Honoo no Mirage

Chapter 2: Maiden of the Spiritual Heartland

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Chapter 2: Maiden of the Spiritual Heartland

Chougaku Temple, one of the area’s famed ancient temples, lay along a road at the foot of Mt. Ryuuou beyond the highway.

Chiaki and Takaya had come here immediately after speaking with the woman.

Cicadas chorused in the verdant, luxuriant forest. Takaya could hear the croaks of bullfrogs from the large pond in front of the main temple. He turned to Chiaki, who had thrown himself down on the floor of the temple’s open corridor.

“So waddaya think?” Takaya asked.

Chiaki replied, “That the fireb.a.l.l.s in question have something to do with this ‘hoihoi fire’.”

“...”

Chiaki looked up at the ceiling. The boards were stained with countless black spots in the shape of hands or bare feet. —Bloodstains of people who had died four hundred years ago. It was said that the boards that formed this ceiling had once been the floorboards of the fallen Ryuuouzan Castle.

Chiaki muttered, gazing up at the black stains of the ‘b.l.o.o.d.y ceiling’, “This isn’t the only place where the fireb.a.l.l.s’ve been sighted. They’ve spread as far as Nara City, Kooriyama , and Ikoma . I’m not sure if the fireb.a.l.l.s are the ‘hoihoi fire’ of the legend, but we can’t completely dismiss the fact that their numbers are greatest around here, either.”

“Hup.” Chiaki leveraged himself to a sitting position and looked over at the mountain.

“Ryuuouzan Castle. Yamato commander Toichi Tootada built it during the Sengoku, but it fell to Matsunaga Danjou Hisahide. I guess these bloodstains are from that time.” Chiaki made a sour face, groaning, “Matsunaga Danjou...huh?”

“What? You know something?”

“No—well. I told you that somebody died in an attack by the fireb.a.l.l.s, right? That person lives right next to Mt. Shigi...”

“Mt. Shigi...?”

“That was where the main castle of Matsunaga Danjou Hisahide, the head of the army which attacked and sacked this castle, stood. It’s in Ikoma , beyond those open fields. I’ve heard that his onryou was recently resurrected.”

“The onryou of Matsunaga Hisahide? Then you’re saying that he’s the reason these fireb.a.l.l.s are appearing...?”

“That’s my hunch. This ‘hoihoi fire’ is probably a manifestation of the onryou of the soldiers who died at Mt. Ryuuou—kaki, or onryou bearing kaki. If it’s true that their old enemyMatsunaga Hisahide has been resurrected, the onryou of Mt. Ryuuou are probably moving in response to the grudge they bear him.”

Though they didn’t know for sure if that was the reason, they could feel the «malice»-filled aura of the area around Mt. Ryuuou roiling with strange activity. Heated spiritual energy rose from the mountain’s summit where the castle had once stood and pushed like a mountain wind against Chiaki’s back.

Chiaki sighed and stood.

“Well, let’s go take a look around Mt. Shigi for now. We may be able to learn something there. But everything starts with investigation—yup, good old-fashioned legwork and investigation.”

Takaya looked up at the incandescent sun beating down on them and wearily stuck out his tongue like an overheated dog.

“But it’s so freakin’ hot. Can’t we do something about this heat?”

They were in a basin between two mountains, so there wasn’t much they could do. Chiaki suggested with aplomb over his shoulder, “If you’re that hot, then why don’t you go ask the dragon G.o.d at the summit for some rain?”

“Fine, but you’re doing that ‘hoihoi’ thing first.”

The sky darkened as they retraced their steps over the gravel shrine path.

“?”

In the blink of an eye pitch-black clouds shrouded the mountain as if herded by a sudden gust of wind, and thunder clapped in the distance.

“Ack. Seriously?!”

“Hmm?” Takaya lifted his head, feeling a large drop of water fall onto it—and the rain suddenly came pelting down as if a bucket had been upended over them.

“Waaah!” they yelled, and dashed for the parking lot at full speed.

“You idiot! It’s because you said all that weird stuff!”

They were completely soaked by the time they reached the car. Chiaki glared at Takaya shouting in his ear and started the engine.

“Stop blaming me. If that were really true, then it’d be your fault—your fault, d’you hear me? It’d be like summoning Bishamonten, you blockhead.”

“What did you say...?!”

“Oh d.a.m.n. I can’t believe it’s this late already. The funeral starts at 1:30.”

He abruptly stepped on the gas, and Takaya’s head jerked back.

“Dammit...what’d you do if we got whiplash?!”

“Let’s...see...get on Nishimei Hill from the Tenri Interchange , then take the second...no, third...?”

“Hey! Stop ignoring people when they’re talking to you!”

“Oh, quit yer whining already.”

More annoyed by the minute, Takaya turned to look out the window. Elementary school students ran down the rice paddy road holding swimming bags, perhaps on their way home from the pool. They ran along without umbrellas in the sudden twilight, voices raised in shrieks or cheers, looking like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

They returned to Tenri and from there headed for Mt. Shigi.

They took the Expressway east, and by the time they got off at the Houryuu Temple Interchange , the sudden afternoon shower had already lifted. In the pa.s.senger seat, Takaya shifted his glare between the map and the note with the address as they drove towards their destination.

“Uuum. After Ouji Station we cross the river...”

“Hey, hurry up and navigate. It’s Sangou Town —just find Sangou Town!”

“I know already, so shut up... Ack! Take a left here!”

“...!”

With a violent screech of tires the Leopard swerved left. The centrifugal force of the turn threw both of them to the side.

“That was late, you blockhead!”

“You’re going too fast, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”

The car speeded along half out of control, carrying its two shouting pa.s.sengers towards the victim’s residence in Sangou Town at the foot of Mt. Shigi. It was slightly past two when they arrived.

They found the house immediately. Even without checking the map they spotted the ‘house holding the funeral’ easily.

It was a large residence with a tiled roof, enclosed within a white plaster wall. Around it were a group of people in mourning dress.

They parked beside a rice paddy a small distance away and alighted. A cool breeze, left over from the rain just past, blew softly against them.

“Over there...?” Takaya asked, standing on wet asphalt. “Pretty nice house.”

“Looks like he’s a first-generation land owner or something. The papers said that he’s supposed to be the director of some company...” Chiaki replied, taking a note and a copy of a newspaper out of a schedule book.

“The victim is Shiohara Kouzou, fifty-eight. He’s the representative director of Shiohara Construction, which has its head office in Nara. Looks like it’s the leading construction company around these parts. He died the evening of the day before yesterday. It happened near the company, and no cause for the fire was found. The police apparently suspect self-immolation, but it was actually fireb.a.l.l.s that caused it.”

“No witnesses?”

“There were. It’s written here in the papers that several company employees witnessed him getting hit by fireb.a.l.l.s.”

“Hmm...” Takaya responded, frowning.

He could feel a strange chill against his skin coming from somewhere ahead of them. Well, it was certainly no fun watching somebody’s funeral. This aura was similar to what he had felt at Mt. Ryuuou.

(Are there any onryou around?)

The sutra-chanting coming from the house ended. The hea.r.s.e pa.s.sed the rice paddies with their rain-glossed rice plants waving in the wind and came to a stop in front of the gate. The funeral procession would soon begin.

“Let’s get a little closer?”

“...Yeah.”

In front of the gate were a crowd of attendants and people from the neighborhood who had come to lend a hand with the funeral. Older women in ap.r.o.ns had gathered in droves for the send-off. Takaya and Chiaki slipped into their midst in time to catch their whispered gossip.

“That’s yet another death.”

“This time calamity has overtaken Shiohara-san, too...”

Takaya and Chiaki looked at each other as they unintentionally eavesdropped on the hushed conversation.

“That makes three people.”

“It’s only been half a year since his wife died.”

“Really, what is happening here?”

A voice from a speaker interrupted the women’s whispers. A man who appeared to be the chief mourner began addressing the crowd from within the wall.

“A man...?” The realization gave Chiaki pause. “The chief mourner isn’t his wife?”

“Huh?” Takaya asked in response, but just then people began moving from the yard towards them. The funeral procession was finally starting. The noise increased for a moment before the crowd parted into two lines, and the bereaved family appeared from among the attendants.

A young woman around junior high school age wearing a school uniform carried the portrait of the deceased against her chest. Her long hair was pulled back and tied up in a bundle. Her mournful expression and bowed head gave her the impression of a frail maiden. Behind her came a middle-aged couple, followed by a number of men carrying the white coffin.

“Ah...”

Takaya suddenly made a small sound.

Chiaki responded, “What?”

“Just...over there...”

Chiaki looked in the direction Takaya had indicated. The white coffin was being carried into the hea.r.s.e, the door solemnly closed with the bereaved family looking on...

“!”

Chiaki’s eyes suddenly widened.

Something that looked like a dusky fog hung above their heads. The fog was even thicker around the young woman carrying the portrait.

(Ugh...!) Chiaki and Takaya reacted at the same time.

An unmistakable «malice» had struck both of them. The aura of evil released by the ma.s.s of black “energy” clinging to the young woman was plain. A glance was enough to tell them that the thing had considerable power.

(Is that some sort of tsuk.u.mogami—?)

Chiaki focused his will and began a spirit sensing, feeling as if he were straining his eyes to see into the dark ma.s.s. The fog hovering above the young woman immediately unblurred. It took on the shape of a roundish vase. No, not vase. Kettle. It was a tea kettle!

Chiaki sucked in a startled breath.

(Could that be...!)

“Murderer!”

A woman’s shrill voice suddenly rose from within the premises.

“...!”

Chiaki and Takaya came out of their trance and turned towards the sound.

A young woman wearing mourning dress sprinted through the attendants towards them, hair disheveled and wild.

“Don’t let her deceive you! That girl isn’t human! She’s a monster! She killed him! Monster! Murderer!”

The attendants were in an uproar. She continued shouting even as several people held her back. Her accusing finger pointed straight at the young woman carrying the portrait.

“She killed him! Monster! Give him back! Murderer! Murderer!!”

The woman was restrained and pulled back into the house, but they could hear her howling even then. The middle-aged couple, apparently relatives of the deceased, looked suspiciously at the young woman thus condemned. This was apparently not the first time she had heard the accusations. Her face noticeably paled, and the hands holding the portrait shook slightly. She continued to look down at the ground, biting her lip.

Takaya, held back by Chiaki, looked at him reproachfully. Chiaki’s brows creased in doubt.

(What was that all about?)

Attempting to temporize, the procession started again as if nothing of note had occurred. The young woman climbed into the hea.r.s.e’s pa.s.senger seat.

It gave a long, drawn-out blare of its horns before moving slowly out of a crowd of attendants standing with hands pressed together in prayer.

The funeral was at an end once the hea.r.s.e had driven out of sight. The relatives of the deceased climbed into a microbus headed for the crematorium, and the attendants and the rest of the crowded dispersed at their discretion. That was when people started talking.

Which meant Takaya and Chiaki couldn’t leave yet. Their expressions were similarly grim.

(That kid, a monster...)

In a quiet spot, Chiaki found an attendant who had been an eyewitness. He promptly produced the fake business card and succeeded in procuring his story.

“I really saw it. The police were totally useless,” Shiohara’s private driver, a man in his thirties called Aoki, told them somewhat excitedly. “It was probably around six o‘clock in the evening. I brought out the car like I always do to take the director home. Suddenly I heard this scream outside. When I rushed out, the director was covered in flames. It was horrible—Yamamoto-san said, ’We have to put it out right now’, and we tried, but—”

“Yamamoto-san is...?”

“The director’s secretary. And then, when we just about got it out, these volleyball-sized fireb.a.l.l.s came right out of the sky. And it wasn’t just one or two of them, but a whole bunch. There were flames all around us, and it was just totally out of control. When we finally threw enough water on the boss to put out the fire and got him to the hospital, it was already too late.”

Chiaki made exaggerated sounds of interest as he pretended to take notes. “And these fireb.a.l.l.s, were they the same kind as the ones people around here have been talking so much about recently?”

“Well. I haven’t seen them myself, so I’m not sure, but... I think they’re probably the same.”

Chiaki and Takaya exchanged glances: bull’s-eye.

Takaya took up the questioning.

“On a different subject, is the young lady who was carrying the portrait the director’s daughter?”

“Hmm. That was Nagi-san.”

“Nagi?”

Aoki nodded and replied with a worried look, “She is his daughter, but she’s not related to him by blood. She’s the daughter of his wife with her former husband.”

“Former husband—so does that mean she remarried? She brought her daughter into her new marriage...?”

“Yes. The director was adopted into his wife’s family. He entered her family and took her family name when he married her.”

“Then was her former husband also adopted into her family?”

“His wife was the only child of her family. People say that her first husband died in a traffic accident. It happened before young Miss Nagi entered elementary school. His wife died half a year ago, so only the two of them were living in this house.”

“Hmm,” Takaya murmured.

Beside him, Chiaki continued, “Who was that young woman earlier? The one who shouted ‘murderer’ at Nagi-san...”

Aoki’s face instantly stiffened. He answered bitterly, his voice full of loathing and dislike, “That was the director’s lover.”

“Ah, lover?”

“Yes. Kizaki Mieko. She apparently started out as a hostess. They say that the director’s known her for a while, and she’s certainly been coming around to the company for a long time.”

Takaya’s mouth tightened slightly, and he looked towards the house. He had always found this type of talk distasteful. He asked, “But why did she call his daughter a ‘murderer’? Is she saying that Nagi-san had something to do with the director’s death?”

“No, that’s absurd!” Aoki’s hands shook in anger. “There is no way young Miss Nagi is involved. It was the fireb.a.l.l.s that killed him. Why would Miss Nagi...”

Chiaki stood with his arms crossed, deep in thought. After a moment he asked, “Well, we don’t intend to put anything about the family’s private circ.u.mstances in the article, but...if it’s all right with you, would you happen to know Kizaki-san’s phone number?”

Chiaki and Takaya managed to worm their way into the office. They couldn’t find the secretary, Yamamoto, so Aoki agreed to introduce them to a company employee called Suzuki.

“I’m pretty certain it’s registered with our list of client names...” Suzuki said as he looked through the thick file.

Chiaki asked, looking shocked, “Even your director’s mistress is a client of the company?”

“No, not at all. But I’m sure I’ve seen the contact address in here quite a few times...”

Takaya and Chiaki exchanged glances.

“Where is the director’s office?”

“Aaaah! You can’t go in there!”

“?”

“The director gave us very firm directions to let no one enter his office. Even his secretary doesn’t go in there. And besides, it’s locked, so we can’t get in anyway!”

“Oh?” Chiaki’s eyes narrowed to slits as he turned to Suzuki. “Ah, Suzuki-san? Suzuki-san.”

“Yes?”

Suzuki turned at the sound of Chiaki’s oddly coaxing voice—and collapsed in place with a moan the instant he looked at Chiaki.

“Ack!” Takaya shouted, startled. “What...!”

He dashed to Suzuki’s side and shook him frantically, but Suzuki had lost consciousness, still standing upright like a heron.

“Mister! Hey, Mister!” Takaya turned to Chiaki and gritted out, “Hey, Chiaki! What the h.e.l.l did you do to him?!”

“I only put him to sleep, that’s allllll,” he drawled with no hint of shame, already walking off in search of the director’s office. He found it on the same floor, the office furthest in. Chiaki immediately squatted down next to the door and extracted two wires of different thicknesses from the day planner tucked under his arm. He thrust them one at a time into the keyhole, then proceeded to pick the lock with remarkable facility.

“What that woman said worries me. There must be a reason she called the guy’s daughter a monster and a murderer. There’s probably a clue in his personal effects.”

“You...don’t you think your way of doing things is a bit high-handed?”

“Nope, not at all.”

The lock disengaged.

Chiaki opened the door to the director’s office. Takaya followed him inside.

“!”

Their eyes widened at the same time.

“Wh-what the h.e.l.l?”

The walls were covered with charms. They looked like temple charms, but affixed in an unusual manner.

“This...”

Chiaki approached a wall and stared at it for a long moment, then—

He reached out and carefully peeled off a single sheet.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“This thing’s already lost its potency. Actually, I’d have to do it even if it hadn’t.”

Chiaki turned to Takaya.

“The person that this charm was supposed to protect is no longer in this world, right? Shiohara somehow knew that he was going to be killed.”

“That he was gonna be killed by his daughter? But this charm...”

“Probably the monster attached to his daughter rather than the girl herself.” Chiaki enfolded the charm in his palm. “Looks like the rabbit hole goes deeper than we thought, huh?”

“...”

Takaya glared grimly at the eerie charm-covered wall.

After obtaining the contact information for Shiohara’s mistress, Takaya and Chiaki returned to Shiohara’s house.

Arms stretched out across the roof of the Leopard, Takaya opened the pull-tab on a can of juice and asked Chiaki, “The vase-monster attached to this ‘Nagi’ girl. D’you think it has any connection to the fireb.a.l.l.s that killed Shiohara?”

“It was a kettle, not a vase. Kettle.”

“Kettle?” he asked, pushing the pull-tab into the can. “Kettle—the black round iron thing?”

“That’s a cauldron.”

“The girl with the breadcrumb trail, then...?” 1

“Are you even seriously thinking about this?” Chiaki demanded, leaning against the side of the driver’s seat. “You’re way off. From the looks of it, it was a tea kettle tsuk.u.mogami.”

“Tsuk.u.mogami?”

“A so-called phantom—the type that originates from an artifact. Something that a person’s malice attaches to, or an old object which a spirit makes its home, or an artifact that changes into something else as it ages. There are a lot of things it can mean, but in this case, it’s something that started out as a tea kettle and became a phantom by a powerful concentration of the user’s will.”

Takaya blinked.

“So there really are such things as phantoms?”

“Well, they’re actually ma.s.ses of ‘energy’ created by the user’s ill-will. But the tsuk.u.mogami clinging to that kid is gonna be a ton of trouble.”

“Because?”

Chiaki scratched his head slightly. “‘Cause that thing’s probably the ’Hiragumo’.”

“‘Hiragumo’?”

“Yeah. A tea kettle tsuk.u.mogami that’s been famous around here since way back. There’s gotta be a reason for it if you have something like that following you around.”

“Should we exorcise it?”

“That would be the best-case scenario, but it’d take some doing to bring down a phantom as strong as that.”

“Hey, you’ll be okay with that, right? I’ll leave it to you, then.”

“‘I’ll leave it to you’ ain’t gonna cut it. Geez, you. Gimme a little more help here. Think you’ve got enough of your spiritual senses back to do a spirit sensing?”

Takaya tossed back the juice sheepishly. Well, that was probably true. These past few weeks his spiritual senses had really developed (?) all of a sudden.

Chiaki made another sour face.

“But the ‘hoihoi fires’ and the ‘Hiragumo’? I’m getting a really bad feeling about this.”

“?”

Takaya paused. Just as he opened his mouth to ask the reason—

“...!”

Takaya whirled to look behind him as if drawn by something there.

“What’s wrong, Kagetora?”

Takaya stood motionless, stretching his senses all around them.

“Someone’s staring at us...”

“What?”

Chiaki looked reflexively around them.

Takaya had felt a strange aura. He cautiously scanned their surroundings. But there was no one near them. Where was it coming from? He could definitely feel someone appraising them—not a spirit, but someone with an aura cold and sharp as a tempered sword-blade. That chill aura so unlike anything belonging to an ordinary person... that hinted at a concealed, depthless power...

(Onshou...?)

Or could it be—

(But—)

Takaya went on guard, his entire body tensed for battle. Chiaki said to him softly, “Kagetora. Never mind, ignore it.”

“But, Chiaki—”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll definitely come face to face with it later, anyway. Let’s go.”

Glaring over his shoulder, Takaya followed Chiaki’s lead and climbed into the car. Chiaki started the engine and slowly stepped on the gas. The Leopard glided forward.

The aura receded. Whatever the case, coming here certiainly seemed to have been the right decision.

Nara, this city which was the country’s spiritual heartland, reeked of the onryou wriggling into the light.footnotesTakaya’s actually punning rather colorfully here. Unfortunately, puns are by and large untranslatable. In j.a.panese, kettle is “kama” (釜). The actual conversation goes like this:

“It was a kettle, not a vase. Kettle.”

“Kettle?” he asked, pushing the pull-tab into the can. “Kettle—the thing you cut gra.s.s with?”

“That’s a sickle.” (鎌, also read “kama”).

“Then a guy who dresses and talks like a woman...” (“Kettle” or “pot” can also be slang for transvest.i.te—“お釜”, or “okama”.)

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