SECRET SERVICE
You have got to be kidding me.
Dirt audibly scuffed underneath my getas as I stopped before the bridge that was supposed to get me to the other side of the river, but I wasn’t getting anywhere with that big crater in the middle. I had liked this old scarlet bridge, with its red paint chipped and faded, and no longer as well cared for as it used to be. Despite being a little rough and not as magnificent as it was in its youth, it had been a sturdy and resilient landmark that had weathered seasons and endured many years, always dutifully bridging a graceful arch over the river.
And now someone had gone and destroyed it. Them fuckers.
The sabotage was obvious, looking at the destruction of the bridge. It had been completely ripped in two, an explosion of some kind blasting angry jagged teeth into the planks. Burnt wood chips littered the ground in all directions, and the air smelled distinctly of stale gunpowder.
It could have been the work of brigands attempting to ambush anyone walking down the road, but I doubted it. I took this route twice a day, and even brigands knew better than to set up an ambush on these demon-infested roads. No. This was purposeful and intentional and most likely targeting me.
Had it been arranged by the so-called samurai looking for me? Or had my actions back at the village caught the warlord’s attention a little too well? Of all the days for this to happen, why today? It was as if I had started off on the wrong foot this morning, and I have been unable to get my groove back ever since. No point wasting time and complaining about it, though.
You’ve been complaining all day.
Shut up. If you’ve got a problem with it, then you can get the fuck out of my head. No one likes a backseat driver.
With an annoyed grunt, I refilled my bamboo gourd and set off at a paced run down the riverbank. There was a shallow crossing I could use to get to the other side further upriver.
It’s been a while since I’ve had to maintain a sustained run. I felt like a kid again, sent off to run laps up and down the rice terraces. Before the demon presence worsened, this river had been a common destination of the village fishermen, but not anymore, and the trail was gradually reclaimed by mud.
If you want me gone, you know exactly how to get rid of me. All you ever had to do was take that katana and plunge it right into your—
I cursed when my foot dipped into an invisible pothole, and the mud squelched between my toes. This wasn’t working. The mud was slowing me down too much, and this wasn’t some weird or odd training exercise I needed to stubbornly plow through.
Instead, I veered off to follow an animal trail that wound through an ancient bamboo forest. The route was more roundabout, but hopefully, I could move through it faster.
I weaved through hardy bamboo stalks that stretched over ten meters into the sky. Speckled sunlight filtered through the top canopy. Fallen leaves crunched beneath my getas, and deer scattered out of my way. I was way too old for all this running, really. Just as I thought the words, an annoying stitch throbbed at my side.
One day, you’ll end it. One day, you’ll be mine.
I could not wait to get home and get rid of you. The only time I got a break from your incessant chatter was behind the protective talismans of my house or the ones I installed in the ramen restaurant. You didn’t disappear completely, but your voice dimmed, and it was easier to ignore you. You were less present, less conscious, and less aware behind those protective wards. For a scant number of hours out of the day, although unable to mute you completely, at least I had a dial that could lower the volume.
But I couldn’t always rely on the talismans. I had been doing so well this morning blocking you out, until . . . the death of that guard. I guess we all have our triggers.
I focused on my breathing, air in and air out. I focused on the mechanical movement of my body, and although I often complained about how it didn’t move as well as when I was younger, I had to admit it was consistently reliable. I focused on placing one foot in front of the other as the bamboo forest blurred into a scenic landscape. Eventually, the pain from the stitch faded, and the consistent pace lulled my thoughts into a calm meditative state.
I forgot how much I enjoyed this. I used to be the best runner out of all my peers, able to go far longer while my Sistahs bent over themselves, hacking out lungs. A smile tugged at my face as I remembered their expressions of disbelief as I laughed up rice terraces, jogged around mountain trails, zig-zagged the forests, and sprinted through flower fields. I used to feel like a bird. Free. When did I allow my thoughts to cage me to the ground?
Record scratch.
I slid to a stop and listened to my surroundings, searching for what didn’t belong. The high rustles of chittering leaves in the wind. The domino knock of swaying bamboo. The whispers of the pulp underbrush.
Another scratch.
I turned on my heels, unsheathing and attacking with my katana in one smooth motion against the demon that launched down at me from the canopy. Startled by my counter, it kicked off my blade and bounced back to catch the bamboo with long primate arms. The demon’s weight swayed the bamboo. Knock. Knock. Knock.
The demon roared.
I thrust up my arm to cover my eyes as the force of the roar scattered up leaves and forest debris. Stomping my feet to the ground, I widened my stance against the physical force. A stick scratched my cheek. Dirt splattered my hakama. Ugh. There were leaves tangled through my hair. But what was worse was the ash released by the roar that sucked out all the moisture from the air to dry out my skin and crack my lips.
The Ash Demon. I’ve taken out several of these types of demons in my lifetime. I didn’t understand why there were so many and why they always kept coming back to harry me.
I wished I understood where they came from. The Sacred Order of Brotha Monks theorized that the demons are pulled from other worlds, embodiments of nightmares and traumas so intense they fray the line of reality and impose physical manifestations on the adjacent worlds around them. All I know is that I want all these other worlds to deal with their shit, so I don’t have to.
The demon sprang off the bamboo.
Sharp metal talons scraped against my katana. It bounced back, lunged off another bamboo stalk. I blocked another slash with a bright metal chime. I moved to retrieve one of the talismans tucked away into my obi but was forced to swivel and quickly parry another attack. The demon bounced back and forth between the bamboo and my blade at a relentless pace.
Dead leaves scrunched underneath my getas as I shifted, blocked, turned, blocked, ducked underneath an outstretched talon, and parried. The metallic beat created a rhythm to our deadly dance. Timing the blow, I kicked an inside crescent straight into the demon’s face and slammed the demon down to the ground with a stomp. My hips popped. Ugh. I missed that age when flexibility came easy.
I snatched the talisman from my obi and applied it to my katana just before the demon opened its mouth and roared.
The force of it sent me flying through the air.
My back slammed into the bamboo—I was going to be feeling that come morning—and I landed in a crouch, left knee jarring against the ground and dead undergrowth scratching my palm. My sunglasses had fallen beside the heel of my foot.
I forced myself to my feet and assumed a wide stance as the demon loped toward me on all fours. Leaves sprayed in a shower behind it. I stepped forward and raised my katana overhead. The demon lunged. I slashed downward and a net of black ink exploded forth to envelop the demon, caging it and stopping it in its tracks.
The demon roared, but this time, all I blissfully heard was silence.
The auditory attack rammed futilely against the tamashii ink-infused TRAP. The demon slashed against the cage, but nothing could rattle the ink-colored bars. I glanced at the talisman I had placed along the blade and found that the ink was quickly fading. The cage would disappear once the ink was all gone.
Not all demons died the same way. Some could only be killed with good steel through the head, but other required different methods of exorcism. The bestiary of The Illustrious Sistah Samurai listed all the different methods the Sisterhood had discovered throughout the years. I had them all memorized, but even I had to admit that the Ash Demon was one of the most unique.
I opened the second inro I kept at my right hip, as the first one was primarily used to carry my calligraphy kit. The inro was attached to my obi by a wood lacquered netsuke, a toad atop a sandal, next to the netsuke of a nine-tailed fox.
I opened the inro and shuffled through the items: my afro pick, forgotten hair pins, a toothpick, a folded silk scarf . . . ah, I pulled out the small bamboo bottle of moisturizer. I popped open the cap, and it smelled pleasantly of cocoa butter and green tea.
I stepped toward the demon and reached between the bars. The enraged demon had battled against its cage but until the spell ended, nothing could get out. Fortunately, it did allow for someone on the outside to reach in.
The demon bleated at me as I rubbed the moisturizer onto its parched and cracked face. Like catnip, the demon calmed and then dispersed away in a scatter of firelights.
Then, I rubbed the moisturizer onto my face, arms, elbows, and legs. I released a pleased sigh, relieved to no longer be the demon’s ashy victim. I put up the bottle, retrieved my sunglasses, and picked the leaves from my hair.
I’m still here.
Fuck you. One day, I’ll figure out how to exorcise you, too. I know I failed. I know I made a mistake. I know I should have been there. I was a Captain. I should have been holding the line. The only way to cleanse that sort of shame was through hara-kiri, but I sure as fuck was not dying and giving you my soul.
Are you living just to spite me?
Hell fucking yes, I was.
Spite tasted sweet, like a ball of bubble gum. But it lost its flavor too fast, and it gave you nothing when you swallow it down. I spat the taste of you out of my mouth. Then I raced on down the trail and kept pushing on.