Chapter 4: The Tower
Once Natsumi was gone, my composure went with her. I'm in deep shit now. I moved down the side street that housed the Pearls at a trot, moving back towards where it joined one of the main arteries of Kabuchiko. Though Kabuchiko had come under heavy fire from the OOCB and other branches of the Metropolitan Police, it was still deep Yakuza territory – the younger brothers from the Pearls wouldn't have to go very far to make their report to the nearest Yamaguchi kyodai. And then there would be trouble.
The worked leather of my duster beat against my calves as I jogged to a halt before the tenements, and I took a moment to scan the street. Real subtle, hombre. The only pedestrians on the street were minding their own business – I didn't see anyone that immediately struck me as an enforcer.
But who could tell?
I pushed open the door to the foyer, and the bell on the jam released a chime like a gunshot. I winced.
"You bastard." It was Reika. I wasn't sure if she vaulted the counter, but she was on me in an instant, her manicured nails hooked into vicious barbs that sought my face and eyes. I lifted my hands to protect myself, and she scrabbled at the leather sleeves of my duster. I twisted my hands and tried to grab her by the wrists, but she began to violently kick at my shins. I grunted in pain.
"He trusted you", Reika was shrieking in a shrill, hysterical voice at me as she writhed violently at me. I guess the doormen have already been here. She had been crying, and her eyes were puffy and red, but presently narrowed with rage as she attempted to claw at my cheeks. Don't make me shoot her.
"I'm sorry!" I shouted it in Reika's face with all the strength I could muster. I had hoped it would surprise her, and it did. She slackened and I used the lull to step back , brushing open my duster with a hand as I did so. The butt of the Grach protruding from my shoulder was exposed, and Reika's eyes settled on it immediately. Her hands balled into tight fists at her hips and she squared her shoulders. Her teeth fastened on her lower lip and she clenched her jaw, but she didn't come at me again. Thank God.
"I'm sorry", I repeated, in a level, even manner, "I am." I kept my eyes on Reika. It hurt to look at her. "I wish I could explain, Reika, but I can't. I don't have time."
"He didn't have many friends – didn't want many friends." Reika was staring back at me, her dark eyes hard and defiant – steeped with accusation. "But he wanted you. He jumped through every hoop he could just to have a chance at being your friend. And you killed him."
I had nothing to say. There was silence for a moment before Reika released a heartbroken sob that caught and shuddered in her throat. "I like you, Lazarus, but I won't ever forgive you. Get out of here. They're coming for you and I hope they get you." She turned her face from me and moved towards the back room, her shoulders shaking.
I took the stairs three at a time.
I wouldn't need the sheets. I left them. I went into the bathroom and took the lid off of the toilet's cistern and fished out the plastic bag I had taped to the side of the chamber. Ten million Japanese yen in various denominations – about one hundred and twenty thousand United States dollars. I had withdrawn it from my bank account as security in case something happened to my account, and was glad I had. My accounts were American, so I doubted the Yamaguchi-gumi could get at them, or had the contacts required in the Metropolitian Police to track my card, but I knew half of the Yakuza were accountants. If they had someone working in the banks, they could probably monitor my transactions. I'd live off my cash for a while.
As I was grabbing my razor and toiletries, I glanced into the mirror. Shit. The front of my duster was spattered with dark blood. I must not have noticed the blowback when I shot Omori. I took it off. It was too distinctive anyway – the younger brothers probably would mention what I had been wearing at the Pearls. I returned to the bedroom and stuffed the duster and the my other supplies back into my duffle bag – which still contained my unpacked clothes. I grabbed a few pairs of underwear and a shirt, and added them before I unholstered the Grach and threw the holster into my bag – without the duster, I couldn't conceal it – and piled the extra magazines Omori had sold me on top of it.
Ensuring the safety was on, I tucked the Grach into the waistband of my pants instead, and slung the heavy duffle bag over my right shoulder. I headed for the door – no more than a minute had passed since I had arrived within my room, and I was already on my way out. With a pang of regret I considered the abandoned television, but there was nothing for it. I hope the bastards enjoy it.
When I dismounted the stairs and returned to the foyer, I could hear Reika crying haltingly in the back room. I didn't go in. Instead I pushed open the door and returned to the street outside, the light breeze having increased into a stiffer wind in my time inside. It blew a bit of dust from the street in my eyes and I was still blinking as I turned to move away from the tenement.
The two shatei from the Pearls were there standing there, accompanied by three more suited enforcers. All five of them simply stared at me for a moment, blinking in surprise. One of the older men released a little grunt that seemed to break them from their indecision and as one they all grappled for the inside of their suit jackets.
Well, fuck.
Their moment of hesitation saved me, and I bolted out into the street amid the sudden blare of offended drivers laying onto their horns. I didn't stop, but when a bystander gave a sharp screech of alarm, I inferred that the Yamaguchi thugs behind me were taking aim; I tossed myself sideways in order to take cover behind the back wheel of a passing compact. Gunshots exploded powerfully across the street and the windows of the car shattered in a swirling dance of broken glass that rained down around me. Suddenly everyone was screaming, running. Cars were accelerating away as their drivers panicked and there was a heavy crunch as one rear ended the vehicle I had used for cover. Two shootings in one day. Kabuchiko can't cut a break.
The young driver of the compact I had ducked behind had thrown herself below the dash for cover when the firing started, but she was attempting to wriggle out of her passenger side door on my side of the car – opposite the position of the gunmen. "Stay down", I barked at her, and she gave me a terrified nod of her head before we both had to duck as a new wave of gunfire wracked the vehicle. As I crouched, I slipped the Grach from my waistband and thumbed the safety off, my left hand curling around the handle of the passenger door. I stood up and fired six quick round back over the hood of her car without pausing to aim more than coarsely. The enforcers across the street dove for cover regardless of the wild manner of my return fire, and I used the opportunity to tug the door open.
"Go. Go now!" The young woman scrambled out of the car and began fleeing down the street, her head ducked low and her heels clicking against the broken glass that carpeted the asphalt around us. I turned and fled in the opposite direction before the Yamaguchi could recover. I ran to the intersection of the next street and ducked around the building on the corner just as a fresh series of blasts blew chunks out of its masonry. The foot traffic within Kabuchiko had evaporated – those who had been passing by either having run at the sound of the engagement or crowded into the cramped storefronts for cover. With the sidewalks abandoned, I could see the two Yakuza hurrying down from the distant gates out of Kabuchiko to intercept me. They saw me, but by then I was already lifting the Grach to fire and beat them to it.
I had the chance to aim now as I fired off another six shot series at these two. The first received a pair of rounds in his leg and dropped to the pavement with a bellow of pain – his gun clattering out of his hand as he reached for the injury. His companion reacted faster than I anticipated and threw himself into the nearest storefront. I advanced on his the injured man at a run, kicking the gun away from his fallen form. He was more interested in his mauled leg, of course, but as the gun skittered away, I thought I recognized it as a Glock 18. A selective fire version of the Glock 17 favored by certain Counter Terrorist Units, the Glock 18 could be fired fully automatic – all seventeen rounds could be expended in under a second. These guys are not fucking around.
I turned to the storefront just as the second Yakuza was getting to his feet, his gun still in his hand as he leapt back towards the door. He clearly hadn't been expecting my rapid advance, and he seemed shocked to find me already looming over him. He froze and wasn't able to bring his gun to bear in time to beat my MP-443. I leveled the barrel at his midsection and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
I wasn't a trained hitman like the men chasing me. My father had been a Second Right aficionado. Before he died of heart failure when I was sixteen, he had made sure I knew how to care for and shoot a number of sidearms. After he was gone, I had carried on with the tradition as a way to remember him, but that was it – I wasn't trained in active combat. I had forgotten the five rounds I had used on Omori – I hadn't realized I there was nothing left in the magazine. Instead of having five of seventeen rounds, I had zero of seventeen rounds.
I was dry.
The Yamaguchi before me heard the click of the firing mechanism failing and smirked with a relieved breath of air. He lifted his own sidearm – which I numbly recognized as a Beretta 92 – and fired from the hip, shooting me through my abdomen. I felt the jerk of the bullet as it entered me and the heat of the slug passing straight through my side – hot lead. The pain was immediate and intense, a searing rush of agony that pulsed up my center and overwhelmed all other senses. The enforcer who shot me clearly was expecting the pain to drop me from my feet, which explained his surprise as I instead swung my fist with all the strength I could muster at his head and smashed him across the temple with the barrel of my Grach. He crumpled to the ground as I pressed my free hand against the bleeding wound on my abdomen. Fuck.
Gut wounds could take days to die from blood loss, but it wouldn't be very much longer that I still had the strength to run. I turned and bolted again, each pounding step leading to a new stab of pain driving into my whole body. The group of Yakuza that had jumped me outside of the tenements had regrouped and just rounded the corner behind me as I desperately put distance between us. They opened fire, but they were still moving and I was outside of the effective range of their pistols – the shots went wild and impacted against the street and the buildings lining it. My head spinning with the pain of my wound, I scrambled through the gate of Kabuchiko and turned along the street I found myself on. I kept running, ducking around corners and changing directions erratically. Outside of Kabuchiko, there was still heavy foot traffic to mask my flight, but most of the pedestrians were giving me shocked looks and shying aside from me. My shirt was soaked in a widening circle of blood. I had to get off the street.
By sheer accident, I happened across a public toilet and ducked inside, clutching at my abdomen. Somewhere far behind me, I could hear the insistent wail of police sirens – someone had called Tokyo Met this time. They would give the Yamaguchi reason to scatter and break pursuit, but I knew they would have people watching the hospitals. I staggered into one of the stalls – the restroom was thankfully empty – and locked it behind me. I collapsed onto the lid of the toilet seat and dropped my bag on the floor before me. Placing the Grach on top of the cistern behind me, I tore my shirt open along my front and reached for the half-expended roll of toilet paper affixed to the wall of the stall. In a desperate bid to stop the bleeding, I began wadding the absorbent tissue up and packing both the entry wound and exit wound. The pain was blinding.
I was wondering if I could appeal for police protection when I passed out.
"He got away?" He was frustrated – everything today had gone so wrong.
"Hai. He injured Itsuki and Katsuo in his escape." Placating – offering excuses.
"Tch. How badly?"
"Katsuo took two in the leg. His Tibia is shattered. Itsuki was pistol whipped in the head – I think his pride is the most damaged thing about him. He did manage to put a slug into the American though."
"Where?" Curious now. At least this was a positive development.
"He said he got him in the gut."
"Good. He'll need a doctor for that."
"We already have someone at Ota and more are on the way to all the locale emergency wards."
"It wont matter." A new voice. Soft and sad. Reiko.
"What's that, nee-chan?" Both of the conversing men turned their attention towards her.
"It wont matter." Insistent. "He was shot a few days before too. It doesn't effect him. He heals too quickly."
Mr. Frustrated made a choked, incredulous sound in the back of his throat, but Mr. Placating just shook his head.
"It's true. Omori made a report the morning he died that said the same thing. The American took a round in the shoulder and healed from it within a few hours with only basic care. He wanted permission to invite the foreigner to associate with us – thought having someone with that ability would be useful." Placating again.
"No kidding. I don't think we'll extend the invitation though."
There was silence for a short while before Frustrated spoke again. "So. He's three days into the country. He's been shot twice already, but seems to have no issue dealing with that on his own – we can't expect him to seek medical help. His accounts are American, but if he uses a Japanese cash point, one of ours in the Nippon Ginko might be able to flag it."
"Omori said he paid for the pistol and extra magazines in cash."
"So he has reserves of cash then. If he's smart he'll be relying on them. He also has extra ammunition, and judging by today, he's not shy about using it."
"Hai." Another, uncomfortable pause before Frustrated gave a curse.
"How do we find this guy? He has no contacts whatsoever for us to shake down."
No one seemed to have an answer.
Until Reiko spoke again.
"…There was a girl."
Both men turned towards her, and Frustrated allowed a wide, friendly smile to part his face.
"Tell me."
I woke up with a jerk, my chin pressed against my chest. I was still in the stall, but there was someone outside of it asking me if I was alright. My head clouded with a haze that made me sluggish, but I managed to mutter out an affirmative. There was a grunt and the man moved off. The superintendant of the property, I guessed.
I checked the clod of tissue that I had pressed to my wound. It was caked and brittle with dried blood. I slowly picked the wadding apart until I could see the injury. This time, it was still there. The edges of the entry wound were pink with granulation tissue, and the wound had begun to scab. The bleeding had long since stopped. Without stitches. Without anything. No doubt about it – something was up with me.
I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though I couldn't shake a dark foreboding cloud that had settled on me. Something I had dreamt about was tickling at the back of my head, but I couldn't recall it. I decided to focus on matters at hand. I threw the bloody paper into the toilet and flushed it away. Removing my torn shirt, I cast it aside for a moment in order to rummage around in my bad. Bending forwards was incredibly painful – I had to take it slowly – but I managed to retrieve and dress myself in my only remaining shirt. I'm going to have to go shopping again.
I took a moment to learn from my mistake and reloaded the Grach with a fresh magazine as I sat on the toilet. When I stood up with my bag slung over my shoulder, I tucked the MP-443 into my waistband. The grip rested just below the ugly scab that indicated where I had been shot. Reaching into the pocket of my jeans, I fished out my phone and checked the time. It was a little past three in the afternoon – I estimated two hours since I had been shot. I had missed a phone call while I was blacked out – but the number was unregistered. I couldn't return it. Washing my bloody hands at the sink and tossing my ruined shirt in the bin on my way out of the bathroom, I returned to the Shinjuku street and hailed the nearest cab. I asked him to take me to a hotel in Taito – a district I picked at random – and told him I didn't care what it was called.
"Gon-Dai Sojo!" Rapid footsteps carried down the hallway
"What is it?" He spoke as he turned.
"Kamura Natsumi. Have you heard the report she gave of the Shikabane in Kabuchiko?"
"No." Patiently.
"It was killed…"
"And?"
"It wasn't killed by Natsumi. It was killed by the American."
"…Has he reverted to a Shikabane himself then?" Folding his arms across his chest as he waited.
"No. Natsumi insists that he is still a living human."
"That cannot be."
"She is quite sure."
A heavy pause lengthened between the two before the Gon-Dai Sojo spoke again. "Where is the American now?"
An awkward cough.
"Well?"
"There… was another incident in Kabuchiko, Gon-Dai Sojo. The Shikabane that was killed apparently had some sort of connection to the Yamaguchi-gumi clan. They retaliated against the American immediately."
Stiff backed, the Gon-Dai Sojo had no reply.
"Initial reports both from our contacts and the Metro press release suggest he escaped, though he was probably injured – possibly seriously. He left a contact number with Natsumi, but the call we sent wasn't answered."
There was continuing silence for a time before the deep voice of the superior of the two issued with finality.
"Find him. If what you say is true, he could be the ultimate answer to the Shikabane Hime problem."
I woke up the next morning unprompted. There was a moment of hazy confusion in which I struggled to recall where I was. The hotel was situated just north of Asakusa, occupying all of eight stories – a modest establishment. They'd probably take payment in cash. I don't know what woke me, but moments later I heard a chime as my phone began to ring. Good timing. I bent over the side of the bed and made to fish it out of the pocket of my abandoned jeans, my sleep addled fingers fumbling slightly. The face of my phone read twenty past eight in the morning. It was an unknown number calling – I could only presume the same from the day before.
"Hello?" My voice was heavy with sleep as I answered.
I could sense the person on the line catching their breath. "…Is this… Lazarus?" The voice on the other end of the phone was a woman's I didn't recognize.
"You've got him." I used my free hand to work the heel of my palm into the socket of my eye, trying to wake myself up.
"Ohayo gozaimasu." She sounded relieved. "My name is Aragami Rika. I'm calling on behalf of the Kougon Sect. You left this number with one of our agents yesterday?"
"Hai. I recognize your name. You were promoted to Sojo a few days ago?" I paused for a moment before I added, awkwardly: "Congratulations."
"Arigato." She gushed slightly. I had temporarily distracted her but when she spoke again, she was back on point. "Sources told us that you were involved in a shooting shortly after Kamura Natsumi left you in Kabuchiko."
"That's right." As I spoke, I considered the fan affixed to the ceiling of my hotel room. It was spinning in a lazy, comforting manner.
"You were injured? Do you need medical assistance? I double as the Kougon Sect's head healer." There was a note of worry in her voice now, but I grunted and used my free hand to pull up the hem of the shirt I had fallen asleep in. Sitting up slightly to crane my neck, I found that the skin of my stomach was wholly broken – there wasn't even a scar.
"No. I'm fine."
There was a considerable silence in the wake of my reply before she spoke.
"I see. Sojo Takamise informed me of your ability to rapidly recover." In the slight pause she allowed I grunted a vague affirmative before she continued. "The Head Temple will offer you shelter. I wont deny we've got a few questions – what happened with the Shikabane yesterday was unusual – unprecedented. Where are you now? We can send a car around."
"I'm in Saito. I can walk to the Sect's Temple from here. I remember the way."
"I don't think so", she countered, a touch of sternness now. "I don't think we should put you out onto the streets any more than is necessary." I grunted and supplied the name of the hotel. She told me to be ready in five minutes and hung up.
Placing my phone back into the pocket of my jeans, I rolled out of bed and dressed quickly, throwing on the same shirt I had worn when I arrived at the hotel. Once again, I was leaving before I had unpacked my bag, so once I had scooped it up from where I had tossed it by the door, I was on the move again. I rode the elevator down to the lobby of the hotel and approached the desk, checking the series of dials that read the international times behind it. I had four minutes left, and one of them was consumed as I checked out of my room. I thanked the clerk and exited the hotel, and stepped out into the street. Waving apologies to the drives who slowed to let me jaywalk, I rapidly crossed to the far side, where a wrought-iron fence marked the perimeter of a little park. There was a bench on the street side of the fence, and I sat myself down.
I had been seated for less than a minute when a beige sedan pulled up across the street. Though I was purposely looking askance at the two men who emerged from the vehicle, I identified them as the two monks that had interrupted Natsumi and I at the Albatross two days ago. You never can be too sure. Scooping up my bag as one of the monks disappeared into the lobby of the hotel I had just vacated, I waited for a break in traffic before trotting across the street towards the waiting car.
"He checked out already? Why would he do that? Did he leave a note or something for us?" The monk was on his phone, presumably speaking to his counterpart inside the hotel. Before the man on the other end could answer, however, he caught sight of me and spoke. "It's alright, Taichi, he's here. Come back out." He closed his phone and tucked it back away inside of the folds of his robe before looking to me.
"Sorry – that was the first time I heard Sojo Aragami's voice. I wanted to be certain it was actually the Kougon Sect coming around." I had no idea how likely or if it was even possible for the Yamaguchi to get my phone number, but I wasn't going to take any unnecessary risks.
"I understand." The monk before me bowed his head to indicate as much before he spread a hand slightly. I noticed that even as he spoke, his eyes were drifting about to scrutinize the street about us. "I am Miyato Hayate. We met the other day – I'm here to escort you to the Temple again." As he was speaking, his companion emerged from within the hotel and moved to join us. He opened the rear door of the sedan for me and indicated it with a wave of his meaty hand. I ducked around him to situate myself on the back seat.
The car lurched slightly as Hayate opened his door and settled the considerable bulk of his burly form behind the wheel. As he started the ignition, Taichi trotted around the back of the sedan to open the opposite door. The moment he joined me in the back seat, Hayate pulled the car away from the curb and out into traffic. It wasn't far to Asakusa and the Temple, but it was rush hour and we inched ahead slowly.
"Buckle up", Hayate advised in a level voice. His eyes were split between the road and the rearview mirror in order to keep track of the cars behind us. "Just in case", he added as he changed lanes. Taichi was staring steadfastly out of his window.
"Worried?" I asked rhetorically.
"We're not the only ones." Hayate used the rearview mirror to look at me instead, and produced a smile about his eyes for my benefit before resuming his watch on the traffic around us. Taichi took up the burden of explaining.
"When we received the report of your altercation with the Shikabane yesterday, there was quite a lot of excitement at the temple. Having an additional way to kill Shikabane is of great value to the Temple, so most of the Gon-Sojo and up wanted a chance to get their hands on you." Taichi paused as Hayate suddenly accelerated to overtake a slower vehicle in our lane, before he resumed.
"Shortly after, we received news that the Yamaguchi had made an attempt on your life. Witnesses claimed that you had been shot, potentially fatally. Most of the Kougon Sect were concerned at that for various reasons." I lifted a brow at him and he produced a small smile for my benefit. "You're not just valuable for your abilities. After the council meeting two days ago, you may just have a few more friends than you know."
His words gave me a moment or two's worth of thought before I spoke again, changing the course of the conversation. "This is the second time they've sent you to pick me up. Are you in charge of transportation?"
Taichi and Hayate simultaneously released a snorted breath of laughter before they shook their heads and Hayate spoke from the front. "We're soldiers for the Kougon Sect. It's what you call monks that fight the Shikabane. Shikabane Hime aren't all that common, so a lot of us make do without them until the situation allows one to bind with us. The role of soldier is why they send us to pick you up. They seem to think being around you is a dangerous job."
"I can't imagine why", I said dourly.
They both smirked.
Hayate took the car around, leaving Taichi to escort me through the gate and onto the temple grounds. He seemed to relax the moment we passed underneath the arch and onto the smooth pavement of the complex. I wondered if he thought the Yakuza wouldn't stoop to attack a temple. I asked.
"It's not that", he claimed as we moved towards the large pagoda dominating the centre of the complex again. He waved a hand aside to the various monks and the scattered female companions that were navigating the pathways or sitting on the grass between them. "At any given time, the majority of monks within the temple grounds are soldier monks – and we all go armed. We're also supported by our Shikabane Hime. Suffice to say, the Yamaguchi would bite off more than they could chew if they tried to run an assault against us."
"Is that so?" By now we had reached the base of the pagoda's steps and began to ascend onto the verandah. He merely nodded his head and pushed the door open to permit us to step into the structure.
"This way." Taichi turned the opposite direction as two days prior and began moving down the hallway away from the council chamber. His sandals and my boots clattered heavily on the wooden floor underfoot as we advanced. Taichi led me to a wide staircase that ascended up to the second level of the main temple. Mounting the top of the stairs, I found us both in a hallway identical to that on the ground floor in all respects. None of the Shoji doors were labeled. I wondered how my guide knew his way around.
Know his way around he did, though, for he led me down the hallway to an unmarked door and slid it open, ushering me through. On the other side was a wide office containing a half-dozen occupants or so. A heavy oak administrative desk was set before the wide bay windows on the wall, and at it sat the only member of this meeting that I recognized at sight. Sougen looked every inch a warlord sitting at his desk as he had in the council chamber, his hands folded together before him and his elbows resting upon the surface before him.
Behind his right shoulder there was a serious looking young woman, her lips pursed into a tight line. Her pale-brown hair was tied back in ribbons in two pigtails that I hoped weren't intended to give her an air of innocence – because they failed spectacularly. Her face was framed by trailing bangs and a severe set of wire-rimmed glasses were seated upon her nose before her dark, keen eyes.. Everything about her shouted librarian to me, except for the fact that the hilts of two twin katanas extended up past her shoulders from where they were strapped to her back.
In the corner behind the desk – occupied as I entered by returning a book to one of the pine shelves arranged there – was another man. He was wearing dark blue robes that reminded me of those that the Gon-Dai Sojo had been wearing in the council chambers. However, he wore no hat; his head had been meticulously shaved and as he turned to face me I noticed the pale blue swirl of a ritual tattoo on the side of his head. His face was surprisingly expressive – and at the moment filled with amicable curiosity.
Two chairs had been arranged before Sougen's desk. The one on the right was occupied by a woman who sat sideways upon it, one leg crossed over the other. She was curvaceous, and the formfitting vest she wore under her opened prayer robe made this more obvious. Her sandy brown hair was cut short in a boyish way that suited her. She was chewing on the eraser of a pencil and examining a clipboard against her lap, but my entrance drew her pale eyes towards me.
"Oh, you're here. Lazarus, right?" I recognized her voice as Aragami Rika's and she identified herself as such. After seeing Sougen and the other Sojo in the chamber, I was surprised by her appearance.
"You got him." I nodded my head.
Now Sougen spoke in his deep voice. As he did so, be unclasped one of his hands in order to indicate about the room. "I believe you caught my name in the council chamber, but I regardless I am Sojo Takamine Sougen. This is Sojo Honda." He waved a hand towards the man that stood in the corner by the bookshelf, who offered me a bare smile and a nod of his head in greeting. "This is Todoroki Kamika", he said finally, lifting his hand to indicate the woman behind him. She didn't so much as budge with her introduction, and Sougen settled his hands back onto the desk. With his introductions done, he began to speak more seriously. His first act of business was to request Taichi's departure, and the large monk bowed out graciously – relieving me of my duffle bag as he went. He told me he'd place it in my room.
"After yesterday's incident, the Dai-Sojo, Gon-Dai Sojo and the council have agreed to offer you amnesty." Sougen spoke once the Shoji door of his office had shut again. "We would like you to remain within the Temple as we investigate exactly how you were able to kill the Shikabane you and Karuna Natsumi encountered in Kabuchiko. In addition, there are those amongst us – including myself and the Dai-Sojo – who feel that your recent misfortune was acquired during direct support of the Kougon sect. As such, we have prepared a room for you in one of the secondary buildings of the complex traditionally used for housing associates of the Temple… if you would accept our hospitality."
It didn't take a lot of thought to come to my own decision. "I accept. I'm curious as to what this all means myself." It is my body, after all. Not to mention all the armed thugs roaming the streets, looking for me. It seemed that the little gathering before me had all thought along the same lines – none of them seemed surprised by my response.
"Excellent", Rika spoke, looking down at the clipboard again. "We'll have a room ready for you in an hour or so."
"Then maybe I can show you around it." The voice that spoke was high and mocking, a falsetto that issued from somewhere behind my right ear. It wasn't a very good attempt, but the speaker was evidently trying to mimic Rika's inflection, and the Sojo's face flushed immediately. I turned, growing aware of a rustling noise behind me as I did so. Laying in a little alcove, in the process of opening a bag of potato chips, was a preteen girl with long, straight blonde hair. She grunted as she struggled with the seal, which finally burst. I felt one of my brows lift as I looked back towards those in the room before me.
Kamika had merely closed her eyes, though Honda and Sougen were both wearing smiles – the former was hiding his behind a book he had strategically recovered from the shelf. Rika looked like she was boiling and she opened her mouth to shout something at the girl when Sougen cut her off and spoke to me.
"Sojo Honda is eager to begin a cursory examination we've arranged." He looked aside to the smooth-pated man in the corner, who nodded his head and placed the book aside, suddenly serious again. "He'll take you from here."
As Honda slid the door to Sougen's office closed behind us, Rika began to squall at the offending girl, her voice high and scandalized.
"Don't mind Saki", Honda advised me as we moved down the hallway, his pace surprisingly casual as we progressed. "She is incredibly strong, but because of her age at the time of her death, she's still… unpredictable."
Death?
"She's a Shikabane Hime?"
"Hai. Rika is her contracted monk. They're excellent under pressure together, but day to day, I'm fairly sure Saki is driving Rika insane."
"Do all the monks of the Kougon sect have Shikabane Hime?"
"No, not all. The Kougon sect is split into two subsects – we call them bloodlines, but that's a misleading term. Members of a bloodline aren't necessarily related – they're merely factions of the Kougon sect adhering to alternate… opinions. One subsect is led by the Gon-dai Sojo and is composed of monks we call investigators. As you can guess, they investigate and support the combat monks in their efforts against the Shikabane. The dominant bloodline is led by the Dai-Sojo and is composed of the soldier monks."
"You were an investigator."
"Hai." Momentary surprise registered on his face before he went on. "I was an inspector. Inspectors, because of their supportive roles, do not take Shikabane Hime – our particular subsect is adverse to the need for Shikabane Hime regardless."
That surprised me. "Why?"
Honda paused, and for a moment or two he looked troubled before he swept the expression away from his face and spoke with a sort of offhanded bluntness. "As much as we try to deny it, Shikabane Hime are Shikabane, merely those that we can control. They're still an affront to nature – a denial of death. They're defiled. My bloodline accepts their use because there is no other way."
I debated explaining my opinions regarding the subjective nature of death to Honda, but his word choice on the matter of Shikabane Hime was strong enough that I inferred he wouldn't take it for what was offered. Instead, I said: "Which is why you're so interested in me, right?"
"Hai." At least he wasn't making any excuses about it. "Aside from just plain curiosity of course – the entire sect is wondering how you did what you did. It is merely our bloodline that is looking beyond mere curiosity towards possible application. With that, he pushed open a door and stood aside for me: "We're here."
I had been expecting a lab – having spent six years around them, when someone mentions the word 'tests', it's a reflexive assumption. The room that Honda sat with me in was not a lab, however, but a small, comfortable room lined with bookshelves stocked with reference scriptures. Honda had piled out a few of them and stacked them next to where we sat opposite one another, cross-legged on the floor. He read through one, his lips silently moving, before he snapped it closed and looked towards me.
"From here on out, we're in uncharted territory", he stated gravely, before he gave a light laugh and withdrew a jar from within his robes. "Terribly dramatic, isn't it?" I nodded, but was too busy examining the container he produced to reply. Within it were several strips of paper – they were the correct size and shape to remind me of the litmus strips I was familiar with using to test for acidity. He drew one out, taking great care to grasp it at its very bottom.
"Extend your hand please", he asked, and when I did as requested, he placed the tip of the strip against my hand, before immediately withdrawing it. For a moment, nothing happened and I was about to open my mouth to voice a question when the tip of the strip burst into flame. Honda seemed to be expecting this, because he flicked the strip of paper up into the air and allowed it to burn away in the air – saving his fingers. The whole thing took an instant, but the man seated across from me was entirely unperturbed.
"Is that normal?" I was mystified.
"Hai. These strips are soaked in an oil that is sensitive to what we call Rhun – a term similar to what the Chinese call Qi – life energy, in short. When the oil is exposed to Rhun, it ignites. The strength of the resultant flame indicates the amount of Rhun. A Shikabane, which has no Rhun of its own and has to acquire it through killing, or through a contracted monk, would not ignite the oil."
He looked up at me and produced another one of his distant smiles. "I think that puts to rest the question of your humanity – to be honest, your Rhun ignited the oil with greater than average force. Not enough to be abnormal, of course – after all, you are in the prime of your life."
He drew a scalpel and set aside the container of Rhun strips. Continuing to draw items from within the folds of his cloak, he swiftly assembled a sanitizing kit, as well as a stopwatch. He collected the watch and the scalpel and spoke: "I'm going to take a blood sample." I nodded my head to demonstrate my understanding, and offered him my hand again. He cut an inch along the face of my little finger, which immediately began welling blood – simultaneously, the monk activated the stopwatch. Honda scooped up a nearby alcohol wipe and cleared the initial weep of crimson before producing a small vial to place against the cut. It slowly began to fill with rich crimson, until was removed. A second or two more passed until the wound ceased to bleed, and Honda indicated a lap on the stopwatch. He continued to examine the small gash for a minute or so, until he stopped the watch and spoke.
"You heal very fast. Even for a cut that size, granulation tissue appearing under two minutes is many times faster than your normal person." Collecting a notebook lying near at hand, he began jotting against it even as he explained the results to me – a habit I always appreciated in medical testers. "You're still nowhere near a Shikabane though. If you shot one of them in the abdomen, they would heal in minutes, not hours. You can sever entire limbs from Shikabane and they regenerate within a day or so."
"I'd, uh… like to waive that particular test."
Honda smiled thinly and nodded his head. "I imagine."
The rest of the tests were strange – mostly involving Honda performing various rites and sacraments read out of the tomes he had recovered and determining their effects on me. Many of them were incredibly complex, and it was a few hours before Honda, looking worn, announced that we were finished.
"We have a section of our Gon-Sojo dedicated to scientific matters", he revealed, "as we found not keeping up with technology was a significant error. A few of them specialize in cellular biology and work in a laboratory we have constructed under the pagoda. We'll send your blood sample down there for them to examine if the differences in your blood are molecular. We have a few samples of Shikabane tissue to compare it to."
When I arched my eyebrow in surprise at this – particularly after his comments about having defiled flesh around – he explained. "I'm sure someone has mentioned in your presence the clinic that was uncovered at Ikai. After those events, we began examining Shikabane flesh to see how it could potentially affect humans exposed to it."
"And?"
"We're still trying to sort through it. Though it doesn't make sense, the best we can tell is that it is some sort of transformation. You're familiar with the term?"
"Hai. I was a biology major." He was referring to cellular transformation, which was a process in which bacterial cells engulfed foreign DNA they came across in their environment and incorporated it into their own genetic material. It wasn't something the human body performed in normal circumstances – which was presumably why they couldn't make sense of it.
"Really?" Honda seemed surprised, before he spoke pensively. "I could have sworn someone told me that it was philosophy…"
Honda ushered me out of the examination room and back into the hallway, excusing himself in the process. Natsumi was waiting outside with her back pressed against the wall, and as we emerged, she pushed away from her relaxed pose. The Sojo offered us both a nod of parting and made to move off down the corridor, the vial of blood he had drawn from me still in his hand. Natsumi beckoned and began walking in the other direction, back towards the stairs to the ground level.
We had descended the stairs in silence and were halfway to the main entrance of the pagoda when she finally spoke simply: "I'm sorry."
"Come again?"
"I was preoccupied with what happened with the Shikabane. I shouldn't have left to make my report until I knew you could get out of Kabuchiko."
I hadn't expected an apology from her. She kept her eyes levelly ahead as we passed back out of the Shogi at the entranceway and began descending the steps to the pathway before the main building. She took one of the branching arteries and moved towards a smaller, single story building near the perimeter wall of the complex.
"It wasn't your fault. I wasn't fast enough getting out. Besides, the blame ultimately is with the Yamaguchi. They're the ones who tried to kill me."
"Still." We walked in silence after she spoke, the ambient humming of the monks meditating on the grass supplying a peaceful ambiance to our conversation. The testing had taken longer than I had initially judged, and the sun was more than halfway across the sky – I judged it to be about four in the afternoon.
"Have you considered that you're taking more responsibility now than you did when you were the one who pulled the trigger?" I raised a brow as we neared the entrance of the building.
She snorted. "Don't hold a grudge."
"Alright."
She opened the door and led me inside, before she turned down a short corridor and came to a single door. She indicated it with a wave of her hand: "This is yours." She stood aside.
I thanked her and was about to open it before she spoke again, the corner of her lips curling up slightly.
"Oh, by the way. After we got word that you'd been attacked, Saki and I went to see if we could find you. We picked something up from your apartment when we found you had gone."
I threw the door open wide and peered inside. Set on the floor in the centre of the room was my unwillingly abandoned television. It was still inside its box. I wondered if the temple got cable service, and turned to ask Natsumi – but she was already walking away down the hallway. A question for another day.
I closed the door behind myself and examined my room. It was nice – a floor-to-ceiling Shogi screen at the back of the room led out onto a private porch. There was a wicker chair situated in the corner beside the bureau, and the bed was a King. Apparently the Kougon sect was used to receiving fairly well-to-do visitors. My duffle bag was laying empty beside the door to the closest, and I crossed to look within. I was both surprised and relieved to find the closet was well stocked – someone had taken my measurements and then upon themselves to go shopping on my behalf. I can finally change into a different set of clothes. There, set on a hanger at the end of the closet was my duster. Someone had washed the blood from it.
I closed the closet and turned to the bed, pulling my shirt off over my head as I did so and kicking out of my jeans. I wanted to lie down for a little while, just to get my head straight. I settled down on the bed and was asleep in minutes.
"We have an id on that girl you wanted us to check out, Toro."
"Oh?" Mr. Frustrated again.
"Yeah – apparently that girl gets around. She's been sighted in a lot of shady circumstances in Tokyo over the past few years."
"I'm not surprised. The American has no taste in company."
"Might want to reconsider that – apparently she also has something to do with this monastic sect out of Asakusa. She's been seen coming and going out of their complex."
Mr. Frustrated grunted. "Any sign of the foreigner?"
"No. We've had someone watching the entrance of the temple, but if he's in there, he's not come out."
"Can we go in and get him?"
"I don't know. The sect looks to be martially inclined. And it's a big one. There's probably a hundred monks in there. I'd be a big job. We might be better trying to get him to come out to us. At the very least we'd need a distraction if we tried to grab him."
Mr. Frustrated was drumming his fingers on the surface of the desk before him.
"…Alright then."
I woke up later than I had thought. The ordeals of the day before and the tests had left me drained. The Shogi screen was dark – the sun had already set. I leaned over to recover my phone to check the time. Nine forty-five. I noticed that I had received a message, and I opened it, blinking my eyes to clear them. It was the name of a local bar. The name at the bottom of the message got me out of bed immediately.
I got dressed in a fresh set of clothes quickly and crossed to the door. I opened it and stepped out into the hallway, retracing my steps to the foyer of the building. It contained a small arrangement – a couch, a few armchairs and a table. Natsumi and Saki were seated on the couch – Natsumi slowly turning the pages of a book and the blonde child beside her fiddling manically with a handheld game. They both looked up as I entered.
"Going somewhere?" Saki's voice was full of skepticism.
"I was planning to. Are you watching me?"
"Sojo Aragami has posted us here in case you tried to leave." Natsumi closed her book and set it down in her lap, fixing me with a pointed stare.
"Did she tell you to stop me if I did?"
"Not specifically."
"I'm going out", I said firmly.
"I'll go with you." Saki put down her handheld device and made to scoop up something I hadn't initially recognized from where it was propped at the edge of the couch. It was a giant golden-trimmed hammer – the sort that was ritually used to ring massive prayer bells. It was bigger than she was, but she lifted it with ease.
"I'm going out to a bar", I clarified to the girl, and she scowled at me.
"He's fine, Saki." Natsumi picked up her book again and opened it, finding her place as she spoke. "He's tough enough to know his limits." She looked over the top of her reading to me before she spoke again. "There's a side gate behind this building. Use that."
I nodded and went past them, Saki flopping back down onto the couch with a sullen little grunt. "I never get to do anything", she muttered as I pushed open the door and stepped out of the building. It was surprisingly cool after sunset, and I momentarily regretted leaving my duster – but this was risky enough without such a trademark look. I circled around behind the building and found the gate that Natsumi had mentioned. I pushed it open and glanced out. Unlike the main gate, it didn't lead to the street, but into an adjacent building to the temple. Clever. I stepped through the gateway and closed it behind myself, before moving towards the door of the attached building that led to the street outside. I stepped out into the foot traffic – mainly tourists flocking over Asakusa – and hailed a cab.
The bar wasn't far from Asakusa – it was in the next district over, in Bunkyo, near the University of Tokyo. When I arrived and got through the door, I was relieved to find that the majority of the patrons were predictably college kids, drinking at the bar. Most of them looked like they wrote poetry – none like they were members of seedy underworld gangs. There was one that stood out however. Middle aged, he leaned against the bar, his sandy blonde hair tousled and well maintained. He looked gaunt – he had always been thin, but it was almost unhealthy now. As I watched, he pushed his glasses up his nose and glances about suspiciously. Maneuvering through the crowd, I approached him.
"Robert. You look terrible." He started slightly when I spoke to him. He had a pint of lager that he was nursing in his hand, and another one on the bar beside him. He lifted his chin indicatively towards the second pint and I hefted it up into my hand.
"I feel terrible. At least I haven't been shot."
"Heard about that, did you?"
"You're looking well, all things considered."
Robert Barret had been the head of the research and development department for a genetic engineering firm, VeriSci, where I had worked as a lab technician during my two years as a graduate student at Columbia. Unlike a lot of executives, he had actually been fairly active in the labs themselves, often checking up on our work and being generally friendly with the technicians. As I considered his words, I looked him over. He did look terrible. Dark circles were under his eyes and he look dog-tired.
"What's going on, Rob? I thought I wasn't supposed to see anyone from VeriSci anymore."
"I'm not with VeriSci anymore. I was replaced."
"Sorry about that."
We sipped our respective drinks for a moment, but I wasn't really in the mood for a social pint and it showed. We descended into an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Robert spoke again.
"Tell me everything you know about the last assignment you were working on at VeriSci."
I blinked in surprise and turned my glass in my hand for a short time. It was a strange question for him to ask – Robert had been on board with the experiment from phase one. He knew all about it. I guessed he was just seeing how much I actually knew. I started to speak.
"We were working with a retrovirus." A retrovirus was a specific viral form that contained mRNA as its genetic material rather than the usual DNA. DNA is usually transcribed into RNA which is then used to produce protein. When a retrovirus infected a cell, however, it worked backwards, turning its RNA into DNA that would then hijack the host cell's own DNA. The host cell would then transcribe the foreign DNA into its own mRNA and begin producing viral proteins.
"We altered the mRNA in the virus so that when it was reverse-transcribed it would produce genes that coded for specific proteins that, instead of produce more viral material would produce proteins that would work more effectively than the naturally occurring protein in the human cells. The ultimate performance enhancer."
I allowed a pause before I spoke again. "We didn't receive government approval – the process was too radical. But you and the other executives believed the process was radical because it represented a new step in scientific achievement. Without government approval, we couldn't perform public tests. Instead we started doubling our own staff as test subjects."
I spoke very slowly and very clearly as I went on – I felt that this portion of the presentation needed to be stressed. "The results were disastrous. Of the one-hundred and twenty test subjects, one-hundred and nineteen died. Errors in the transcription process led to their cells producing proteins that had lost function rather than increased it, many of which were required to sustain cellular metabolism. They died, and each one of them horribly." He winced and looked down at his drink, and fidgeted a foot slightly against the ground as I went on. "There was a single survivor – who had a naturally immunity to the virus and wasn't infected to the extent that would have been lethal. Rather than dying, his body managed to reject the virus before it could kill him. He was paid a sizeable amount in hush money and encouraged to leave the country. The project, on your order, was scrapped immediately and buried." I looked skeptically at Robert. "Did I miss anything?"
He had stopped fidgeting and was pensively sipping at his pint again – which was half gone. He lowered it to reply: "That was almost right. But you were wrong on one count, and omitted a few others." He looked aside at me. "Firstly, the one survivor didn't reject the virus. He was infected just the same as the rest of the subjects. However, unlike his late companions, the virus worked perfectly on him."
"But we found no traces of enhanced protein in his tissue."
Robert sighed. "Laz, in the scramble to shut down the project, we didn't give your blood enough time to demonstrate detectable levels of the enhanced protein. You had left the company by the time it was noticed."
I felt my expression darken. "Why were you still working with my blood after the project was closed?"
"I told you I was replaced. The board of directors removed me. Marcus Vert took over the head of research and development." Marcus Vert had been one of the lab heads at VeriSci. He had been a violent, rangy man who pushed his techs to work overtime. He usually got results, however. I could see why they replaced Robert with Vert. They needed someone aggressive to recover after the disaster. "He reactivated the program in order to examine its results. Without making them public, he believed he could sweep them under the rug, learn from the mistakes. Marcus Vert isn't looking to enhance human capabilities anymore. He's got different ideas."
Robert paused and glanced over towards me. "Now for what you missed – this project was in development long before you started working at VeriSci. We had our goal – the production of enhanced proteins leading to enhanced human performance. We had our vehicle – a reengineered retrovirus to deliver the proteins into the nuclei of the host hells. What we didn't have was the enhanced proteins that we wanted to produce. We had nothing to base the engineered mRNA on. We started looking for naturally occurring proteins to examine."
"The initial work was varied. We looked at great apes. We looked at other primates. We even got into looking at feline and Chondrichthyes protein. But they were all either too dissimilar from the human proteins we wanted to change, or weren't as enhanced as we wanted. It took a long time of searching, but we eventually found a single source that contained greatly enhanced proteins that nearly matched human molecules – simply hyper efficient versions. It was a miracle. Half of our work was done for us – we didn't have to engineer the mRNA anymore. We could simply copy over the mRNA from the source tissue that coded for the proteins we wanted."
I saw where this was going. Though most advanced life on Earth is surprisingly similar genetically, individual proteins generally were rather varied. There was only one source I knew of that would fit what Robert was describing to me.
"You were using Shikabane tissue."
"Yes. By digesting Shikabane mRNA down to specific genes coding for specific proteins and using the retrovirus to transport it into the human body, we managed to avoid the total cellular transformation that occurred when human cells were exposed to pure Shikabane genetic material. We could limit it to only the proteins that would advance human potential – the proteins your cells are producing now."
"…That explains a few things." My ability to regenerate, for one.
"But that's not all."
"No?" I waited.
"I hadn't been removed completely from the company when Vert took over. Do you remember John Anders?" I did. John Anders had been a contemporary of Marcus Vert, and had headed the specific lab that I worked in. Anders had been well past retirement age – seventy three if I recalled – but had continued working simply because he loved the job. He had been an excellent mentor to the college students doing the grunt work in the labs. "Anders took special interest in your blood. He and I both felt very strongly that reactivating the program was a serious mistake. He was the one who uncovered that you had been our singular success."
"He also was the one who engineered a failsafe into the initial experiment. You see, there's a reason that the human body doesn't have such advanced proteins. We can't sustain them. They tax our metabolism too much – they'd burn your cells out. Anders removed a gene from the retrovirus – it coded for a catalytic enzyme that served to active the other enhanced proteins. Without it, the majority of them would remain inert."
His beer was gone by now. I had long since forgotten mine, which was sweating on the bar. "When Anders realized that you had been successfully infected, he produced a batch of this enzyme." He produced a leather wallet and opened it for me. Inside, Velcro loops held a dozen clear glass vials in place, each containing a milky solution and affixed with a tiny hypodermic needle and plunger. "He tested it on your blood samples. Each of these doses is enough for about five minutes of full activation, until the enzyme is consumed. Your cells won't have a tolerance at first – the side effects the first few times around going to be pretty bad." He held out the wallet.
"Do you know how it'll affect me?"
"How could we? You were the only survivor. We had no one else to test it on."
"Where's Ander's now?" I took the wallet from him and made to fold it into my pocket.
"Dead." What? "After he gave me the enzymes, he went to destroy the research that he had left on the VeriSci mainframe. He managed to delete a good portion of it, but he was caught. Vert had him killed."
"Jesus. He was a grandfather."
"They're not fucking around, Lazarus. They know they have a serious loose end running around."
"…Me."
"Right."
I thought to myself for a moment or two. "How long ago did all this happen?"
"About three weeks ago." Robert was looking guilty now.
"You knew two weeks before I left America that the deal was off the table. You let me go anyway." That Shikabane on the plane wasn't a coincidence.
"Yes."
"…Why?"
"I have them tied up in a legal battle back in the States over VeriSci's activities. But Japan has an abnormally high concentration of Shikabane. Vert opened a branch in Tokyo in response. You're the biggest hole in their plans, Lazarus. They didn't account for your survival and certainly not for the success of the phase one experiment. Not to mention you're already in with the Kougon Sect. Do me a favor and pass on VeriSci as a company they're going to want to check out."
"…Alright." The conversation was winding down.
When I returned to the temple, Natsumi and Saki weren't in the foyer of the guest building. I went to bed and turned out the light. I lay awake for a long, long time.
A figured moved down the hallway, consindering each of the Shogi doors as it passed. He was carrying a bundle underneath one arm. He was very nervous. He fidgeted and glanced about one more time. Had anyone seen him enter? He didn't know. He had to get out of here as soon as possible. He turned to one of the panels of the wall and slid it out of place. The space behind the panel before the wall was just large enough for his purpose. He stooped and placed his package in the space. There were a few tones as he dialed something, before he replaced the panel.
He fled.
I awoke to a knock on my door the next morning.
"Give me a minute", I grunted through my sleep. I could remember my dream perfectly this time. It had occurred inside the pagoda of the main temple. I blinked and shook my head to clear it, before getting up to rifle through my closet for some clothes.
Natsumi was at my door.
"Someone wants to see you." She didn't look pleased at all. I followed her out into the hallway and then the foyer, and out of the exterior doorway. It was early in the morning, yet several monks were already meditating in the yard. We bypassed them and navigated towards the main temple. She wasn't speaking this morning, and seemed sullen. I didn't push my luck as we ascended into the pagoda.
She didn't lead me down the hallway. Instead she led me directly across the hallway to one of the Shogi that lead to the centre courtyard I had noticed on my first visit to the pagoda. She slid it open and I passed through. When she closed the door without following after me, I turned to examine the garden. There was only one occupant – a young woman sitting on a bench beside the reflecting pool, watching the cherry blossoms float on its surface. Though she was only a year or two my senior, she had an oxygen tank and a mask upon her face. As I approached, she looked up at me and smiled through the barrier.
"Hello", she greeted softly once she had detached her mask. "I am Maruno Hikari."
"Er… hello. I'm Lazarus." I wasn't really sure where this was going.
"I know who you are. Natsumi has spoken volumes about you." She saw my surprised and smiled. "I am her contracted monk."
"They say it is some sort of lung cancer. I'm not very technical, so their explanations tend to go over my head." Hikari was speaking wistfully as we watched the little boats formed by the blossoms sail about on the surface of the pond. I didn't know how to reply to that, so I didn't.
"I am glad you've come. Really." She spoke with a sudden sort of earnest that surprised me for someone in her frail condition. "I was worried no one would come. When I was first diagnosed, they told me I might live for a long while. So we had time. But then the months passed and no one came and I thought they might never come."
She was confusing me now. "I'm… not sure I'm following you, Hikari."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course. I have been in this temple for so long, I forget that some people aren't monks – and don't understand." She smiled, which made her next words surprising. "I'm dying. I have been dying for many months. I have accepted this. What I cannot accept is what will happen to Natsumi."
"Is that so?"
"Hai. Do you know what happens to a Shikabane Hime when their contracted monk dies?"
I thought back to what Honda had told me about Rhun, and how a Shikabane required an alternate source. "Nothing good", I ventured.
"Nothing good", Hikari echoed, before she smiled and considered the reflecting pool. "Without my Rhun to sustain her, Natsumi will either die, or become a wild Shikabane, forced to kill to live. The Sect will kill her immediately."
I looked down at my lap. I didn't know what Hikari wanted me to say. I couldn't cure cancer, that much was certain.
"Do you know what Natsumi's regret is?" Hikari was still examining the pond in a distant sort of way. "The one that caused her to return as a Shikabane?"
I shook my head silently.
"Her grandmother was taken seriously ill. She was the only other surviving family member, and the treatment for the illness was very expensive. Natsumi tried desperately to make the money necessary to finance her care. She took a job with some… unscrupulous people. The jobs they had her doing were not pleasant – and one night a rival group had her killed. Knowing she had failed and her grandmother was doomed brought her back."
I felt my heart slowly dropping down into my stomach again. "Your condition must be very hard on her then." My voice was a whisper.
"Hai", Hikari said, before she spoke. Her hands, skeletal and wasted, had begun pulling at the hem of her modest skirt. "But it's not my condition I'm worried about. It's Natsumi's."
"We could transfer my contract to someone else to save her." Hikari turned her pale grey eyes up towards me as she spoke, her voice soft as she sought not to strain herself. "But there is a problem. For a Shikabane to form a bond with a person, there has to be a connection – some sort of empathy. Without it, the bond won't complete." She reached one of her hands up and placed it on my arm, just above my elbow. "Natsumi doesn't bond very easily with anyone. I was very worried that no one would come", she repeated softly.
"I see." My jaw worked slowly from side to side once I had replied. This was all becoming very complicated.
"I don't think you do, Lazarus." Her reply surprised me, and she saw it plainly. "It would be my eternal regret if I were to drag Natsumi down to die with me."
Now I saw. She saw that in my face as well, and inclined her head slightly before she spoke. "I am not in the ground yet. We don't have to come to a decision just now. But I did want to meet you, while I was still strong enough to explain." She smiled up at me, and in that moment her smile transformed her face so thoroughly, it was hard to believe she was anything but a healthy young woman. "You've given me something to hope for, even now! Send Natsumi in when you go – I need to tell her of what she must do."
I nodded and sat for a time, before I slid my hand down to where she rested hers upon my arm and caught it up to my lips. A gesture from a dead age. She smiled nonetheless at me, and I turned to leave. As I slid the Shoji screen open, Natsumi straightened from her slouch against the wall and moved past me urgently towards where Hikari sat. I stepped out into the hallway and reached into my pockets in search of my mp3 player. As I fumbled with the headset, I turned to watch the two young women sitting on the bench beneath the cherry tree. Hikari was speaking softly. Natsumi's back was turned to me, but her shoulders shook as she wept silently. I thumbed the shuffle.
Vienna Teng. The Tower.
I closed the screen behind me.