The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (5 page)

Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. The young man looked up, pulling away from the girl. He got to his feet and walked to the wall opposite the Kujaku Myo’o. He put a hand to the black wall; a thin strip of light emerged through it. The sunlight cut into the young man’s face as it flowed through the rupture like a sharp blade in the darkness. He pulled the window open and a blinding wave of light punched into the room. The young man stared directly into it without even a frown. It was the middle of the monsoon season, but the sky was perfectly clear and blue. The girl’s pale, naked body was fully exposed to the sunlight. There was a black cloth on the rug next to her, hidden until now in the darkness. It was the young man’s; he had been wearing robes before commencing the rite. He glanced over to where she lay away from the window and spoke in a deep voice.

“Please, come in.” His tone showed no sign of annoyance. His breathing was unhurried and his face as pale as before. The powerful voice conflicted with his boyish features. The wall to his left slid open and a man who looked to be in his late 20’s entered the room. He was wearing a navy suit with white pinstripes.

“Master Biku,” the man in the suit addressed the naked, and still erect, man before him. He did not seem particularly phased by the scene.

“Shimizu, what is it?” Biku replied in a relaxed tone. He made no effort to hide the erection pointing up from between his legs. It had yet to lose any of its previous vigor. The young man with the beautiful face, Biku, had yet to orgasm. He collected the black monk robes from the floor and placed them over the girl on the rug. Her eyes were closed but she still trembled occasionally.

Biku was tall, despite his youthful looks, at around 178 centimeters. He was slender with no trace of unnecessary fat, as though it had been worked away under a meticulous regimen. At the same time, there was nothing delicate about him; his body was much different from a person that just happened to be thin. He was not rugged but his skin was tight. It was clear that there were dense bands of hardened muscle below the surface.

“More Tachikawa?” the man in the suit, Shimizu, asked. He was referring to the Tachikawa School of Shingon Buddhism. The Tachikawa School was a heretical branch of the Shingon Sect founded by the monk Ninkan during the Heian period; it taught that enlightenment could be achieved through the sexual union of the male and female body.

“The Jintan Method.”

“Monk Sendo’s Bedroom Arts?”

“More or less.”

“Ah, to enjoy yourself and, in the process, procure the spirit of a young woman. A convenient method indeed.”

“Indeed. What brings you here today?” Biku asked, still naked. He was surprisingly relaxed.

Although the man appeared to be his elder, Biku’s phrasing suggested they were at least of equal status. Moreover, Shimizu had referred to him as “Master”. Everything suggested that Biku was older than he appeared, perhaps, like Shimizu, in his late 20’s.

“There has been a communication from the mountain,” said Shimizu.

“A communication?”

“For the Kujaku Myo’o.”

“They want to perform the Rite of the Kujaku Myo’o?”

“Yes.”

“Something must have happened.”

“It appears we will have a visitor from the mountain before the day is out.”

“I see.” Biku nodded, glancing at the young girl near his feet. Her breathing told them that she was asleep. “I am afraid you’ll have to wake the girl and send her home.”

“Indeed. If anyone discovered we practice the Tachikawa and Jintan methods...well, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.” Shimizu bowed slightly, taking his leave.

“A communication from the mountain, for the Kujaku Myo’o,” Biku folded his arms, muttering the words to himself after the door had closed.

The mountain was Mt. Koya. The Rite of the Kujaku Myo’o was a “Protection of the State” ritual carried out in honor of the Kujaku Myo’o. Its purpose was to call on the powers of the goddess of the wilds, the Kujaku Myo’o, to restore order and exorcise evil spirits. In ancient India, the Kujaku, a peacock, had been recorded to feast on poisonous snakes; as such, the Kujaku Myo’o was accorded with the divine ability to absorb and displace all forms of poison, but Shimizu had not meant the words literally. Coming from the mountain, the notification of the performance of the Rite of the Kujaku Myo’o was a code. Mt. Koya was requesting Biku’s assistance. The Kujaku Myo’o’s smile floated across his lips.

For the first time in a while, there was going to be trouble.

3

A heavy sea breeze buffeted against the young man’s cheeks.

Gentle waves of black hair flicked across his pale forehead. His softly pursed lips were crimson red. He was tall. His features and slender body gave the impression of youth. His name was Biku. The place was Miyukigahama in Odawara.

For a while, Biku had been observing a peculiar old man. The old man stood at the shoreline gazing out to sea. Light from the afternoon sun flowed over his back. Fishermen dotted the expansive coastline at regular intervals. It was still too early in the season for the beach to be crowded with people out to enjoy swimming in the sea. It was the latter half of June. The old man seemed like any old man taking advantage of the break in the monsoon weather to enjoy a rare walk out in the sun. A lone, black dog had been skulking around the beach for some time. It looked somewhat neglected; its hair was greasy with dirt. It did not seem to have an owner nearby and had no collar, a stray. There was a fishing port nearby, Biku imagined it was able to get by scavenging food there.

The view could have been any coastline. Out to sea, in the distance, one could just make out the faint outline of the island, Izu Oshima.

The old man appeared to notice the dog’s presence. He put his walking stick under his arm and crouched down, calling out to it. The dog trotted over. Something completely unexpected happened--the old man stood bolt upright and brought the stick down, smacking the dog on the head. The strike was clearly not too strong, but it was enough to make the dog angry. It growled and jumped at the old man. He stepped aside and parried with his stick, holding the dog in check. It was like a bizarre type of dance. The whole time, the old man managed to stay at the absolute edge of the animal’s jaw. Each time, he waited until the last possible moment before jumping aside to crack the stick down upon the dog’s head. The old man was provoking it. From Biku’s vantage point, it looked like they were just playing games.

“You there!” the old man called out, looking in Biku’s direction. “Won’t you come and help?”

The old man seemed to be entreating Biku for assistance. Biku sped toward them, stepping too lightly for a man running on sand. He stopped between the dog and the old man; it leaped at him. Biku stood firm, simply catching the dog in his arms. The growling stopped. Still holding the dog, Biku turned to face the old man. The dog was absolutely still.

“Ahh!” the old man let out a croon of admiration, but he seemed to be more interested in Biku’s feminine looks than the technique he had demonstrated on the dog. His eyes sparkled beneath wrinkled skin. His hair and beard were a perfect, pure, healthy white. He wore jeans and a loose summer shirt draped over an insubstantial upper body. The old man’s style of dress was youthful, but it seemed strangely appropriate, a perfect fit even. His back was dead straight. Biku put the dog gently down on the sand. “Is it dead?” the old man asked.

“Just unconscious.”

“Good. I wouldn’t sleep well if it had died because of an old man’s mischief.”

“You attacked it on purpose,” Biku said as he looked up from the dog toward the old man.

“Well, I thought you’d appreciate an excuse to come over,” the old man answered frankly.

“Impressive.” For the first time, Biku’s lips curled into a wry grin. The power of the expression hinted at maturity beyond his youthful appearance. Biku introduced himself to the old man, “And you must be Gensai Sakuma?”

The man nodded then spoke again, “Let’s hear your business then.” He stared directly into Biku’s eyes.

“I wish to meet with Hosuke Kumon.”

“I see.”

“I was told that you would know his whereabouts.”

“Hosuke...hmm.” Gensai’s eyes narrowed to a smile, like a father hearing news of a wayward but deeply loved son.

“If I know Hosuke, he’ll be in the mountains about now.”

“The mountains?”

“A habit of his, you know, to withdraw into the mountains after a job. He won’t be back for a while I’d say.”

“Which mountains?”

“Hmm...” Gensai turned to the sea before answering, as though testing Biku’s patience, “...you plan to go looking?”

“Yes.”

“Not an easy task.” Gensai slowly shook his head, his white hair was ruffled by the sea breeze.

“Difficult or not, I have to meet with him.” While he maintained a gentle tone, there was something decisive in the way Biku spoke.

For some time, Gensai stood in silence. He scrunched his eyes, quietly studying the horizon off to the right, tracing his eyes out to sea along the outline of the Manazuru Peninsula. Then, seeming to recall Biku’s presence, Gensai finally spoke, “Strange.”

Biku raised an eyebrow.

“You used a strange artistry just now.”

“Artistry?”

“On the dog there.”

“It was nothing special.”

“Ah humility. You couldn’t have done that without some serious talent.” Gensai laughed.

This was a curious old man. There was something nebulous about him, elusive.
I wonder how he’d react if I attacked him now.
Biku felt a sudden urge to try it. He had no idea how it would go. The old man might just parry his attacks with ease; then again, he might be easily overpowered and end up, disappointingly, groveling in the sand.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” Gensai muttered, out of the blue.

“Intimidate you?”

“It’s not nice to bully your elders...not good to test people.”

“So you can read minds too?” Biku maintained his outward cool, but he was astonished. The old man had effortlessly read the motives behind the slight shift in the tension of his muscles.

“Nothing so impressive.”

“Now I really want to try and see.”

“Now, hold on there,” Gensai took a light step back. He put a hand to his silvery-white hair and scratched at his scalp. He frowned, looking Biku over, like the director of a TV show assessing the quality of an actor. “Alright then.” The old man nodded. “I think it’ll be interesting to have you and Hosuke meet.”

“Then if you could kindly--”

“Let’s take our time here.” Gensai rapped the dog’s back with the end of his cane. It looked up, confused, and took in its surroundings. It jumped up and bolted as soon as it noticed the two men. Gensai watched it go then spoke again, “To tell you the truth, I don’t know where Hosuke is right now. It’s been a month since he entered the mountains. Left to his own devices he’ll be out there for another month or so. You could drop that man buck-naked into the wilderness and he’d come back fat, you know, that’s how he is. By now, he could be anywhere.”

“He sounds...eccentric.”

“Indeed.”

“How eccentric, specifically?”

“Hard to elaborate, really.” Gensai shook his head. His eyes were warm, full of a strange affection for this man Hosuke Kumon.

“Do you have an idea of where he went first?”

“Yes, more or less. I believe it was somewhere near Tateyama.”

“Tateyama?” A look of suspicion crossed Biku’s face. “Tateyama, As in
the
Tateyama Range?” he asked. Tateyama: part of a mountain range strung across the top of the North Japan Alps. Mt. Onanji, the highest of the range, towers at 3,015 meters. North from there is the tall, rocky peak of Tsurugidake at 2,998 meters and the trinity of Gyokuryu-dake, Kashimayariga-dake and Jiiga-dake surrounding the Kurobe Gorge.

“The same. You should know that you’re not the first to have come looking for Hosuke.”

Biku paused.

“Three tough-looking guys showed up two days ago. They had one of
these
.” Gensai ran an index finger across his cheek mimicking a scar. “They gave me a nice present, so I told them what I just told you. Ring a bell?”

“No.”

“They were in a rush, said they’d go looking for him in the mountains. I assume you will too?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may well bump into each other out there. Two of them are nothing to worry about. The other,” Gensai pointed a finger to his chin, “The one with a scar here, he seemed fairly proficient.”

“If possible, I would like to avoid them altogether.”

“In that case, how about accompanying me instead?”

Biku tilted his head.

“To Kawasaki. I told you they brought me a souvenir: a month’s free pass to a ‘massage’ parlor under their patronage. Care to join me?”

“Thank you, but I have to--”

“Don’t like girls? If not, you could be mine instead.” Gensai’s smile was full of natural charm.

“Perhaps we can discuss this afterward.”

“A shame,” Gensai replied in a neutral tone. It was impossible to tell if he was being serious or just teasing.

The sea breeze continued to buffet against their hair, Gensai’s white and Biku’s black.

4

The wind was cold.

Low afternoon sunlight flooded through the shallow valley. Traces of snow still lined the valley floor even as the colors of newly green leaves were beginning to deepen. A sizable boulder poked through the snow toward the middle of the valley on a steep slope. Biku, the man named after the Kujaku Myo’o, a legendary deity believed to exorcise evil spirits and restore order, stood on top of the boulder scanning the ridgeline above. The soft green of the valley was startlingly bright.

It was the eighth of July. Nine days had passed since he had entered into the Alps. He had yet to track down Hosuke Kumon. “Remember, you won’t find him unless you really mean it,” Biku recalled Gensai’s words as they were parting ways in Odawara. He had not come across a decent trail for days, and since leaving it had rained for all but three. He wore woolen hiking trousers and a cotton shirt with a small, balanced rucksack on his back. He was traveling light. Nothing about his appearance suggested he had been wandering through the mountains for nearly ten days.