Chapter Forty-Eight: Quid Pro Quo
With the silk of their clothing rustling as they walked, the two women made their way down the hallway. Polished wood floors and endless murals flowed past them, enveloping them in a forested glen thick with inky branches and deep greens. But the serene imagery was lost on Mama. Her eyes only regarded one thing: her guide's poised frame gliding a few steps ahead of her.
A frown etched Mama's face, born of both wariness and weariness. Every probing question she had posed to the young woman had been masterfully deflected until there was only the sound of soft footfalls between them. What the oyabun wanted from her remained a mystery and despite her pressing for more information, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know the answer. To know what purpose she held that was more valuable than her death.
Yukina's pace slowed and she stopped beside one of the murals. "We're here, Higurashi-san."
Mama swallowed.
"Do your injuries still hurt?" she asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"Did the pain medication help? Do you still hurt?"
"Uh," she mumbled, then turned her neck from side-to-side. While a mild ache remained, most of her range of motion had returned. With a polite bow, she nodded, "It feels much better. Thank you."
A gentle smile warmed her face and she bowed in reply. "Good. I'm glad."
Mama looked at her expectantly.
"I…" she began.
Drudging up what warmth she could muster, she smiled at her. "Go on."
But no more words came.
Instead, she looked to the mural and gave the panel a soft rapt. Then with the voice she had momentarily lost, she called out, "Excuse me? I have Higurashi-san with me. May we come in?"
"Yes," a voice answered. "Bring her in."
"Yes, sir," Yukina replied and her delicate fingers slid along the panel until they found a hidden handle. Smoothly, she slid door open.
The brilliance of a summer's day in downtown Tokyo bathed them in light as they stood in the doorway. With the same panoramic view of the cityscape beyond, the room reminded Mama of where she had woken up in, except here there was furniture. Upholstered in dark green, leather armchairs flanked antique tables topped with beautifully kept bonsai trees and bright floral arrangements. As exquisite as the murals that framed the hallway, shogi screens portraying spring meadows divided the space, and as they entered the room, she discovered why.
In stark contrast with the traditional opulence, she spied the hard plastic and metal of a hospital bed at the far side of the room. Bundled to the waist under crisp, white sheets, a man with his arms crossed against his chest glared at her.
"This is her?" he asked, his tone harder than his piercing eyes.
At the window as she gazed out at the city, a woman's silhouette moved, her cascade of braids swaying with the motion.
Mama's breath caught in her throat.
"Yes," the oyabun replied coolly.
The man snorted. "I had expected someone… bigger."
She gave him a flat look, then turned enough to peer at the two women. "She's more formidable than she appears."
Lightly nudging, Mama felt a hand at the small of her back. Yukina, with her eyes averted, pressed her forward, guiding her towards the waiting oyabun. As they walked, Mama caught her reflection in the glossy finish of a passing coffee table. Fear gritted her teeth and widened her eyes. It etched her with a hardness that she didn't recognize, aging her. She thought she had dealt with the fear. First at home in the hallway mirror and again when she had woken up here. It had taken nothing more than the kirin's voice and her shadow to undo it all. To wear her nerve until it frayed.
She swallowed dryly.
"I still don't know why you brought her here," he wondered aloud, waving his hand dismissively. "I could have sent some men to torture her. Kill her perhaps. Either outcome would have drawn the demon and his companions out. Made them reckless and our lives easier."
"And how is that a path untaken with her being here?" the oyabun asked, unfazed. "She has more use to me alive in this moment than broken or dead. When that ceases to be the case, then I will take care of it myself."
"Oya-sama…"
"Enough, Ishida."
Mama's mind raced. She was alive because she still held value. The others would return eventually, whether she was alive or dead, so what made her important to the oyabun went beyond Sesshoumaru, Kagome, or Tora.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Perhaps she hadn't pushed her too far at the shrine the day before. Instead, it was possible that she cracked the armor, revealing the tenderness underneath. In her desperate move to protect her family, she had found the person inside the beast. Her instincts had been right.
Like the sea breeze on a hot afternoon, serenity flowed over her, soothing away her fear. Her expression softened and her posture opened up. While they may have stripped her of her agency, they had failed to steal what made her dangerous, words and wit. The oyabun was right. She was formidable. And she wanted to cry, too. To let her tears fall. To be vulnerable and cared for. But there would be time for that later when she was safe in the arms of her loved ones.
"Yukina," the oyabun said, gesturing towards the doorway. "Please wait outside until bidden."
"Yes, my lady," she replied, bowing courteously before turning around to leave. She gave Mama a reassuring pat on the arm as she slipped past and left the room. The door slid shut with a soft clap.
Completely relaxed, Mama looked up at the oyabun, regarding her with calm dignity. Then she offered her own bow, mindful that it wasn't as deep as Yukina's. "My lady, you requested my presence?"
The oyabun eyed her, her face inscrutable. "Yes, Higurashi-san."
With her chin slightly tilted up, Mama waited.
"As you've no doubt surmised," she explained as she walked along the line of windows, graceful in her bare feet, "You are a lure. Bait for the daiyoukai and his allies. That you are not dead is but my whim."
"This is your castle."
She nodded to her. "And you are my guest for as long as you are useful."
"And, my lady, if I may ask, why am I useful?"
She paused, thoughtfulness pursing her lips. "I have questions."
Mama frowned. "Questions? If they're about the location of my family—"
The oyabun scoffed. "As I stated, you're a lure. However, if that was all that mattered, then you would have never woken up. Ishida is correct. If you were left broken or dead where I found you, vengeance would have brought the demon and the others to me with a bit of patience. It's a fact that remains the same by bringing you here as my guest. But what does change is that now I can ask you questions."
"I see," she replied, her gaze drifting to the cityscape. Fluttering white and gray, a flock of pigeons flew in the distance, tiny beside the massive skyscrapers. Her attention returned to the oyabun. "If I agreed, would you be amenable to me asking you questions in return?"
She considered her silently.
"You're under no obligation to answer if you deem my questions inappropriate or offensive. In exchange, I will do my best to answer any that you pose except those that would betray the safety of my family."
She snorted lightly. "Quid-pro-quo?"
"A conversation."
The oyabun lingered, weighing her proposal. Then she strolled towards an antique armchair and sat down, putting one foot up on a coffee table as she lounged. With an elegant flick of her wrist, she gestured to another chair beside the table. "Sit."
Adopting the poise worthy of her exquisite kimono, Mama sat primly across from her, her hands folded neatly on her lap.
The oyabun gazed at her with eyes as dark and lustrous as polished onyx. "As my guest, you may ask first."
She blinked, taken aback.
With her expression remaining a mask, she waited.
"I…" she began, searching for a question that she hadn't had time to formulate. Then it struck her and the knot of fear she had undone a moment ago tried to retie itself again. "You've mentioned repeatedly that I'm your guest and that my role is that of a lure, but I was also informed me that you had another job in mind for me." She paused. "What is it?"
A smirk hinted at her lips. "It's not a task that should cause you distress."
"Given your yakuza clan's treatment of girls and women in the past, I don't find that reassuring or satisfactory."
Under the gray cast of a cloudy day, a raindrop splashed across the green of a fresh spring leaf. A rivulet of water slipped down the leaf's midrib, beading at the tip until it dripped and fell away.
"I suppose not," the oyabun conceded and she rested her temple against her fingertips. "And I doubt that your fears would be assuaged much if I added that you're outside the age range for most of our business dealings anyways."
Mama's lips pressed into a hard line. "Are you answering my question or passing on it, my lady?"
She sighed, her disappointment evident. "Most of the Shikai is an amalgamation of smaller and weaker clans that were unable to achieve much on their own, both in terms of business and prestige. Many of the newer members are feral and small-minded. They have base desires. Money. Power. Vengeance. If they learned that a connection to their most hated enemy was currently being held captive in this tower, their interest in you would be greater than I care for. So, to disguise your presence, you'll be serving as a caregiver for my second-in-command, Ishida."
"Keeping her here at all is a mistake, Oya-sama," he spoke up fervently.
She tipped her head back to eye him.
"Please let me take care of it. I have some men that I trust. They will handle this security risk discreetly and in whatever manner that you wish."
"Hush," she scolded him staidly. "This is the plan. I'll tolerate no further objections. Are we clear on that?"
He sat back in his bed and looked away, his gaze on the city.
Her attention returned to Mama and she raised an eyebrow. "Was that answer satisfactory?"
She watched her, as if waiting for a statue to breathe. Then she nodded.
"Good," she replied. "My turn. Why does your shrine exhibit such strange power?"
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Are you referring to the aura that I mentioned when you first visited?"
"Yes."
She hummed to herself. "Well, it's never been proven, but I believe it has to do with our shrine's two ancient features from centuries past. The first is Goshinboku, the sacred tree, and other is the Bone-Eater Well. As you're well aware, power is divided between the divine and the primal. The heavens and the earth. Goshinboku represents one half as it reaches into the sky and the Bone-Eater Well represents the other as it delves deep into the ground. With both so close together, they form a hybridized bridge that unites both powers, providing sanctuary for everyone. Even youkai."
She snorted softly. "I see."
"The shrine is my ancestral home, but I barely feel the power. For most humans, except for those touched by the divine, it's not noticeable at all. For you though, being a hanyou of your lineage, I imagine that it might be rather profound and moving."
With their spindly, white trunks cracked with black, a copse of birch trees stood enveloped by mist. Then a light tapping broke the stillness. Rain began to fall, pattering against the bed of dried leaves that covered the forest floor.
"Your question," the oyabun said coolly.
Mama paused, hoping for more. But the piercing intensity of her dark eyes was all that she received. "As you wish, my lady," she said finally, nodding in acquiescence. "My next question is: What's your name?"
A flicker of surprise ghosted across the oyabun's face, so quick that Mama thought she imagined it. As she waited, the ensuing silence lingered to the point of discomfort. Breathing through her nose, she pushed the ill feeling down and her patience persevered.
"My name is Oya."
With eyebrows raised, she looked at her, her awe apparent. "You're an oyabun named Oya? Is that where—"
She scoffed, interrupting her. "My name isn't the origin of the title. That's nothing more than an apropos coincidence. My father named me after a goddess from a region now known as Nigeria. He travelled there in his youth and was struck by her nature. A warrior-goddess who commanded violent storms and fire. A guardian who presided over death and rebirth. When I was born, he saw that same spirit in me and so I was named. It's the only gift I have left from him."
"It's a lovely one. Thank you for sharing it with me."
Oya pursed her lips, a reply perching at the tip of her tongue. And then it was gone, cast away, as her stoicism returned. Her attention, though, did not. Her eyes drifted somewhere else. Someplace far away in space and time.
"It's your turn," Mama offered with a polite wave of her hand, "My lady."
Her finger tapped her temple.
"Oya-sama?"
Her eyes snapped back, sharp and clear.
"It's your turn."
With a smoothness that suggested that she had never left, she asked, "How did you know that I wished to be a youkai rather than a celestial beast when I was young?"
"Aside from luck and a fifty-fifty chance given the two possibilities?" she replied, warmly suppressing a knowing smile. "You live in Japan, a country that once teemed with youkai. There's something in the land, perhaps even in our warrior culture, that created a haven for them. And likewise, repelled the interest of the celestial beasts that prefer the mainland. If I could wager, I'd bet that you're the only kirin on these islands and that it has been so for centuries. You're at home here and if belonging mattered to you as a child, I can't imagine you wanting to be anything other than a youkai, like your father."
"A clever and balanced deduction," she noted as she nudged at the beautifully manicured bonsai tree set upon the coffee table with her toe. "Your bet paid off, though one of your assumptions is faulty. While Japan has been my home for centuries, it's by exile and not choice. While I may be a full-blooded kirin now, my kind only see the taint of my lineage evident in my appearance. My existence is a reminder of a mistake and worth nothing more."
"Do you believe that your existence is a mistake?"
The pungent scent of wet earth inundated the air as rain began to pour. Heavy drops pelted the trees, and on the ground, the water pooled together, forming muddy puddles choked with dead leaves. In the distance, the gray sky flashed brightly. And thunder rolled.
"Is that your question?" Oya asked, her expression hard. A glimmer of opalescence burned in her irises. "Are you asking if I believe that my existence is a mistake?"
Mama hesitated and the dull ache around her neck and throat returned and she reached up absently to trace the bruising with her fingertips.
"Answer me."
"I'd rather…" she began, her mind racing as she chose her words carefully, "I'd rather spend my question on your parent's story if you're willing to tell it. Where they came from and how they met."
The glimmer faded into blackness. "You'd like to know how I came to be?"
"Yes, but only if you'd like to share."
She tapped her lips, deep in thought.
"I can think of something else…"
"No," Oya interjected, "It's worth telling."
Mama waited, her expression kind and friendly.
"Many centuries ago, my father lived in Africa. He was a giraffe daiyoukai and while his people were nomadic by nature, he loved to travel more than most. It wasn't a matter of survival or custom for him. He had a passion for exploration. He wanted to see everything. Needed to. And so, when an expedition from the Ming Dynasty arrived in modern-day Somalia, he was driven to meet them and experience something new.
"Mesmerized by my father's grace, the travelers had only seen one other creature quite like him: a qilin. So, with a little persuasion, they convinced him to join them on their voyage back to mainland China. He arrived with great fanfare and when he met the emperor, he was proclaimed a sacred treasure akin to a celestial beast. And it was in the aftermath of that fervor, while he was strolling in the imperial garden, that he met the real deal. He met my mother."
"Sounds romantic," Mama noted warmly.
"It was," she assured wistfully. "They both shared a love for the exotic and appreciated the limitless diversity of the world. But while he had resisted efforts to make him conform to his people's wishes, she had been forced to abide by the rules of high society. And even though the emperor had declared my father sacred, he was still a daiyoukai, an enemy. So, they saw each other in secret. That is until one day, when my mother realized that she was pregnant.
"She was permitted to carry me to term and he, in exchange for his life, was to take me with him into exile. With the two halves of my lineage at war within my own body, I was a sickly infant and he dared not make the journey back to Africa. Instead, he crossed the sea to Feudal Japan, a place tolerant of youkai."
Empathy in her eyes, Mama leaned forward towards her. "I'm sorry. It must have been difficult for both of you. Stranded in a foreign land, pariahs far from home. And then more so for you when you were left alone."
The melancholy in her voice evaporated, replaced by a hardness. "What is that? Pity in your heart?"
"Compassion."
Fissuring the darkness with light, lightning streaked against the clouds, seeking the ground. Thunder followed, rupturing the sky and sending fresh torrents of rain pouring down. The water coursed through the trees and down the mountainside, ripping away the undergrowth and drowning everything in its path.
"I'm at the head of a criminal organization that preys upon the poor and weak," Oya remarked coldly. "As you said earlier, my business dealings exploit women and girls. I'm responsible for their abuse and assaults. I violate their rights. The finery that you wear right now was paid for with their blood and tears. This tower was paid for by gambling debts and protection rackets from thousands of families over the decades. And yet you have compassion for me?"
A steadiness filled Mama and she looked her in the eyes. "I have compassion for you because despite what you've done, you're a victim, too. You're deserving of empathy. Just like Sesshoumaru."
The figure of the oyabun lounging in an armchair with her foot on the table disappeared.
A boom followed, loud and ringing.
The armchair was gone. Bright sunlight shone in through a fractured window. Shards of glass clung to the edges of the frame, a few falling soundlessly as they tumbled down the many stories to the ground below. Wind gusted in through the hole, tugging at Oya's white suit and mane of long braids.
"Oya-sama!" Ishida shouted.
She held up her finger towards him, silencing him before her attention returned to Mama and she bit out, "I'm not a victim."
"But you are," she contested firmly as she rose to her feet. "The pain of your abandonment and rejection is everywhere and in everything that you do. You spread it around so that it's an easier burden to carry, but by doing so, you place it on others. Drown them in it until your pain is theirs. You must stop and face it or else you'll never be free of it. It's the only way. For your sake and for the sakes of everyone you touch."
"Shut up," she growled, her eyes glowing brilliantly.
"Or you'll choke me again? Kill me?" She shook her head. "Hurting me won't alleviate your pain or even make you feel better the instant my neck is snapped. It remains no matter what you do. I told you before that I see you. And I suspect that's why I'm still alive. It's been a long time since you've been seen. Since someone peered through the veil and found you. The real you."
A vice in the shape of fingers found Mama's throat, and her neck burned. Tears slipped unbidden from her eyes despite her resolve.
"I'll show you what pain is," Oya whispered into her ear, her words terse and clipped, "And you'll never think of me as a victim again."
The sliding door clapped loudly.
And she was gone.
Mama stood still for a long moment. Then, as she rubbed away her tears with the heel of her hand, she collapsed back into her chair and stifled the sob that crept up her throat.
Sitting in his hospital bed, Ishida rubbed his face wearily. "Lady Oya was right."
She looked at him, her eyes puffy and red.
"You are formidable."