his soft breathing. He was watching the gradual encroach of the darkness. With it, he saw a mix of images, all from what he had witnessed in the dead of night at Nishi-Tanzawa. The wash of naked couples fucking in the firelight, the chorus of their lusty moans. The incense that reached down a person’s core and sucked out every base desire. The stench of blood. He could still hear the woman upturned on the cross, screaming as her heart was being hacked out. The ritual had been vile, beyond the realm of imagination.
Among the religions of ancient India, there was a group that came to be known as the Samvara. The ritual Fuminari had witnessed originated within this particular group, although the details had been a grotesque deformation of the original format. The word ‘Samvara’ is Sanskrit, sometimes translated as ‘ultimate pleasure’. Other translations include ‘forbidden,’ or ‘religious discipline’. Fuminari had internalized it all. He had studied every scrap of material Shimizu had collected.
Samvara, the peak of sexual pleasure, the joining with the universe. The Rishu Sutra explains the pleasures of sexual experience as being ‘equal to [that of being] a Bodhisattva.’ The word is synonymous with ‘ultimate pleasure’. India’s Samvara religions are essentially forms of Tantric Buddhism. Tantric Buddhism, an occult religion that follows the left-hand path. What, then, are religions that follow the left-hand path? Such religions are symbolized in the goddess Kali, wife of Shiva the malevolent creator of Hinduism, venerating a sexual energy referred to as ‘Shakti.’ This energy is also known as ‘Kundalini’ and symbolized by a snake; it is said to exist within every living, evolving organism.
Left-hand path religions are built around the core belief that sexual pleasure awakens the power of Kundalini within us, therefore enabling the development of an elevated state of consciousness. A known example of Samvara religion in Japan is the Tachikawa School, established by the priest Ninkan towards the end of the Heian Period as a tributary of Shingon Buddhism. The Tachikawa School believes that enlightenment can be achieved through the intoning of Shingon sutra while consummating sexual union; the school’s focal points of worship are skulls on which they paint their own sexual fluids, employing 128 individual brushstrokes. The Rishu Sutra is one of the central texts of the Tachikawa School.
How were such rituals carried out in ancient India? A witch-like group of women known as the ‘Dakini’ are known to have performed a central role in the tantric rituals of the Samvara religions. One such ritual, named the Secret Rite of Heruka’s Descent, was held in places distant from population centers; mountains, caves, forests, confluence points of rivers, temples, abandoned ruins; locus points of ‘ringa’ (sexual energy) together with the ‘sumasana’, mass cemeteries outside of villages, usually located deep in forested land. The sumasana were a scattering ground for bodies, littered with bones bleached white from the sun. Sometimes bodies that had died from disease or execution were burned, often they were just left to rot. Some of the bodies would be left half-burned, others would be missing heads or their limbs. At nightfall, the graveyards would glow with an eerie phosphorescence, bringing animals to feast on the remains. Perhaps the ghost-like forms of Rakshasa or Vetala would have kept company among such beasts. These sumasana were a natural fit for the Secret Rite of Heruka’s Descent. A Samvara sutra known as the the Jnana Siddhi reads as follows:
Followers of the True Way of Samvara must consume red meats, first dried then fused with the Heart of Bodhisattva [male and female sexual fluids] and swilled in large quantities of water [blood]. They must eat the meat of humans, horses, cows and elephants in order to free themselves from blind discrimination and obtain the Siddhi of truth. Kill all creatures born into the Sanu [this world, the world of the dead, the world that is neither]. Steal the riches of others. Speak in lies and deceit. Such deeds cause the masses to burn in terrible hell, yet they shall bring enlightenment to the yogi [follower]. By achieving unity with the divine Upaya, the yogi profits society and for this the yogi is absolved of all crimes which the same society may accuse. Nothing exists of evil once [the devout] achieves the unification of Prajna and Upaya.
Outside of the five meats outlined in the sutra, there is another well-known grouping of five, those of the five nectars. The nectars are said to consist of five fluids excreted by the human body: urine, feces, phlegm, mucous, and menstrual blood. The sutra instructs that the path to enlightenment is opened through the ingesting of these nectars and the carrying out of frequent acts of evil; the very same acts that would result in a layman being cast into hell. The sutra goes as far as endorsing incest with one’s mother, sister(s), and/or daughter(s).
The ritual would begin on the tenth evening of the crescent moon. The yogi would travel along dark roads with the women that formed the Dakini until they reached the open clearing of a sumasana. There would already be a gathering at the clearing, a mass of people creating an endless cacophony of sound using cymbals, gongs, and drums of all types and sizes. The noise would excite the crowds as they reveled in drink, song and dance. Eventually, a signal would be made and a single man would emerge from the throng--the Ajari, or high priest.
The Ajari’s body would be frosted white, covered in the ashes of bodies burned at the sumasana. His hair would contain decorations fashioned from human skulls and he would bear a necklace of human bones. He would begin to draw in the ground, using a mixture of cow manure and fluids drained from the temples of elephants in heat; later he would add a second layer of manure, this time mixed with human ashes and samples of the five nectars. In this way, the Ajari would cover the grounds of the clearing with a series of rectangular divisions. These divisions would occasionally be decorated with viscera, removed from the dead bodies strewn around the grounds. The Ajari thus created the framework of a mandala, sectioned into twenty-five rectangular segments. At the center of the mandala was a single rectangle in the middle of which the Ajari would paint an outline of an eight-leafed lotus flower to represent Heruka’s throne. A naked male and female couple would filter into each square, then begin to engage in intercourse. In total, there would be twenty-five Dakini and twenty-five Yogi.
Each couple that was part of the living mandala would then rotate partners, moving in sympathy with the movement of the constellations. This circular movement was known as the ‘samsara'. The samsara--the Buddhist cycle of life and death.
2
Fuminari realized that his body had tensed all over.
His muscles had pulled tight without him knowing. He tried to relax, rid himself of the tension; he focused on the sensation of blood flowing through his veins, hot and enveloping like boiling water. The tires of the Land Cruiser were no longer running over asphalt. The path now was rough, jagged with exposed rock. Thick belts of summer grass rose ahead of the car, flashing by in the headlights. Having passed through Asase, the Land Cruiser had made a right turn and entered a narrow, tree-lined mountain road.
It looked like the road was still in occasional use. The edges of the road had visible wh
eel marks while the center, untouched by tires, was a straight line of grass. The Land Cruiser continued forwards, its bumper pushing the tall grasses flat as though scooping them into its underbelly. The road was too rough for any normal car to pass. Street cars rode too low, their underside would be cut up by the jagged edges of exposed rock. They were flanked on either side by dark mountains that looked like giant beasts backing towards them, beckoning Fuminari into a crushing embrace.
Someone was snoring directly behind him, Hosuke Kumon. It was as though the man had no concept of nerves. Fuminari knew he would be sleeping like a child, his mouth hanging open; he knew it without having to turn around. Biku would be next to him, wearing his usual cool expression. Fuminari fancied that there might even be traces of a smile on the man’s woman-like, crimson lips. He had no intention of making the effort to turn around and check, of course. Even if he did, it would be too dark to make out their expressions. His back could sense it well enough.
The hour was deepening, slowly making the transition from evening to night. Yet the narrow road winding through the valley was already dark. Dense pockets of towering cedars lined either side of the road. The sound of running water slithered between the cycling boom of the diesel engine, through the darkness down and off to the right. A mountain stream was flowing just beyond the cedar-packed slopes. There was a powerful stink of foliage, carried on the air as it blew through the open window, sap from the grasses, from the trees and leaves dissolving into the air.
The wind was a continual stream against Fuminari’s cheeks. Now and then the tires of the vehicle would squeeze the sap from something on the road, causing the scent of foliage to ramp into an unusually powerful stench. Fuminari recognized the smell as that of human blood. Not real blood, he knew, but the smell blood had become inexorably linked with the scent of sweating flora in his imagination. He noticed that his body had tensed again. His muscles contracting without his notice.
The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters Page 24