~~~

Miho’s head swayed slowly from side to side, matching the slightly dazed warrior-patient chewing the bun on the futon opposite.

His chances of praise were fairly good as it was well known that people who’d been sick had a limited sense of taste…though that could also work against him too, as he might say it was too bland.

Aware he was being observed, Akira finished chewing, made a sour expression like he’d just downed a whole jar of salt, then took another bite.

‘It’s edible?’ asked Miho, leaning forward from his futon, the lilac bonsai plant gripped in his hands as a makeshift good luck charm.

‘Better than that blue shit.’

‘Sorry?’

‘On the path, coming here. Blue chicken bun.’

‘Ah, I thought you didn’t remember.’

Akira shook his head, putting the rest of the bun Miho had rustled up as an impromptu breakfast into his mouth.

‘Sorry about that. The man who sold it to me said it was Kumamoto style chicken.’

‘It was pale blue.’

‘Yeah, the guy didn’t mention that part. And I’ve never been to Kumamoto so I wasn’t sure. Actually, to tell the truth, I’ve never been out of Kai Province.’

Akira finished chewing and grabbed the cup of water. ‘What about your money?’

Miho looked down at the bonsai plant. If it had possessed ears, he would’ve covered them.

‘Still got some left, don’t you?’

‘Not exactly. There was this belt merchant, just outside of Kōfu. He seemed very kind and welcoming and…’

Akira managed to halt the initial spit of water, but couldn’t stop a little bit dribbling out of the side of his mouth.

‘…basically, he tricked me. I know, everyone finds it very funny, but…I didn’t know there were these kinds of people out here.’ Miho paused, seeing Akira’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘I mean, I knew there were bad guys, cheats, people like this. But I didn’t know they’d be posing as belt merchants. And chicken bun sellers. It’s a bit depressing really…’

‘Lesson number one on the road. Never trust a stranger.’

‘…very depressing.’

‘Or merchants selling niche products.’

‘Yeah, I know that now.’

‘Lesson two. Trust people who smile even less. Same with compliment-givers. And pretty women in loose yukatas.’

‘Hang on…did you say less?'

'Pretty women in tight yukatas too, for that matter.'

'Wah, that can't be right. How can you ever meet people if you think smiling is-…’

‘Lesson three. Don’t go out of your way to help people in distress.’

Miho shot out an hand to gesticulate dramatically, almost dropping his good-luck bonsai plant. ‘This is crazy. Don’t help people?’

‘Lesson four. Never agree to work off debt.’

‘What?’

‘Especially in a ryokan that you’re still lodging in.’

‘Wah…you mean me? That’s not fair, I’m-…I didn’t have any coins to pay her with. Of course I need to work off the debt. You too, as soon as you’re fully recovered. That’s the samurai code…’

‘Ashigaru.’

‘Sorry…the ashigaru code. Isn’t it?’

Akira laughed, putting down the cup and stretching out his arms in a rising curve. ‘Have you ever seen an ashigaru working in a ryokan?’

Miho opened his mouth and kept it like that, looking for and finding no inspiration from the pink-hued Mt Aino on the wall.

‘If you’re gonna survive out here, you’ve gotta toughen up. No more trusting people.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘No, you do know. Stop. Trusting. Other. People. They are not your friends. They do not care about your wellbeing.’

‘Does that include you?’

‘Yes, that’s better. Cynicism. Granted, I do partially owe you my life, even if I do still feel like shit, but, I’m telling you direct, the next time you come across someone unconscious in the middle of nowhere, keep walking...cos they’re probably a bandit. Or a purple mist demon…which is a new addition to my list, but still…strangers bad, minding your own business good.’

Miho got up and placed the bonsai plant back on the table, checking its little leaves for any damage he may have caused. Seemed relatively intact. Apart from one or two crumpled branches. And there was a high probability they were supposed to bend like that…according to his brain’s recently opened probability centre.

‘I hope you’re reflecting on what I just said.'

‘You’re right,' replied Miho, staying near the table, scratching his neck. 'I will try to become more sceptical after I’ve completed my forty-eight days here. No more helping strangers.’

Akira smiled, waiting for the punchline, but when it didn’t arrive he turned it into a laugh.

‘Isn’t that what you said to do?’ asked Miho, puzzled again.

‘I’m gonna do you a favour…Miho. When I get enough energy back to leave this scam hole, I’m bringing you along too.’

‘But-…’

‘For a little while, at least.’

Before Miho could expand on his but, there was a knock at the door. Out of instinct, Akira reached for the guard of his katana, gesturing to Miho to grab the cup.

Obviously, the newly sceptical village guy didn’t have a clue what the hand signals meant and just slid open the door panel normally, without any defensive posture or weaponry at all.

‘Ito-dono…’ Miho said, opening the door a little wider.

‘I told you, don’t call me that,’ replied Aya, peeking past Miho’s shoulder into the room.

‘Wah…sorry, I thought it was Himiko who said that.’

‘She doesn’t like it either.’

‘Ah, that makes sense. What are you doing here?’

Hearing a female voice, Akira kept hold of his blade and poked his face round the side of the wall. ‘Yes, what are you doing here?’

Aya pushed back a step when she saw the ashigaru’s face, then edged left until most of her body was blocked by Miho.

‘I came to tell you something,’ she whispered.

‘About dinner?’

‘No, different.’

‘Aren’t you the girl who got kicked by those two ashigaru outside?’ asked Akira, rising to his feet and scratching his head wound with his right hand; the other one still gripped onto the guards of his katana.

Aya ignored the remark and moved in closer to Miho’s ear. ‘I don’t think you should go to Room 28.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘I can’t explain. Just don’t go. Stay in this room. Okay?’

Miho looked at Aya’s forehead and saw little droplets of sweat forming. Not rolling down, just sticking there like stubborn limpets. ‘Does this have anything to do with that green light I saw?’

‘I have to go, it’s getting late. Just follow what I said.’

‘Don’t go in Room 28,’ Miho repeated.

‘Not under any condition.’

‘Err…can I ask why not again?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ asked Akira, popping up so suddenly beside Miho’s shoulder that Aya thought at first that he’d come out of it.

‘I have to go,’ she repeated, and wiped her forehead dry with her yukata sleeve before turning and hurrying off down the corridor.

‘That was weird,’ said Miho, keeping his hand on the door panel.

‘Puzzling words from a pretty face…’ muttered Akira.

‘What’s that?’

‘Rule number five: truthful women never approach you first.’

Miho frowned, conjuring up the obvious rejoinder in his head; what if they really do like you? But he didn’t say it. Instead, he slid the door panel back across and headed over to the other one, stepping out onto the balcony. He didn’t have his jacket on so it was a bit cold, but that wasn’t important, and neither was the frog investigating his foot.

He just wanted to see the green light cabin.

‘That’s Room 28?’ asked Akira, following him out, also without his dōbuku, and kicking the frog away. ‘The one that was lit up?’

‘Himiko said it was a luminous green rock causing it. To make guests feel relaxed.’

‘Well, I guess it’s switched off now.’

Akira stretched out his arms again, doing a full scan of the ryokan and its surrounding environment. He wasn’t one for nature, too slow-moving, too unpredictable, but he had to admit that this location was pretty special. Close to the mountains, but not close enough to get attention from bandits, a river that didn’t have ashigaru pissing in it, chickens that apparently knew when to be quiet. The only real pity was that it wasn’t farther away from Kōfu.

‘Wah…there it is. The light again.’

Akira turned along with his outstretched arm, making one of his trademark poor whistling noises as he took in the bright green glow in the cabin across the courtyard.

‘That’s a lot of rock,’ he said, checking back inside the room for his katana.

‘Whoever’s in there must be feeling very relaxed.’

‘Or fucking terrified.’

‘Yeah…’

‘They’re definitely not asleep, that’s for sure.’

Miho added another yeah under his breath and continued watching the mildly ethereal light show, Aya’s words riding a chilly breeze down from the mountain and along the balcony railings directly into his brain.

Don’t go in there.

Not under any condition.

Can’t explain why.

~~~

‘It is a strange thing to say, but in the light of this abundant moon, you remind me of a woman I once met…many winters past, in a fisherman’s shack.’

Tracing the words with her index finger, Himiko blocked out the muffled sounds in the other room and continued reading out loud.

‘Turning to her husband of four years, her face the colour of mountain ice, the snow woman replied in stark monotone, ‘I warned you not to tell anyone about me.’

Himiko’s finger stumbled as the muffled sound came closer to the wall before turning into a brief, almost bird-like squeal.

She took a breath, looking down at the little creases on the rice paper in her hand, trying not to picture what was happening in the onsen room.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been present for the feeding ritual. That had happened years ago, in Uedara. An ashigaru who’d followed her home and tried to rape her in her own rock garden. No pity for that one, or the wretches who came after. They had all had it coming in some way. But this one…

Another bird-like squeal. No, a series of them, the last one answered by a real bird in the trees outside. Then a short respite. Then a cracking noise…like something was being chiselled into.

Letting out a loud breath to cover the din, Himiko went back to the rice paper and instantly felt ten times worse. The guest’s story, a soft romantic fantasy about Yuki Onna coming into the real world and falling for a simple Japanese poet…was so incredibly naïve. And sincere. And the man himself, his general attitude around the ryokan…incredibly polite, praising Miho’s food, asking if she needed help collecting ingredients for meals, offering to go and look for Sachiko when she didn’t come back.

All that goodwill and compassion and kindness leading to this end point: evisceration in Room 28. Assisted by her.

She closed her eyes, editing his story into her own black void.

A shy Japanese pervert, lusting after Yuki Onna, overruling her headache complaints and seeking constant sex, reading interminable poetry to her face, slowly, inevitably pushing her into the kitchen and demanding the same soup his mother used to make.

‘It is done,’ said a voice, forcing her out of her cope hole and back onto the tatami floor space of Room 28.

The man in the green yukata was standing in the doorway to the onsen room, the skin of the kind poet guest hanging loosely from his left hand.

Somehow, she didn’t vomit. Not even the rehearsal of it.

‘How was his poetry?’

‘What?’

‘Or was it a novel?’

‘Ah, you mean this.’ Himiko raised the rice paper up an inch, barely qualifying as a gesture. ‘Nonsense. Perverted drivel.’

‘Good. A small mercy for you, at least.’

‘For both of us.’

The man in the green yukata dropped the skin on the floor and put six fingertips against his forehead. Making something akin to ragged breath noises, he started to move his face in tiny circles.

‘Bring the other two in one hour,’ he said finally. ‘Another two hours after that, the girl.’

Himiko glanced down at the story, the skin of its writer still visible from the corner of her eye. ‘Are you sure you need her too?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t know…you look quite satiated. Radiant eyes, no creases...’

The man removed the fingertips from his forehead and stretched them forward, the fingers themselves seeming to grow an extra inch. ‘If you understood what was coming, you would not hesitate.’

‘What exactly is coming again?’ asked Himiko, staring at his fingers.

‘Atashhka. An unusually wild type.’

‘Just one?’

‘Coming this far, without her box…’

‘Okay, but…she’s still a demon…that you can potentially defeat. Right?’

‘Inexperience, perhaps…’

‘You can beat her?’ Himiko repeated, stopping herself from waving the dead poet’s pages in his face.

Pulling back his fingers, the man bobbed his head rhythmically, the outline of his shape glowing diluted green. ‘On a full stomach. Yes.’

‘Without destroying our ryokan?’

‘Certainly.’