Yatagarasu Series
Volume 7:
The Raven's Paradise
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 1: Flight
“Yo, you still alive?” he asked me. A ray of sunshine cut across my face. I could barely see him standing before me because of the brightness of the light.
I never thought he would come. I wished he hadn’t. Things would be so much better if he’d stayed away.
But I was also happy that he was here.
“Look at that face!” he said, laughing.
I hated him, but now that he was here, I had no choice but to admit defeat.
In that instant, I felt like I had died and been reborn.
***
Yasuhara Hajime inherited a mountain.
Under current law, the mountain came bundled with maintenance costs sufficient to cover the fixed-asset tax for the next hundred years.
When Hajime heard the news, the first thing that came out of his mouth was a strangled “Eek!” He took a moment to compose himself and added, “That old geezer—seriously? That’s too much for an ordinary guy like me.”
***
Hajime sat in his parents’ living room for the first time in years and looked around the house, bewildered. How long had it been since he’d come back here? The house hadn’t changed a bit. It was still the kind of cold mausoleum of a house that typified old money.
His mother, older brothers, and sister were seated around a gleaming single-slab table, which had been polished to a mirror shine. They were dressed in formal clothes appropriate to the occasion and to this house.
Hajime glimpsed his distorted reflection in the glass of a china cabinet. He was holding a white porcelain cup in one hand. His hair was long and unkempt, straggling like seaweed over his shoulders. Stubble marked his chin, and his eyes were sleepy. Unlike his more formal and polite siblings, he’d come to this meeting in an old T-shirt and jersey sweatpants. A cigarette hung precariously from one side of his mouth and a chunky gold necklace hung below his stretched-out T-shirt collar. He would be the first to admit that he appeared thoroughly disreputable.
No one made any comments about how Hajime was dressed. Just being here made him want to break out in hives. That would get him out of this, right? Did hives require hospitalization?
Ten years ago, Hajime had received his inheritance from his father’s estate—his father hadn’t wanted to die before sharing his assets with his children. Hajime didn’t need any more from his father and had no idea why he’d been summoned here now. He’d been told that a will would be read, but his father had decided to use a living will a decade ago—what had changed?
Hajime spent his minutes of discomfort counting down the seconds until he would be allowed to leave.
His mother snapped in front of his face to pull him back to the present moment. “Your father requested you by name,” she said patiently. “There has to be a good reason for that, so pay attention and be patient.” She looked much older now than she had the last time he’d seen her. She wore a formal kimono that made her appear dignified and somewhat cold, like a statue inside the house.
Hajime’s second-eldest brother wore a suit. He nodded rapidly. “He was a bit of an eccentric, but he wasn’t the kind of person to do things like this without a reason.”
“Stop squirming,” his sister said in the tone of someone who was not making a suggestion. “Maybe he was worried about your future.”
“If he was worried about that, he would have left me more money,” Hajime said. “What’s a mountain worth these days, anyway? I don’t know.”
The lawyer decided to speak up. “Yes, he did leave you his mountain. There’s a lake adjacent to the property, and there are natural hot springs nearby. The location is well-suited for residential development. A few years ago, your father was in talks to build a small ski resort on the property. A new prefectural road was built nearby less than a decade ago. The mountain is definitely not a worthless asset.”
“See?” Hajime’s sister crowed triumphantly.
“If that’s the case, why give it to me and not one of my other siblings?” Hajime asked. “Or did you two pass on this one, and that’s why you called me here?”
The mountain, if managed well, could be a considerable money-maker, but Hajime had no interest in managing property or developing land. Under normal circumstances, an inheritance like this would have sparked a family dispute. But the Yasuhara family, for better or worse, did not suffer from money problems.
“I don’t need it,” Hajime’s brother said. “I understand why our father would give it to you, though, and not anyone else.” He gave Hajime a thin, waspish smile. “None of the rest of us are struggling to put food on the table.”
“Neither am I,” Hajime said.
His brother snorted. “With the way you’re living, it wouldn’t be strange if you ended up penniless tomorrow.”
“How shocking,” Hajime said flatly. “So that’s what you think of me.”
Hajime gambled as a hobby, but he’d never lost enough to put himself in financial trouble. He’d never asked any of his relatives for a handout.
“I live honestly enough, and I don’t appreciate you trying to disparage me,” Hajime said primly.
Hajime’s brother and sister talked over him to contradict what he’d said. They locked eyes and shared a nod.
“That’s only because your inheritance hasn’t run out yet,” Hajime’s sister said. “You quit university without telling anyone. You bought that run-down tobacco shop when it was on the verge of foreclosure. You say you make your living honestly?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Have you forgotten? Mother collapsed from nerves when she found out about your ill-fated purchase,” my second brother said.
Hajime’s mother brushed that aside. “It startled me a bit, is all.” She was elderly and becoming frail, but she wasn’t a habitual liar. Hajime shot her a grateful look and scratched the back of his head a bit sheepishly.
Hajime wasn’t blood-related to anyone in his family. He and all of his siblings had been adopted as children. Their father had been a wealthy man who’d wanted a large family. Hajime was by far the youngest sibling—his eldest brother was already working by the time he entered the household. The adopted siblings shared only one common trait, and that was a talent for project management. His sister and second-eldest brother had been running their own successful companies for almost twenty years now. Despite the struggling economy, Hajime’s siblings were doing incredibly well for themselves. Their children showed signs of inheriting their business acumen.
Technically, Hajime was also making use of his own gifts; he just had far less to show for it. His tobacco shop turned a modest profit. It was a genuinely retro place with old vending machines, a mahjong parlor, and vintage smoking accessories. He was well past thirty and would probably be a bachelor for life.
“I can’t tell what you’re thinking sometimes,” Hajime’s eldest brother muttered. “You don’t manage your own shop. You’re idle all day every day, and it doesn’t seem like you feel any urgency at all about the future. I can’t stop worrying about you. It seems like you’re bound and determined to repeat our father’s mistakes.” He paused. “I know that Father had an… outsize influence on you. I’m sorry we left you here with him at the end like that; it wasn’t good of us.”
Hajime gave him a blank stare. “People don’t just say things like that. Like it was nothing. Like you expect me to forgive you for everything because you said ‘sorry’ once.” He shook his head. “You’re talking like he was some kind of villain who corrupted me or something, and you know he wasn’t. I wasn’t stuck with him. I stayed by him because I wanted to.”
His adoptive mother nodded in approval.
His eldest brother’s eyes sharpened on Hajime. “We’re getting off the subject. Let’s talk about things plainly, shall we? The family has no concerns for the future of our mother’s grandchildren. We are here because we’re concerned about you—about your future. We don’t need any more inheritance, but you definitely do.”
Hajime’s sister and second brother nodded in unison.
“I hate rich people,” Hajime muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “I wonder what my employees would think if you said that to their faces. Compared to all of them, I’m loaded.”
“Your employees wouldn’t like to learn that you’re sustaining your business solely off of inheritance money,” Hajime’s sister said.
No one spoke for a long, awkward moment. Then the lawyer surveyed the family dispassionately and straightened his papers. He cleared his throat.
“It sounds like the family is in agreement,” the lawyer said. “Mr. Yasuhara Hajime will inherit Mt. Ara and its associated properties.” He confirmed the consent of everyone present and then produced a thick envelope from his briefcase. “The question of the property’s value was just raised. There is, in fact, a condition your father set regarding any sale of the mountain’s assets.”
“What does that mean? That the mountain can’t be sold?”
“Huh?”
Given that the maintenance costs and taxes had been fully prepared in advance, such a clause seemed plausible enough. The lawyer offered no answer and instead urged Hajime to read what was inside the envelope.
Inside the envelope was a letter written in Hajime’s father’s own hand. The letter consisted of only one cryptic sentence:
Until you understand why you must not sell this mountain, you cannot sell it.
“What the hell is this?” Hajime stared at the letter, eyes wide.
***
Shinjuku was a glittering, modern place with pockets of old-fashioned streetscapes scattered here and there. Hemmed in by several universities, the area was a chaotic profusion of cheap bars, bento shops, ramen eateries, Chinese restaurants, mahjong parlors, and jazz cafés that catered to college kids.
A few storefronts were so frenetic and confusing that it was difficult to tell if they were open for business. Hajime’s tobacco shop was one of these. His shop was marked by a white signboard with red letters and fitted with neon lights that spelled out “Tobacco” in English. The glass door that led into the shop was narrow and dusty. The shop itself was wedged between two others that were much wider; it wound through them like a misshapen eel. The sales counter occupied most of the street-facing wall.
This cramped, old-fashioned place was Kanei Tobacco Shop. Hajime considered the place to be his castle. It had been in business for more than sixty years; he’d bought it from an elderly widow. Hajime had always liked coming here while he was a student. He enjoyed the retro atmosphere, which was getting harder and harder to find in the city.
When Mrs. Toshi announced that she was closing the shop for good, Hajime had asked to buy it. She’d warned him that the real estate agents who’d surveyed the property grossly undervalued it because of the lot’s unusual size and shape, but Hajime didn’t care. Mrs. Toshi seemed reluctant to cheat him, but she agreed to sell the shop to him in the end.
Hajime hadn’t bought this place out of altruism. He knew that he was a lazy worker who’d never be able to cut it in the corporate world. He was convinced that even trying to fit into that world was a waste of time. When he’d bought the shop, he’d been seriously considering frittering his inheritance completely away on gambling. Buying a shop that theoretically made some money, if only from the vending machines, seemed like a sound financial decision.
Mrs. Toshi, bless her, had given him plenty of advice on how to manage the shop and his money. She’d kept trying to talk him out of buying the shop until he came up with her asking price in cash and insisted that if she didn’t sell it, he would become a gambling shut-in and waste the rest of his life. After that, she’d spent months teaching him how to run the shop, always with a slightly worried look on her face. She’d moved away after that to the town where her daughter and son-in-law lived.
Whatever Hajime’s attitude was toward work, he was doing business in a culture that was increasingly hostile to smokers.
The vending machines placed in the mahjong parlor used to bring in decent sales. Lately, though, the college students who frequented the place had become conspicuously health-conscious, and sales had obviously dropped. Customers who bought by the carton were practically an endangered species.
Hajime exhaled a slow curl of purple smoke toward a ventilation fan. The air was damp and muggy today, and the fading evening light smelled faintly scorched.
The bottom floor of the building was the shop and the upper floor was an attached apartment. There was a storage area, a bedroom, a small bathroom, and a kitchen.
Feeling hungry, Hajime headed upstairs to his kitchen. The refrigerator was empty. His hand drifted to his breast pocket out of habit; he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He stood watching the evening sun pulse through the ventilation slats in the wall opposite him.
Buying the tobacco shop had not been a good decision for Hajime’s stomach. He thought about eating out, but most restaurants wouldn’t allow him to smoke. It was easiest to eat and relax at home. Japan was an inconvenient country for a smoker to live in.
Hajime toyed with the idea of traveling. Mt. Ara was out there waiting for him.
The day after he’d signed a book’s worth of paperwork, he’d officially become the property’s owner and manager. Shortly after that, a gentleman had come to call on him to ask if he might be persuaded to sell the mountain.
When most people spoke of a privately owned mountain, they usually meant a portion of one—a parcel of forest on a hillside somewhere. What Hajime had inherited was different. He had, literally, an entire mountain, albeit a small one. Mt. Ara was bowl-shaped and fairly easy to climb. The surrounding hills were also part of the property.
The locals called the mountain barren and unlucky.1 The man who’d come to purchase it from Hajime claimed to represent a large corporation. His employer wanted to buy Mt. Ara and turn it into a ski resort with boating on the lake and a stylish hotel on the shore.
“So, what do you think?” the man had asked.
Hajime had admitted that his offer was reasonable, because it was. But he still had to turn the man down. His father’s clause meant that he couldn’t sell the mountain to anyone.
The man’s glasses had caught the light. He’d asked, quite pleasantly, if Hajime had objections to developing the land.
Explaining in detail seemed like too much trouble, so Hajime had said, “Yes, something like that.”
The man had smiled and said, “I’ll come again.” Fortunately, he’d left without making a fuss.
Some days later, a man arrived with an offer from an entirely different company. He also wanted Mt. Ara. The mountain was home to numerous rare plants and animals under state protection. Allowing it to be purchased would serve the cause of environmental conservation. He offered slightly more than the first man had.
At this point, Hajime understood that his adoptive father had left him something more troublesome than he’d initially grasped.
The first man and the second differed in their stated reasons and in the names of their companies, but they laughed in exactly the same way. Their business manners and their methods were unmistakably alike.
Hajime’s gut told him that the same person was backing both of them. Someone he couldn’t identify was trying to get him to sell the mountain.
A few days after that, a third party had joined the first two. Hajime decided to find the situation amusing so that he wouldn’t find it too annoying. He declined all their offers and sent them away with vague answers to their questions.
Sometimes they tried pressure.
“You won’t get a deal this good again.”
“If you don’t sign this contract, you’ll have trouble in the future.”
Eventually, they understood that nothing they said or did would motivate Hajime to sell. They didn’t give up, though. They kept offering more and more money and inviting him out to increasingly lavish dinners. Hajime’s stomach thanked him, but he didn’t accept any offer that came his way.
Hajime felt a little bad about stringing three businessmen along and exploiting their greed for food, but he also knew this playbook. His family were all business people. He knew that after they figured out that the carrot wouldn’t work, they would try the stick. Hajime was mildly curious what that would be like.
***
Hajime dropped a cigarette stub into an empty beer can sitting in the sink with the anticipation of a child waiting to open a present. It was late evening; the apartment was dark. He thought about going down to the ramen shop down the street and grabbed his wallet.
The ground floor of the building next door was a soba noodle restaurant. The proprietress’s fluttering curtains were patterned with white flowers.
Hajime locked the door and was about to lower the metal cage over the shop counter when he heard a woman call out to him.
“Good evening,” she said. “Are you closing already?” Her voice was as clear as a bell.
Hajime turned toward the woman and stopped dead.
The woman stood beneath a flickering, weathered streetlamp. The light made a halo in her long, dark hair. She was young and slender and wore a simple white dress. She was tall and graceful like a dancer.
Hajime had rarely seen such a beautiful woman up close. His chest felt a little tight. She wasn’t a celebrity. Her beauty wasn’t like what he’d seen in paintings in galleries, either. But she was extraordinary. He felt like she could crush him for breathing funny. Like a goddess descended onto a city street.
It was her eyes, Hajime decided, that gave her that quality. They made her look less and more than human, like an angel of plague. A creature of beauty and power in equal measure—and not necessarily a benevolent one.
Her eyes were the color of lapis lazuli at night, clear and bright. The force of her will shone through them. Hajime felt like he was being pinned by those eyes—like he wouldn’t be able to move an inch until she looked away.
Hajime blinked stupidly and tried not to panic. “Are you looking for something?” he asked.
“Yes. You.”
Hajime blinked again.
She smiled, luminous. “Will you come with me?”
“Is this a honey trap?”
“How vulgar. No, please don’t worry. I’m not a honey trap—I’m a ghost.”
That was frightening in an entirely different way.
Hajime looked down. “But… you have feet.”
“Ghosts have feet,” she said pleasantly.
“They do?” Hajime asked. “Did they always?” He was thinking about all the media depictions of ghosts he’d seen.
“Nowadays, they do,” she said. “The reason modern ghosts have feet goes back to ghost paintings of the Edo period. Even ghosts follow artistic trends. It’s all a bit silly.” Her voice was lilting and musical.
Hajime was talking to a ghost. That was new, and weird, and he associated new and weird experiences with only one thing: “You’re here about Mt. Ara, aren’t you?”
The ghost nodded. “You’re quick to understand. That’s helpful.”
“Why are you here, specifically? I didn’t think ghosts had money.”
“Your father asked me to come. He wanted me to tell you the mountain’s secret.” She paused. “‘Until you understand why you must not sell this mountain, you cannot sell it.’”
That was his father’s letter, directly quoted. Hajime was a little surprised that his father had arranged for him to learn the mountain’s secret.
“How do you know my father? Do you know where he is now?”
“I’m sorry.” She looked genuinely troubled. “I don’t know where he is now. We encountered one another only once, and long ago. He did me a kindness, and I offered to return the favor. It may seem strange for me to say this since I went out of my way to find you, but this is also your father’s wish: you don’t have to learn the mountain’s secret. If you do, that secret might put you in mortal danger. He said that if you decided not to learn the secret, you should just sell the mountain and wash your hands of it.”
“Why?”
“The secret is not something that can be unlearned. You won’t be the person you were before knowing it.”
“So it’s a secret that could change my entire life.”
“Almost certainly.”
“You’re good at piquing someone’s interest.” He snickered.
“You must choose, here and now. Will you come with me or not?”
Hajime stared back at the beautiful woman and scratched his unshaven beard. “I don’t like ultimatums.”
The ghost tilted her head.
“How should I put it—try inviting me, not ordering me. Make following you sound fun.”
The ghost frowned slightly. “Very well. Would you like to go out with me, Hajime? I believe the term you living people use is a ‘date.’”
“Sounds good. Let’s go.”
The instant he answered, Hajime heard the sound of flapping wings. He looked up at the sky, but saw no birds.
The ghost was also looking up. “We need to hurry,” she said. “Follow me.” She seized Hajime’s hand and broke into a run.
The classes at the nearby university had just ended. Hajime and the ghost wove through a crowd of boisterous students at a run. Cars honked their horns on the street. Hajime heard a cawing sound and more wings fluttering. He looked around, searching for the source of these bird sounds.
It was past sunset; Hajime couldn’t see the sky well. Shadows moved in between streetlights.
The ghost headed for the nearest subway station.
“Are we getting on a train?” Hajime asked.
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
“What?”
As they ran down the stairs, there was the raucous cawing of a bird behind them, followed by a woman’s blood-curdling screech.
“A bird must have gotten into the station,” Hajime said, panting.
The ghost led the way, fast and agile. She used two subway cards to enter the turnstile, and then they were pushing their way into a subway car.2
“The doors are closing. Please be careful,” the subway announcer said over the train car’s speakers.
The doors closed behind them with a muffled thump.
Hajime looked out the window and noticed a bird flying in the dim blue light cast by the ticket kiosk. The bird just about made it into the train car, but the doors closed mere moments before the bird could enter.
The bird squawked in alarm and stopped before it could slam into the train car doors. Hajime watched it perch on the ticket kiosk and wait for a few moments before it flew back in the direction it had come from.
The subway entered a tunnel. Hajime lost sight of the bird. He thought it had been a crow, but it had looked a bit different from crows he’d seen before. He also thought he’d seen an extra leg on the bird, but that shouldn’t be possible, right?
“Did you see that?” Hajime asked the ghost.
She didn’t so much as twitch. She stared dispassionately at the closed glass doors and didn’t move or speak.
It was the evening rush hour, so the subway car was crowded. Office workers and students thronged all around Hajime, stinking of sweat. Very few people spoke.
Hajime followed the ghost through several subway transfers until they reached a large train station. The ghost led him into a department store. The deli section was packed with shoppers. Hajime wondered if she meant to buy something, but the ghost smoothly slipped through the store’s patrons as if she were threading a needle. She headed for the building’s staff entrance.
“This way,” the ghost whispered as she ushered him through the private entrance. Fluorescent lights buzzed above them both as they walked. Cardboard boxes littered the corridor. Bits of glossy paper were discarded on the floor.
The ghost approached one open cardboard box and removed something from inside. “I’m sorry for the bother, but could you please change into this?” she asked, holding up worn-out coveralls.
Hajime nodded.
The ghost removed a set of gray coveralls from the same box and slipped out of her dress, showing no embarrassment. Hajime dressed himself, a trifle flustered by her pale skin and blue undergarments.
When they were both changed, the ghost produced a hat for him to wear. She tucked her own long hair under a similar hat. Then she tossed the dress she’d been wearing into the cardboard box. She stooped to retrieve Hajime’s clothes.
“Do you have any sentimental attachment to these?” she asked him.
“No, not at all,” Hajime said.
“Very well. I’ll compensate you for the cost of them.” His clothes joined hers inside the cardboard box. Then she turned her back on Hajime and started walking.
They came to the employee elevator and took it up from the basement to the first floor. A cargo truck was waiting there for them. The ghost moved like a secret agent from a spy movie as she peeked around the cargo truck and then motioned for Hajime to get inside it.
No sooner had Hajime seat belted himself into the passenger’s seat than the ghost joined him in the driver’s seat. She turned a key, making the engine roar to life. The security guard seemed to expect this; he waved the truck through the entrance and onto the street.
Some of the tension in the ghost’s shoulders eased. “Sorry about all that,” she said. “We can talk now.”
“Were we being chased by someone?”
“Were we?”
Hajime frowned.
The ghost gave him a slight smile. “Even if we get caught, I’m the only one who’ll be in trouble. So don’t worry.”
“Who are you, anyway?”
“I told you already. I’m just a ghost.” Her smile was full of mischief now. “We’re heading for your mountain. You can sleep until we get there, if you like.”
“I’m not sleepy yet. I’m hungry.”
“I have rice balls and tea in the glove compartment, and some sweets. Help yourself. Sorry I don’t have anything more at the moment.”
Hajime shrugged. The food in the glove compartment was more or less his usual fare.
While he absently chewed on a kombu rice ball, the truck got onto the expressway.3
“Can I smoke?”
“Fine.” She indicated a cigar lighter and the truck’s built-in ashtray. Hajime made use of them gratefully. He opened the window on his side and exhaled a puff of purple smoke. The soundproof wall around the expressway glowed orange in the light of the streetlamps.
“What is the mountain’s secret?” Hajime asked. “I came along with you, so you should tell me, right?”
The ghost kept her eyes on the road. “What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s gold to mine? Or gems?”
“If that were the case, it would be the worst possible thing for us. We can’t have that mountain pockmarked with holes.”
“Huh? Why not?”
The ghost stared into space for a moment, lost in thought. “It’s difficult to explain. Do you know about Shangri-La?”
“I’ve been to a hostess club called that. Is that what you mean?”4
“No, I’m talking about the mythical place. Your hostess club is likely named after it.” She tapped her chin. “Well, now. Where do I start? Shangri-La supposedly existed long ago, in China during the Jin dynasty. A fisherman from Wuling lost his way, passed by a peach blossom spring, and arrived in another world.
“It was a beautiful, peaceful world, and the people who lived there warmly welcomed the fisherman. The fisherman was told not to speak of this place to outsiders. He returned from that world to his own, marking the path as he went. When he tried to return there with others, he couldn’t find the way back. That’s the story.”
“I think I read something similar when I was a student,” Hajime said.
“I’m taking you to Shangri-La by way of the peach blossom spring. So just be patient.”
“I’m confused,” Hajime said. “You’re taking me to… what? Paradise? Another world?”
“I can’t say more at the moment.”
“You make it all sound kind of shady and nefarious.”
She laughed. “Well, I can’t help that. We stole a truck. That’s a bit nefarious.” She paused and then added, “The mountain is only open to certain people. Special people, like the Wuling fisherman. I don’t know if it will be paradise for you, Hajime. We’ll see.” She grinned wryly. “Outsiders who meddle with the mountain are punished for it. I’d worry more about yourself than the mountain.”
“I just wish I knew more about it,” Hajime said. “I never knew my father owned a mountain.”
“Having the rights pass to you, in your ignorance, was a bit troublesome,” the ghost said. “He acquired the rights in the bubble era.5 There were talks of developing the mountain. Fortunately, those plans were canceled thanks to your father’s intervention.”
“My father?”
“Indeed. Mr. Yasuhara Sakuzuke himself, the Nurarihyon of the business world.”6
***
Yasuhara Sakuzuke began his career as the proprietor of a small, quaint shop. No one expected him to become a great success. He made prudent choices that paid dividends years later, and he raked in massive profits. He was a skilled businessman. If he were a fisherman, he would have been the kind who could drag a whale onto land single-handedly.
During the bubble era, he became a landowner. He updated and flipped properties left and right. He intuited the end of the bubble era and made sure that none of his assets would suffer when the economy inevitably crashed.
His fellow businessmen saw him as some kind of monster. Legends of his business acumen circulated in wealthy circles. He was rich, but not popular—because he was terribly eccentric.
The woman he married was barren; this was known to both of them early on. That was why Yasuhara Sakuzuke adopted so many children, including Hajime. His adopted children all became great successes in the business world, following in their father’s footsteps. Hajime was the only exception.
Hajime’s adoptive father also loved travel. He had a wanderlust that matched his burning desire to succeed in business. Sometimes he would take a sabbatical and hie off to parts unknown for months at a time. Right before something big was about to happen in the economy, he would reappear, issue instructions, and then disappear again. Even the people who worked for him found him terrifying. No one understood where his market research came from, but it was always accurate.
After he retired, Yasuhara Sakuzuke would sometimes show up to his company unannounced to give sage advice. Employees treated him like a walking disaster or act of God. That was when he’d started being called Nurarihyon.
As he grew older, Yasuhara Sakuzuke wanted a companion to accompany him in his travels. Hajime was adopted for that purpose. He brought home his youngest adopted son without consulting his wife or the rest of his family. Hajime had spent little time in the family home; he’d traveled with his father for most of his childhood. Hajime liked travel, but not as much as his adoptive father. Years spent away from home wore him out.
Yasuhara Sakuzuke often took his young son to gambling dens and places of ill repute. Hajime learned to play cards, baccarat, roulette, mahjong, hanafuda, dice, and so on—on his adoptive father’s lap, or beside some tobacco-stinking old man. He visited foreign gambling halls and casinos overseas. He accompanied his father everywhere, even to places that were far from child-appropriate. He saw horse racing, bicycle racing, boat racing, auto racing, and spent time in pachinko parlors.
They’d visited the mountains, too, more than once. Yasuhara Sakuzuke liked shoving Hajime into cold mountain lakes for what he called swimming practice. Seeing his son splutter and panic in the cold water seemed to amuse him. He laughed so hard his belly shook. Hajime hated him in those moments. He often spoke to his father about his habits—how could Hajime grow to be a responsible young man unless his father set a better example for him?
As Hajime grew older, he heard rumors that his father had criminal connections. He’d never completely verified that, but it was true that his father went in and out of dangerous places with alarming regularity. Hajime was the only witness to these comings and goings, and since he was a child for much of this, he wasn’t really aware of what he was seeing.
Seven years ago, Yasuhara Sakuzuke had left on his travels, and he had not returned. No one was seriously worried about him, though. He traveled all the time.
Everyone who knew Sakuzuke even a little all said the same thing: “I always knew this would happen.” People wondered if he’d been murdered and eaten by pigs. They wondered when—or if—he would return, because he always returned.
The ghost looked at the silent Hajime. “Your father acquired the mountain and started developing it, but he changed his mind while planning changes. Since then, the mountain has remained untouched. That kind of prime real estate attracts attention, of course. I’m sure you’ve had all kinds of offers.”
Hajime nodded.
“Your father had all kinds of offers for the mountain, too. But he was missing for seven years, so no one could get him to the negotiating table. No one was empowered to act on his behalf regarding the mountain, either,” the ghost said. “The vultures were waiting in the wings for your father to die.”
Hajime nodded. “And my father told me not to sell it. Of course he did.” There was still a lot that he didn’t understand about this whole situation. “Why leave this mountain to me, of all people?”
“Maybe he thought you were the best person to leave it to.”
“Obviously not,” Hajime said. He leaned back, exasperated. He noticed a truck following them in the rearview window. “Friends of yours?” he asked.
“I can’t tell from here. But you shouldn’t worry about it.”
The streetlamps illuminated her ghostly figure in the driver’s seat. She showed no inclination to speak about the person driving closely behind them.
“I understand that the mountain is valuable,” Hajime said, “even though I don’t know why. I want to know why we were being followed before. I suspect that we’re being followed now. Do these followers have anything to do with the people who are pressuring me to sell the mountain?”
“That’s a good guess,” the ghost said. “Let’s just say that I don’t have a good relationship with the people who want to buy the mountain.”
“Why?”
“We have different value systems.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She sighed. “There’s something I just can’t forgive.”
“What is it?”
“I was murdered,” she said. “And not just me. My parents, too, and many other people who were very dear to me. The people following us are my murderers, and the murderers of all I once cared for. I linger in this world because I hate them, and because I have regrets about how I lived my life.”
“You hate your murderers?”
“Yes, very much.” Her smile was tight. “I will destroy them before I’m done. I swear it. If I can’t do that much, I’ll never move on to the next life.”
Hajime gulped. As his driver, she’d seemed more like a living woman than a vengeful spirit. Right now, she looked the part of a murderous ghost. Her smile was a haunting thing, beautiful and fierce.
“I think I understand,” Hajime said. “So my old man asked you to tell me the secret as part of your revenge?”
“Something like that.”
Hajime didn’t know what else to say. He lapsed into uncomfortable silence as they kept driving.
***
They got off the expressway hours later. Hajime hadn’t slept a wink, and he’d smoked until the ashtray was full. City skyscrapers had given way to low, squat buildings and flat farm fields that seemed to swallow the streetlights. The truck turned onto an old country road and started driving toward a dark mountain in the distance.
“There’s the sign,” the ghost said. “We’ll reach the mountain soon.”
Hajime saw a huge shrine gate painted red on the side of the mountain. He felt like the mountain had sneaked up on him. There weren’t any streetlamps here. He saw greenery and bare stone in the dim light provided by the truck’s headlights. The moon shone above, distant but fairly bright. There were no buildings around. Hajime saw only the mountain road and shadowy trees.
The road got rougher as they traveled, twisting and turning on the mountain slope. Moonlight shimmered on a large lake in the distance. The road became cobbled instead of paved. The ghost slowed down sharply.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Hajime said.
“Pretty much.” She drove the truck slowly along the lake shore. They arrived at a lodge overlooking the water. The truck that Hajime had seen before was still following them, along with another truck that Hajime hadn’t noticed.
The ghost parked the truck in a garage to the side of the lodge. The other trucks pulled into the parking lot and stopped their engines.
“We’re here?” Hajime asked.
“Yes. Let’s get out.”
The mountain air was much cleaner than Tokyo’s city air. Hajime shivered. The crisp, cool air felt like it was cutting him all the way through.
“That is your mountain,” the ghost said. She gestured expansively.
The mountain peak was above them, limned in moonlight. On the far shore of the lake, he saw lights from houses. He wondered how many people were living here.
Before he could ask any questions, he heard voices behind him. The other truck drivers had exited their vehicles and were unloading cargo. They didn’t look Hajime’s way even once.
The ghost guided him away from the other truck drivers. “Come,” she said. “I’ll show you where the restrooms are. There isn’t anyone working in the lodge at the moment.”
“All right.”
The ghost unlocked the door to the lodge. Hajime followed her in. There was a pleasant scent in the air, like cleansing herbs. The bathrooms were scrupulously clean and decorated with potpourri. Compared to Kanei Tobacco Shop’s old restrooms, these were quite luxurious.
After using the facilities, Hajime left the restroom and took a look around the lodge. There was a nicely furnished living room and an aquarium that took up one wall in the kitchen. A ceiling fan had been left on overnight. His surroundings were as scrupulously clean as a model home. Only a well-used tea set and a few knickknacks made the place seem lived in.
Hajime was certain that someone lived here despite the eerie lack of people.
The ghost waited for him on the other side of the living room door. “I’m terribly sorry, Hajime, but from here on you’ll have to put up with being a bit cramped.”
“Oh?” Hajime blinked. “So this wasn’t our destination?”
“I’d like you to stay with me just a little longer.” She clasped her hands together and winked like a little girl. Then she led him back outside and moved to the bed of their truck.
“Hop on in,” the ghost said brightly. “You’re okay with confined spaces, right?” The lodge’s lights shone on her dimpled smile. She pointed to the crates stacked in the truck bed and said, “Well—here we are. Climb aboard.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope.”
Hajime noticed a small cushion sitting in the truck bed. It was very much out of place. He frowned at it as if it had offended him somehow. A small glass bottle full of clear water rested beside the cushion.
Still smiling, the ghost pushed Hajime gently on the shoulder. “We don’t have time to wait around. Oh! I almost forgot to ask—do you have a cell phone?”
“No, I never had one of those,” Hajime said. “Why?”
“There’s no signal out here at all. I thought that if you did have a cell phone, I could keep it safe for you.”
“Oh. No, there’s no need.” He stared at the truck bed. “Where are you taking me? You’re not going to throw me in the lake, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said primly. “If anything happened to you, I’d be in deep trouble. Just relax.”
Hajime was about to protest that it would be impossible to relax in the bed of a moving truck, but he didn’t bother. He set the cushion inside an empty crate and crawled inside with the bottle of water in his hand.
“Please don’t make too much noise. Don’t speak unless someone speaks to you directly.”
“You’re so demanding,” he complained.
“You can snore,” she said. “You should probably get some sleep.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
The ghost smiled brightly at him. “See you soon.” She closed the crate’s lid, and everything went dark.
Hajime heard the truck’s front door open and close. The ghost started the truck and drove off. He couldn’t see a thing, but his other senses sharpened; he smelled sawdust and untreated wood and heard the engine shaking the truck, feeling the motion in his fingertips.
An automated voice said, “Backing up… Please be careful.” Then the truck drove for a little while. When it stopped, Hajime heard the driver’s door open again. A thin ray of light shone through a narrow gap in the crate he was hidden in. Hajime peeked through the gap.
Men in coveralls with their caps pulled low unloaded crates with practiced motions. He guessed that this was the garage he’d seen at the lodge, or a very similar location. The space was lit with iridescent light bulbs. Crates were stacked to the ceiling against one wall. An open garage door marked the opposite wall. Hajime looked beyond the open garage door and saw nothing but a dark stone tunnel.
How strange.
The tunnel didn’t appear natural. No one would have built a garage door in front of a natural cave, right? It looked like it might be a mining tunnel, but Hajime saw no mining equipment or workers. He saw rails set into the floor and an empty mechanized cart waiting near the entrance to the tunnel.
What was that tunnel? How long did he have to stay like this? As he wondered if he might pull something if he remained in this position for too long, the workers finished unloading their cargo. There was a shrill sound like metal scraping metal, and then Hajime’s crate was lifted onto a furniture dolly.
At some point, the crate moved off the dolly. Hajime lost the light when he was moved, so he could no longer see. He guessed that he was being transported through the tunnel. Wind whooshed all around him and the temperature dropped dramatically.
He felt as well as heard the smooth sliding of the rails underneath him. The sensation of steady movement made him feel tired. He was accelerating, but he had no idea how fast he was going. He wished that he could smoke in here, but he didn’t dare try. He knew that the crate wasn’t airtight, but he didn’t think it was fireproof.
Where am I going? Hajime wondered. His best guess was that he was traveling through mining tunnels. Since he knew nothing of the mountain he’d inherited, he didn’t know if there were mining operations there. It was possible that there were secret dealings on the mountain, considering his father’s criminal connections. He found it difficult to believe that even the yakuza could conceal the existence of a huge, operational mine.
Hajime was no longer surprised by anything he learned about his father. His father had lost the ability to shock him when he was still a kid.
He kept moving, even faster now, and the wind agitated his hair. The rails he traveled over were well-maintained and nearly soundless in their operation. Hajime’s eyes drooped, and he fell asleep.
An unpleasant screech—sudden braking—awoke him instantly. He rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned. People were talking close by, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.
Huh? Is that Japanese?
Hajime tilted his head and listened very closely.
A beam of light pierced the darkness. The sudden brightness stunned Hajime. He reflexively squeezed his eyes shut.
The crate lid was lifted with a creak. Hajime heard someone gasp. He forced his eyes open. He saw spots, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the light.
A middle-aged man looked down at him, shocked and silent.
“Um.” Hajime had been told not to speak until he was spoken to, but he hated uncomfortable silences.
Then the man’s face contorted dramatically. He trembled violently… and then he screamed.
The man shouted wordlessly as he backed away. He looked like he wanted to flee in terror.
Hajime stood up slowly and took in the sight of an enormous hall. The walls were stone and very high. The doorways were all wooden and painted red. The largest set of doors could best be described as a gate; they had rivets as well as hinges and were more than twice as tall as Hajime. He was gratified to see the mine cart on rails below him; at least one of his guesses had been accurate. The ceiling was unnaturally high. There were no electric lights to be seen, but the hall was decently lit by unfamiliar lamps that cast a cold, pale blue light that never flickered.
At first glance, the hall reminded Hajime of the Great Buddha Hall he had seen long ago in Nara. There were no statues of the Buddha, though, only massive quantities of wooden crates. There were no tourists, either, but there were people. They looked like Japanese workers, but they wore traditional clothes and not Western uniforms.
Hajime felt like he’d just stepped into a period drama. Was that a kariginu or a suikan?7 He didn’t really understand what the differences between those garments were. His only familiarity with traditional dress came from witnessing ceremonies performed by Shinto priests at shrines. Most of the people he saw wore blue, but there were some people wearing green and vermilion.
The middle-aged man retreated while pointing and shouting at Hajime. He was obviously speaking, but not in any language that Hajime knew. The people around them all looked confused, and then alarmed.
They looked at Hajime as if he were some kind of monster. It was a touch amusing to see so many people go pale and turn away. Hajime was a stranger in a strange place, and he was heartened by the idea that these people were too scared to attack him.
Where am I? he thought as his eyes scanned the hall. A secret mine that criminals ran? That seemed unlikely.
“Why are you here?” a short man wearing a bird-like mask over half his face asked in clipped Japanese. He was dressed all in black and standing near the mine cart. His hand trembled as he pointed at Hajime.
“Uh… someone told me to get in the cart,” Hajime said.
“Who?” the man asked.
“I don’t know. She said she was a ghost. Do you know any of those?”
The man was briefly speechless. Then he said something to the people around him. At Hajime’s confused look, he said, “They are calling the King of the Tengu to deal with you.”
Another man rushed away from the Japanese speaker in a blind panic, presumably to fetch the King of the Tengu.
“Y-you’re human, right?” the Japanese speaker asked apprehensively.
“Of course I am,” Hajime said. “Do I look like an alien or something?”
“When did you get in there?”
“Just now.”
“Just now!” The masked man repeated in a despairing tone. “Who are you, human?”
“I own a tobacco shop. My name is Yasuhara Hajime.”
The atmosphere around the masked man changed. He drew in a harsh breath and then said, “I see.” His previous confusion and fear melted off of him. “We’ve been rude to you, but, well, we weren’t told you were coming. Come away from that crate, if you please.”
The masked man said something to the kimono-clad people around him. Several of them gestured for Hajime to move away from the crate and the mine cart. He followed a few men into a corner of the hall that was carpeted red and furnished with a Western-style claw-foot table and chairs.
Hajime tilted his head curiously at the Western furniture. Everything else in the hall looked Japanese in origin.
The masked man gestured for Hajime to sit, so he did. “Please make yourself at home,” the masked man added.
The other people in the hall rushed around them like agitated bees in a hive. Men and women called out to one another in their strange language. The masked man joined Hajime in sitting at the table. They were an island of calm in the surrounding storm of people.
A short time later, a woman came to the table with a tea tray. She rested the tray on the table and left without saying a word.
“Were you expecting me? Do you know who I am?” Hajime asked as he poured himself some tea.
“No, and I know only your name.”
Hajime’s shoulders slumped. He drank the tea, which was quite good. “So you don’t know why I’m here.”
“I don’t. Someone else should come shortly and take charge of things.”
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowded hall.
The masked man looked up. “Ah. There they are.”
The chaotic hall went dead silent as a group of newcomers entered the hall from the direction of the enormous gate. The masked man sat up straighter in his seat as the men and women in the hall opened a path.
The newcomers wore fancier dress than everyone else Hajime had seen so far. Several of them carried Japanese long swords at their waists.
The man who walked at the front of the group was middle-aged and had a dignified appearance. He surveyed Hajime with interest, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. He had the air of a priest or a university lecturer. His plain black robe was partially obscured by a cloth-of-gold priest’s stole that was richly embroidered with threads of many colors. He was tall and broad-shouldered and looked to be in the prime of life. The only sign of his true age were the deep wrinkles around his mouth and eyes and the thin white streaks in his loose hair.
“Yellow Raven,” the masked man said to the approaching man.8
The newcomer walked closer to Hajime. “You are Yasuhara Hajime, correct?” His Japanese was flawless and unaccented.
“Yes, that’s me,” Hajime said.
“I am the person in charge here. It is a great honor to meet you.” The man offered his hand to Hajime.
“Uh, thanks.” Hajime thought the man seemed like a consummate politician. He was putting on a show of friendliness in front of his people.
“I am truly sorry that we must greet you under these circumstances,” the man said, seizing Hajime’s hand in both of his. His eyebrows lowered when he frowned. “We never imagined you would come here in such fashion. Might we request a change of locale? There are many other much more comfortable places, and then we would be able to talk at leisure.”
Hajime shrugged and then nodded. He was just about to rise from his chair when he heard the by-now familiar sound of a mine cart sliding across rails. His gaze drifted toward the tunnel he’d come through. A man wearing a red mask with an exaggeratedly large nose was riding alone in a mine cart just like the one Hajime’s crate had been in. The mask looked quite odd when paired with the man’s casual shirt and slacks.
“Yellow Raven!” the man in the red mask called out as he jumped off the cart. He ran over to the table where Hajime sat.
The man who’d first spoken to Hajime squirmed in his seat. “He’s a bit busy at the moment, as you can well imagine.”
“We didn’t do this,” the man in the red mask said. “I only just received word a few moments ago. Two of our workers were found restrained in the lodge’s bathroom. They’d been stripped of their belongings, and their badges and truck are missing. We didn’t do this,” he repeated.
“All right. I’ll send some people to help yours. We can figure all this out later. Right now, we have other things to worry about.”
The man in the red mask noticed Hajime for the first time. “Oh. Yes, I see. Understood.”
“We should leave.” The man faced Hajime and then stood up.
The politician walked over to Hajime and urged him to stand up. “Come with us, please.” He placed a hand on Hajime’s back, urging him to walk. When Hajime looked back, he saw the man in the red mask tearing furiously at his hair with both hands.
“He seems upset,” Hajime said to the politician.
“He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him,” the politician said curtly. “You must be exhausted after being cooped up inside that cart for all that time. I will guide you to a place where you can rest.”
“Thank you.”
They were walking toward the grand gate. Rest was the last thing on Hajime’s mind at the moment, but he didn’t say so. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” he said. “Where are we? Who are all of you?”
The politician nodded. “These are reasonable questions, and they will be answered in due course. I fear that I cannot satisfy your curiosity at the moment, Mr. Yasuhara. Seeing is believing, as they say. It may be quicker for you to see how things are for yourself.”
They were just about to pass through the gate when the politician stopped and extended his hand out in a theatrical gesture. “Take a look.”
Hajime looked through the wide-open gate. He expected to see the lake shore at night and the mountain, but that wasn’t what he saw at all.
At Hajime’s feet was a slope made of quarried stone. Beyond it lay a plaza resembling a scenic overlook at a tourist site. Moving back and forth across it were enormous beings unlike anything Hajime had ever seen or heard of.
If the giant moa, said to have gone extinct, were still alive, perhaps it would have looked like the huge black birds that hustled to and fro across the plaza pulling carts and carrying people. When Hajime looked up, he saw more of these birds flying through the sky. They were the size of cows and horses. Their talons made clacking sounds against the paving stones of the plaza. All of the birds had three legs.
Some of the birds noticed Hajime staring and stared back. There was an intelligence in their gazes that told Hajime that these were not dumb, birdbrained beasts.
Four birds hitched to a carriage flew through the sky, flying together smoothly. The birds were like something from another age, vast and unhurried, with a presence that made the air feel alien.
Hajime’s mouth dropped open. That sight alone would have been enough to leave anyone speechless, but what chilled Hajime to the core was the night view that spread out beyond the plaza.
On the far side of the plaza, a railing had been installed. From it, it would be possible to look down on the world below. The light of countless lanterns glowed in the evening darkness, rising up into the sky in a scene that belonged in a painting. None of this looked real.
On all sides of the plaza, sheer cliffs dropped away into darkness. Jutting formations of bare rock rose between them—the kind of shapes that Hajime had seen only in ink-wash paintings, exaggerated to the point of appearing invented. From the mountainsides, waterfalls poured down in sheets that threaded between rocks. Clinging to those sheer stone faces were rows upon rows of Japanese-style buildings, each one supported by a forest of great pillars. Any one of them, standing alone, would have drawn crowds. Here they were built so close together they pressed against each other, jostling for space on the cliffs.
Shrine gates painted red and bridges connected one building to the next. The scale of this densely built city was unsettling in the way that only very beautiful things can be. The tiled roofs glittered like the surface of a sea in the moonlight.
There were no modern buildings anywhere. It was as though time had reversed itself. Waves of curved roof tiles stretched away into the distance as far as he could see.
There was no such place anywhere near the mountain he had inherited. Hajime knew that for certain. The terrain was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.
This was not the Japan that Hajime knew. Was he even in Japan anymore?
“What is this?” Hajime asked.
“This is Yamauchi,” his guide said. “If I said that it is another world, would that mean anything to you?”
The ghost’s voice surfaced in Hajime’s memory, clear and sweet. “Shangri-La. Paradise.”
“Paradise,” Hajime said softly.
So this was what she had meant.
The man raised a hand lightly and said, “An apt description. That may well be the most straightforward way to put it. I studied abroad in the human world for a time,” he added. His expression was oddly sheepish given the circumstances. “But I’m still embarrassingly ignorant about many things.”
“Who are you?” Hajime asked sharply.
The man drew himself up to his full height. “I beg your pardon. I haven’t introduced myself.” He bowed at the waist, quick and clean, and looked up with a smile. “My name is Sessai.”9 Almost as an afterthought, he added, “When I studied abroad in your world, I went by the name Kitayama Yukiya.”10
1
Mt. Ara’s kanji mean “rough mountain” or “wild mountain.” ↩
2 Japanese people use key-card entry to pay for subway access. The cards can be loaded up with funds to pay for subway fare at electronic kiosks. ↩
3 Kombu rice balls are a savory Japanese snack featuring steamed rice filled or mixed with kelp simmered in soy sauce, mirin, and sugar. ↩
4 A hostess club is a type of night club found primarily in Japan which employs mostly female staff and caters to men seeking drinks and attentive conversation. Host clubs are a similar type of establishment where mostly male staff attend to women. ↩
5 The Japanese “Bubble Era” (approx. 1986–1991) was a period of extreme financial speculation, characterized by astronomically high stock and real estate prices driven by easy credit and reckless lending. Following the 1985 Plaza Accord, the yen appreciated rapidly, causing an overheated economy and a cultural buying spree abroad by financial titans, leading to unprecedented luxury and consumption. ↩
6
The Nurarihyon is often considered the supreme commander of all Japanese demonic spirits and monsters, known for sneaking into homes at dusk, acting as the master of the house, drinking tea, and leaving unnoticed. ↩
7 The karaginu is typically a waist-length, wide-sleeved jacket, often decorated with brocade, embroidery, or painted images worn by women during formal occasions in Japan’s Heian Period (794-1172). A suikan is an everyday garment worn by nobles in ancient Japan. ↩
8 The title here is hakurikukō, meaning something like “Land Sovereign.” This was the official title that Eiju, the previous Yellow Raven of Yamauchi, gave to himself. I have stuck to “Yellow Raven” throughout the novel. ↩
9 Yukiya spells his new or assumed name with the kanji meaning “snow” and “purification.” ↩
10 Yukiya’s human world name references his mother’s family. Kitayama means “north mountain.” Hokke means “north house” or “north family.” ↩
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