The air was filled with the croaking of one thousand frogs, and no work
songs. Midway between planting and harvesting, rice did not require much
attention. But based upon his recent observations in other villages, Hirokado
would have expected to see more farmers at work. Instead, he found a small
boy playing with a stick, and peering ahead he could see villagers flitting
from house to house.
"What has happened here?"
"A demon!" The boy slashed at the air. Evidently the stick was a sword. "It
ate a girl, everything except her fingers and toes."
"How gruesome. Can you take me to the family of this poor unfortunate? I
would like to offer my condolences."
"She was a stranger."
Hirokado guessed that any stranger would cause gossip in a village so small as
this, even a stranger who did not meet a grisly death. "Surely she did not
travel alone?"
"She traveled with a man. Her brother. He's very upset."
Hirokado wondered if the man had represented himself as the girl's brother, or
if the description was a result of the boy's innocence. "I can imagine.
Is he still here?"
"Jiro found him." The boy shouted and ran toward a young man, who abruptly
lost interest in an animated conversation with another villager. Hirokado saw
no reason to hurry after him.
"Has this demon caused any trouble before?"
"Not for a long time." Like the other villagers, Jiro wore a cloth
jacket over trousers, both garments patched and stained from working in the fields.
Dung clung to his clogs. By the village's standards, perhaps the young man was
rich, if he spent his time tramping through valuable fertilizer. "It lives
in an old storehouse. Nobody's used it for years, but we don't want to tear it
down. The demon might get angry."
Jiro's manners were no better than the boy's. A man old enough to be his father
deserved respect. "Sometimes it is wise to let well enough alone," Hirokado
said. A man might easily take offense at the lack of deferential address...but
in Hirokado's experience overly familiar speech could yield useful information.
"Do you know anything about demons?"
"My name is Hirokado. I am a diviner." Though their manners were rough,
Hirokado had learned to appreciate the natural credulity of rustics. "I
was a student of the Chinese master, Chu."
"Ah." Jiro's eyes widened in a gratifying manner. "Let me take
you to him."
"Thank you. I will do my humble best to help." The young boy ran off,
presumably to spread new gossip. Before the day ended, Hirokado expected to find
himself promoted to the imperial court.
"I'm sure he'll be very grateful for any help you can offer. He's quite
upset about the girl's death."
Just "the girl," not "his sister." Until he knew more, Hirokado
decided not to encourage speculation about the young couple's relationship. "You
found him?"
"I was going out to the fields when I heard shouting." Jiro waved his
arms about, presumably in imitation of the man. "He was raving like a madman."
"You were very brave to approach him. Many men would have been afraid he
was the demon."
"The poor man would have aroused anyone's compassion," Jiro explained
with painful modesty. "He didn't look like a demon, and I think I'd be able
to tell."
Wails emerged from a nearby home. Villagers hovered near the veranda, whispering
amongst themselves. "This is my sister's home," Jiro said. "She
and her husband took the man in."
A woman met them in the doorway. "What's this, more strangers?"
"He's Hirokado the diviner. He's going to drive off the demon."
The woman was less easily impressed than her brother. "He's had a terrible
fright. I don't imagine this lot helps." She cast a withering look in the
direction of certain gossiping villagers.
"Might I speak to the man?" Hirokado asked, before Jiro had the opportunity
to antagonize his sister. "I fear for his health. Demons can be wily. Sometimes
it takes weeks for their victims to sicken and die."
She stood aside and let Hirokado enter. "Try not to upset him any more."
Hirokado removed his sandals and stepped up onto the wooden floor. To his left,
a man huddled before the fireplace, despite the morning's warmth.
The young man was handsome and clearly wellborn. He did look distraught, eyes
reddened and puffy with tears. At the moment his sleeves were wet enough to prove
his sincerity to anyone, and Hirokado imagined the effect he could have on a
young girl. Even a girl who could have had a husband of higher rank, who should
have known better than to shame to her family.
"This is Hirokado the yin-yang diviner." Jiro patted the young man's
shoulder. In a different setting, such familiarity would have earned him a thrashing
or worse punishment. "He's going to kill the demon."
The young man snuffled miserably. "But that won't bring her back."
"I regret that it is beyond my power to raise the dead." Hirokado studied
the young man, who showed no evidence of having recognized his visitor. "Can
you tell me what happened?"
"We were traveling east. It was getting dark and clouds were gathering,
so we decided to take shelter. We found the storehouse...it was empty, and we
didn't think anyone would mind if we stayed the night." A sob interrupted
the tale, and Jiro's sister shook her head.
"Strange places are dangerous. And to think of spending the night--" Jiro
made shushing motions; she fell silent and glared at him.
"The instant we entered, there was a great crack of thunder," said
the man who had so recently been a guest in the house of Hirokado's lord. "Lightning
lit the place as bright as day. Rain poured down. There was no question of leaving
before dawn. I decided to keep watch. I had my sword, and I sat by the door."
"Were you worried about bandits?"
The man shrugged, as though he were an innocent with no need to fear any man. "I
didn't want anything to hurt her--" His voice broke again. "I told
her to go to sleep, that she didn't have to worry about anything. All night,
I stared out into the rain. And then, at dawn, it stopped. I went to wake her,
and--"
"Shh." Jiro's sister maneuvered around the men to clean the fireplace. "It's
all right. You didn't know."
"The demon, it had--" The man took a deep breath. "She was gone,
everything but her hair and her clothes. I didn't even hear it."
"You should rest, after such a fright." Hirokado bowed to the young
man, though it galled him, and retrieved his sandals. "I am sorry for your
loss."
Outside, he noted the villagers' stares. The grieving man, shut up inside the
house of Jiro's sister, no longer made good theater, but a yin-yang diviner could
put on a good show. If Hirokado played the part well, the villagers would remember
the drama of the exorcism more vividly than the death of a strange girl.
"Please take me to the storehouse."
"Of course." Jiro set a brisk pace past terraced rice fields. They
were not quite so deserted as the fields Hirokado had passed coming into the
village. A pair of farmers set their backs to hoeing, and one man inspected the
embankments, but the demon seemed an adequate an excuse for a holiday.
"You villagers all know to avoid the storehouse, but what about travelers?
A posted warning, perhaps?"
"Most people have the good sense to avoid strange abandoned buildings. All
the same, we warn travelers we encounter. I myself told a man about the demon
just last month."
"Which way was he going?"
"West. He was an old man. He walked with a limp, and he was hunched halfway
over. I offered him a meal and help reaching the next village, but he said he
didn't want to be a bother. Perhaps I should go to the next village, just to
make sure he arrived safely. And to tell them about this poor girl. I'd hate
for anyone else to fall victim to the demon."
"As you said, most people have the good sense to avoid such places, and
all the warnings in the world won't keep fools away. I take it that is the storehouse?" Hirokado
pointed at a ramshackle building surrounded by curious folk not quite brave enough
to enter. Even without rumors of demonic residents, a sensible person would think
twice before going inside. Gaps yawned in the thatched roof, and Hirokado wondered
at the state of the timbers supporting it.
"Yes, that's where it happened."
The crowd stepped back to let Hirokado pass, even before Jiro could begin introductions. "We
know," one of the villagers said. "He's the Chinese wizard. We haven't
touched anything in the storehouse."
"That was very wise." Hirokado doubted any of them had entered the
building at all, which was just as well. "I will enter alone."
None of the men argued. The interior of the storehouse proved to be in as poor
repair as the exterior. The storehouse door had broken free, and someone had
propped it up against a wall. Refuse littered the floor. Hirokado stepped around
puddles, testimony to the previous night's storm and the condition of the roof.
The girl's clothes drew his attention immediately. The silk indicated wealth
beyond any peasant's means. The shoes were also fine, never intended for rice
fields, and he imagined the tiny, well-formed feet of the girl who had worn them.
"Are you all right?" Jiro peered inside, but did not cross over the
threshold. "Is there any sign of the demon?"
"I see the signs of its passing, but it doesn't seem to be here right now.
It's probably nocturnal. Eating the girl may have sated it for the moment."
Beside the girl's clothing lay a pile of hair. Long and sleek, it still smelled
faintly of perfume. Hirokado remembered the scent leaking from behind the girl's
screens, tantalizing but never immodest. He could not ignore the dirt and pine
needles tangled in the once-beautiful hair, which testified to the inexcusable
way she had spent her time since the night she left her father's house.
Hirokado gently lifted a few strands and examined the ends. No roots were visible.
The demon had not torn the hair from the girl's head, but had thoughtfully used
a blade to cut it.
Hirokado stood and began pacing around the room. He felt uncomfortable, as though
someone watched his every action.
"Have you found anything?" Jiro called from beyond the threshold.
"I feel a great malevolence." Hirokado knelt once more. Someone had
spread soft pine boughs in a dry corner of the room, and a crusted substance
proved to be semen.
Hirokado stepped out into the sunlight, the villagers parting before him. "Who
owns this building?"
"It used to belong to a rich family," Jiro said quickly, protecting
his role as spokesman. "But they all died before I was born."
"Well then, if no one will be hurt by the loss of the building, the easiest
thing is to burn it." Hirokado wiped his hands clean.
"Won't that make the demon angry?"
"Yes, I suppose it will. But the demon is very firmly attached to this place,
and once the storehouse is gone it won't be able to cause any more harm."
"Bless you!" one of the villagers said. "If only you had come
to us years ago, we could have averted so much sadness."
"But I am here now," Hirokado said. "I learned the art of exorcism
from my master Chu, a wise and learned man, and I am confident that I can drive
off this demon. I do need time to prepare, however. I would like to perform the
ceremony while the sun is in the sky."
"Of course," Jiro said. "What can we do?"
"Go home and purify yourselves," Hirokado said. "Remain inside
for the next few hours. Come back at midday, and we will burn the storehouse
to the ground."
"All right, we can do that," Jiro said, and the crowd dispersed.
Hirokado shook his head and walked back into the storehouse. He fixed his eyes
on the detached door. It was propped against the wall at an angle that allowed
plenty of room for a person to hide beneath it. "Your father is very displeased."
After a moment, he heard someone move--but from above, not from behind the broken
door. Hirokado looked up and watched Ishibashi no Kunimoto's daughter awkwardly
climb down from the rafters. He would not have expected a wellborn girl to even
think of climbing, much less succeed.
She wore a simple shift, probably taken from one of her maids, and her hair was
short and jagged. It offended Hirokado's sensibilities to witness how far she
had fallen.
Hirokado had never seen her face before, but could see something of her father
in the girl's features. Especially when she lifted her chin in defiance. "My
father is often displeased."
Her face and hands were smudged with dirt, she had cropped her hair, she had
allowed herself to be seduced by a cad, she had shamed her father by running
away...and she was the most beautiful girl Hirokado had ever seen. "You
have to return with me."
She shook her head. "I won't go back."
"Don't be ridiculous. You'll go back, you'll get married. Somehow your father
will explain this."
"I will not marry that old man and play stepmother to his children!" Kunimoto's
daughter stomped her foot. "I will be no one's nursemaid, I will be no one's
lesser lady--"
"Mochiharu is a good man. He'll look after you. It's a good match--it's
better than either you or your father had any right to expect," Hirokado
said recklessly. It was not his place to comment upon his lord's brokering of
the marriage, but the girl's flight had upset the rules by which the world ran.
Hirokado could improvise; that was one of the qualities his lord most valued.
And if he could talk sense into the girl, the girl whose face he should never
have seen, perhaps he could salvage the situation.
"I will not marry Mochiharu."
"Then you'll take vows! That at least will explain the hair," Hirokado
said. "What were you thinking? Women have affairs all the time, but they
don't run off with men. What you did is shameful."
"What I did is unforgivable," she said evenly. "But it is only
as shameful as you allow. The girl who ran off with Fushimi no Nagayori is dead.
The whole village will attest to it."
"But she still ran off with Nagayori," Hirokado said. "He's beneath
you, no matter how pretty his words."
"Pretty words can also be true. He loves me, and I love him. Do you think
I am a fool?" she demanded. "Do you think I am deceived? A seducer
could have entered my room and left before dawn. By taking me away, he risks
so much more. But we will have more than a few stolen nights and elegant love
letters."
"You'll not like life outside your father's house," Hirokado told her. "You're
not raised for it. You won't have maids to do everything."
"And how wonderful that will be!" she declared. "Do you have any
idea how happy I was this morning after Nagayori left? For the first time in
my life, I was alone."
Was it not terrifying for her? Hirokado wondered. Or was she naive enough that
it never occurred to her to fear the dangers of the world? And how much could
she love Nagayori if she delighted in his departure?
"I'm well rid of servants," she said, "and no screens will stand
between me and Nagayori-"
"Stop it! Such talk is indecent." Hirokado looked away from her. He
should have averted his eyes sooner, but she should never have allowed him to
see her in the first place. "You shame your father."
"Ishibashi no Kunimoto's daughter is dead," she repeated. "She
cannot shame anyone."
Hirokado frowned. A meek, repentant girl could perhaps have been explained, or
at least bundled away to a convent. The girl before him could not be presented
to anyone as the daughter of Ishibashi no Kunimoto.
"You do not want to be here at midday," Hirokado said. "If I tell
them you're the demon in disguise, they'll believe me. If I tell them to tear
you to pieces, they'll do it."
Her eyes widened.
"Ishibashi no Kunimoto's daughter is dead," he said. "I can hardly
kill her again."
She could not bring herself to call his bluff, not entirely convinced that it
was a bluff. She might believe she had worked out matters of love, but she was
not remotely prepared for life outside of her father's house.
"Get away from her!" Nagayori yelled from outside the storehouse. He
carried his sword, but didn't look very threatening leaning against the doorway
to catch his breath. He must have run all the way from the village. "I won't
let you hurt her."
Hirokado locked gazes with Nagayori, and the younger man looked away first. "You'll
find me a difficult target."
"I told them I was going to kill the demon," Nagayori panted. "If
it can disguise itself as a girl, why not a diviner?"
"Finally, one of you is talking sense," Hirokado said, a bit uncharitably.
Their plan was more sophisticated than the typical lovers' flight. Nagayori had
surely been the old man traveling west, the same direction as Kunimoto's mansion.
Manipulating a local superstition demonstrated at least a little ingenuity. Most
people would willingly believe the story of a demon devouring a girl. Skeptics
who investigated more closely might suppose that an old wanderer had been responsible
for her disappearance. Whether by supernatural or worldly means, the girl's death
was a reasonably convincing conclusion to the tale.
"I will do it." Having caught his breath, Nagayori made the threat
sound credible. Probably he believed himself capable of carrying out murder. "Step
away from her now."
Hirokado didn't move. Nagayori lunged forward. He had clearly practiced with
the sword, but Hirokado doubted he had ever used it against a target prepared
to fight back. Hirokado easily avoided the blade and disarmed the young man before
dealing him a single blow. Nagayori folded up and collapsed to the floor, wheezing
and in pain.
"No!" Kunimoto's daugher reached for the fallen sword. Hirokado kicked
it away before she could embarrass herself further. He grabbed hold of her hair
and dragged her upright. Her protests, equal parts outrage and pain, enraged
him.
Hirokado shoved her against the wall and took hold of her jaw, forcing her to
look at him. "Do you think I hurt you just now? Do you think I hurt him?" She
struggled and he caught a wrist in his hand and twisted hard enough that she
understood the threat. "You don't know anything of the world. He barely
knows anything."
She was still defiant--afraid, yes, she was smart enough to be afraid. But she
still thought she was right. There was no way to argue with such self-assurance.
Time and experience could prove her wrong, but never Hirokado.
It was frustrating. But from a certain perspective, it simplified matters.
"I could do anything to you," he told her, and gave her time to consider
what he might mean. "Ishibashi no Kunimoto's daughter is dead. No one cares
about you. I want you to understand that. No one cares. No one will protect you."
As if on cue, Nagayori lurched to his feet, willing to defend his lover unarmed.
Hirokado had little patience for bravery or stupidity. He kicked Nagayori in
the face. The young man fell heavily and moaned, clutching his broken nose.
"Stop it," the girl begged.
"Why? What can you offer me?" Hirokado demanded. "You have no
money, no family."
"My body," she said softly.
She wasn't quite as naive as he'd thought. "I already have that."
Tears welled up in her eyes. Hirokado threw her to the ground and she crawled
to Nagayori's side.
"Ishibashi no Kunimoto's daughter is dead," Hirokado said. "There
will be a funeral, and mourning for a well-bred girl. When that is done no one
will ever think of her again. Fushimi no Nagayori had best die, too."
The girl stood and placed her body between her lover and Hirokado. Nagayori tried
to pull her back, evidently still intent on playing the defender no matter that
he had proved ill-suited for the role.
A guest should never have been able to abduct the daughter of the house. The
whole situation reflected badly on Kunimoto and his household. Hirokado wanted
to kill Nagayori for the insult, or at least continue to beat him. But he refused
to surrender to such impulses.
"I won't have Fushimi no Nagayori taking some stranger as his wife--or even
as his lover," Hirokado added cruelly. There was a certain satisfaction
in knowing that Kunimoto's daughter would regret her decision. Let her wonder
whether Nagayori had truly intended to marry her and keep her in fine style...and
let him know that she wondered.
"He should donate his money to a worthy cause," Hirokado continued, "before
succumbing to some wasting disease. A poor young couple can wander the land.
No one of importance will take notice of such lowly people. But if that couple
ever comes anywhere near the Capital...if this story of a demon ever becomes
anything more than a cautionary tale about spending the night in strange places...then
I will take notice."
Nagayori snuffled, but chose not to protest. Perhaps he was learning wisdom.
"The distraught young man foolishly fought the demon," Hirokado said, "against
my best advice. His death was gruesome and painful." He pointed at the door.
Nagayori cast a glance in the direction of his sword. Hirokado stood between
him and the weapon, and the young man thought better of the impulse.
"Is this your mercy?" the girl asked. "Or do you fear my father's
wrath?"
Hirokado fixed her with a stare. He wondered how long the scent of her perfume
would linger in her father's house. "I told your father I would find his
daughter and keep him from being publicly shamed. This is how I chose to fulfill
my word. It is the final kindness anyone will ever do you because of your birth."
She met his gaze, defiant and resolutely unladylike. Good. No one would believe
that a woman so poorly behaved had been raised in an illustrious house. She was
beautiful and unmarked by physical labor, but time would soon erase that.
The young lovers clasped hands and fled the storehouse, leaving Hirokado to prepare
an exorcism and conflagration to impress the villagers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Megan Powell lives in suburban Philadelphia with her husband and
assorted pets. Her short fiction has appeared in various small press
magazines and anthologies. Recent projects as an editor include the
cross-genre anthology Crossings (Double Dragon) and the mystery/crime
webzine Shred of Evidence. Last fall Zumaya Publications released
her paranormal romance, Waxing. She maintains a homepage at www.meganpowell.net.
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