Kitsune nodded and stepped back, the strange missile heavy in his hand.
Asano turned to Nishina, who stood tensed in front of him. “Honored Nishina-san, if I may ask for your assistance as I reveal what has been happening here.” He held up the paper box.” I know that your training by Inoue-san is excellent, of course. If you would indulge me by slicing open this box when I toss it up in the air?”
A frown on his face, Satomi nodded, his fingers tight on the hilt of his katana.
“And… now!” Asano launched the box into the air, the small container arcing over Nishina’s head. The samurai’s blade flashed, and the box separated into not two but four pieces that fluttered to the ground, along with a fine spray of twinkling crimson powder that enveloped the agile warrior.
“What-sorcery-is-this?” Nishima stared at the cloud around him, his sword ready, but with no true target to strike at. The dust did not affect him in the least, but seemed to be drawn to his breastplate, coating it in a layer of sparkling red particles.
Asano mumbled something under his breath, then raised his voice as he lifted his hand in a “come forward” motion at Nishima. “See now what has been behind your quest to wage war on your allies to the south.”
As everyone in the room watched, the red powder on the armor shifted and bulged, forming into a large face with blazing green eyes, a proud, hooked nose, and hair bound in a topknot on the breastplate, snarling in silent rage. As the dumbfounded Nishima watched, the face emerged from the armor, followed by a neck, shoulders, long, spindly arms, and a torso that trailed off into a stream of vapor. The spirit flew from the armor to the ceiling, circling the room once, then streaked for a far wall.
“Now, Kitsune!”
Kitsune hurled the egg at the floor in front of the wall, the grenade bursting apart in a shower of hard rice grains. The spirit immediately stopped its flight and sank to the floor, peering intently at the grains of rice while pointing to each one with a spectral finger, its lips moving silently.
Asano bowed to Kitsune. “My apprentice was on the right path, but he was focused on the wrong instrument of Takahashi’s-or should I say, his spirit’s-plan for revenge from the afterlife.” He turned to bow to Nishima. “Your grandfather was very active in the civil war leading up to the true joining of our great land that began in 1600. However, he harbored a deep hatred of the Yamazaki, even after the peace accord was drawn up. Apparently, much like Senzo-san’s famed swords, his emotions against the Yamazaki were so great that a portion of his soul was imbued in the armor itself. Your father, Nagai, had no use for the suit and, therefore, never wore it; but when you began to use it in your training, the spirit was wakened from its rest and sought to finish through you what it had not been able to do in life.”
Nishima’s katana dropped from a shaking hand, and he fell to the floor, crawling toward Asano. “I have committed the gravest insult to you, Asano-san… I must absolve myself-” He grabbed at the hem of the sorcerer’s kimono and wept.
Asano bent over and helped the young man to his feet. “Stand, Nishina-san, and be at peace. Not only have you not insulted me, but on this night you are responsible for assisting your honored ancestor’s spirit to his final rest. That spirit is Takahashi’s base emotions-hatred, lust, fear, jealousy-given form, albeit a simple one. That is why the rice grains stopped it-these types of spirits crave order in all things. Without that aspect of his personality restored to Takahashi, he cannot ascend to the great wheel and take his rightful place in the heavens.”
“Can you-can you help restore my grandfather’s soul?” Nishina asked.
“It is a simple matter.” Asano produced another small paper box, walked over to the frantically counting spirit, and poured it out. A fine brown powder wafted over the apparition, and as it settled, the ghost became more and more insubstantial, until it faded into nothingness. “I have sent this konpaku to the spirit realm, where it will be drawn to your grandfather’s soul to join with him, and restore that which was sundered between the world of the living and the world of the dead.”
Nishina bowed deeply, holding the position for several seconds. “Domo arigato, Ashiga-san. My family is forever in your debt, myself most of all. You have saved my clan from eternal shame and dishonor.”
Asano bowed low as well, a small smile on his lips. “You honor me with your words, Nishina-san. All that I would ask is that you take the strength of your grandfather and your father and turn them toward keeping the peace in your lands and the lands of your neighbors.”
Nishina fell to the floor again. “On the souls of all my ancestors, I swear it will be done.”
“Then rise, Nishina-san, and assume the true role of the leader of your family.” Asano looked at Kitsune. “As for us, I think a good meal is in order, and then we will speak about the preparations for the Shogun’s impending visit.”
Still slightly dazed from what he had just witnessed, Nishina stumbled from the room, surrounded by Inoue and the other guards. Kitsune and Asano watched him go, flanked by Maseda, who stood impassively next to them.
Kitsune bowed to Asano. “You were correct about the false faces, even if it was a ghost of the past that had caused all this trouble.”
“Indeed, my apprentice, it is not always those of flesh and blood that seek to influence the living, but the spirits often have their own designs on our humble world as well.” Asano leaned on his staff and headed for the door. “I expect that the rest of our stay will be a relaxing one, and I am looking forward to some peace and quiet-at least, until the Shogun arrives.”
“My master is correct, as always.” Kitsune bowed and followed as they left the main room-and the ghost laid to its final rest there-behind.
THE OPPOSITE OF SOLID by Linda P. Baker
“The more you live, the less you die.”
Janis Joplin
Solid. That’s the word that sums up my life. Rock-solid, my momma called me. Rock-solid and steady. “You’re gonna make some woman a good, steady, dependable husband,” she would say, all proud and approving, as we sat in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for Sunday dinner. “Rock solid.”
She thought it was a compliment. Wouldn’t my momma have been shocked to hear her compliment turn into “stolid and plodding”? That’s what my last girlfriend called me, as she slammed the door on her way out.
I think that’s why I noticed the woman wearing a faded red hippie jacket, sitting on a park bench in the afternoon sun. It was her transparency that drew me. She was ethereal. Ethereal and luminous, with coppery, Irish-red hair and light like sun sparkling on snow around her head. It almost seemed I could see the wood slats of the bench through her shoulders. That’s why she drew me… she looked so much the opposite of solid.
I wouldn’t have normally had the nerve to ask a strange, beautiful woman if I could sit with her, but today, enjoying the early spring sunshine of Golden Gate Park, watching the flitting of butterflies and hearing the buzzing of bees, I felt particularly daring. I mumbled my request and remained standing, just on the off chance that she would refuse.
She looked up at me with eyes that for a moment seemed clear as water, then darkened to a good, solid blue. “You see me!” Her voice was like orchids, throaty and fragile, as if she didn’t talk much.
“Yeah, sure I do.” I answered immediately before I could think what an odd question it was. I sat down beside her as close as I dared and put my newspaper and my lunch salad and my bottle of fancy spring water between us.