Yokai Calling

9. Hidekazu

4

Hidekazu

Masanori and Aihi raced toward Tsukiko, but when Hidekazu noticed Torra keeping her distance, he slowed to ride beside her at a trot.

“Is something wrong?”

“You know my father.” Worry etched deep into her features as she fought to smile. “Always going on about conspiracies, monsters lurking in the shadows… We’re training to handle yōkai at Tsukiko Academy, but a kan’thir?”

“If only he was simply a yōkai. At least then those of us beholden to the Goddess would be safe.”

Seiryuu was filled with ancient spirits and creatures—also known as yōkai—descended from the Goddess Shirashi. They took on all the Goddess’ different faces: benevolent, cruel, and everything in between. Many spirits helped people from all walks of life, but others preyed on the unsuspecting. At times, their behaviour wasn’t so different from kan’thir.

“I never thought I would say this, but I don’t want to believe what you saw, Hide,” Torra said. “My father fears the creatures dwelling in the night—we all do. Those taken by Shirashi’s offspring are blessed, in a way, nourishing the flow of life and death. They become offerings to the Goddess and part of the next cycle of life. Their spirits are restored and protected.”

“Yet if this is a kan’thir like we suspect...” Hidekazu’s hold on Kiyo’s reins tightened.

“Being sacrificed to the Wyvern God holds no such protections. We can only hope that the woman taken does not meet such a fate, or that, at the very least, the culprit is a wicked sort of yōkai, not a kan’thir.”

“Not that being torn apart by a yōkai sounds much more preferable, to be honest. I’m quite happy to be alive, with my spirit intact.” He tried to become a candle of humour in the darkness, if only for a moment before flickering out.

“As do we all, ne? That’s what the bushi are for.”

Usually, a small joke like that would lure Torra into various expressions of playful banter. Either Hidekazu missed the mark altogether, or there was something else on her mind, too.

Was she worried about her mother and father? Torra wasn’t just any old friend, but the heiress of the Benri clan, those who governed Tsukiko as agents of the emperor. Although the Tsukiko Guard was independent of the Benri clan on paper, the Guard still bowed to Benri authority.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” Hidekazu said.

“It just doesn’t sit right with me how the Tsukiko Guard ignored your report. They are supposed to be better trained.” As she brushed long, dark hair from her face, her brows furrowed, giving a sense that she was more upset about this incident than she let on. “Sure, a kan’thir and corrupted ki sound far-fetched, but not looking into a kidnapping? They disrespect you and your clan by assuming none of what you said was true.”

“Aihi will set this right. She always does.”

Torra gave a silent nod.

Cicadas whined in the distance as midday approached. Beyond the rice paddies and farmland, Tsukiko twisted through the natural landscape like an idle serpent made of stone structures. Cresting the hills on the city’s northern side stood Tsukiko Academy, the exclusive school for bushi.

The wall of cypress trees marking the academy grounds blocked most of the campus from sight, but the sparkling dragon-shaped apex of the main building always caught the sunlight at this time of day.

Torra stopped beside him. “So the rumours are true, huh? Your esteemed father, Genshu Dano, overturned your clan laws to let you train as a bushi.” She said this as if she believed it less likely to happen than a kan’thir appearing in the city.

“It’s true.”

“Guess I’ll be seeing you at the academy this fall, then. I look forward to continuing your relationship with the floor.” He gave her a side-eye, and she grinned. “Don’t give me that look—the one that says, ‘oh, I’m a majyu, you’re a warrior, of course you’re going to skin me alive.’ Bushi must adapt to any situation. You’ll learn how to use a sword as you once learned to read.”

Rather than fighting his father’s wishes, Hidekazu had learned to adapt. He sought to make peace with his upbringing, prepared to live out his days as a shugo, a majyu specializing in the defensive arts.

Now Hidekazu tumbled face-first into a scenario where he had to re-learn everything he knew to become a bushi instead, all for the sake of his father’s ambitions. His gaze flickered from the academy and down to Aihi, who merged into the city’s hustle-and-bustle.

She was the future empress, and Hidekazu was slated to become her consort.

Most men would be thrilled at the opportunity to sit by Aihi’s side. She was destined to make history: a true warrior, a prodigal majyu, with beauty that would only grow as she came into adulthood. Already poets began to etch her story into the songs of their nation.

To Hidekazu, she was a sister. The thought of marrying her… wrong was a mild way of describing his discomfort.

“My father didn’t enrol me at Tsukiko Academy,” Hidekazu said.

“What? How couldn’t he? There is no better school for bushi.”

“He claims I need to finish training quicker than the four-year program dictates. Of course, the truth is, he has a spat with Headmaster Meki. They were friends a long time ago.”

Torra gave a sympathetic look. “Your family legacy is more complicated than most others, perhaps besides Aihi’s. Even when you become the Genshu clan head, you’ll be navigating that for the rest of your life.”

“You, too, once you replace your mother.”

“My clan’s rise was a result of the Reunification Wars. Your clan was adjacent to the ruling families of the Warlock Empire long before it burned into the ground.” She pursed her lips. “We’ve fallen behind. We should catch up with Masa and Aihi.”

Hidekazu nudged Kiyo forward, and he and Torra trotted onward into the city. The chatter of the market square washed over him—vendors selling grain and fish, silks and wine, children nipping coins from tourists and playing games in the streets.

Dano’s decision not to enrol Hidekazu at Tsukiko Academy was more complicated and calculated than Hidekazu revealed to Torra. Marrying him off to Aihi would position the Genshu clan alongside the Furahaus as royalty—heightening their name further than their ancestors, who were once famous wyvern-slayers.

Only a short window remained for Hidekazu to earn the last qualifications as a potential partner for Aihi. Training at Tsukiko Academy would take too long. Had Dano planned this all along, perhaps arrangements would have been made, but a recent development outside Hidekazu’s awareness must have changed his mind.

A few minutes later, Hidekazu and Torra caught up to Aihi and Masanori, who started investigating the Crimson Gardens. Solemn silence draped over them as they dismounted their horses and approached Aihi, who was examining the spot where the attack happened.

From a distance, the area looked inconspicuous—the same as every other path in the Crimson Gardens: cobbled stone wide enough for two people to walk astride, flanked by cutleaf maples and silver maidenhair with a koi pond nestled between the natural ridges in the environment.

Closer, though, that was where the details of the scuffle became apparent: the kan’thir sorcerer’s leftover violet, clotting sludge. What looked like black cherry blossoms floated in the purple gore.

Hidekazu darted from detail to detail, trying to piece together an explanation that didn’t involve a kan’thir and dark sorcery.

A sharp, acidic scent laced the air, a shadow of the kan’thir’s corruption clinging to stones and leaves. Aihi inspected the nearby bushes, freeing a snag of pink silk from the scarlet branches. She held the piece between two outstretched fingers, and the fabric shifted in the breeze like a flag of war.

“I require no more proof than this to confirm your report of a young woman being swept away from this garden—and that the Tsukiko Guard neglected their responsibility to investigate.” Aihi looked up at the sky, gauging the time of day. “If this happened after the Fire Dancer show, approximately fifteen hours have passed by now.”

Her grave tone set Hidekazu’s nerves on edge. “What does that mean?”

“After twenty-four hours pass, the chances of recovering a victim alive decrease by fifty percent. Longer than that, we will almost certainly be looking for a corpse.”

“Or what’s left of one,” Torra murmured.

“What are we waiting for?” Masanori said. “If our time is that limited, we can’t sit by any longer debating what to do. Aihi, we need you to call the shots. What do we do next?”

Aihi ignored them while she absorbed every aspect of the scene. Meanwhile, Torra crouched beside the foamy lavender gunk covering the path. She reached out to touch the substance, but Masanori pulled her back. “Don’t make contact with your skin.” He drew the golden katana from his waist, touching the edge to the muck, and it started bubbling and hissing on contact. “It’s acidic.”

“Woah,” Hidekazu said. “It didn’t do that last night.”

“Acidity is of the properties of corrupted ki we discovered in the Jyutsu Labs. The longer the tainted energies are left in the open, the more dangerous they become.”

Torra’s outstretched hand tightened into a fist.

“What is it? Did you figure something out?” Aihi joined them near the centre of the path.

“I’ve seen this substance before. I didn’t know what it was back then, but now with it here in front of me… I’m starting to see a pattern I don’t like.”

“Torra?” There was a hint of a warning in Aihi’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying this kan’thir has been here before. The woman he took last night? She wasn’t the first.”