The morning of the magistrate’s wedding, Masami lay awake. Once again she’d had no sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she would be transported somewhere terrible. Usually it was Takayama. Sometimes it was worse. Last night all she could see was Kohaku lying amidst the burnt wreckage of their cottage home, their amber hair stained a dark crimson against the blackened dirt. She knew the visions weren’t real. Still, they kept her from her slumber, and more than once she worried she would wake her sleeping partner as she clung to their arm for comfort.

Breakfast that morning was simple, just a bowl of rice with an egg mixed in for each of them. There would be food aplenty at the festivities after all, and it would be impolite to arrive without an appetite.

Masami tucked her old tanto into her kimono for comfort and hurried next door to collect the cart and pony from young Toshiro, the neighbours’ son. He had been eager to see Amagasaki, so Masami and Kohaku agreed to take him along if he helped them transport the chest of drawers. The lad had a way with animals, and Masami and Kohaku were happy to have him driving the cart so they could rest.

The road to Amagasaki was not hard. It meandered between the hills, affording a view of the ocean for much of its length before finally descending into the woods surrounding the city. The gentle rumble of the cart’s wooden wheels lulled Masami into a shallow but blissfully dreamless sleep.

As the cart stopped at the gates of Amagasaki, Masami awoke. Everything seemed distant. She could hear Kohaku speaking with someone, a guard probably, and Toshiro was still sitting at the front of the cart. But her vision was blurred, and she couldn’t make out the words Kohaku was saying. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain run up her left arm and cried out. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Kohaku rushing over.

When next Masami came to, she found herself lying on a wide cushion. The pain had gone, though the edges of her vision were still blurred. Kohaku was pacing in the corner of the small room. She called out “Kohaku! What happened?”

The carpenter hurried to her side, taking her hand in theirs. “You tell me, little one. One minute I was explaining to the guards where we were going and the next you screamed and fell over.” They gave her hand a little squeeze, making no attempt to hide their concern.

“I think... It’s just my arm acting up again. You know how it gets in the spring. Add in the lack of sleep, and I guess... Look, it just caught me by surprise. I’ll be alright.” Masami spoke the lie softly, though it pained her. Something is wrong. This arm shouldn’t be acting like this. Not anymore.

“C’mon, we have to get going, right? I’m fine. Really. Let’s just get this ceremony over with, give our gift, and go.” She stumbled to her feet, leaning against Kohaku for a moment before standing fully. “What?”

Kohaku lifted her arm over their shoulder. “Nothing. Well, nothing you wouldn’t yell at me about. Not much to be done about it I suppose. Toshiro should already be at the plaza with the cart. It’s not a long walk.”

With that they made for the door. As the pair stepped out into the bright spring sun, Masami’s vision blurred once more, though this quickly passed. The streets shone brilliantly in the midday light. Every stone had been polished to a stark white, making the red and black of the gates pop against the backdrop. The path to the plaza where the wedding would be held was unmistakable. The sprawling avenue had been covered in cherry petals, the first blooms of the year. Masami did her best to plant her feet around them.

As the pair rounded the corner, the wedding pavilion came into view. It towered above the rest of the plaza, covered in silk cloth and wreathed in fine gold. A crowd of thousands all dressed in their most formal clothes bustled around it. Even Masami had put on her best kimono for the occasion, made of flowing silk and dyed a deep ocean blue. The fabric was patterned with lotus blossoms, the ripples of their leaves delicately rendered across the robe. It had been a wedding gift of her own, and though its colors had faded, it was the finest clothing she owned.

Masami and Kohaku soon found Toshiro. He had set the cart out of the way of the crowd, in a shaded corner near a food stall. The young lad waved the pair over. “C’mere! I got you two some takoyaki!”

“Not a bad spot here kid.” Kohaku grinned as they took one of the skewers, biting off one of the soft dough balls. Toshiro offered the other to Masami, apparently unconcerned about her condition. She slid her arm off of Kohaku’s shoulder and leaned against the wooden facade of the stall. “Thanks, Toshiro.”

The boy pressed the skewer into her hand and beamed. “So how long before it starts?”

“Dunno. There’s supposed to be a procession. I just hope it doesn’t take too long.” Masami sighed as she slumped further down the wall. Damn ceremony. Damn arm. Bad time for all of this.

“Oh come on, Mrs. Hisakawa. You didn’t complain when it was our wedding.”

“I suppose I didn’t. But then, I cared a great deal more about the people walking the aisle.”

Kohaku leaned back to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of a massive drum. It was followed by another, and then another, until an entire chorus of drumbeats filled the courtyard and the streets. Each moment a new rhythm was layered into the maze of sound. Finally, the performers crested the hill opposite the pavilion. They each were dressed in a fine costume and mask, as though a procession of spirits marching and dancing in time. Even Masami stood up straight and applauded the display.

Behind the drummers came dancers with their flowing robes and twirling ribbons. They arrayed themselves in the shape of a cherry blossom, the fabric of their kimonos carefully chosen to mimic the petals. Toshiro gaped at the performance, eliciting a quick snort from Masami.

At last the dancers passed and all the performers reached the pavilion. They arrayed themselves around the edges, leaving the cushioned interior open. Then came the magistrate and his bride.

Masami recognized her. She came from a powerful, wealthy family with a significant military presence in nearby Nagoya. A hundred samurai, at the height of their power, and enough arms to raise a militia seven hundred strong. Masami had fought alongside some of them. She lowered her gaze, slipping behind Kohaku.

“Something wrong? Or are you just trying to get closer to me? You know you only need to ask for -” Kohaku cut off mid-sentence, seeing Masami’s face. “Wait, seriously. What’s wrong?”

“I ah, I know her. Eiko Kubo. I fought with her father’s men back...then. You know. Before. Look, I just don’t want to deal with it right now, okay?”

Kohaku nodded. “So she would know your old name.”

“Afraid so. Gods above I wish I hadn’t come here today.”

Toshiro leaned over, murmuring “old name? Huh?”

“Not now Toshiro. I’ll tell you when you’re older. Or something. For now, let’s just say there’s a reason I’d prefer people from my past not see me right now. Or at least, not people like her.” Masami nearly spat the word, glowering at the bride from behind Kohaku.

By now, the soon to be wed couple were beginning their vows. A trite affair, Masami thought. Each was clearly rehearsed a half dozen times and written by some poet. Not a genuine exchange of promises and love. Just another hollow political marriage.

Masami let her mind wander while she half-listened. What does it all mean? It never makes me black out. Not anymore. What was that thing yesterday? A speck of Dust? Who would I even tell? Who would believe me? All this, and Eiko Kubo is getting married...Shit. I’m being paranoid. Again. Besides, this political move would be in our favor if...

No. I refuse to think that way. That’s all over now. It won’t happen again.

As Masami looked out across the crowd, another face caught her eye. She nearly jumped when she saw it. A grinning oni, leering behind a woman. Masami reached for her tanto, fingers wrapping around the hilt. Her left arm began to drift towards the opening of the sleeve.

Then the oni lifted up its face with its hand. No, that wasn’t right. It was a mask, a good one at that, painted as a lifelike portrait of a demon. Masami slumped against the wall. Paranoid indeed. Idiot. Of course someone would bring an oni mask to a celebration. They’re probably a performer. I need a damn drink.

But there was no drink to be had, not for a while yet. The ceremony might still last an hour or more, and then there would be hours still of standing around waiting for gifts to be announced and presented and accepted.

And then Masami saw it. Not a speck, or even a clump, but a low cloud. To anyone else, it might have appeared as though the wind had picked up some dirt from the road and was blowing it around the crowd’s feet. But Masami knew what it was. Dust. Demon powder. Her eyes darted around. There. It was coming from a darkened shop in another corner of the plaza.

This time, she did not hesitate. She unsheathed the tanto, its ten inches of steel still gleaming in the light after all these years. Kohaku barely had time to shout “Masami!” before she was gone. She was old, yes, but not out of shape. Old muscles roared to life as the ronin darted across the open pavement.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Here we go again. Masami’s mind raced as she approached the shadow. It lay in a strange spot, not quite matched to the surrounding shade. It was just a little too dark, extended just a little too far. Looked a little too solid.

The creature had little time to react. Masami barely caught a glimpse of a dozen unblinking eyes as the thing unfurled some sort of appendage. Then she rammed the knife home, sinking the blade into the demon’s shadowy flesh, twisting it left, then up. Black, oily liquid spewed from the gaping wound and the monster reared back. It scrambled up the wall with its six horrible little legs, but Masami’s left arm snapped up and dashed it across the pavement.

By now, everyone had turned to stare. A few fainted. But Masami took no notice. Instinct had control now. Fine. I’ll use this thing for its purpose. Her left arm, usually blackened and shriveled like burnt wood, glowed a pulsing red. Each finger on its gnarled hand grew a terrible ebony claw, and the hand itself flattened, pointing the claws forward.

Into the writhing shadow thing’s core went the hand, sinking the arm up to the elbow. It clasped around something hard and ripped it out. A stone. Compacted Dust. The hand crushed the orb between its fingers as Masami spat “shrivel and begone, thing of the Inexorable Nightmare! I return you to The Dust!”

The creature shrieked and squirmed and convulsed, folding in on itself until it became nothing more than a dot. And then it was gone. The Dust cloud settled immediately around Masami’s feet. She fell to her knees, panting. Dammit. Not again. Please. I can’t do it again.

Her left arm dulled once more and slipped itself away into the ample sleeve of the kimono. You can’t. But we can. We just did. And we will again. The sing-song voice in Masami’s head dripped with hunger. But before she could reply, she blacked out.

Kohaku was the first to arrive, quick enough to catch their wife as she fell. Then came Toshiro, followed by a dozen guards. Kohaku lifted Masami’s body from the ground. “Water! I need water, and a shaded place to lay her!”

But Masami felt none of it. She’d been pulled, half-willingly, into a meditative dream. Her arm had something to say.

Oh. I’m here again. Hello Jiro. Been a while.

It surely has. You know, I get hungry in here. That’s the first good meal I’ve had in...years.

Twenty of them, yes. Masami stepped forward in the mindscape, footsteps sending ripples across the glassy floor. And I’d hoped it would be a thousand more. Or at least enough that I’d already be dead. So. They’re back?

Jiro shrugged in his shackles. We both saw it. Time for the great Koshiro Hashimoto to take up the sword once again.

Don’t you fucking call me that. I’ll cut you off in a heartbeat, and send you where you belong myself.

Touchy! Would you believe me if I said I had no idea you’d changed your name? I’ve hardly been awake these past twenty years you know. It’s terribly difficult to stay alert when your host won’t feed you.

Maybe. I’m warning you though. Regardless of intent. You don’t belong in this world. Don’t give me a reason to remove you from it. From now on, it’s Masami, or boss. Understood?

Ahh...I was wondering when you’d admit it to yourself. My sincerest congratulations. He sounded strangely genuine for a tengu. And who’s the hunk carrying us? My my, you’ve done well since we last spoke.

They’re none of your concern. Go back to sleep. We need to be prepared.