Yokai: Winds of the Yakuri

Konomi stood above the deep hole she’d dug. The mud was quickly freezing; in a few more days, this would have been impossible. Bits of dirt, earthy clay, and blood stuck to her hands and kimono. She ran her master’s taito through her kimono sleeve, cleaning the rest of his blood off it. Tears began to surface as she slowly lowered him into the earthen pit. From there, she climbed out, taking a narrow box and placed his heart inside. It was still red from blood but would quickly turn white. She already knew where it would rest. 

After filling the pit, Konomi went east. She walked for a few hours before coming to an outcropping of rocks that led out into the ocean. An old path had once led out to the stone spires. A sun-bleached torii gate still stood on the end of the path. However, the snow and erosion would deter any villagers from visiting. Konomi stepped out onto the rocks, tucking the heart box into the breast of her kimono. Using old rope and jagged stones, she made her way to the torii gate overlooking the north sea. The snow was lighter now, but the wind no less strong. The shimenawa adoring the gate bounced back and forth from the gale. Konomi knelt on the hard stone. There was no alter at this small shrine. Just the snow and wind. Taking stones, she made a tower and placed the box before it. She took her own hat and placed it atop the shrine. Then she bowed her forehead against the stone. She remained prostrate until the wind began to hum. Then she looked up at the box, 

“May your body rest deep within the earth. May your heart be at peace close to the heavens, where it will always remain the heart of a man.” Then she stood. Her tears were gone. “And may your revenge be sevenfold.” With that, she went wordlessly back to the safety of the coast. There her master’s hat and necklace awaited her. Taking both, she left that place, never to return. 

The waters of the onsen washed away the blood and dirt from her arms. Konomi scrubbed under her nails, trying to clear any remaining blood. The water felt nice, but it did little to soothe her. The look of horror frozen in Mastaku’s eyes was all she could see. In all his life, he’d never shirked danger; how could something dishonor him in death? Snow fell into the pool. Konomi looked up from her furious cleaning. A middle-aged man stood at the top of the pool. He had a southern mustache and beard reminiscent of the city workers in Tokiwa’s capital. He wore heavy clothes with a pure white fox pelt scarf and thick, rabbit-skin mittens. 

“The elders said you requested me?” 

“I need a pilot for the north sea.” Konomi spoke without emotion. She watched the man’s eyes try to avoid looking at her. She smiled at his nervousness. 

“With the blizzards, a crossing would not only be perilous but pointless. The snow on the northern shore would stop us from reaching the port of Yakuri, that is, if the port is even open.” 

“Yakuri?” The man nodded understandingly. 

“Tokiwa’s most recent attempt at starting trade on the Kamuy island. It’s a small settlement; they don’t have the resources to stay open all winter.” The man kept his distance from the pool. He held up a gloved hand to block his direct view of Konomi. 

“Come, let us speak plainly.” Konomi moved back slowly in the water to accommodate him. The pilot waved his hand. 

“I’m very happily married with a baby on the way. I don’t want word to spread around this tiny village.” Konomi nodded and cupped some water over her shoulders. 

“But you have gone north recently.” The pilot raised an inquisitive eye. Before he could lie, Konomi continued, “Your mittens and scarf are from a fox and hare with a full winter coat. You can’t find them this time of year unless you’ve been north.” 

“I could have traded for them?” 

“With what? You’re this village's only pilot. Or if you’re not, you should bring him here instead.” The pilot scowled, but Konomi smiled. “I pay well. This is incredibly personal. You need only name your price.” The pilot looked around the drifting snow. 

“We should go quickly. Those bodies are an ill omen.” Konomi took her silk hadajuban and began to slide it over her shoulders and chest as she exited the water. “The villagers won’t fish anymore. So, my price is this: stop the bodies floating on our shore so we can make sure we have food for the winter.” 

“It will be done.” Konomi finished putting on her winter kimono and slid black paint over her eyelids. The sticky paste clung to the ends of her eyelashes and as she blinked, small bits spilled on to the white snow. She took her Kama-Yari and climbed out of the spring. The pilot looked concerned with her wild appearance. His right arm was raised at his stomach subconsciously as if he might need to push her back. “What is your name, pilot?” 

“Sato Sota.” Konomi raised an eyebrow at his words. The pilot rolled his eyes. “It’s really my name. My father wasn’t a man of great imagination.” Konomi passed Sato on her way to the path back into the village. “I’ll gather what I need. We’ll meet at the dock when I’m done.” He told her. The gray skies obscured what time it was. Konomi felt it was nearing morning. They should leave while the hidden sun was high. 

“Don’t dally.” 

The village was quiet as a crypt. Konomi wandered around the desolate homes built into the ocean. The houses were suspended on wooden stilts above the gentle waves. Due to the time they were built, the houses were raised or lowered many shaku from each other, creating many levels of the village. The top layer touched the stone and grass above and the lowest level went all the way down the water below. Many wooden walkways connected the small dwellings. Logs and sticks held the whole place together. And heavy straw roofs kept the houses as warm as possible in the last autumn. There were still a few men about using long poles and hooks to try and fish the frozen bodies from the salty water. These were blue; instead, they were pale like driftwood. Blood loss with cuts cleaned out by ocean water. The snow continued to fall despite the temperatures raising. Konomi gingerly wandered down to the lowest level of the village. The logs rose and fell in gentle laps. The villagers wore white cloths with hastily made eye holes over their faces. Konomi approached them silently. One by one, the men stood looking at her as if she were a ghost. The group huddled back away from her. One of them spoke, his voice distorted by the mask, “We found about thirty of them, I reckon. They’re not frozen, though. I guess they died before getting dumped in the ocean.” Konomi knelt down, running her fingers over the dead man’s kimono. He wore a samurai’s crest on his shoulders. She brushed aside the wet cloth to reveal deep slashes on his chest. Those cuts were deep, made from someone with precision and strength. Other samurai? They weren’t wearing armor; perhaps that’s why they floated so far… Konomi turned the body over to check his back. No cuts. He’d died honorably despite wearing his dojo clothes. Konomi stood up and back away, allowing the frightened villagers to take the body. She watched them carefully wrap the deceased in cloth before hobbling him to a growing pile with the others. 

“Plague? Ice fishing accident?” Sato’s voice called as he walked up to the Ronshin. 

“Murder.” The pilot shook his head. 

“I came to this village to escape the killings in Tokiwa.” He stepped past Konomi on the narrow bridge to a bobbing boat. It wasn’t large with only one sail. It had a small space for storage but aside from that, it was mostly uncovered. 

“If you want peace, you should seek a monastery." Konomi reprimanded him sternly as she stepped into the boat. 

“I like the taste of meat too much.” The pilot’s voice was dry. Despite the attempted comradery of the conversation, both speakers were too wrapped in their own thoughts to make it meaningful. Konomi sat as Sato took the helm. “It’s a long and frigid journey.” Konomi’s eyelashes blocked more falling snow. She looked out over the gray waters. Snow continued to pile up on the boat. She held onto her mentor’s necklace. 

“Let us be off.” 

“How long have you been a Ronshin?” Sato asked as he kept a steady hand on the rudder. Konomi kept her eyes closed to the bright gray light all around her. Though she couldn’t see, she felt every wave of the boat. The changes in direction, the shifting of the sea. The smell of salt and decay. 

“We are born as Ronshin. From the day we can walk, we train.” 

“You hunt like a wolf, the elder said. Is it true you killed the Uwan as well?” 

“We hunt as yokai; if you wish to kill a samurai, do you send a peasent?” Sato pushed the rudder to the left and the boat slowly began to shift. 

“You must know of the Ronshin in Tokiwa, yes? They aren’t like you.” Sato again shifted his weight. He lifted a bit off his seat and the rudder bumped against something under the water. Konomi’s eyes flashed open. She looked at her surroundings. Nothing but gray clouds and snow. 

“Tokiwa’s Ronshin are fat. They seek gold and the comfort of the warm bed. While we fight for our survival, they slowly disappear due to their own indifference.” Sato nodded. 

“I can’t disagree. The Ronshin I met lived like lords. But their Hiirokane steel—I've never seen a blue like that before.” Konomi admitted defeat as she rubbed the plain iron tip of her Kama-Yari. 

“Is it nice, isn’t it?” There was another bump under the rudder. Sato looked mildly concerned and tried to move the boat again to the right. Konomi walked to the edge of the boat. The endless gray mired everything. Even her trained eyes could not pierce it. As she looked down, the shape of bodies in the water floated past. Then, through the mist, she spied a vessel. Another ship was drawing close to them. Konomi stepped back away from the side of the ship. The wind seemed to die. 

“Do you have any oars?” Konomi looked around the snow-covered deck of the ship. 

“The wind will return—,” Sato must have seen the ship gliding closer to them. Despite the lack of wind, it moved with ease. It was a war vessel from the northern kingdom. Broken shields adored the side of it and the mast was cracked and fallen. Yet it still sailed. 

“We have oars." Sato quickly dusted off two long oak oars from under the snow. He rushed to the far side of the ship and began paddling. Konomi plunged hers into the warm, saltwater and began to pull furiously. Slowly, their vessel lurched forward. Konomi stood upright, watching the eerie vessel get closer. She kept her right foot planted on the edge of the deck, pulling furiously. 

As the boat drew near, Konomi spotted its ghostly inhabitants. Pale men wearing funeral hats and long white robes pulled their boat with their hands in the water. Their arms stuck out from below and above deck, pulling the boat closer and closer. Their pale eyes locked onto Sato’s ship. Konomi slid her Kama-Yari off her back. For now, she would keep paddling. Hearing them draw closer, Sato shouted, 

“What are they?” 

“Funayūrei, the ghost of sailors at sea.” There was no avoiding it. The Funayūrei vessel pulled up beside theirs. A northern captain stepped out from among his crew, his long black hair billowing in the nonexistent wind. 

“Join… us….!” His haunted voice came from the clouds. His grew began to rise from below the desk, armed with ladels and barrels. Sato looked at them with confusion. 

“They’re unarmed!” The first ghost rushed towards Konomi. She swung the hefty oar around, knocking him into the sea. 

“Keep paddling!” Konomi commanded. Sato quickly shifted to her side, scrapping at the water. The next ghost ran with his large barrel as a shield. Konomi swung low, tripping him onto the deck of his own ship. Two more ghosts leapt over him with their ladels. They reached the edge of the boat and, with one arm, gripped the side of Sato’s vessel and, with the other, began to furiously scoop water into the boat. Konomi tossed her oar back into Sato’s boat and grabbed her Kama-Yari. With a flash, she slashed their arms off, causing them both to slide into the gap between the boats. Realizing the situation, Konomi kicked off from Sato’s boat and landed on the haunted vessel. She swung her hook-spear around, taking the heads off of the approaching sailers. Even without their heads, they continued to claw towards Sato’s boat with whatever they could find. More were reaching the edge and began to dump water into the boat. She stabbed into a ghost’s back and used her Kama-Yari like a mop, sweeping him off the boat. And yet, more still came. They had no regard for their safety; they didn’t try to fight Konomi. They just rushed to the boat and began to dump water inside. So why should she? 

Konomi rushed past the ghosts to the back of the ship. There the rudder lay shattered. Using what little of it remained, Konomi shoved with all her weight, pushing the rudder to the right. Slowly the old timber creaked and the boat began to drift away from Sato. Unfettered, the ghosts began to drag their boat back by paddling with their hands. The rudder creaked and groaned before the wood snapped off and Konomi fell with all her weight onto the deck of the ship. Looking down, she saw cargo beneath. 

Standing up, Konomi slashed wildly at the ghost on the deck before rushing down to the cargo hold. Armor, weapons, and rotted rations rolled around on the floor. It was dark, but her eyes were trained to see even in low lights. She went to the rations first. Throwing wooden barrels aside, she found the shirabura, thick, white animal fat. It would burn slowly. Then she looked for the straw hammocks. They were rotten and wet, unfit for burning. Cursing, Konomi scanned the deck for anything else. Far above, she heard the scrapping of many feet and the knocking of wood as the two boats bumped against each other. A barrel fell over, spilling dark dust onto the ground. Konomi quickly ran to it, scooping up the dark stones in her hand. It smelled metallic. A little like hanabi. It was light and dusty. Konomi quickly took the dark powder and wrapped it in animal fat. Now to make a spark. Though it pained her, she took her kaiken out from her kimono and struck it against her Kama-Yari. The metal flashed and three sparks flew. They landed on the fat and instantly began burning. The heavy oil kept the mass from combusting instantly. Konomi threw the blob at the ship’s wall. As soon as the flame was through the fat, it began to pop and explode, sending bits of burning oil all around the ship. An unexpected result. Konomi began to make more and more balls of fat and powder. With a handfun, she started throwing them at the already burning timbers of the boat. Fire spread rapidly despite the rotting wood. Soon the entire cargohold was burning. 

Komomi quickly sprinted up the wooden steps to the top of the ship. Sato was fighting furiously to keep the ghosts from filling his ship. However, there were just too many. Already his small vessel was leaning to the side, threatening to tip. The fire was moving fast, but not fast enough. Konomi slid her mino off. She dipped it into the fire before throwing the now-burning cloak of straw onto the ghosts at the edge of the ship. The ghosts were startled by the blaze and before anyone could recover, the ship shook from an explosion. Wood planks flew up from under the deck like spears. Konomi staggered to her left and only saved herself from falling by using her hookspear. More explosions rocked the now rapidly sinking vessel. The ghosts didn’t fear the depths. They started to reach out, pulling Konomi down with them as the boat capsized. Her ankle froze with their icy grip. Konomi swung with her long spear, latching the horizontal hook on it into the broken mast. Two ghosts clung to her feet, slowly pulling themselves up her back, freezing her muscles as they went. Their weight was too much. Konomi kicked weakly but the grip on her spear was weakening. Her nails dug into the polished orange wood, but the sweat on her hands loosened her hold. The boat shuddered, and the Konomi slipped off her spear. 

The two ghosts grabbed at her neck and back. They pulled her beneath the lapping waves. Konomi immediately went for her kaiken. The small dagger flashed beneath the chilling waters. She drove the narrow blade into the ghost in front of her’s neck. Its sea-cleaned skin didn’t even twitch. After all, it was long dead. Konomi struggled against their weight, with her breath running out. She took the kaiken and slid it under the ghost’s wrists. With a flick, she slashed the old spectre’s hand’s clean off. Then a strong kick to its chest removed one of the weights on her. The other ghost was on her back. It tugged her down more and more to a salty grave. Wet hair and heavy clothes made it harder and harder to stay buoyant. Konomi stabbed madly behind her. She needed its hands. There was a flash in the rapidly darkening waters. A blob of shirabura and powder. Konomi grabbed it and slapped it against the weight on her back. The ghost didn’t seem to notice and continued to strangle the air from her lungs. She held her breath, every fiber of her body begging for air. Then the explosion went off, the ghost released her for just an instant and Konomi sprung for the air above. 

The water was freezing. Konomi resurfaced and quickly looked for any planks to lay on. To her surprise, Sato’s boat wasn’t far away. Her lungs were full of water and she could barely speak but her sudden reappearance was noticed by the pilot. He swung the waterlogged boat around and quickly dragged her onboard. She landed in the wet snow, shaking and coughing water and blood coming from her lungs. Sato took his scarf and wrapped her shoulders with it as she recovered. She took in long, cold breaths of air. Sato surveyed the quieting waters. 

“We should have stayed.” 

“The snow will keep coming.” Konomi held up a hand, catching a flake. 

“Yes. That’s how winter works.” Konomi shook her head. 

“This snow isn’t natural. The waters are warm beneath. It shouldn’t be this cold yet.” Sato changed his gaze to the snow above. 

“I suppose it is early for a blizzard.” Shaking away his doubts, Sato pulled a long pole from under the snow. It was Konomi’s Kama-Yari. “I thought you might need this.” Konomi took it and held it against her shaking body. The orange wood seemed to warm her skin. Sato stepped past her. His boots sank about ankle-deep in the water. His brown eyes scanned the sea once more. “Let’s pray for a safer crossing.” 

Konomi finished bucketing the water from Sato’s boat as they neared the north island. Luckily, years of being a bad pupil had conditioned her to the cold. The landscape was covered in an ever-deepening white. The docks were barely maintained. Only a single pier wasn't buried beneath the snow. Sato leaned into his rudder, bringing them closer to the shore. The boat creaked to a stop and quickly Sato hopped out. He ran a long rope around the anchor point and pulled with all his weight. The boat sinched nicely against the docks. 

“No welcome,” Sato noted. It was nearing evening. Not that either of them could see the sky through all the gray snow. There was only one fire in a small encampment near the docks. Konomi stepped out on the pier, disregarding her pilot. She stood tall on the docks with her Kama-Yari at the ready. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—” Sato fell silent as soldiers lined up on the far side of the pier. Their weapons were drawn. They wore the ceremonial white and gold of the Yakuri, but flags of the Yakuri were burning in a fire pit before them. Sato hopped back into the boat, motioning for Konomi to follow. The Ronshin stood tall. Her dark eyes gleaming beneath her straw hat. She cocked her head and flashed her blade. The soldiers raised their katanas in answer. As she ran, Konomi smiled.