by A. L. Knorr
"Please tell me she used an anesthetic." I had started to sweat at the thought of a scalpel slowly cutting away pieces of hide, deep enough to take away the ink, while he sat still and allowed it. He must have been suffering horribly to choose the agony of being flayed over enduring his possession.
He shook his head. "It would have been pointless, really. Why block out the initial pain for a few moments when the regrowing of skin takes six months and is just as agonizing? Besides, I needed to feel it. For every piece of skin that was removed and replaced with scar tissue, I felt a little better, a little safer, a little more myself. Until finally," he gestured to his scarred torso, "it is nothing but a memory now. I took no photographs. The scars are more than enough to remind me of who I used to be."
"And the Akuna Hanta? How did he or she save you?"
Inaba closed his robe over his chest. "Earlier today I was hoping you could tell me that, but now I realize you can't." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "My knowledge of your world is limited. I can only tell you my experience of it, what I can remember. The yakuza faction that I was a part of meets once a year on the island of Tai, just off the coast near Tottori."
I gasped. "I know the place! I grew up not far from there." Tai Island was visible from the clifftop where Toshi had first kissed me.
Inaba canted his head. "You are from the Tottori Prefecture?"
"Just outside. Furano was my home."
"I have never been to Furano, but Tottori is well known to me. I spent time there every year, always with the yakuza." Inaba paused. "When were you last there?"
"1923." The year I had lost my tamashī was a year I was not ever going to forget.
His smile melted away like butter in a hot oven and his face grew long with shock. "How long have you been in this sheltered circumstance?"
"Since then, and please do not ask any more questions about my circumstance. I won't be able to answer them."
Inaba's face took on a slightly gray cast and he frowned at me. "You were there long before Raiden's family bought the fortress. Long before Raiden was even a thought."
"Raiden?"
"The Kyoto yakuza family is led by a man named Raiden Yukimura. His family owns the fortress ruin on the island. It's the perfect place to hide from prying eyes. There is no law there other than the law of the yakuza."
"What do they do there?"
"That part is not important to the story. The important part is that my state had been waxing worse and worse. I was still solidly in the yakuza fold since none of my crimes against them had yet been discovered. My presence was awaited there and I fully suspect that I was to be given more territory and power. My brutality had become legendary. But I was late for the meeting. A job that we needed to finish in Kyoto went badly and myself and the three other men were wounded. We missed our flight so we took a train to the coast and hired a private boat to take us to the island."
He took another sip of tea, and realized that his cup was empty. I picked up the teapot and poured for both of us. "Thank you," he said. "I was standing at the prow as we rode across the waves, when a large shadow passed overhead. Huge." He opened his arms and shook his head with wonder. "Like a dragon. I remember a loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The smell of ozone was strong, so strong. I looked up, but I saw nothing amiss. No storm clouds." He laughed. "No dragons. I turned back to ask my companions if they had noticed, when the most peculiar feeling came over me. I can only describe it like my soul had snagged on something and was being stretched away from me like an elastic, right out the top of my head. The elastic snapped and I remember my neck recoiling, a sharp pain and then nothing."
I held my tea halfway to my lips, forgotten. "Nothing? That was it?"
"That was it," he shrugged. "I lost consciousness. I woke up on the floor of the boat sometime later with a flurry of voices around me. But the most wonderful thing was that I woke up clear-headed. I was thinking as clearly as I ever had before the tattoo. I was in charge of my own faculties once again." He chuckled and stroked his chin. "Then I had a problem. I knew that I had to get out of the yakuza. And that's when this happened." He held up his right hand, showing the missing section of pinkie finger. "It's yakuza tradition." He looked down at his mutilated pinkie. "If a member of the yakuza insults an elder, by way of apology, he offers up part of a digit. It is also done as a sacrifice when a member wants out. You have to cut it off yourself."
I closed my eyes as a wave of nausea passed through me. "That's barbaric," I said, shuddering as I imagined sending the blade of a knife down onto my own skin and bone. I opened my eyes. "Why?"
"It harkens back to the days of the samurai. A strong swordsman needed all of his fingers to wield a sword with skill. By removing knuckles, you become less effective at defending yourself, and more reliant on the group for survival. If you want to identify yakuza in public, it won't be by the tattoos, for they keep themselves covered. It'll be by what's missing from their hands." He held up his hand. "I am one of the lucky ones. The ones who make a lot of mistakes," he shook his head, "they end up missing a lot of fingers.”
I took a sip of tea to moisten my throat, which had gone dry. "So, that time on the island fortress? You pled your case to leave the yakuza and offered up a," I swallowed down my nausea, "piece of your finger. And Raiden let you go free?"
"Well, at that time it was Raiden's father I was making the sacrifice to. But no, it wasn't as easy as that."
"Easy?" I almost laughed, and my eyes went to the hand holding the teacup. "There was something else you had to do? A toe, perhaps?"
Inaba laughed. "If only." He shook his head. "No. The yakuza do not like it when you leave. If you are lower down in the chain of command, you might be able to get away with leaving for the price of a fingertip. But I was a big fish. I was allowed to leave the island, but I had such unease about it. I knew that it wasn't over, and I was right."
He turned his head toward the shelf with the photographs on them.
I gasped. "Your family?"
"I should have known better." Inaba's eyes turned glassy and he lowered his gaze. For the first time since I had been in his company, he looked truly aged. His voice grew heavy, saturated with regret. "By the time I got home, Hiroki was gone. Mihu said they came for him in the middle of the night. They threw my wife in a closet, destroyed our home, and left with my son."
My jaw dropped. "Where did they take him?"
"It sounds horrible, and it was, but you have to know that Hiroki was eighteen by that time and had been raised with a yakuza father. He wanted into the organization, to follow his father's footsteps. I did not do a sufficient job in warning him of the realities of the yakuza life. He had romanticized the notion, and I had done nothing to disabuse him of it." He rubbed a palm down his face and tugged on his short beard. "I failed him. In my torpor and possession, I could not do what needed to be done while he was young."
"You're saying that even though they took him by force, Hiroki actually wanted to join them?"
He nodded. "His mother would never have allowed it. Their relationship was strained because of this. Eventually, he would have joined them. I am certain of it. There comes a point when a parent cannot direct a son's choices anymore. You've had your chance to parent your child and you don't get to do anything over." Inaba's eyes were filled with a heavy sadness.
"Could you not talk to him?"
His brown eyes found mine. "Do you think that I didn't try? My son made his choice. He no longer considers me a father. Turning my back on the yakuza has made me a coward in his eyes."
"He is still with them?"
"Far as I know, yes."
"And your wife?"
"She left me. She blamed me for Hiroki's choice, and she wasn't wrong. I can accept every accusation she would fling my way and would be guilty still of more than that."
The room lapsed into silence. I didn't know what to say. My own captivity, though it was everlasting, seemed to pale in comparison to the suff
ering and loss Inaba had endured.
Inaba's eyes brightened a fraction. "Not too long afterward, my son and wife were gone and I was a poor bachelor looking for honest work. I had submitted my application to a textile mill and it had not gone well." He held up his right hand again. "This betrays me wherever I go." He put his hand down. "I was sitting in a park not far from the mill. It was when the cherry trees were in blossom. I love that time of year. A young man with long black hair sat down beside me. I remember thinking he was the tallest and broadest man I had ever seen, with long powerful limbs. At first I thought he might be yakuza from another city, perhaps in Kyoto on business. I glanced at his hands, but he wasn't missing any fingers, and his sleeves were rolled up and there were no tattoos on his forearms. So I stayed on the bench and relaxed. Then a breeze came and blew the scent of this stranger toward me." Inaba shook his head and his eyes grew soft with affection. "That smell." He focused on me. "Your smell. It took me right back to the moment on the boat before I lost consciousness. I turned to look at him but he spoke first. He said, ‘You are still in danger.’"
"He had been watching you?"
"I guess so. I thanked him for killing the Oni but he laughed and said, ‘They cannot be killed. Or if they can, it is not my job to do it. It is my job to unseat them. You will make my job a lot more difficult if you remain marked the way you are.’"
"He was worried that you would become possessed again?"
"Yes. It was then that I realized how I had welcomed the attentions of the Oni. I began the flaying process immediately after that encounter."
"Did you ever see him again after that?"
Inaba shook his head. "No. There were times when the smell of ozone would come and go. I would look for him, but I never saw him again. My final flaying took place over twelve years ago now, and the first time I have smelled that scent since then was today, when you came into the museum. So you can understand now how I might feel like I owe your kind some sort of help. Whatever little I could offer."
A longing spiked through me to talk with this Hanta. "He never told you his name? Gave you a way to get in touch with him?"
Inaba gave a hearty belly laugh. "Why would he do that? You are creatures of the Æther, not doctors or dentists. If I could have him for dinner every week to have that scent around me and to ply him with questions, I would. He has more important things to do.”
Yes, and so did I. I let Inaba's story sink in as I sipped the hot tea. This one conversation had done more to shed light on my purpose than any other I'd had, even the ones I'd had with Aimi so long ago. The desire to get the short sword and regain my freedom flared hot within me. The Hanta who had helped Inaba had changed his whole life. It was too late to save his son and his marriage, but who knew what horrible things Inaba would have wreaked on Kyoto had the Oni been allowed to continue using him.
"Which brings us to you." Inaba's voice broke through my thoughts. "You wanted to see the swords that were on display in the museum?"
"Just one wakizashi. It has a blue handle and sheath, with a pattern of trees on it."
He tugged on his beard. "I have seen it. A beautiful piece of work. Why do you need to see it?"
"I don't need to see it." I hesitated before continuing, but Inaba had given me no reason not to trust him. "I need to steal it."
Inaba's eyes grew wide. "That seems a strange thing for Hanta to do."
"I can't explain, but it’s very important. Without that sword—" The words froze up in my throat. My lips kept moving but no sound came out. The commands I was under silenced my voice.
Inaba shook his head. "I don't know what kind of trouble you are in, but I would advise you to find some other way to change your circumstance. A way that doesn’t include that wakizashi. You may be immortal, but you can still be killed, am I right?"
"I think so," I said. My voice had returned but it was breathy.
"Then forget the wakizashi, please." His eyes turned pleading. "That sword belongs to a very dangerous collector. Taking it from him would be suicide.”
"Whose is it?"
"Our earlier conversation will give you some idea of his notoriety. The sword belongs to Raiden Yukimura, the reigning yakuza father."
The small space grew heavy with silence. My heart thudded in the cavern of my chest. This was far worse than stealing an artifact from a museum. I could be killed in pursuit of it. I frowned, and another thought materialized.
I would rather die than face another hundred years as a slave.
"Raiden took the sword because he wanted it for the yakuza gathering on Tai Island. There are always ceremonial sword fights during these events. The yakuza enjoy sparring with one another, Raiden above all. He is impulsive and subject to changes in mood. He might have been feeling generous when he agreed to loan it to the museum, but apparently he changed his mind and decided he wanted it back. The museum would not dare protest. I warned the supervisor that putting the sword in their promotional materials was courting disappointment."
A horrifying thought came to mind. "Were you there when Raiden came to take it from the museum?"
"I was. But don't be concerned, I am of no consequence to Raiden anymore. He has my son, he destroyed my marriage. I am subdued. He didn't even look at me."
I chewed my lip, visualizing the fortress on the distant island. I never thought I would see the places of my childhood ever again. Instead, it seemed I was destined to return, for the sake of my freedom.
"Have I dissuaded you?" came Inaba's voice, quiet and hopeful.
Bring me this wakizashi and I will give you your freedom.
"No," I said.
Inaba frowned and then leaned forward. "Is getting this wakizashi important enough to risk your life for it?"
"Yes," I said stoutly. "This task is the only thing that matters right now."
Inaba sighed. "I hope that your Hanta abilities can provide you with enough stealth and wits to carry out such a suicide mission. It might not be difficult to find a way in, for you are a beautiful young woman. Beautiful women are a fixture at yakuza events. The difficulty lies in getting out. Especially in possession of one of Raiden's prized artifacts." Inaba's gaze held mine and the warning in it brought cold into my bones. "You will need more than luck to succeed. That fortress will be crawling with yakuza."
Chapter 13
The train to Tottori wound swiftly and smoothly through the scenic mountain ranges of the Chugoku region. City and town went by in a blur, all nestled in vibrant green trees, along valley floors and staggered along the mountainsides. Excitement buzzed in my stomach like bees as I got closer and closer to my old home. The Tottori prefecture was the least populous region in Japan even to the present day. Rich with natural parks, famous for waterfowl and the largest sand dunes in the country, the Chugoku region was nearly intoxicating in its beauty.
I stepped off the train at dusk, inhaling the air of my childhood. It had the same sweet and salty tang, the same cloying humidity. Tears pricked my eyes and I closed them. The lined faces of my parents flashed in my memory, my mother's soft brown eyes, my father’s high strong cheekbones. Toshi's image materialized, still young and beautiful. Had he had a good life? Had he married Aimi after I disappeared? If he had, had she been good to him? The knife of remorse and anger at what had been stolen from me sliced through my heart and forced me to take a seat on a bench outside the train station. Bitterness filled my mouth at the thought of Aimi's betrayal. Where was she now?
My legs trembled as I left the train station for the main street and the hotel room I had booked from Kyoto. Later, once the wakizashi was in my possession and my task was finished, I would go to the Susumu family grave. If I didn't die before then.
My room was spare but clean, with a single bed and a tiny bathroom. I locked the door and inspected my meager surroundings, looking for the most important feature of the room—the safe. I had spent the better part of a morning calling hotels to confirm that each room had a safe. It took over a dozen ca
lls to find one with a safe large enough for a short sword.
I stripped off my clothes and underwear, folded them and put them in a drawer. I put my purse into the safe along with my cell phone, ID, and wallet. I took my hair out of its clip and shook it out. I took my black silk robe, folded it into a collar and knotted it around my throat.
I opened the single window and the shutters. Fresh evening air blew over my naked form. I took a deep breath, visualizing Tai Island. I didn't need a map to know where I was going. For many years I had thought of Tai Island as my island. I lifted my arms and let the feeling of phasing sweep over me as I transformed into a strix, a small owl. I hopped up on the windowsill, scrabbling on the smooth wood with my black talons, my wings out for balance. I'd have to leave the window open because I couldn't shut it in this form.
Getting the edge of the sill under my claws for leverage, I opened my wings fully and took off silently into the evening.
The world looked completely different through my owl eyes. The form I had chosen was equipped with silent wings and binocular vision, especially powerful at night. I could hear a mouse stepping on a twig over eighty feet away. My strix face was shaped like a satellite dish, capturing everything going on in front of me.
I headed straight for the ocean and then south along the coast, riding the air currents coming off the water. The sounds of rodents, other birds, and even insects became the backdrop as I focused in on human noises—voices carrying over the water, the sound of a chain rattling along a wooden dock, and the stacking of plastic bins as fishermen cleaned up a boathouse. The scent of smoke from their cigarettes didn't bother me, since I had no sense of smell, but for a brief moment it assaulted my lungs. I gave a small owl cough and flew higher.
Tai Island soon appeared as a jagged shape on the horizon. I caught an updraft as I tilted away from land and flew across the water. I could take the shape of a bird, but I was unencumbered by a bird's instinct; instead my mind toiled over the task ahead of me. I had no real ability to plan my break-in and break-out until I knew what I was dealing with. As long as I was in winged form, I was safe. The danger would come when I had to become human again.