Yamada Monogatari: Demon Hunter

by Richard Parks

  “Now would I. It’s possible the grave exists without their knowledge. So it would be in their interest that we find it and remove it, if that grave does in fact exist.”

  In some ways Nobu reminded me of Kenji, at least in the sense that I always got when watching a master at work. In a very short span of time I saw that Lord Kinmei’s confidence had not been misplaced. Nobu worked the area of the compound with his tools, and I with mine. He counted the beads on his prayer necklace while keeping up a steady chant as he paced off the length and breadth of the grounds like a water-diviner. For my part I kept a close watch for rising miasmas and the blink of corpse lights. When we met back near the front gate, we had both come to the same conclusion.

  Nobu sighed. “Nothing, Lord Yamada. I can find no grave here.”

  “I agree. Which is a shame, really. A grave would have been easier to deal with.”

  “A proper cremation. A proper funeral ritual and reburial with respect. Even someone torn from this world by violence could be appeased on that score,” he said. “Pity.”

  “So that leaves us with the second possibility that I mentioned.”

  “My wager,” the old priest said, “would have been on the grave. Lord Yamada, I’ve known young Akio all his life. It simply makes no sense to me that anyone would harbor this level of ill-feeling towards him, consciously or not. He’s as decent a man as I’ve ever known.”

  “Someone clearly does . . . and that someone is here!”

  I spotted the faintly glowing figure only a moment before Nobu did. I sprinted toward the veranda of the east wing, with the priest, for all his years, barely three paces behind me.

  The creature was exactly as had been described. It was dressed in flowing white robes, as for a funeral, though it was hard to make out any specific details of the garb. The ghost’s long, unconfined black hair twisted and flowed in the freshening breeze as if it were a separate thing with its own will, framing a face of no features. No eyes, nose, mouth, just a white emptiness that was more chilling than the most ferocious devil-mask.

  I put myself between the thing and the house with no clear idea of what I was going to do. I had amulets for protection against ordinary spirits, but I wasn’t sure they would serve here. I never got the chance to find out, for in another moment Nobu was beside me. I expected him to begin the rite of exorcism, but instead he produced a strip of paper and slapped it directly onto the creature’s empty face. In another moment it had vanished, and only then did Nobu sink slowly to the ground, his chest heaving.

  “Are you all right?” I asked. I started to help him up, but he waved me off.

  “I think I will live, Lord Yamada, but one of my age should not run so much. Give me a moment.”

  I waited until Nobu’s breathing—and my own—had returned to something closer to normal, then I helped him to stand again. “What did you use on that thing?”

  “A seal more appropriate for a powerful kami rather than a simple ghost. Which, if you are correct, this thing is not. After seeing the result, I’m inclined to agree. Do you think I destroyed it?”

  So my suspicions were confirmed. A powerful spirit but a ghost of the living, not the dead. Ikiryo. I shook my head. “A friend of mine once helped me contain a shapeshifter’s power with something similar, but more likely you banished it temporarily, much like the previous exorcisms. I believe it will return.”

  “I can replace the wards on Akio’s room with these,” he said, “I have just enough left. But he can’t stay in that room forever. I’ll send to Enryaku Temple tonight for more seals, but I’m not sure how long these will last. The wards are strongest when first used. Their power fades over time.”

  “If I can find the source of the ikiryo that will be a moot point,” I said. “And to do that, I have to learn more about who Lord Akio’s unseen enemy might be. I may need to search his private quarters.”

  Nobu hesitated. “Lord Kinmei trusts you and thus so must I, but I would be remiss in my duties to the family if I allowed you to riffle through Akio’s belongings without supervision.”

  I had no argument with that condition. I waited while the priest changed the defenses of Lord Akio’s sick room. When he returned he looked relieved.

  “Lord Akio is sleeping peacefully. Whatever the creature meant to do, I believe it was thwarted tonight.”

  “Then let us hope I find something that will help keep it away permanently.”

  I allowed Nobu to escort me to the young master’s private rooms and remain with me as I searched. I opened and closed several chests, but most contained extra clothes and such and were of little interest. In truth, very little that was obvious to me on first inspection was of interest. I stopped, considering what I might have missed.

  “It might help if you told me what sort of thing you’re looking for,” Nobu said.

  I sighed. “The only way I could tell you would be if I’d already found it.”

  I took another long look around the room. Like a tiny insect crawling on my arm, a thing scarcely noticed saved for the itch, something was bothering me. Something was . . . missing.

  “Your master is of the royal court and yet not literate?”

  Nobu scowled. “Illiterate? Nonsense! Even the Emperor has remarked on Akio’s skill as a poet.”

  “Then where is his writing table?”

  Nobu’s scowl deepened, then suddenly cleared away. “Oh! It was brought to his sick room. I think its presence was meant to comfort him.”

  “I need to see it, but I do not wish to disturb the young man’s sleep.”

  “We should be able to bring it out for you. Come with me.”

  Akio’s quarters were in the west wing of the mansion. We made our way through the corridor, into the main house, then out into the east wing. There were few servants about, mostly women, and they moved silently on their own errands with barely a glance at us. As we grew closer to the sick room, the chanting of the monks grew louder, though the sound remained somewhat muted in order to not awaken Akio.

  Nobu left me where three priests sat in prayer, and a female attendant slid the screen aside for him to enter the room. In a few moments he returned, bearing the writing table.

  It was of fine make, lacquered and painted with scenes of mountains and rivers and set at the perfect height for a kneeling man to use. There was a small chest attached for his inkstones and brushes, and a separate drawer for paper. All was in good condition and in order, though it was also clear that the table and its implements had seen heavy use.

  There were also several cubbyholes containing scrolls. Nobu looked unhappy but said nothing as I pulled each out in turn and examined it. Drafts of poems, mostly completed. I read a few and silently agreed with Nobu’s opinion—Lord Akio clearly was a talented poet and could no doubt hold his own or better at court, where nearly all written communication of importance was in poetic form. I soon found a common reference in several completed poems and a few drafts. I showed them to Nobu.

  “Lord Akio uses the expression ‘Lady of the Ghost Willow’ more than once. There’s also a few references to a ‘Lady of the Morning Iris.’ Do you know who he meant?” I asked, but Nobu just shrugged.

  “I’m afraid the references have no meaning to me,” he said.

  “The poems I showed you are Lord Akio’s work, are they not?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  I held a piece of paper which, as the wrinkles and creases clearly showed, had been folded into a thin strip and tied into a knot. “To be certain.” I showed him the bit of writing on that paper. “Is this your master’s calligraphy?”

  Nobu was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “No. I don’t recognize the hand, though I think I’ve seen it before. What is it?”

  “A letter . . . or rather, a poem.”

  “Lord Yamada, this is all really improper. These poems are private correspondence.”

  “I agree. Yet I’m afraid that this is my main virtue, for the missions I’ve undertaken:
I’m willing to be improper as the need arises. And in this case, the need is that I read these private communications on the chance that they will tell me something that can help Lord Akio.”

  Nobu’s scowl deepened, but he did not object further. I flattened out the paper as much as possible and read what was written there:

  The humbled swordsman

  Once proud, a blade cut his sleeve

  Now wet with the dew.

  The tanka was written in a delicate, refined script and was incomplete. Normally the one who received such a poem would write two lines to complete the form and return it to the sender. I had no way of knowing if the poem had been intended for Akio or whether he had replied.

  I had little talent for poetry, but my instruction in the classic metaphors was probably no less extensive than Akio’s. The poem was both an entreaty and a question; that much was clear. But what was the answer? One who might be able to tell me was beyond speech now and might be for some time, if not forever. I wondered if there was anyone aside from Akio who might know.

  “Lord Akio is safe for the moment. I must leave now and get a little sleep before I return to Lord Kinmei’s house tomorrow. Please return this table to its rightful place.”

  Nobu looked at me. “Tomorrow? But it’s my understanding that Lord Kinmei left for Enrakyu Temple to pray for Lord Akio’s health this very morning. He won’t be back until the day after. And even then he plans to stay here, rather than at his own home. He wishes to be present if . . . when, his friend awakens.”

  “Perfect, since it is Fujiwara no Suzume I need to speak with.”

  “His sister? May I ask why?”

  “Because it’s possible that she knows more about this matter than her brother does.”

  It was mid-morning before Fujiwara no Suzume was ready to receive me. I was ushered into the main reception hall. There was a low dais on which a translucent curtain of silk had been hung. Lady Suzume kneeled on a cushion behind that curtain, with two female attendants flanking her at a discreet distance. I could see the outlines of her small form but few details. It would have taken a far more intimate connection than the one I had to be allowed to see her face.

  “My brother left instructions to the household that we refuse no reasonable request from you,” she said without preamble. “What do you wish of me, Lord Yamada?”

  Straight to the point. I know she was trying to be rude, but at the moment such directness served my needs admirably.

  “Please forgive my intrusion, but there are some questions I need to ask you, for Lord Akio’s sake.”

  “Akio? What can I tell you that would be of help?”

  Was that actual concern in her voice? I had to admit that it at least sounded that way. “I understand that you were promised to Lord Akio.”

  “I am still promised to Lord Akio,” she replied, with some of the coldness I had originally felt returning to her voice. “And if it be the will of Heaven that promise will be honored. Akio’s father and my uncle have both approved the match.”

  “Is that your will as well?”

  There was a long silence. Thanks to the curtain I couldn’t tell if she was shocked or merely trying not to laugh.

  “What has that to do with the matter, Lord Yamada? You know the law as well as I.”

  “Of course, my lady. But that was not my question.”

  There was an even longer silence, then she turned to her two attendants. “You are both to withdraw to just beyond the doorway. Keep us in sight, as is proper, but no more.”

  They both bowed and obeyed, though without a great deal of enthusiasm. When they were clearly out of earshot, Lady Suzume beckoned me closer. She then pulled the two halves of the curtain apart, only a little, but it was enough that I could finally see the woman kneeling behind the curtain, and the sight was very familiar. Easily explained: her resemblance to her brother was quite striking. She was, in her own way, as beautiful as he was handsome. She also seemed to be his model for the shikigami who had served as his messenger earlier.

  “I had to see your face, Lord Yamada. Forgive me, but some matters cannot be judged by words alone through a veil.”

  I had of course seen the veil as a hindrance to myself, but now I understood that hindrance worked both ways. “I am honored.”

  “Not by my own inclination. Your reputation is unsavory at best, but I want you to understand that I will do anything I can to be of service to Lord Akio. Anything, and that includes answering your rather impertinent question, Lord Yamada—yes, it is my will. Akio and my brother grew up together and were inseparable, and so Lord Akio in turn was like an older brother to me. My affection for him has only increased over the years. He is the kindest, gentlest man I have ever known.”

  “So you are . . . content, to be Lord Akio’s wife?”

  She did laugh then, demurely covering her mouth with her fan. “ ‘Content’? Lord Yamada, I have lived in terror of some of the marriages my family contemplated for me. Yet when my uncle gave me the news that I was for Akio instead, I counted myself thrice blessed! He is a good man, a friend, and will treat me well. I cannot believe the gods would be so cruel as to offer me such happiness and then snatch it from me before I have even touched it.”

  I, on the other hand, had no trouble at all believing that they would do such, and worse besides. I had seen it, and not from nearly as far a distance as I would have liked. Which was another reason I did not want to follow my current path but did not see much in the way of alternatives. I did note that Lady Suzume never said that she loved him, but perhaps in her view that was entirely beside the point.

  “Forgive me, Lady Suzume, but you do know that he has other attachments?”

  For the space of a dozen heartbeats, there was almost absolute silence. “What of it?” she asked, finally, and I could not imagine the snows of Hokkaido containing any more chill than the one in her voice.

  “So you did know.”

  “Of course I knew! It was my business to know. What I do not know is why you’re asking me this.”

  “Again I must beg your indulgence, but I did ask for a reason.”

  She closed the curtain again. “I am not curious about that reason. If there is more to the matter, I suggest you consult the so-called ‘Lady of the Ghost Willow’ for yourself.”

  So she even knew her rival’s poetic euphemism. I should have been surprised, but I was not. “No one seems to know who she is.”

  I thought she was going to laugh, call me an idiot, or both. “I assume you’ve seen Lord Akio’s poems, or you wouldn’t be asking me about this woman. I believe he also refers to her as ‘Morning Iris.’ Put it together, Lord Yamada.”

  I frowned. Morning Iris? Ghost willow? For a moment I just stared at her. Then I almost called myself an idiot. “The tree called the ghost willow is ‘yanagi,’ and it’s also a family name. Iris is ‘ayame,’ a flower and also a woman’s name. ‘Lady of the Ghost Willow.’ I’m looking for a woman named Yanagi no Ayame.”

  I couldn’t see her smile, but I knew it was there. “So you’re not a complete fool. That’s good to know, since you seem to be our only hope for Lord Akio’s deliverance. You will find a way to save him, Lord Yamada. I hope there is no misunderstanding between us on this.”

  At that point I did not think there was. “Everything I do now is in the service of Lord Akio’s deliverance, Lady Suzume.”

  “Then I humbly suggest you stop wasting my lord’s time. The woman you seek lives in the Fifth Ward. If you need answers, she’s more likely to possess them than I.”

  The Yanagi family compound had seen better days. The walls had been patched in several places; the gate swung uneasily on rusty hinges. Yet the patching was of fine workmanship, and if the hinges were rusted the gate itself had been recently repaired. An old woman, whom I soon learned was the only retainer remaining, closed the gate behind us and led me through the dilapidated garden. A very old willow, the sort with long, trailing limbs and known commonly known as a “gho
st willow,” had pride of place there, such that it was, doubtless due to its family association. Such trees were often the haunts of yokai and ghosts, and considered unlucky. When I saw the state of the Lady of the Morning Iris’s home, I was inclined to agree.

  Whatever lowly condition the family had come to, etiquette itself had not been abandoned. I was led to an audience with Yanagi no Ayame that, at least so far as the procedures and forms were concerned, was little different than the one earlier with Lady Suzume. Only this time, the curtains were not opened. Yet their threadbare state did give me a glimpses of the woman on the opposite side of the veil from time to time.

  She was about Suzume’s age or perhaps a bit younger. Her kimono and green Chinese overjacket were of fine quality, and if the kimono was a little worn, the overjacket was obviously new. Ayame herself was a lovely, delicate woman, though with little of the serenity of Lady Suzume.

  “Thank you for receiving me. I am Lord Yamada.”

  Yanagi no Ayame was worried, and she didn’t bother to conceal it. “I apologize for our current surroundings, Lord Yamada, but as you see, maintenance has been impossible until recently.”

  “That is of no consequence. Thank you for receiving me under these circumstances.”

  “Your messenger barely preceded you within the hour, so I must ask you: is there any further news of Lord Akio?”

  “He yet lives, but his health is grave. Surely you knew of this before my messenger arrived?”

  “I only knew . . . ” Her voice trailed off. “That is . . . ”

  I didn’t want to embarrass her, but I didn’t have the time to dance around the matter all evening. Nor, I was certain, did Lord Akio. “You only knew that he had not visited or written to you in the last several days, yes?”

  “Yes,” she said, so softly I barely heard her. “In my loneliness I was afraid he had forgotten me.”

  Attachments among the nobility tended to follow set protocols: In the case of a formal alliance, the man would visit his love openly, and any children produced would be immediately acknowledged. If there was no formal understanding, the visits would of course be more discreet, whatever the outcome, including children. I was fairly certain that Lord Akio’s relationship with the “Lady of the Ghost Willow” fell into the informal second category, whatever their feelings toward each other might be.