Yatagarasu Series
Volume 7:
The Raven's Paradise
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 2: Another World
After Shangri-La, will I be visiting the Dragon Palace next?1
Before Hajime lay a banquet that made an imperial feast seem modest by comparison. The hall was magnificent—floored with soft rice mats, lavishly decorated, and spacious enough to hold a hundred people with room to spare. Every gilded door was thrown wide open, and beyond them the night spread out like a blanket. Moonlight and beautiful lanterns cast their glow over the world below.
At the lower seats, so as not to interfere with conversation, biwa and koto2 players took turns entertaining guests with their refined songs. Women dressed in tropical colors danced gracefully around the table. Along the walls, stark and stern-faced men stood in motionless silence. If the dancing women were like flowers, then the men were like a frost creeping in to wither them.
Hajime tilted his glass of rice wine and thought about how Urashima Tarō’s story had ended. The rice wine was well chilled, but at a single sip, it released warmth in his chest. The texture was mellow and the taste was clean. Even after he swallowed, a bracing freshness like green bamboo lingered on his palate.
“This is delicious.”
He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Sessai, seated beside him, smiled with evident satisfaction. “You flatter me. My hometown produces rice wine as its main export. What you’ve just tasted is a famous brew from that region that locals rarely have the chance to drink.”
“In that case, I’ll have more.”
“Have as much as you like.”
At Sessai’s gesture, the woman standing at Hajime’s elbow poured Hajime another glass of clear wine.
“We have had as much prepared as we could manage,” Sessai said. “Since we didn’t know your preferences, we brought everything at once—but if anything has gone cold, we’ll have it replaced immediately.”
“Isn’t that wasteful?”
“This place was built for exactly this purpose. It’s called the Kōrokan—a facility for receiving distinguished guests and letting them experience the full splendor of Yamauchi.”3
Hajime tilted his head. “Do you get many visitors in Yamauchi?”
Sessai waved his hand dismissively. “Not at all. As far as I am aware, you are the first human guest we have ever entertained.”
“That’s a strange way of putting it. Aren’t you human?”
“Not exactly. You are not, strictly speaking, what we are. We are Yatagarasu.”
Hajime blinked, looking hard at Sessai. “Wait. You’re a raven?” He meant this as a joke.
Sessai replied without missing a beat. “That is our true nature, yes.”
“So I’m being deceived by a raven right now? Like a fox or a tanuki would do in a story?”
The feast before him suddenly seemed suspicious. He prodded a thin slice of river fish with his chopsticks.
Sessai gave him a dry smile. “It isn’t horse dung or poisoned, if that’s what you mean. Everything you see before you is what it appears to be. Our human appearance and the scenery of Yamauchi are all real. This is not an illusion. It is another world.”
Hajime couldn’t quite grasp what “another world” actually meant.
“The land you inherited in the human world includes Mt. Ara,” Sessai said. “Mt. Ara connects to our world, as you know. You traveled that path. The mountain god inhabits Mt. Ara and created Yamauchi long ago. He granted the Yatagarasu their human forms so that we could worship him more effectively. We make offerings to the mountain god and provide his clothing, food, and shelter.”
Sessai explained that the Yatagarasu also conducted a modest trade with the human world. “The cave you came through is one of the passages connecting this world to the human world. You saw the men in masks, didn’t you? They are Tengu, and they guard the gate. They are our only trading partners. We’ve never traded directly with humans.” He added that the Kōrokan itself had originally been built to entertain Tengu who lived in the human world.
“A mountain god, Yatagarasu, and Tengu,” Hajime said in a bewildered tone.
Sessai smiled. “Not very scientific, I know. But that’s how things are. This place operates differently from your world. The rules are different, you could say.”
“The rules?”
“Over the course of our long trade relationship with the Tengu, we came to understand that there are various constraints on interaction. These are caused, we believe, by subtle differences between the human world and Yamauchi. Goods brought in from the human world may break or deteriorate depending on the item. Weapons and anything powered by electricity are the clearest examples. The reverse is also true: some things taken out of Yamauchi become unusable in the human world. The physical material of the item seems to be irrelevant. Mirrors with steel components will not immediately rust in Yamauchi, but guns with steel parts will. The function of the item is paramount.”
Hajime considered that. Why would only specific objects be changed like that? Was that the mountain god’s will, or was there some other cause?
Sessai told him that Yamauchi was protected by a barrier that protected them from outside invasion. Perhaps the barrier was responsible for changing weapons like guns into harmless slag.
“The basic idea is that our culture has developed along different guidelines than your own,” Sessai said.
Hajime got the impression that he’d given much the same speech to others before.
“The Yatagarasu do not generally seek contact with humans,” Sessai said. “Though in recent years, more and more of us have studied abroad in the human world. Through study, we have learned that humans nearly breached the barrier once.”
He was almost certainly referring to the development plan that the ghost had mentioned.
Yamauchi existed in a precarious balance with the human world. If Mt. Ara were converted into a ski resort, Yamauchi might collapse. The Yatagarasu couldn’t just watch that happen.
“Fortunately, the mountain was spared from development last time. But it would be problematic if such a thing were to occur again. We must protect Mt. Ara and Yamauchi by any means necessary. The responsibility for the protection of Yamauchi falls to me.” He sat up straighter in his seat. “So I will ask you, on behalf of all Yamauchi—will you transfer your rights to Mt. Ara to me?”
Oh, Hajime thought. So that’s how it is.
He recognized the expression on Sessai’s face. He’d been seeing it a lot lately. He laughed.
Sessai flinched. “Under ordinary circumstances, I would have explained our situation first. Given the circumstances, I thought that even if I did explain, you might not believe me right away. Should I have gotten straight to business? I apologize if you’re offended by my request.”
Hajime responded with an indifferent, “Hmph.” He tapped his chin. “Did you make the same offer to my father?”
Sessai shook his head. “By the time we became aware of the situation regarding the rights to the mountain, your father had already gone missing.”
“So you didn’t intend to bring me here at all.”
“Regrettably, no.”
“Then who did?” Hajime lowered his cup of rice wine onto the table.
“I swear we had no part in it. When we heard you were in Yamauchi, we were genuinely astonished. If anything, we should be the ones asking who brought you here.” Sessai smiled, but his eyes were cold and dead.
“A ghost. She said she was a ghost.”
“How intriguing,” Sessai murmured. “Do ghosts exist in your world?”
“Some people think so. She had long black hair. She was an incredibly beautiful woman.”
“I see. Did this ghost say anything else?”
“She said that she wanted revenge.”
Sessai’s smile didn’t move an inch, but when his gaze swept briefly around the room, the men standing by the wall went rigid.
“She seemed to bear a great grudge. She said she won’t be able to find peace unless she avenges her murder and the murder of her family.”
Hajime reached past Sessai and picked up the liquor bottle near his elbow. He poured himself another cup of wine and then turned the cup slowly in his hand, watching the liquid swirl.
“What did you do to her?” He looked up at Sessai through the clear glass.
Sessai remained silent for a long while. Hajime felt like he could see the gears turning in Sessai’s head, weighing what to say and how to say it.
Sessai closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “I understand.” When he opened his eyes again, his strange smile had vanished. In its place was a grim and serious expression that was hard to read. Hajime could no longer guess his mood.
“I will trust you, Mr. Yasuhara, and proceed without pretense. I will tell you everything about our situation. In exchange, I ask only that you make a rational decision.” There was a touch of desperation in his voice. “Frankly, I cannot say with certainty who brought you here or what they intended by doing so. But I have an idea of what’s befallen you, and why. Will you listen to it?”
Hajime nodded.
Yamauchi was created to produce offerings for the mountain god. The Yatagarasu had been granted human form to make these offerings and perform sacred rites. An exalted family among the Yatagarasu attended to the mountain god’s personal needs, but they were not the mountain god’s only servants. A race of enormous brown-furred monkeys called Kuisaru also served the mountain god alongside the Yatagarasu.
A female Kuisaru whose given name had been Okimi had led the Kuisaru in serving the mountain god. Her title had been Ōzaru, meaning “great monkey.” For a long time, both the Yatagarasu and the Kuisaru had served the mountain god.
Twenty years ago, all that had changed.
“Put simply, a territorial conflict broke out between us,” Sessai said. “The Yatagarasu won, but victory was hard-fought. Yamauchi is still recovering. I was a soldier in that war. I commanded troops. I fought the Kuisaru.” He let his words hang in the air for a moment. “In the fighting, I killed far too many. I sent my subordinates to the battlefield and gave commands while knowing full well that heavy casualties were inevitable. At the time, I believed that I was doing what was necessary for Yamauchi’s sake.”
He paused. “But one day, when I held a Yatagarasu child—a pure, innocent baby—I decided that I would never endanger any Yatagarasu in war again if there was any other choice.”
Sessai desired peace above everything else.
After the war, there were Kuisaru survivors. Those whose comrades had been killed blended in among the Yatagarasu, remaining hidden in their human forms. Sessai was commanded to find them and eradicate them.
“Rationally, that was what I should have done. I should have ended everything there. I ended up searching for a path to peace with them instead. You might say I was naïve, but I saw no other path forward for the Yatagarasu at the time.”
A Kuisaru survivor found in a remote region turned out to be a child. Facing a child who had lost his parents and had nowhere to go, Sessai couldn’t bring himself to swing the sword down on his neck. He considered the possibility that he could use the child to negotiate with Kuisaru adults who might be willing to adopt him. Perhaps he could spare the child to show the Kuisaru that the Yatagarasu didn’t want to fight them anymore.
Sessai knew that the current generation of Yatagarasu and Kuisaru were bitter enemies, but the next generation didn’t have to be. He didn’t have to create a future where the Kuisaru and the Yatagarasu would be enemies forever.
“So I said to the child, ‘If you swear never to harm the Yatagarasu again, I will let you go.’ And he said, ‘I swear it.’ So I let him go. For a while, things were fine. I allowed myself to believe, for a time, that we’d made peace. But that was a mistake.
“The one I failed to kill grew up. He seeks revenge against us. He has gathered allies in secret, disguised himself as a Yatagarasu, and has spent the past several years lying in wait, carrying out acts of destruction.”
“I should have foreseen this outcome,” Sessai said with a mercilessness directed entirely at himself. “Were I in his position, I would never forgive the enemy of my people. I had lost sight of something simple. I should not have hesitated to kill him. I cannot forgive myself. It is the greatest failing of my life.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Because of me, the Yatagarasu face a Kuisaru threat once more. Some call me a hero, but I am not. I am an incompetent man who showed mercy to the wrong people. If the ghost who brought you here named me as an enemy, then she must be someone I killed.”
He drained his cup of rice wine in a single swallow. He shuddered as if the drink were a punishment.
“I heard this place was supposed to be paradise,” Hajime said.
Sessai let out a short, sharp laugh. “The ghost said that, did she? Paradise—how ironic. Yamauchi was paradise, once.” He set his cup down. “It no longer is. I destroyed it.” He bowed his head. “I was a poor soldier and a worse general. My hands are stained with the blood of my own people. But the younger generation is not the same. I will correct what mistakes I can so that they do not repeat mine. Perhaps they will be able to create a new paradise. I’m prepared to do anything to see them succeed where I failed. I would sacrifice my life in this cause.” His eyes glinted, sharp and dangerous.
Then Sessai smiled again, appearing thoroughly content. “I hope you understand my position better now. We cannot allow outsiders to lay hands on Yamauchi. Would you be willing to transfer the rights to Mt. Ara to me?”
The tension in the room pulled taut.
Sessai stood up and then bowed low to Hajime. His long hair fell forward onto the floor.
The koto played on, strangely serene.
“Uh, well…” Hajime looked at the back of Sessai’s head and licked the rim of his cup. “I understand your circumstances.”
Sessai lifted his face.
“But here’s the thing. You’re saying that because you’re in trouble, I should hand over what I have. I’m not particularly enthusiastic about that. I inherited the mountain from my father, after all. I can’t just hand it over to you for free.”
Sessai’s gaze sharpened on him. “I do not recall ever asking you to give it to me for free.”
“Don’t play dumb. You were trying to get me to sell Mt. Ara while keeping Yamauchi’s secret to yourself. Knowledge of the existence of Yamauchi is valuable. Whatever you were about to offer me would have been a pittance compared to what the mountain’s worth to you.”
Sessai gritted his teeth. “I explained to you that your world and Yamauchi operate based on different rules. Assigning an objective value to the secret of Yamauchi’s existence is impossible. In terms of asset value in your world, I believe the amount we’ve prepared is appropriate. All of the foreign currency we have managed to obtain is yours for the taking.”
“That’s not enough. Trying to swindle someone out of their property with a sob story is what beggars do.” Hajime smiled pleasantly and let his gaze wander along the row of men standing against the wall.
One twitched an eyebrow. One tightened his jaw. One cut his eyes toward Sessai to gauge his reaction. One let a hint of anger enter his expression.
Each reaction was different, and each was telling.
Hajime looked back at Sessai, who was staring at him with a cold furrow between his eyebrows.
“In other words, you want more money?” Sessai asked.
Hajime had not expected to be asked that directly. He grinned in spite of himself. “Here’s the thing. I’m not exactly struggling to make a living. I don’t need money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“That’s a good question. It’s simple. You need to offer me something that has real value.”
“Specifically?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh?” Sessai’s composed expression finally cracked. The question that had escaped him was involuntary.
It was such an honest reaction that Hajime laughed again. “I don’t need material wealth. An enjoyable experience would do just as well—something interesting enough that I’d feel it was worth offering something in return. If you give me something that has genuine value to me, I’ll transfer the rights to Mt. Ara to you. In transactions like this, everyone should get something they want out of the bargain.”
Hajime gave Sessai an amiable grin.
Sessai and the men around him exchanged grim looks and said nothing.
Hajime couldn’t fathom why his offer would be difficult to accept. If obtaining foreign currency was difficult for them, then his proposal should actually make things easier. They ought to be relieved.
“This place looks interesting. I’m curious about it. I don’t mind staying for a while. While I’m looking around, you can come up with a better offer for me.”
Sessai stared back at him for a long moment. Then his suspicious smile returned. “All right.”
A man standing by the wall shouted a protest in his unknown language. Sessai ignored him.
“We will extend a warm welcome to you. Everything in Yamauchi is at your disposal, Mr. Yasuhara. How long will you be staying?”
“As long as I feel like it.”
“Very well. We will prepare a room for you here in the Kōrokan. We will assign guards and an interpreter. Please make use of them as you see fit.”
“I only need one guide. One is enough.” Hajime jerked his thumb toward the wall. “That one will do.”
The young man so rudely indicated received the full weight of every gaze in the room. He stared at Hajime with his mouth slightly open. He looked to be in his early twenties. His face was striking, with arched black eyebrows and dark eyes that turned down slightly at the corners. He appeared kind. He’d spent the banquet standing straight up with his back against the wall, close to where Sessai was seated. Hajime had noted his focused attention on their conversation.
“He’s studied abroad, I think,” Hajime said.
Almost everyone else wore their hair long enough to tie it back, but the young man he’d pointed to wore his hair cut short. That haircut wouldn’t be out of place in modern Tokyo.
“What’s your name?”
“Kitanokōji Yorito,” the man said clearly.
Sessai glanced at the young man. “He has studied abroad and speaks your language well. He is young, so he may occasionally be discourteous, but…”
“It doesn’t matter to me if he’s rude. He seems a great deal easier to be around than the rest of these grim faces.”
“Is that so?” Sessai asked. Then he nodded. “Very well. Yorito, I appoint you as Mr. Yasuhara’s guide. Show him every courtesy, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Yorito bowed deeply to both Sessai and Hajime.
Sessai exhaled audibly. “However, we cannot assign only one attendant. Yamauchi is currently in an unstable situation because of the Kuisaru. Please permit us to provide a personal guard for you.”
“Is the security situation that serious?”
“I’m afraid so. Wherever you go, have them accompany you for your own safety. Please do not take action alone without consulting others.”
“I’ll behave myself as best I can.”
With that, the banquet concluded.
***
The bathroom and bedroom furnishings in the Kōrokan were on the level of a fancy hot spring inn. This place really was set up well to cater to visitors.
After the meal, a woman offered to attend to Hajime in the bath. He politely declined. The bath itself was an open-air, flowing variety with an exceptional view. He couldn’t quite relax in it.
Apart from the absence of electricity and modern plumbing, there was almost nothing that made the place feel like another world. Hajime lay down on a soft futon and slept. When he opened his eyes, the sun was already high in the sky. He had slept without dreaming.
Hajime got up, stretched, and was wondering whether he ought to call someone when a voice came from the other side of the sliding door.
“Are you awake?” Yorito asked.
“Yeah,” Hajime said. He opened the door.
In the corridor, Yorito sat formally on his knees. He’d clearly been waiting for some time.
“Good morning, Mr. Yasuhara. Did you sleep well?”
He spoke like a newsreader. His teeth were very white and even. He looked like the kind of man who might appear on a morning television program.
“I did, very well.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Shall I bring your meal to your rooms?”
“Keep it light, if you can.”
A large number of women appeared at Yorito’s summons, all prepared to assist with washing, dressing, and so on. The outfit laid out for him was a pleasant reddish-brown color. Hajime had seen clothes like these worn by young gentlemen in period dramas. Hajime let the women do as they liked until they moved to dress him in hakama, at which point he drew the line.
“I don’t like hakama—they look constricting. Can’t I just wear the coveralls from yesterday?”
Yorito moved quickly to his side. “I’m afraid they haven’t been laundered yet, sir.”
“Do you have anything else I’m used to wearing? You managed to have a fresh pair of boxers ready for me after my bath last night.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I can have more clothes delivered later, but this is what we have at the moment.”
Hajime reconsidered his stance. When in Rome, right? Wearing native clothes might not be a bad idea. “All right. But I’d like to request more casual clothes for next time. And a pair of shoes that are easier to walk in.”
“Certainly. I’ll have those things prepared for you.”
The women dressed him so that his gold necklace was neatly concealed. When he peered into the mirror they offered, he found that he looked like a man from a bygone era—the kind who survived on rice wine and salt.
In the sitting room of the suite, lacquered trays bearing fruit, rice porridge, and a thinly sliced gourd that looked like a cross between a melon and a watermelon had been arranged with artful precision. Hajime ate a piece of gourd with a satisfying crunch.
Yorito took his place on a low cushion and introduced himself properly, both hands on the rice mat flooring. “I have been appointed as your guide and interpreter. My name is Kitanokōji Yorito.” He bowed. “Please do not hesitate to point out my many defects. I will do my best to satisfy you, sir.”
Yorito blinked. Before he could raise any objections, Hajime tossed him a peach from the tray sitting beside him.
“Eat. If you were waiting for me to wake up, you must be hungry.”
Yorito looked back and forth between the peach in his hand and Hajime’s face. “I’ll accept it with gratitude, sir.”
Hajime watched Yorito eat the peach methodically, using a small knife. He had nice table manners. Hajime watched him as he sipped tea.
His first impression of Yorito had been accurate. He was well-mannered and polite. He was also tall and straight-backed, which meant he would stand out in any crowd. He was good-looking and showed no sign of being aware of it. His straightforward nature was clear to Hajime. Yorito would be a poor liar if lying ever occurred to him.
After eating, Hajime wanted to smoke, but he was out of cigarettes. “I want some nicotine,” he said.
Yorito—still chewing his last bite of peach—brightened at once. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and said something to the women. They withdrew and returned carrying several large wooden boxes.
“We have many varieties of cigarettes,” Yorito said. “Please select whatever you’d like, sir.”
The boxes contained cigarettes sealed in glass bottles. Hajime ran a tobacco shop, and he still saw brands he didn’t recognize.
“I heard you wanted cigarettes last night and had these prepared,” Yorito said.
“This must have been a lot of work, pulling all these varieties together in a single day,” Hajime said. “Why are they in bottles?”
“Cigarettes from the human world deteriorate rapidly, sir,” Yorito explained. “The bottles slow this process.”
Hajime selected a familiar brand known for its red packaging. A woman immediately held out a lighter shaped like a perfume bottle. He nodded to her, lit the cigarette, and drew in a careful breath.
The cigarette was stale.
He exhaled a soft puff of smoke and pressed the cigarette into a ceramic ashtray.
Yorito’s eyebrows angled into an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s somewhat difficult to import cigarettes.” He rallied quickly. “But we do grow tobacco in Yamauchi, and that does not deteriorate. If you’d like to try smoking tobacco in a pipe, I can have something prepared at once.”
He looked prepared to spring into action, but Hajime shook his head. “I’ll pass for now.”
“All right, sir.” Yorito slumped slightly.
Hajime regarded him with quiet amusement. Yorito moved through his duties with the diligence of a well-trained working dog awaiting his handler’s next command.
“Can I ask you something?”
Yorito lifted his head. “Anything, sir. If I can answer, I will.”
“Is this place paradise to you?”
Yorito blinked, but he answered quickly and without a trace of guile. “Yes. Of course it is. Lord Sessai might disagree, but I have seen the human world as well as Yamauchi and have formed my own opinions. I believe that Yamauchi is paradise. It is true that the Kuisaru threaten us, but there are also many threats in the human world. Yamauchi has usually existed in a peaceful state, and the culture here reflects that. We have a long history and rich traditions. Our rulers care for their people, and the people respect those who lead them. Aside from the Kuisaru threat, I can complain about nothing in Yamauchi.”
“I see,” Hajime said. “Then show me your paradise. What are your favorite places?”
“The Imperial Palace, of course. It is built inside our central mountain in Souke Territory. It is a grand palace unlike anything in the human world.”
“A palace… so there’s an emperor here?”
“Indeed. He is the Golden Raven.”
Hajime frowned slightly. “Lord Sessai didn’t introduce himself as such, did he? But he said he was in charge. The others kept calling him something—Yellow Raven?”
Yorito nodded, adding that the title did not mean hakurikiko, the word meaning “weak flour” in Japanese.
“He is the head of state. The Golden Raven has given all political authority to him. His formal title means Yellow Raven in your language. We address him as the Yellow Raven rather than Lord Sessai most of the time.”
“So he’s like a prime minister, then?”
“A close equivalent from your world, yes. The Golden Raven always comes from the imperial family—the Souke Family. Four branch families called Touke, Nanke, Saike, and Hokke each govern one-fifth of Yamauchi’s territory. Most of the nobles at court belong to one of these four families. Yamauchi doesn’t usually have a Yellow Raven. Those can only be appointed by the Golden Raven for exceptional service to Yamauchi. Sessai is the youngest Yellow Raven to accept the appointment in our history.”
Yorito explained that Yellow Ravens renounced worldly ties and became priests so that they couldn’t be accused of favoring their birth families. This was a fairly new practice; a previous Yellow Raven had married all of his daughters into the imperial line. His family had shifted the balance of power in the Imperial Court, with mostly negative effects for Yamauchi. Sessai had accepted the position prior to taking a wife.
“His Imperial Majesty the Emperor places complete trust in him,” Yorito said with a note of pride in his voice. “Every Yatagarasu respects the Yellow Raven.”
“I see,” Hajime said.
“If you wish, it would be possible for you to dine with members of the Souke family and the four branch families.”
Hajime’s face stiffened. “No, thank you. I’ll pass on anything stressful.” No matter how magnificent the Imperial Palace might be, he had no interest in going anywhere near it.
Yorito’s shoulders slumped again. “I see, sir.”
“Where else can we go aside from the palace?”
“Hm, some temples, perhaps? They are lovely places.”
“I’ve no interest in that.”
“We might take a cruise on the lake? There are vessels pulled by—”
“—I get seasick,” Hajime said.
“Perhaps a tour of the market district in the city, then. The largest waterfall in all of Yamauchi is visible from there.”
“That doesn’t sound very interesting to me.”
Yorito groaned and folded his arms. “If we limit ourselves to Souke Territory, then there’s hardly anything left besides the pleasure district.”
“That sounds perfect.” Hajime was on his feet before the words finished leaving his mouth.
Yorito stared up at him from the floor with wide eyes. “It is still before noon. I don’t think the pleasure district will have much to offer at this hour. If we’re going, wouldn’t the evening be better?”
“I’d rather go there now than to a temple.”
Yorito scrambled to his feet.
***
A unique conveyance awaited Hajime outside the Kōrokan. Three of the enormous three-legged ravens he’d seen upon his arrival in Yamauchi were hitched to something that resembled a horse-drawn carriage, one in front and two behind. Each was fitted with what appeared to be a bridle and saddle. Thick, sturdy chains connected them to a rail-like protrusion on the carriage body. Five guards in black robes stood waiting around the carriage, all with swords at their sides.
A coachman offered Hajime a stepping stool. Hajime climbed aboard the carriage, feeling somewhat out of place. He found the interior far more spacious than the exterior suggested. The seats were well-cushioned and comfortable.
“The pleasure district is some distance above us,” Yorito said, boarding after him. “The easiest way to reach it is by air, so I arranged a carriage for us.”
“This is a carriage?”
“The word in our language is somewhat different, but that’s the closest translation.”
“So the giant birds are horses?”
“There were horses in the past, the same as in the human world, but they’ve gone extinct. The Yatagarasu who perform services like this are called horses.”
Hajime was about to ask why, but before he could, the carriage lurched. Hajime peered outside the small latticed window to see what was going on. The leading raven stretched their wings wide and charged ahead on a cleared street that looked like a runway. No dust rose from the ground when the raven flapped their wings. The raven’s beak pointed at the blue sky and the mountains far above.
Hajime realized, a beat too late, that they were heading straight for a sheer cliff. He grabbed Yorito’s shoulder. “Yori?”
“We won’t fall. Please don’t worry.”
“Wait. You didn’t say anything about—”
“There’s really no need to be concerned, sir,” Yorito said with perfect serenity. “If you’re scared, hold onto the handrail.”
Before Hajime could locate any handrail, the raven broke into a run.
There was no time to say anything else.
Hajime screamed as the carriage shot over the edge of the cliff. His body dropped heavily into his seat, leaving his stomach behind in the air. Air rattled in the back of his throat, and he felt cold through.
After a few moments, Hajime calmed himself. The carriage stabilized in the air. His heart kept leaping like a panicked animal, but he no longer felt the need to cry out.
“I’m sorry, sir. Are you not good with heights?”
“It’s not about heights,” Hajime gritted out. Yorito’s apology had come far too late. He was fairly certain that the last few minutes had taken at least five years off his life.
Now that they were actually airborne, the ride was not unpleasant. The carriage slid past jutting formations of bare rock, caught the spray of waterfalls pouring down through gaps in the stone, and continued its gentle ascent. Hajime noticed that ravens had taken up formation around the carriage on all sides, with guards riding astride them. He understood belatedly why the creatures being ridden were called horses.
“Within the mountain lies the realm of the mountain god,” Yorito said. “The Golden Raven is the realm’s steward, and the children of the first Golden Raven divided the land into five parts in order to assist with Yamauchi’s administration.
“Touke Territory is known for its musicians. Nanke Territory is famed for its merchants. Saike produces skilled artisans of every type. Hokke trains Yamauchi’s finest warriors. Each territory has a specialty, you see, and the fruits of these labors are offered to the mountain god.”
“Does this mountain god actually exist?”
“I have never seen his divine form myself, but there is no doubt that the mountain god exists. I have heard that when the Yellow Raven was young, he served at the mountain god’s side.”
“That was a long time ago, then.”
When Hajime pressed him on the current situation, Yorito made a troubled face.
“The road to the mountain god’s realm is closed at present. I believe it is an effect of the great war with the Kuisaru. The gate to the mountain god’s realm is colloquially termed the Forbidden Gate. It is usually closed. The last time it opened was something of an irregularity.”
“When the gate is open, something happens?”
“I don’t know. The mountain god is said to be a very capricious being.”
“Hmph.”
By the time Hajime had grown accustomed to the sensation of flight, the pleasure district came into view. The buildings were painted in bright colors, with lanterns strung along their stairs like garlands. The atmosphere was entirely unlike the stately overhanging mansions and temples they had passed on the way here.
There was a carriage yard on the lowest level of the district. At this hour, it was sparsely occupied.
When Hajime stepped down from the carriage, a grand staircase stretched before him. Different establishments lined the road on either side, looking like they’d leaped straight out of a history book. Above them, terrace-like platforms projected outward. Perhaps they were stages, but they were empty at the moment.
“During festivals, dancers perform up there,” Yorito said. “Festivals are held to celebrate each season, and the pleasure district is lavishly decorated for them.” It was currently the season of Chinese lantern plants. Hanging lanterns were suspended throughout the district. Gauze dyed in a gradient from orange to yellow-green was strung between the buildings. Each time the wind passed through the gauze, the gold-trimmed silk rippled in small waves. Wind chimes made from fire tongs tinkled in the breeze.
Hajime looked around, taking in the sights. Unfortunately, the guards assigned to him blocked his view and dampened his mood. They ringed Hajime and Yorito on all sides and maintained a relentless watch in every direction, which made the pleasure district’s residents frightened and tense. It was all so stifling.
A few shops were offering light meals even though it wasn’t quite lunchtime yet. Hajime and Yorito ducked into one of them for a snack. When the residents of the pleasure district learned that Hajime had come from the human world, they welcomed him with open curiosity.
The moment they learned that Hajime was a smoker, a man disappeared into the back and returned with a luxurious tobacco tray. Hajime was invited to try smoking a pipe. It was harder to manage than he’d expected, and the tip of his tongue soon ached. A clerk taught him the smoking technique, smiling all the while.
“Don’t pack in too many leaves. Blow through it from time to time to keep the flame. Don’t rush—savor it slowly.”
With that coaching, Hajime soon got the hang of it. The flavor of the tobacco was rich in a way that cigarettes weren’t, and it didn’t last long, which only made it better.
Courtesans and apprentice girls from the back room looked in on him. They seemed keenly interested in the human world.
“Is this place paradise to you?” Hajime asked the assembled people.
The girls smiled at him. Yorito translated the words of the senior courtesan: she had been an orphan, but welfare in Yamauchi functioned well enough that she had grown up without ever going hungry or suffering humiliation, and she had been able to learn her trade. Within Yamauchi, even orphans had access to a court-administered welfare system like the one the courtesan had used. Education was available to anyone who wanted it. Government positions were not closed to people of any occupation or class.
“There are cases of celebrated courtesans who became principal wives of the Lords of the Four Families,” Yorito said proudly. “Their children went on to become important officials. In that sense, Yamauchi is genuinely advanced.”
“I suppose it is,” Hajime said.
He repeated similar questions for the rest of the day. A young nobleman who had come as a customer, an elderly innkeeper couple who provided lunch, a boy on an errand from the castle town, a beautiful courtesan, and a plainly dressed maidservant answered him promptly and with a smile, saying, “This is paradise.”
And without fail, each of them added: “If only there were no Kuisaru.”
“It would be no exaggeration to say that the existence of the Kuisaru is the only hardship in Yamauchi today,” Yorito said as they left another teahouse. The guards surrounded them again. “Precisely because everyone here is happy, the Kuisaru are feared. They don’t choose specific targets. They attack simply because Yatagarasu are Yatagarasu. They are indiscriminate monsters.”
Yorito’s face darkened for a moment. Then he shook his head and smoothed his expression. “But other than that, Yamauchi truly is a wonderful place! Where shall we go next? The night stalls should be opening soon—”
“—Let me think,” Hajime interrupted sharply.
The pipe he had been given was different from anything he knew, but he liked it. If he was going to stay in Yamauchi for any length of time, he’d want one of his own. He said as much to Yorito.
Yorito looked back along the road they had come, then back at Hajime. “Couldn’t we return to that shop?” he asked.
“It’s not quite right. I want something similar, but not the same.”
Earlier in the day, Hajime had glanced at a store that sold tobacco and moved on without going in. He was considering going back to that shop.
“I don’t smoke, but can you tell what’s good just by looking? I couldn’t even smell anything from outside.”
“It’s not about the smell,” Hajime said.
Just as Yorito was about to ask him another question, something moved in Hajime’s peripheral vision.
It was sunset. Lanterns were being lit all along the grand staircase, pushing back the encroaching dusk and altering the atmosphere from what it had been in the afternoon. The gauze draped overhead, crossing between the buildings and shimmering like the belly of a fish in the lantern light.
Someone stood on the taut cord from which the gauze and lanterns hung.
Before Hajime could make out the person’s face, the guards reacted. One of them let out a sharp warning shout. The others drew their swords as one.
“Mr. Yasuhara!” Yorito called out.
A shadowed figure ran along the hanging cord with an uncanny lightness—tightrope-walking at speed—then coiled their whole body and sprang directly at Hajime.
Sound receded. Everything moved in slow motion. Hajime made out the figure’s rough shape in the lantern light: human, not raven. Their eyes were wide open and fixed on him. Red paint or something similar obscured most of the figure’s face.
A forearm exposed by a rolled-up sleeve was far too hairy to pass for a human hand. In that raised hand was a short knife made of shiny black stone.
I’m going to die. The thought arrived accompanied by a strange sense of calm.
An instant later, a powerful shock ran through his entire body, and his field of vision went dark.
Hajime came back to himself slowly, seeing stars. Pain shot across his face. It was like waking suddenly from a nightmare. His heart hammered in his chest. Shouts and screams echoed from all sides.
“Please don’t move, sir!” Yorito yelled. He had shoved him down and to the side and was standing over him protectively.
Hajime looked up.
A guard stood with his back to them, shielding them both. Beyond him, four other guards pressed the attacker with wide, sweeping sword strokes. The slashes were fast and relentless, but the attacker parried every one of them with his stone knife.
The attacker’s eyes met Hajime’s and narrowed.
Dodging a blade coming straight down from overhead, the attacker did something no human would have done: he stepped onto the flat of the descending sword and launched straight upward. The guards cried out. The attacker grabbed a hanging lantern cord, pivoted in midair, and landed atop the cord in a single motion. From there, he leaped to another cord stretched higher above.
Cord to cord—hanging, swinging, springing upward—the attacker knocked down lanterns onto the guards as he went, retreating with inhuman speed.
Within seconds, the attacker had vanished. Two guards gave chase.
“Mr. Yasuhara?” an extremely flustered Yorito asked. “Are you hurt?”
Hajime raised himself slowly from the stone pavement. “What was that just now?”
“A Kuisaru, I think,” Yorito said. He looked in the direction the attacker had gone. “This was the first time I’ve seen one with my own eyes.”
Hajime stood and looked around. His surroundings were in a sorry state. Several storefronts had been damaged during the battle. Broken lanterns and torn silk lay scattered across the road. Some customers unlucky enough to have been in the street were unconscious. A few courtesans were in tears.
Warm blood flowed down onto Hajime’s upper lip. He licked it reflexively. The metallic taste turned his stomach.
A guard watching him tapped Yorito’s shoulder.
Yorito turned, looked at Hajime’s face, and screamed. “Mr. Yasuhara, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s fine. It’s just a nosebleed.” Hajime reached for a pocket handkerchief.
“Why?! The Kuisaru never even touched you. Why are you injured?!”
“Because you shoved me down onto the pavement.” Hajime supposed he should count himself fortunate. If he’d remained within striking range of that Kuisaru, he would have likely been hurt far worse.
***
The guards half-carried Hajime to the largest establishment in the pleasure district—a brothel, by the look of it—and installed him in a back room on the rice mat floor.
Hajime had only suffered a nosebleed, but Yorito was the picture of despair. Hajime explained that all he needed was a cold towel pressed to his face and to remain still for a while, but Yorito wasn’t cheered by this.
“I truly have no excuse.” Yorito prostrated himself before Hajime and apologized over and over again.
“Enough of that. What happened to the Kuisaru that attacked us?”
“I’m terribly sorry, but—” Yorito’s face twisted with frustration.
They had escaped. Of course they had. Recalling the speed with which they had fled, Hajime wasn’t surprised.
“Since we can’t confirm the road back is safe, we’ll stay here tonight. Guards have secured the area. If the Kuisaru target you again, we’ll have the advantage.”
It sounded like they were preparing for a siege.
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“Until morning, please. We’ll return to the Kōrokan at sunrise.”
“What about sightseeing?”
Yorito stared at him. “The attack has already been reported. We haven’t received instructions yet, but you’ll likely be asked to speak with the Yellow Raven at the Kōrokan about what happens from here.”
They probably wouldn’t be permitted to wander around Yamauchi like they had today. Even if Hajime pushed for that, he’d end up surrounded by an even larger number of guards than before.
“Does this kind of thing happen often?”
Hajime turned the now-lukewarm towel over in his hands. Yorito handed him a fresh one that had been soaked in cold water.
“Not often. A few times a year, at most. This was the first time I’ve ever seen anything like that.” His usually enthusiastic guide sounded fearful and uncertain.
“Why was I targeted?” He couldn’t shake the feeling that the Kuisaru had targeted him specifically.
“That was our oversight. I’m truly sorry.” This time Yorito’s bow expressed genuine regret. “You had so many guards around you, so the Kuisaru likely mistook you for an important official. We should have thought more carefully about how to handle your security.”
“So I wasn’t the target? They just went after whoever looked important?”
“The Kuisaru don’t discriminate. They assassinate high officials. They attack entire villages. They poison communal wells.” Yorito paused. “There’s simply no reasoning with them.”
Something in his phrasing snagged Hajime’s attention. “Attack entire villages—did you mean that figuratively?”
“No.” Yorito’s voice was flat. “Literally. They eat Yatagarasu. In the past, there were cases where they dismembered their victims and salted the pieces.”
Hajime shuddered. “They think of you as food?”
“They consider us enemies who can also be eaten. We would sooner die than consume a Kuisaru.” Yorito’s jaw tightened. “They are savage monsters.”
Hajime turned this information over in his mind. The Kuisaru ate Yatagarasu. They also targeted important figures. They were monsters, yes, but strangely political ones. Sessai’s account had painted the conflict between the Yatagarasu and the Kuisaru as a territorial dispute, and it was, but there was also more to it. He got the sense that he hadn’t been told everything. There was something fishy here. He had to investigate matters further.
“Is it common for Yatagarasu to be eaten by Kuisaru?”
“Hardly. There are only two recorded cases that everyone knows about. Both occurred before the great war. Those events exposed the existence of the Kuisaru to the wider public.”
More than twenty years ago, a remote village had been attacked. All of the villagers had been devoured by Kuisaru. Terror had swept through the capital. An investigation into how the Kuisaru had infiltrated Yamauchi was conducted shortly after that.
The investigation revealed that the Kuisaru had been operating in secret with the aim of annihilating the Yatagarasu. The root cause of their enmity supposedly involved the mountain god. It was known that both the Yatagarasu and the Kuisaru had served the mountain god in the past. The last time the Forbidden Gate had opened, the Yatagarasu had learned that the mountain god’s power was unstable. Some disagreement in the mountain god’s realm had sparked the war into existence, and shortly after that, the Kuisaru had attacked Yamauchi. The Yatagarasu had repelled them with ease, but they had not killed them all.
That was when Sessai—then known by the name Yukiya of Hokke—had distinguished himself as a young military strategist and led the Yatagarasu to victory. He had served as the crown prince’s right-hand during the war. After it, the crown prince had become the emperor.
“The Yellow Raven repelled them with aerial forces when the Kuisaru attacked en masse,” Yorito said. “Yatagarasu have cavalry forces; Kuisaru do not. Since the end of the great war, the Kuisaru have shifted to sporadic strikes rather than open assault.” He explained that in a ground battle, the physical superiority of the Kuisaru would give them the advantage. Their change in tactics was an adaptation to counter the strength of Yatagarasu aerial forces.
“That Kuisaru probably selected a target before sunset. Because you had so many guards, they mistook you for a key official and waited for nightfall before attacking.”
“When did they start attacking individuals like this?”
“Within the last few years.”
After the great war, Kuisaru activity had gone quiet for a time. That quiet period was what Sessai considered to be his greatest mistake. He’d given the Kuisaru time to adapt and learn.
“Lord Sessai spoke of it as though it were his failure alone,” Yorito said quietly. “But he wasn’t the only one who made that decision. The Imperial Court agreed with him, including the emperor. Everyone was so tired of fighting. It’s not wrong to desire peace. We misjudged the Kuisaru, it’s true, but I do not believe that trying to make peace with them was an error.” He looked at his hands. “It isn’t solely the Yellow Raven’s responsibility that Yamauchi ended up this way. The blame falls on all of us.”
Yorito looked up at Hajime mournfully. “We’ll return to the Kōrokan shortly. Please ask the Yellow Raven about these matters. I am certain he will tell you all he can.”
***
That night passed without incident.
Hajime made the most of what the brothel’s kitchen had to offer, slept deeply on an extravagantly fluffy futon, and awoke to find that Yorito and the guards had been preoccupied all night. Yorito urged him to sit up and eat his breakfast before dawn. He did, and then dressed in a new, more casual kimono. A broad-brimmed sedge hat was pressed onto his head to conceal his face.
“Please follow me, and don’t speak. We’ll be using a different carriage from yesterday’s,” Yorito said patiently. He was dressed identically to Hajime.
Nearly a dozen guards stood in the hallway outside the room. They moved together with Hajime and Yorito toward the main entrance of the brothel. The guards confirmed that it was safe outside, and then the group hurried out of the brothel into the predawn darkness.
Hajime saw a sliver of sunlight on the horizon. The street was empty and dim. Hajime wanted to look at the damage the Kuisaru had caused the night before, but there was no time. Yorito urged him to run down a deserted staircase. The guards kept pace with them.
When they reached the carriage yard, Hajime found horses and a carriage already prepared. Hajime and Yorito barely had time to climb into the carriage before the doors slammed shut behind them.
Hajime braced himself for another cliff launch, but the ravens pulling the carriage this time flapped their wings repeatedly and simply lifted off from where they stood. Yorito had likely informed the guards and the carriage yard about Hajime’s panicked first experience in a carriage the day before.
“Thank you for bearing with all this. You may remove your hat if you wish, sir,” Yorito said.
Hajime untied the cord under his chin.
The small windows on both sides of the carriage were open, but bamboo blinds hung over them, keeping the interior dim. Hajime brought his face close to the blinds and looked out. Ten mounted guards flew in close formation on either side.
“Mr. Yasuhara, I think it would be better if you moved away from the window.”
“Kuisaru can’t fly, right? Do we need to be this careful?”
“Just in case, sir. You were recently attacked.”
A sharp whistle sounded from outside.
Yorito’s shoulders tensed.
“What’s wrong?”
Yorito didn’t answer. He pushed Hajime back from the window gently and stared at the guards outside.
Hajime ignored Yorito’s discomfort and looked out the other window. He saw the same mountainous, ink-washed landscape as before. Strange crags with trees growing from their tops were obscured by a faint veil of morning mist.
Then he saw them—horses, that is. What the Yatagarasu called horses, anyway. He saw thirty black shapes bearing riders, possibly more. A great flock of giant ravens was bearing down on them like storm clouds building in summer.
One of the guards surrounding the carriage broke formation and moved to intercept the incoming ravens, crying out a warning as he charged.
The other ravens didn’t slow. The closest oncoming horse struck the guard straight on without changing course or slowing down.
“What the hell?!” Hajime cried out.
The guards on all sides bristled. The air became loud and chaotic, full of cawing.
A shout from the carriage driver made Yorito spring into action. He gripped Hajime’s shoulders to keep him still as the carriage abruptly changed direction.
Hajime watched what was happening through the window.
The guard who had been struck recovered quickly and flew down from overhead, making a powerful slash with his sword as he moved. The slashed horse screamed and fell out of the sky. The horse directly behind it charged in without hesitation. The guard slashed again and tried to break away, but the second horse, bleeding, seized him with all three legs and wouldn’t let go. Before the guard could shake himself free, a third and fourth horse delivered crushing kicks to his face and chest.
The horse the guard had been riding was attacked simultaneously. The rider was torn from the saddle. Shouts became screams.
The other guards entered the battle against the opposing forces like a wave crashing against the shore.
The enemies swarmed the carriage, which was slow. Any rider without a heavy load would be faster. The carriage would almost certainly be caught and surrounded—and what then?
A shrill whistle echoed high and sharp, like a falcon’s cry.
The guards moved instantly, shifting their formation to better defend the carriage. Three of the nine closest riders flew away and wheeled to intercept the attackers.
The enemy had numbers, but the carriage guards were experienced fighters. They met the charging horses head-on with their blades drawn and sent many of them plummeting. Against a force made up of equal numbers, the guards would have made short work of the attackers.
But the attackers just kept coming. Several horses slipped through the surrounding guards and latched onto the carriage. A guard tried to drive them away with limited success.
The formation leader’s whistle shrilled again. The encircling riders tightened their pattern.
Hajime watched it all and felt unease settle in his gut. These are good soldiers, he thought. He didn’t know enough to judge how good, but he knew this: there had been ten riders surrounding the carriage when they left. Now there were five.
The carriage rounded a sheer cliff face. A second wave of attackers surged forth from concealment, emerging from the shadow of the cliff.
An ambush. Hajime saw twenty riders, at least. The guards surrounding the carriage flinched, but they rallied. They drove into the new attackers mercilessly, cutting them down without hesitation—but the numbers were simply too great. The hoarse cries of ravens and the human screams filled the air.
The carriage managed to break free from the packed mass of bodies thanks to the guards, but it was now completely unprotected. The attackers were closing in.
But the guards who had been there were gone. All of them.
“Yori, what do we—?” Hajime looked at Yorito and stopped speaking.
Hajime’s guide was terrified. “Mr. Yasuhara,” he said quietly, his face a mask of barely contained fear.
“Yeah?”
“It may get a little rough from here. Keep your mouth closed so you don’t bite your tongue.” He forced himself to smile and then knelt down on one knee.
Yorito shrugged off his kimono in a swift motion, revealing the same black robes that all of the guards Hajime had seen wore. Without taking his eyes from the window, he smashed the ornamented wooden door above it with his bare hands. Inside the secret compartment behind the broken door was a blade with a lustrous black finish. Yorito pressed the blade to his forehead, closed his eyes for a second, and exhaled sharply.
When he opened his eyes again, the earnest young guide of the past two days was gone. His eyes burned with an intensity that hurt to look at. Deep creases formed at the bridge of his nose as if something were growing beneath the surface of his skin.
One of their attackers had caught up. The finely decorated panels of the carriage crumpled like paper. The lattice over the window snapped apart and scattered into the air.
Yorito launched himself out of the carriage, moving like a demon. He drove his leg into the attacker’s torso with tremendous force.
Yorito brought down the attacker like a yakuza drop-kicking a rival. Hajime gaped at him. Yorito called out, loud and high, and set upon the falling rider, who had lost his balance from the previous strike. As the horse spread their jet-black wings, Yorito descended upon it, driving his blade through the horse’s neck in a single thrust. He pulled the sword free rapidly, scattering blood into the air.
The horse died without making a sound.
Yorito set his blade in his mouth and then leaped off the rapidly descending horse. His robes transformed into enormous black wings with a blue sheen. Three thick-carapaced legs tore through his chest, each tipped with dark talons. His pale skin sprouted feathers everywhere and his mouth became a cruel, sharp beak.
He crashed into the nearest attacker with a beat of his wings.
Hajime realized that Yorito was also a guard as he watched the transformed man kick and tear the attackers down. He delivered kicks with all three legs; when his path was clear, he returned to human form and slashed open the soft chest of the nearest horse with his blade. Then, with a force like an umbrella springing open, he transformed again and slammed into another horse and rider.
Yorito’s attacks were swift and daring. He didn’t bother to defend himself. His crazed strategy was devastatingly effective. In human form, Yorito bared his teeth, the expression on his face something between a snarl and a frenzied grin.
After rendering the attacking horses unable to fight, Yorito confirmed that no more remained behind them. Then he flew straight back to the carriage.
Yorito climbed into the now very well-ventilated carriage and returned to human form. The excitement in his eyes had not yet faded.
“We’re abandoning the carriage. They’ll catch us at this rate.”
Before Hajime could ask him anything, Yorito was already moving. He untied a red cord from around a scabbard stowed inside the secret compartment, looped it under Hajime’s arms, and sheathed the sword. He bit the scabbard to hold it still.
There was no time for argument. Yorito hoisted Hajime onto his back and threw himself out of the carriage.
It was a bungee jump without a cord. The wind howled in Hajime’s ears. This was so much worse than when the first carriage had launched off the cliff. That had been a thousand times gentler than this.
Hajime couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t speak. He felt Yorito’s body against his back swell suddenly as he transformed again. The kimono he’d been gripping with both hands vanished, replaced by feathers. He grabbed them with enough force to tear them out, but their speed didn’t slow.
The only thing connecting them was the single red cord. Tied in haste, it was a thoroughly unreliable lifeline. Hajime felt like he would fall at any moment.
Yorito, focused entirely on escape, paid no attention to him.
What was worse, the sounds of furious pursuit reached him, carried on the wind. Enemy shapes were closing in at the edge of his vision.
Legs stretched toward him. Talons caught the dawn light.
This is it. I’m dead.
The hostile rider reaching for him was knocked sideways.
Hajime’s eyes went wide.
Help had arrived.
***
A single Yatagarasu came out of nowhere and drove the attacker away from Yorito, who still had Hajime on his back.
This way! the Yatagarasu signed with his wings, an urgent signal to follow him. Yorito recognized this gesture as one used by the Yamauchishu.
Exhausted and desperate, Yorito followed the Yatagarasu. The stranger headed straight into the mountains, slipping between densely growing trees. He dropped to the ground and transformed the moment he landed.
The man ran toward a boulder. He pushed aside the overhanging branches to reveal a hole between the moss-covered rock and the ground. The hole was just large enough for a person to squeeze through. He dropped to the ground and then called out, “This way! Hurry!”
Yorito lowered Hajime down to the hole and jumped in after him. Underbrush scratched at his arms and face, but the hole was not deep. There was a sudden drop into a cave that caused Hajime to make a sound he wasn’t entirely proud of.
The cave was tall enough for Hajime to stand up inside it without striking his head. A tunnel continued into the dark. The man who’d saved them stood near it.
“Get up quickly. We need to move.” The stranger reached toward Hajime, who lay on the ground like a flattened frog.
Yorito leveled his sword at the stranger’s throat.
“Who are you? State your name and affiliation. Now.”
“We don’t have time for that.” The man sounded more exasperated than threatened. He ignored Yorito’s weapon and hauled Hajime up by the collar. “Now move.”
A thin shaft of light shone in from the hole above. Hajime noted narrowed eyes and hollow cheeks.
“I was a Yamauchishu, but I’m retired. I have no current affiliation.” The stranger paused. “I’m a wandering ex-captain.”
“What’s your name?”
He turned his back on them before Yorito could respond.
“We can’t block the entrance to the tunnel from in here. We need to move before they find it.” He was already walking. “Come on.”
Chihaya disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.
1
The Dragon Palace is a mythical undersea palace popularized by
the children’s tale Urashima Tarō, which is about a man who
has adventures under the sea, loses track of time and returns
to the human world a hundred years after he left. ↩
2 The koto is a Japanese plucked half-tube zither instrument,
and the national instrument of Japan. Koto are roughly 180
centimeters (6 feet) in length, and made from Paulownia wood.
The most common type uses 13 strings strung over movable
bridges used for tuning, different pieces possibly requiring
different tuning. Seventeen-string koto are also common, and
act as a bass instrument in ensembles. Koto strings are
generally plucked using three fingerpicks (tsume), worn on the
first three fingers of the right hand. The biwa The biwa is a
traditional Japanese short-necked, pear-shaped wooden lute
derived from the Chinese pipa and introduced in the 6th-7th
century. It is characterized by four or five silk strings
plucked by a large triangular plectrum (bachi), producing a
sharp, dramatic, and percussive sound often used to accompany
storytelling, particularly for narrative performances. ↩
3 Kōrokan is spelled with katakana and not kanji, so it is not
clear what it means in this context. In The Raven’s
Reminiscence, the word is given a kanji spelling. The same
kanji spelling is used to name a mansion frequented by foreign
visitors to Japan from the Nara to Heian period. It seems that
Yamauchi borrowed the name for their own accommodations for
foreign visitors from Japan’s. ↩
4 Hakama are Japanese traditional pants. ↩
5
Yori is informal and, in the context, very rude. Hajime doesn’t
know Yorito well enough to address him so casually. ↩
6
Chihaya will use Yukiya’s formal title (translated Yellow
Raven) or Sessai, but the text makes it clear that he has a
less formal relationship with Yukiya than most, so when he
speaks of the past or of knowledge that only Yukiya’s friends
would know, I use Yukiya in place of Sessai. All uses of the
formal title, as here, are preserved. ↩
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