Helpless, knowing what the outcome will be, she counts again. The lord’s retainer stands to the side and watches her, smiling.
“Nine,” she whispers. “I have done nothing wrong.”
“Do not lie to me, Okiku!” her lord roars.
Tears prick at her eyes. He softens his tone almost immediately and places a hand on her shoulder. “Okiku,” he begins again, gentler this time, “if you confess now, then I promise you I will treat you fairly and you will not be punished.”
For a moment, she is tempted to take the easy way out, to say she stole the plate and be done with it.
But she cannot not lie. Not even for him. He trusted her once, and it had saved his life. Surely he will believe her.
“I swear on my mother’s grave, my lord,” she says, weeping, “that I have done nothing wrong.”
She watches his face change, feels his hand leave her shoulder, watches as he turns away toward his retainer.
“You are right,” he says. “Do with her as you will—”
“You bastard,” I hiss, getting back my bearings, salt stinging my own eyes. “You stupid, fucking asshole.”
I hate that man whom Okiku loved so dearly, sometimes almost as much as I hate his goddamn retainer. Okiku tends to shield me from her harsher memories, but when she’s weak, the filter isn’t there. Seeing for myself how he’d betrayed Ki sends my blood boiling, and I have to remind myself that dwelling on the urge to strangle long-dead Japanese nobility is not my priority at the moment.
My foot feels better by the time I stand, the hurt reduced to mild discomfort. I pry the wooden stakes from the wall—not only was the tree that crafted these things sacred, but the stakes are surprisingly sharp and durable—and stash all but one and the bridal doll inside my knapsack. That done, I splay the flashlight along the walls of the tunnel once more. I don’t sense any more malingering presences in this part of the cave, and I’m hoping it stays that way until I find the next doll.
Which is why it comes as a surprise when the beam of light illuminates a figure up ahead, clad in robes. I backtrack quickly, not sure if I should risk trying to run past the specter or if I should hide and wait for a better opportunity to pass. I’m pawing behind me in my pack for an extra doll for additional protection when the figure turns his head and watches me sadly. It’s the same old man from before, the one I first met at the Oimikado household.
He holds out his hands. I interpret it as a sign that he holds me no ill intent. He gestures down the passage and starts walking in that direction without waiting for my response. I follow because I don’t have a better choice.
The old man does not seem to mind my flashlight trained on his half-transparent figure and keeps moving at a steady pace until stopping at a nearly hidden path that I might have missed on my own. The passageway ends at a small staircase carved into the ground, which looks like a dead end. I’m puzzled until the old man traces a pattern on the wall, and the large stone edifice gives way, rolling to one side. Cold, misty air greets me. It’s a way out!
I would hug that old man, but I’m afraid he’d misinterpret things. He’s already fading out, the barest silhouette of him lingering a couple of seconds before he vanishes.
Just to be sure I’m alone and no other ghosts are wandering nearby, I stick out my hand with the tape recorder. Finding none, I emerge cautiously and assess my surroundings. I see only more rubble and rot. I’m in a completely different house.
After a quick look at my map, I determine I must be in or near the Kajiwaras. How many underground passages connect these houses, and what purpose have they served? The more answers I pick up, the more questions they seem to pose.
The stone edifice the old man had moved turns out to be the back of a small Jizo shrine that I would have sworn was carved right into the rock. I can feel Okiku, who isn’t completely resting within me despite my insistence, tugging me toward the opposite side of the village. I comply, picking my way past the wood and debris and still keeping an eye out for anything untoward.
I’m beginning to sense a pattern among these odd girl-ghosts. If the previous two were any indication, these girls tend to stay close to their shrine dolls and don’t wander, in the same way Okiku isn’t able to go a long distance before being drawn back to me. I’m like Okiku’s doll in a lot of ways, I realize with some consternation.
And like the girls in this village, she’d been sacrificed too, in a fashion. It’s hard not to compare her to them, given their similarities—unavenged spirits betrayed by the people they trusted and made to suffer—so a part of me feels sorry for these ghosts, even when I know they’re trying their best to rip out my throat.