Page 45 of Night of the Dragon

A kijo. A female counterpoint to the oni. But, unlike oni, who mainly originated in Jigoku and tormented the souls of the damned, kijo were solely human women whose rage, jealousy, hate or grief was so great it had turned them into demons. Also unlike oni, they could not be summoned by blood magic, did not work with other demons and were beholden to no one. They lived alone, in caves or deep wildernesses, retreating from the world to nurse their suffering or plans of revenge in isolation. Sometimes you could call upon their services, as most kijo could work powerful hexes or curses, but usually they were so consumed by their own torment it was difficult to reason with them.

The massive creature against the wall drew in a raspy, shuddering breath. “Why?” it moaned, followed by a low sob. “Gone. Gone, both of them gone. How could he betray me? I am alone. Always alone.”

As we stepped into the room, the aroma of the flowers filled my senses, cloying and bitter, clogging the back of my throat. I tasted salt and tears, and it was suddenly difficult to breathe, as if I had been sobbing nonstop for hours and could no longer catch my breath. It was an alarming, alien sensation, and I fought the urge to gasp out loud.

But Yumeko drew in a faint, ragged breath, barely a whisper in the vastness of the cave, and the sound of crying ceased.

The kijo turned and faced us across the carpet of flowers. Her face was covered by a white Noh mask sculpted in the throes of terrible grief. The eyes were closed, the mouth open in a sob, and painted tears streaked one side of the porcelain cheek. A pair of black horns curled from her brow above the mask rim, and her nails, painted bright red, were nearly a foot long. She stood there, towering over us, and I saw what she had been hunched over.

Flanked by torches, a small wooden shrine sat against the far wall. Through the open doors, a scattering of items flickered in the torchlight: a folded obi sash, a hina doll with its tiny miniature kimono and painted face, an omamori talisman for luck and protection. The shrine itself, though faded and gray, pulsed with an aura of menace and despair, warping the air around it. The black iris flowers were thickest near the base of the shrine, and they rustled softly as the huge kijo stared at us.

“Who are you?” Her deep voice rippled through the air, and the flowers beneath us trembled. “Why are you here? Have you come to take what is mine?” She stepped forward, placing herself between us and the altar, hiding it with her bulk, and her voice became menacing. “No, you cannot. It is mine! It was always mine!”

“We’re sorry to have intruded.” Yumeko eased forward a step, holding up her hands in a soothing gesture. Her voice was strained, as if she were struggling not to burst into tears. “Please excuse us. We’re not here to take anything. We’re just trying to find the path through the mountains.”

“Thieves!” the kijo roared, seeming to swell with fury, flaring her claws as she rose to her full terrible height. “Traitors! I won’t let you take it! It is mine! It is all I have left!”

I muttered a curse and raised Kamigoroshi before me. The monster was lost in her own world of grief and rage and wouldn’t hear anything we had to say.

“Yumeko, get back,” I warned, stepping in front of the girl. “You can’t reason with it. It’s going to attack—”

With a chilling howl that shook the walls and made the flowers writhe madly, the kijo raised her talons and barreled toward us like an avalanche.

23

The Kijo’s Curse

Yumeko

My fear spiked, driving away the relentless despair clawing at my insides. The monster—the oni or demoness or whatever she was—wailed as she came at us, a maelstrom of fury and anguish that battered me like a hurricane. I staggered back, but Tatsumi and Daisuke leaped forward, blades drawn, and Okame swiftly raised his bow, firing two shots as the demon charged. One hit her forehead and deflected with the sound of cracking porcelain, but the other struck the monster square in the chest, sinking deep into her billowing robes. She screamed but didn’t seem slowed by what should have been a fatal shot, turning her attention to the warriors in her path.

Tatsumi and Daisuke dove to either side as the demoness reached them, avoiding the long, bright red talons scything down at them. Their swords flashed in unison, cutting across her sides, parting the fabric of the many-layered kimono and slashing deep into her flesh.

The demoness howled, rearing back in pain. What erupted from beneath her robes wasn’t blood but dark ash shooting into the air like a swarm of flies. It misted into the air and settled over the flowers in a choking fog, clogging the back of my throat as I breathed it in. I coughed violently, tears burning my eyes, the taste of salt thick on my tongue. Tatsumi and Daisuke staggered back, wincing and covering their faces with their sleeves, as the demon’s howl turned into a piercing wail.

“It hurts!” she sobbed, tearing at her own robes with her talons, ripping through the cloth like it was made of parchment. “The pain, it never goes away! I cannot bear it!” She gave another sob and turned on Daisuke and Tatsumi again, raising her claws. I swiftly knelt and plucked one of the flowers from the cave floor, hoping that a few more Daisukes and Tatsumis would confuse the monster long enough for the real ones to kill her. But as soon as it left the ground, the flower turned to ashes in my hand, dissolving into black dust.

With a shriek, the demoness lashed out at Daisuke, and the noble barely ducked and twisted aside to avoid it. Her claws caught the ends of his hair, and a few pale strands drifted to the ground, sliced neatly in two. “Villain!” she screamed at him as he swiftly backed away. “Monster! I loved you! I gave you everything!” She lunged at the noble, reaching for him with her talons, but an arrow flew through the air, striking the side of her neck, making her flinch and stagger.

The demoness wailed, frantically swiping at Daisuke with one claw, and this time, the noble didn’t leap back. His sword flashed, cutting into the demon’s sleeve, severing the hand at the wrist. More darkness rushed from the stump left behind, swirling into the air as the demoness stumbled back, her shrieks reaching a crescendo. And then, a streak of darkness from the side, as Tatsumi rushed in, ducked beneath a flailing talon and stabbed up with Kamigoroshi. The point of the blade struck the demon in the throat, right below the mask, and exploded out the top of her head. Grabbing the sword hilt with both hands, Tatsumi yanked the blade out through the skull, splitting the demon’s face in two and sending the mask flying into the flowers.

With an agonized howl that shook the ground, the demoness frayed apart, her huge body exploding into ashes. I put a sleeve to my mouth and nose as the black dust cloud settled over everything like a softly falling rain, coating the flowers and making my eyes burn. With the passing of the demon, silence descended, broken only by the roar of my heart in my ears.

Tatsumi and Daisuke sheathed their blades, giving the other a respectful nod as the dust settled around them. Forgotten, Suki drifted down from where she had been hovering overhead, her intangible form wide-eyed and frightened as she gazed where the massive demon had disappeared in a cloud of ash. “Is...is it gone?” she whispered.

Cautiously, I dropped my sleeve from my face. “I think so,” I murmured back. My eyes watered, and I swiped at a final tear that had crawled down my cheek. “That must have been what the Kirin warned me about,” I whispered. “The lingering spirit of grief and rage that haunts this island. What could have caused it to stay here? Tatsumi-san?”

Tatsumi and the others had joined us, looking tired. Ash streaked their faces, and Okame’s jaw was set, as if he was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. Even Daisuke looked strained, his posture stiff and his mouth pressed into a grim line.

Tatsumi rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before. Normally, women who become kijo are still flesh and blood. But that was clearly some sort of spirit. Perhaps it was a reiki—a demon who has died but is so consumed with revenge that it cannot return to Jigoku to be reborn.”

“Well, whatever it was,” Okame broke in, “it’s gone now. Though, itreallydidn’t seem to like you, peacock,” he added, gazing at Daisuke. “You didn’t piss off a demon in a previous life, did you?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Daisuke said, and his normally tranquil voice shook a bit at the end. Wincing, he put a hand over his eyes, as Okame gazed at him in concern. “Forgive me,” he murmured, “but the scent of these flowers is making it difficult to concentrate. I fear I might dishonor myself and start weeping if we stay here much longer. Now that the spirit has been put to rest, perhaps we can move on.”

“But...” Suki hesitated, gazing around with fearful eyes. “I can still...hear it crying.”

We fell silent, a chill going through the air, as the echoes of sobbing rose from the flowers surrounding us. Against the far wall, the wooden shrine glowed, flaring with an ominous purple light. Blackened flakes of ash and soot began rising from the petals in front of it, floating up to swirl through the air, growing thicker and darker with every passing second. The white Noh mask, threaded with cracks but still in one piece, drifted up and flew silently across the room until it hovered in front of the black cloud.

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