~~~

Despite his apparent glee at what might lay ahead that night, Akira did keep enough of his head about him to do some basic checks.

First, he followed the trail of the hosts into the kitchen and pretended to compliment the cedar talismans on the wall as he watched them prepare the food.

Nothing untoward there, just Matsu sprinkling some diced herbs onto a glum-looking fish. And Miho tasting almost a full third of the soup she was boiling.

Second, he took the bottle of shōchū off them at the dinner table and insisted on pouring out drinks for everyone.

Matsu protested a little, but quickly gave up when he saw the first cup had already been done.

Third, he tested both their reflexes by throwing chopsticks at them with his non-sling hand and saying, ‘catch.’

Either they were extremely adept at performance art or they had no fighting instincts, as both responded with, ‘sorry? as the chopsticks hit their yukatas and dropped onto the dining table.

Satisfied on all levels, Akira took a cushion on the floor between the two Mihos and started to drink.

‘That’s your third cup,’ said Aya, looking at him from the other side of the table, her body slanted diagonal to avoid the roaming hands of Matsu next to her.

‘Fourth,’ he corrected, downing the shot and pouring out another. ‘Miho, Matsu?’

The female Miho finished what was left in her own cup then leaned down close to the surface of the table, watching the bottle with balloon eyes as it rose up and the shōchū trickled out.

At the start of the meal, she’d done a similar thing, and, even though she was clearly naked underneath, Akira had avoided looking down the loose front of her yukata, but now…

It was quite odd.

Her husband was sitting directly opposite, occasionally trying to fondle Aya, and she was next to him, basically advertising her breasts.

What had they stumbled across?

Putting the bottle back on the table, he turned left to the more conservative Miho and asked if he’d finished his drink yet.

‘Eating,’ he replied, which was the first word he’d said in the last half an hour.

‘You are very focused,’ said Matsu, stabbing one of his chopsticks into the body of the fish and laughing as the chunk he pulled out crumbled into pieces. ‘Ah, maybe I should do that too. Or I’ll be going to bed light-headed.’

‘More shōchū?’ asked his wife, holding up the bottle, trying to hold in her laugh.

Matsu frowned back at her, then laughed again, pointing a chopstick across the table. ‘Now I think about it…Miho is an odd name for a boy. How did you manage to attain it?’

‘Clerical error,’ said Akira, flinching a little as the bottle landed hard on the table, and the female Miho saying ‘oops.’

‘Ah, so you’re his father then?’

‘What? No, no…’

‘His uncle?’

‘Brother more like,’ added the female Miho, adjusting the bottle into a standing position even though it was already stable. ‘Tell me, how many men have you fought with that katana of yours? Fifty? A hundred?’

‘You are mistaken,’ replied Akira, glancing at the weapon propped up a little unorthodoxly in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘I’m a travelling merchant.’

‘Wah, a merchant. Not a warrior?’

‘In a former life, perhaps. But in this one, no, I merely transport salt.’

‘And your arm?’

‘Wrist sprain. From carrying too much salt.’

‘Ah, not a break,’ said the female Miho, stroking along the underside of his splint. ‘We may have some cream for that, somewhere around.’

‘Cream?’

‘In the bedroom perhaps…’

‘Would you be his apprentice then?’ asked Matsu, turning all the way round to Aya and reaching a hand out towards her shoulder.

She blocked it with a feigned grab for more fish and said, ‘no, we are not with him.’

‘Yet you appeared at our door together.’

‘Coincidence,’ said Akira quickly, flinching again as he felt the female Miho’s hand slide under his yukata and onto his thigh. ‘We met on the road…an hour before we came here. It was getting dark so…lots of bandits, safety, that kind of thinking.’

‘Ah, I think I understand now.’ Matsu stabbed another piece of fish and this time managed to keep it together all the way to his mouth, where it paused, waiting for him to finish speaking. ‘The two young ones here are lovers, on their way to a new town. And a new life. In a spacious futon.’

‘Lovers? Interesting…’ said the female Miho, smiling kindly at Aya as her hand came back up and poured out another two shots; one for herself, the other for the pretend salt merchant.

‘It’s not like that,’ answered Aya, glancing at Miho.

‘I already have a girlfriend,’ he added, picking up some fish from his bowl and nibbling on it.

‘And where is she now?’

‘I don’t know. Somewhere near Shinano, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘The Shinano in his head,’ interrupted Akira, taking his new shot of shōchū and then reeling back a bit. ‘Wah, I felt that one. About fucking time.’

‘Well, if she’s not nearby,’ said Matsu, nudging with his face to the left, ‘and you find that you have other possibilities. Very young, very well-crafted possibilities…’

Aya coughed, put her chopsticks down on the table, turned away from the sleaze who’d allegedly made a marriage commitment at some point and pulled herself up.

‘Finished already?’

‘I’m going for a walk.’

‘Don’t be silly, it’s far too late for that.’

‘And dangerous too,’ added the female Miho, pouring Akira another drink. ‘There are bandits and wild animals that sometimes come down from the mountains.’

‘You’ve had bandits before?’ asked Akira, straightening up a bit.

‘Not here, but close by.’

‘And they don’t try to rob you?’

‘They wouldn’t be that foolish,’ interjected Matsu, tapping his chopstick on the table. ‘It is a protected area, under the jurisdiction of the Suwa Clan. However, the forest and the slopes beyond, the road…that is another matter. Which is why, young Aya, I insist that you go to your room. Assuming you really have finished with your meal?’

‘Fine. The room then. Where is it?’

‘The other side of the house, past the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind, but there is only one room for guests and only one futon laid out on the tatami.’

‘One futon?’

‘Double-sized, but yes, only one. You will all have to share.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Akira, taking his drink again. ‘Miho can take the floor. Aya and I can cuddle up under the covers.’

‘The hell I will,’ barked Aya, folding her arms.

‘Cos you haven’t drunk enough yet.’

‘You’re disgusting.’

‘Half a bottle of shōchū down you and you’ll be dragging me between those pretty long legs of yours…’

‘I’d rather sleep in the river.’

‘Relax, I’m joking. You’re about the same age as one of my daughters.’

‘You have children?’ asked Miho, coming back from staring at his fish.

‘Probably. In a few places.’

Aya muttered something under her breath that wasn’t as under as she thought then stormed off out of the room.

‘Seems a bit unpredictable, that one,’ said Matsu, stabbing another fish.

‘Predictably stroppy,’ muttered Akira, lifting up his cup and studying the liquid swirling within.

‘She’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep, I’m sure,’ said the female Miho, rising from the table. ‘Assuming she can find the room. Come, you two strapping men, let me show you the way to your double-sized futon. With a small diversion to my bedroom to check for that cream…’

Akira finished his drink and growled drunkenly, while Miho stared at the outstretched hand of his namesake, then the fixed smile on her face, and thought one clear thing: Himiko.

Himiko and her green demon.

But then the other side of his brain tagged in and it changed to Miho and Matsu, nice, helpful people, a little sleazy, a little odd, but nothing to fret about.

As long as they kept Akira’s katana close.

~~~

A short while later, in a room with a second door panel that opened out onto a charming little stone garden, as well as a larger space beyond, Miho sat with his back against the interior wall, watching Akira use his splint arm to slap his own face.

It was an odd performance – and apparently what the ashigaru did when he was asleep and drunk – but not enough to distract him from the thought of Aya being groped and beaten by bandits.

An hour, maybe two and she still wasn’t back from her impromptu walk.

Had she got lost?

Was she that averse to sleeping?

She did say that she needed her pills to put her out all night, but did that mean she couldn’t sleep at all without them?

That was hard to believe.

He shifted side on, facing the door panel leading outside. And Akira’s katana propped up next to it.

Should he go out, look for her?

He would have to at some point, but how would he be able to find her? The area was brand new, a complete mystery to him…he could be wandering in the completely wrong direction and get ambushed by bandits himself. Or mauled by an incalcitrant bear.

A sudden snoring noise broke out from Akira’s nose, making Miho jump.

The ashigaru briefly opened his eyes and slurred, ‘let him watch,’ then quickly went back to his personal ID-scape as if nothing had happened.

Miho looked at Akira, now spread like a starfish across the only futon, and said, ‘okay.’

Probably not a good idea to leave this guy all alone, but…better than sitting around and doing nothing.

Besides, the other Miho might be in the passage outside, waiting for him to fall asleep too so she could come in and…do something to them.

Or just to him.

After all, Akira was in no shape to do anything. And he felt surprisingly sober, despite having had four cups of shōchū.

Right on cue, there was a noise in the corridor, footsteps coming closer. Miho put both fists on the tatami, ready to spring up if the door panel slid open.

But it didn’t.

The footsteps stopped…re-started…then faded out.

Thanks the gods for that. Though…if that was the female Miho coming for covert sex…then where was her husband?

Miho pulled himself up, pulling back scenes from the dinner earlier. He hadn’t been a hundred per cent present, mentally, but there were images of Aya leaning away from Matsu, swatting his hands as they tried to touch her on the arm or shoulder or other parts. Under the table parts perhaps…

Kuso…

Grabbing the katana, and telling an unconscious Akira he’d bring it back soon, Miho tread quietly to the door panel and slid it open.

The noise was minimal, and once he was in the garden, there were no problems at all; the nocturnal soundtrack covered almost every movement he made, especially the wildlife that constantly rustled the leaves of the bushes.

Thanks little guys, he thought, hoping it wasn’t that incalcitrant bear.

Following the stone path out to the left, and then circling back round the house, he called out ‘Aya?’ in hushed tones towards the trees.

There was no response except more frenzied rustling so he marked out a perimeter in his head and started walking further out.

Two hundred metres was his rough limit, and he kept to it for almost an hour.

After that, he trialled other possibilities.

One, she’d gone, fled, left them completely.

Two, she was back in the room, and he’d somehow missed her on his trails.

Three, Her, Matsu and the other Miho were wrapped up together in some sexual free-for-all he didn’t want to imagine.

Four, bandits had got her.

Stopping next to the melted bear shrine, he looked at the okiandon sitting by the front door of the house, still glowing.

There were a few others he could think of – including going back to the Jewel of Kai to commune with the ghost of Himiko - but the fourth was the one he was worried about as, even with the katana in his hand, what could he do about it?

Bandits would be miles away by now, with no chance of him-…

He paused, hearing the sliding crawl of a door opening.

Was that-…

The front door panel slid all the way to the side and, luckily for him, Matsu turned and said something back into the house. If he hadn’t, Miho wouldn’t have had time to run right and hide behind what he assumed was a wood storage shack.

Voices drifted through the night air, the female Miho and Matsu briefly competing with the wildlife in the bushes then overwhelming them as their two shadowy figures stopped next to the same shack Miho was lurking behind.

Kuso stormed through his head seven hundred times as another door opened, this one creaking, and then closed again.

Then silence.

Miho stayed crouching against the rear stone wall of the shack, in slight discomfort, but too confused to move.

Had they just gone inside the wood shack?

Both of them?

A tiny little space like that?

It didn’t make much sense, unless…

Gripping the guard of the katana, he poked his head round the side and breathed out another kuso when he saw the courtyard was clear.

So they really were inside.

He moved round and put his ear to the door, internally cursing at the sounds from the forest behind that wouldn’t shut up.

Okay, no voices that he could discern, no footsteps.

Wait, was that-…

The door wasn’t latched so he pulled at it tentatively, then rested his head against the frame and stared forward.

Ah, not a wood storage shack then.

On the walls were candles, every third one lit, and beneath them was a staircase that seemed to curve down in a lethargic spiral, probably going all the way under the main house.

Secret basements were never a good sign, he knew that from his own village – Aiko the Sleaze, Spiritual Chiyo, Old Masa and his skeleton-lengthening experiments - but he still started down the steps as, if he didn’t, Aya could be done for.

Not that it was for certain she was down there, or that the female Miho and Matsu were doing anything malevolent, yet…

He stopped, almost dropping the katana.

Without any visual cue or warning, the staircase had come to an end, and now a small chamber with green rugs hung up on the wall was forcing itself upon him.

Kuso, not green again.

Not this soon.

‘Aya,’ he whispered blankly, his mind trying to decipher what he was seeing.

To the left of him, dressed up in juniper green robes, were Miho and Matsu, throwing some kind of dark powder at a large, jagged rock in the middle of the space. On the ground, were markings that definitely weren’t Buddhist or Shinto. And in the air around him was mist, or smoke, coming from four candles set up behind the rock.

‘Wah, he’s here…’ yelled Matsu, dropping his bag of powder on his wife’s foot. ‘You said he was asleep.’

The female Miho hit her husband and told him to stop messing around, then turned to the intruder Miho and screamed, ‘kuso.’

‘Ah, it’s ruined now,’ mumbled Matsu, rubbing his arm.

‘You must’ve given him the wrong shōchū…you idiot.’

‘Can’t perform with him watching like this.’

‘Too busy fondling that girl, weren’t you?’

‘Too weird…’

Miho stuttered, ‘sorry, I didn’t-…’ then stumbled back into the wall and panicked, lashing out with the katana. The blade struck rock and the resulting tremor almost knocked it out of his hand.

‘Ah, he’s making a mess,’ said the female Miho, putting her hands on her hips.

‘We should stop.’

‘But he’s here now.’ She looked at the large rock in the middle then inhaled a deep batch of chamber smoke. ‘Look, you can either go back to the room, or stay and watch. But don’t interfere or speak. Understand?’

Miho shook his head, the katana hanging limply from his hand.

‘Okay, blankness. That’ll do.’

She turned back to the large rock, grabbed her husband by the sleeve of his juniper green robes and, with Miho looking on, produced from beneath her own robes a curved dagger. With a verse or two of occult nonsense in Japanese from her husband, she then proceeded to slice her own forearm.

‘Kuso,’ she said, as more blood than expected dripped down onto the rock. ‘Hurry, cut yourself.’

Wiping the dagger, she handed it to Matsu and the ritual was repeated.

More blood hit the rock, followed by chants that were in no language Miho had ever heard before…yet sounded vaguely familiar.

Slowly, the smoke thickened and the whole chamber became shrouded and Miho was about to turn and run back up the steps, when a new voice sounded out authoritatively from the middle of the chamber.

Miho turned, blinking like a mole in a kabuki stage spotlight as the smoke dissipated and…a yellow-skinned figure stood where the large rock had been, a pair of misty turquoise orbs that may have been eyes staring right back at him.