“I told you mine,” I remind her. “Only seems fair that you tell my yours. We can compare notes better that way.”
“I couldn’t discern much information from my vision of Kita Morimoto. She moved as if she had been drugged, and her memories were of being fitted into her ceremonial kimono and being told that her companion—Akihiko, I think—was also being prepared for their wedding. And as for Nariko Konno—”
“Yes?” I prompt when she doesn’t say anything for several seconds.
“Like Mineko Kunai, Nariko Konno was led to the edge of a very large pit, though I didn’t see the large silkworm tree in that vision. She looked in and saw—”
The miko shivers. I can practically hear her debating whether or not to tell me before she gives in. In a perverse sort of way, I already know—or at least have made a very good guess—about what she is about to tell me. The fear and horror I felt from Mineko were enough to understand what she’d seen, even if the vision ended before I saw the complete picture.
“She saw bodies, Tarquin. Bodies of villagers—villagers she recognized as being the most vocal against the ritual and bodies of corpses that looked as if they have been there for years. She saw Akihiko’s body, still in his wedding robes, among those of the dead. He had been killed before she arrived.”
We’re both silent for a while after that, trying to wrap our minds around the evil we’re going up against. I think about the Oimikado girl’s diary, about Yukiko’s father, who demanded to know where his daughter and her fiancé had gone after their wedding ceremony. I suppose, in the end, he did.
I have some misgivings when Kagura insists on returning to the small grotto I found. She wants to be sure that there is no other way to access the shrine through it.
“Did you look for possible passageways, or were you focused on escaping?” she asks me. “The sooner we can find our way to the shrine, the better, and I’d like to know we have all our exits covered—literally.”
She is, I reluctantly admit, being logical. I don’t relish the thought of returning underground, but I’m surprised when Kagura takes that decision away from me. “I’m going to explore this on my own,” she tells me, heading off any protests.
A closer inspection of the little Jizo statue reveals a lever on its back that makes it easier to roll, revealing a hidden entrance to the path that leads underground.
“You didn’t see any kind of lever that could be pulled from the inside, right?” she asks.
“No, the old man was too far away for me to see what he was doing, and I wasn’t sure I was supposed to ask him.”
“Since we can only open this from the outside, you should stay here until I get back. I’d rather not get trapped inside.”
“By yourself? Kagura, that’s insane.”
“I’ve been dealing with ghosts since long before you reached puberty, Tarquin-san. I’ve survived thus far, and I believe I’ll be able to take care of myself for a little longer.”
Kagura Kino doesn’t actually have any balls, anatomically speaking, but I suspect hers are still bigger than mine.
“Wish me luck.”
The miko promptly disappears into the bowels of the earth. I’m tempted to go after her, despite all my previous complaints, but what she said made sense. Kagura usually does.
“What are you laughing about?” I grumble at the stone figurine, then remember that Jizo statues served as guardians for children who died before their parents and also as a kind of patron saint for travelers. Fat lot of good that did for the girls in Aitou—or us, for that matter.
I haven’t had much chance to explore this residence yet, but I don’t wander too far from the statue, in case Kagura returns earlier than I expect. I take stock of what the rest of the room has to offer. Like many of the houses, there isn’t a lot of furniture, but the books have survived a little better, which is an oddity in itself, given their fragile state. Some appear safe to touch, but others look in danger of crumbling to dust if they are so much as breathed upon.
There aren’t any mirrors that I can see, which is a relief. Looking at mirrors always makes things creepier, and this place is already as horrifying as it gets. But there are more paintings here than in any of the other houses. Most are ink-wash landscapes. One attracts my eye, mostly because it is edged by what looks like a gold-leaf border. I’ve only seen that on expensive paintings in Japanese museums.
The painting itself is minimal in design. Four or five small clusters of sparse Japanese pines against a background of white snow. A closer inspection shows a lot of loving attention to detail.
There’s something in the background, a small speck of moving dust. My first impression is that a fly is crawling across the canvas. Except this is no fly. Like a picture coming into focus, I make out the shape of a head, the outline of a body against a blinding snow.
This is the same shadow I saw in the photo Kagura emailed me of herself and the American crew. And just like before, it turns and opens its eyes.