The Psyche Diver Trilogy: Demon Hunters (32 page)

“Discounting the Yuina, you are looking at the third man in history to have gained entrance to Kukai’s burial chamber, following in the distinguished footsteps of Kanken of the Toji temple and Michinaga Fujiwara.”

Kurogosho gestured for Geshin to sit; the monk walked over to Kurogosho and arranged himself in formal
seiza
next to him. Instead of returning to his original position, Enoh sat at Geshin’s side.

“Geshin, pray recount your experience from that night in the burial chamber,” Kurogosho suggested.

Geshin’s eyes began to dart around the room, looking suddenly fearful. “I...heard a...voice.” The words presented themselves in a slow, erratic rhythm, each syllable pronounced with an obsessive emphasis. He fell immediately silent after finishing the sentence. Yet his eyes continued to probe around the tearoom as though following an invisible creature.

“Kumon, you are free to ask Geshin whatever you wish,” Kurogosho told Hosuke. The man seemed to tower even as he sat.

“You heard a voice?” Hosuke prompted.

Geshin remained silent, his eyes continuing to race around.

“What kind of voice was it?” Hosuke tried.

Still, nothing.

“Answer him, Geshin.”

It was only after Kurogosho’s order that Geshin began to reply, “A voice...calling, to me.”

“It called out to you?”

“More than a voice, a consciousness. It calls me even now, every passing day. Come. Come to where I am, it says.”

“Who is it that’s calling you?”

“Kukai. Our Master, O-Daishi.”

“What makes you think it’s his voice?”

“Because the voice...it came from inside of the
Byosho
. Stronger close to the chamber, weaker further away.”

“And you went into his chamber--uh, the
Byosho
?”

“Yes.”

“What did you see there?” Hosuke asked.

Geshin fell silent again.

“Come on, out with it.”

The color had drained from the monk’s face. The spasms rippled over his features at an increasing rate. “I saw the man...Kukai.”

“Only Kukai?”

Geshin said nothing.

“Well?”

Geshin began to shudder, his eyes flicking even faster.

“Is he going to be okay?” Kurogosho asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” Enoh answered, using his eyes to back up the statement.

“Kukai, O-Daishi. He,” Geshin began to mutter something in fragments, his mouth hardly opening, “O-Daishi, he attacked me. His face was horrific...distorted.”

Geshin was chanting something under his breath, between each word. The chanting became louder. Geshin was clearly living in mortal fear of something, his forehead glistened with sweat. The chanting was a Shingon sutra--the Dharani, read entirely in Sanskrit. It was hard to tell if the man was terrified or just gradually losing his mind.

“Okay, about the voice then,” Hosuke asked flatly, probing. “I’m guessing you can hear it now?”

The moment Hosuke finished the sentence Geshin’s eyes flipped upwards, exposing the whites of his eyes. He began to wail and tried to scramble to his feet. His face had undergone a complete transformation. He looked as though a beast had possessed him. He let out a deafening roar.

Enoh sprung upwards, his small frame landing without a sound. In the same moment his hand shot out, blurring over the nape of Geshin’s neck. The man’s convulsions stopped dead as the monk stiffened and fell forwards, eyes still rolled into his head. No-one else had moved. Geshin lay motionless on the floor. Nothing about Kurogosho’s expression had changed. Renobo’s red lips curled into a shape that resembled a smile as she snickered to herself.

“And there goes the bowl.”

Hosuke’s throwaway comment sounded completely out of place after what had just happened. He reached down to the vessel on the floor, it had broken clean in two under the monk’s head. A line of blood trickled outwards, staining the mats red.

4

Senkichi Fuminari stared into open space, utterly silent.

His huge body covered the entire bed, facing upwards, still like a rock. He had heavy, bruise-colored bags under his eyes. His face was demonic, yet his eyes were empty of their usual fire, that explosive intensity of emotion. Instead, they seemed to harbor an immeasurable loneliness and dejection. He looked demonic, but from sexual fatigue. Something moved between his thick, open legs. A woman’s head. The woman was crouched, completely naked before him, mouth over his penis. It was Ryoko Kitano. Similar bags around her eyes betrayed the same fatigue from prolonged sex.

Fuminari had returned the morning of the day before. Sensing a presence, Ryoko had opened her eyes to see Fuminari standing next to the bed, pale like a ghost and looking exhausted. For a moment she thought he might be someone else, unable to accept that it was the same Fuminari she had come to know, the man overflowing with a primal, bestial energy; bold and powerful. She had doubted her own eyes. His vast body seemed shrunken. Realizing she had noticed him, Fuminari violently ripped the bedsheets from the bed before practically tearing off her negligee.

“What happened?” she asked, but he said nothing in reply. He just stood watching her as he tore off his own clothes until he was naked too. His face was empty of emotion like an infant in shock, about to burst into tears. He grabbed an ankle in each hand and pulled her legs wide apart. Then he clambered over her and forced his hips against her own. His immense weight left her clamoring for breath. Something soft pressed up against her groin. Fuminari began pumping into her, over and over again, remaining soft the whole time.

“What happened?” she tried again.

Still nothing. Instead he let out a low groan like he was suffering some immense pain.
What was it?
The question plagued her as he rode. When she felt his limp penis on her groin she moved back into him, offering a response instead. She felt a sudden empathy for the man’s plight. He reached out to grab one of her breasts, pinching so hard it hurt. The breast disappeared underneath his giant hand. He brought his tongue to her other breast and began to suck at the nipple, as might an infant. As he noisily flicked his tongue, she felt a swell of pleasure in her spine of a kind she had never felt before. She began to moan unintelligibly as she clamped her arms around Fuminari’s head from below. It came to her that, more than anything, what the gigantic monster of a man before her needed was the soft caress of a woman. She felt an unknowable emotion sweep through her, manifesting itself as tears over her cheeks. She was no stranger to having men suck on her breasts, but she had never felt adoration like she felt in that moment. Fuminari had saved her life, now it was her turn to save his.

Her eyebrows tensed. Fuminari had bit into her breast. She took the pain, suppressing her body’s will to cry out. She would take any amount of pain for the man before her. And when she did, she knew the pain would transform into pleasure.

“Harder,” she said. “Bite me harder.”

She closed her eyes and started to moan softly. Fuminari pushed his huge frame upwards. He took hold of her ankles again, this time hauling them up so that her pale legs were over his shoulders. He buried his head between her open legs, feverish like a man possessed. She was already wet with hot juices. Fuminari launched himself at her with a fervor of a man trying to devour her alive. He was a wild animal that had reached the point of starvation.

Ryoko peaked at once, throwing her head back with a loud groan. She came again and again. She had changed their positions before she even realized, taking his soft penis into her mouth. She teased with her tongue then began to pull, slobbering loudly. She became engrossed in the task, convinced that the only way to save him was to get him erect. But he stayed limp. He came without warning, his flaccid penis flushing semen into her mouth. She swallowed it all. He fell into a heavy sleep, exhausted. Ryoko’s mouth continued to dance over him, even as he slept.

She had fallen asleep at some point. When she woke it was to Fuminari’s head between her legs. They slept, repeated the process, then slept again. The cycle continued for a day and a half. They would wake, feast on the other’s flesh, then fall back to sleep. A never-ending cycle of sex. They took only a couple of small meals in between. The air in the bedroom had become sour from sweat, the smell dense enough to cause any guest to choke.

Then, an hour ago, Fuminari had broken the cycle. Now he was just staring at the ceiling in silence. It had happened as Ryoko was coming again. He had pulled his mouth away as her moans peaked and gotten onto his back. He hadn’t moved since, but Ryoko had continued her focus on his penis the whole time. He had come once, but was almost dry of semen. Only the twitching of his penis told her he had come at all.

Fuminari was lost in thought. Endlessly thinking. Haunted by a question, even when he slept.
Why didn’t Hanko kill me?
The question had taken over his mind.
There was no way he had failed to recognize me.
They had been in the mountains at night. No words had been exchanged. But they had shared a battle for their lives.
He couldn’t have forgotten. So why didn’t he fucking kill me?
Fuminari was dumbfounded. The next time they met they would fight to the death, Fuminari had been convinced that this was their unwritten rule. Had he been wrong
?
Had he been deluded
?
What other reason could Hanko have had for not killing him? Hanko had returned his gaze then melted away into the darkness, gone. Fuminari was full of an unbearable rage. What else had he been living for these past two years? What had been the point of his grueling training regime in Taiwan?

“Hanko, you fucking monster,” Fuminari growled. He ground his teeth together. It was the first time he had spoken since returning to the Hakone lodge. He could feel dark flames smoldering in the marrow of his bones, the cells of his flesh, the base of his head. He could feel the viscous flames lick at him, inciting a burning sensation that spread maddeningly across his skin.
I’ll never forgive him.
He compressed his lips tightly as he felt his hatred for Hanko deepen, his obsession ripen.
I will kill you in cold blood. No matter how you beg.
The intent settled like hardened bile, deep in his stomach. Any excitement he had once derived from the image of him strangling the life out of Hanko had gone.
Hanko, I will kill you
. The thought was heavy inside his head, a cold stone of purpose. Along with that bitch Renobo for her mocking him as useless. Even Biku--he had come to consider the man an enemy too.

He had not seen or heard from Biku since they had parted ways at Yamakita, after alighting from Tanzawa. His thoughts turned to Hosuke Kumon. The man had been odd, somehow hard to get a grip of. Fuminari had no idea where he might be now, what he might be doing. Still, that would be Hosuke’s problem. Fuminari had his own business to attend to. He raised his head and looked down towards his feet. He saw Ryoko, her mouth still busy attending to him. He felt a rush of affection for her, but the emotion proved fleeting and dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. He reached a massive hand down to her. The hand was missing its little and ring fingers. He stroked it gently through her hair.

“You can stop now,” he said quietly. She looked up at him, her face betraying her exhaustion. “You’ve done enough,” he said again, continuing to finger her hair.

She took his hand in both of hers. It was too big for her grip, even then.

“You have my thanks.” Fuminari heard the words come out before he even thought to say them. He hadn’t thanked anyone in ten years.

Ryoko seemed to take a moment to absorb the meaning of the words. She gave him a slight nod as thin tears began to form in her eyes. She rested her head on his stomach. Fuminari felt a warm wetness spread over his abdomen. He closed his eyes and basked in the sensation. Ryoko was asleep by the time he opened them again. He got out of the bed, taking care not to wake her.

There were things he needed to do but the first was to have a long, hot shower. After that, he had plenty to keep him busy.

5

The moment he opened the basement door Hosuke’s body was engulfed in a stifling wave of vapor so thick it was almost solid.

It was incredible, as though the air in the room had come from outside this world. Unseen spirits flowed out from the open space of the doorframe.

“This is Kukai’s chamber,” Kurogosho said.

Enoh, Hosuke and Kurogosho were poised on the threshold.

“After you?” Enoh suggested, apparently testing Hosuke.

“Sure.”

Hosuke acquiesced, taking a couple of steps into the sea-like mist. The air was cold, containing a sense of compression that pushed against his skin. The feeling was not unlike entering another man’s mind as a Psyche Diver. But it was the first time he was experiencing it with his physical body. Enoh came in after him, followed by Kurogosho.

“That, is Kukai,” Kurogosho said.

There was no need to be told. The room was completely unfurnished, bare, apart from Kukai himself. Right there before him, seated with its back to the gray wall, was the 1,500 year-old mummy of Kukai. It was brownish, dried-up, looking remarkably like a monkey--almost disappointingly small. The man’s body had shrunk, now smaller than Enoh. A citrine monk’s robe had been draped incongruously over its shoulders, no doubt placed there by the Yuina. The arms of the mummy had, of course, not been passed through the robe; the garment hung loosely over the Kukai’s upper body. The front of the robe was open to display the body underneath. Kukai was arranged in the lotus position, legs crossed with his hands arranged in the form of a seal. It was not immediately obvious whether this had been Kukai’s original position, or whether an acolyte had re-presented him once the self-mummification was complete.

The mummy’s lips had receded to reveal teeth the same color as its skin. Its face was caught in an expression that could have been laughter or anger. The skin above the eyes had dried and sunken inwards, creating spherical pits. Under the room’s lighting, they appeared as two black holes. Its nose, although flattened, was still recognizable. Kukai’s head protruded above the robe at an off-center angle, tilted slightly to the right so that it looked like he had cocked his head, observing the men that had just entered the room. The mummy looked like it had been put together from old scraps of bunched up paper. Hosuke couldn’t take his eyes from it.