From a wide gap in the center of the courtyard came the lowest voice. The wood vibrated, as if the building trembled to hear it.
Mizuko had been her last hope.
“She betrayed me,” she said. Surprised.
“Poor blind girl had no choice,” a woman spoke from behind her. Cheerful. “I killed a family each hour until she delivered you.”
A figure in red-lacquered armor stepped over Inochinomi. Squatted low. Hair wild. Smiled with her uncle’s broad smile.
“Inochan,” the woman said. “You’re with me now. Good morning!”
“Mother,” Inochinomi said. Like a curse. Takeda Yonomi.
Her mother held the other end of the rope that bound her. She yanked Inochinomi up to a sitting position. Mother bent over daughter, face close. The unholy monotone continued, a slow heartbeat.
“You left us,” Inochinomi said.
“I swore I’d come back for you. Mother keeps her promises!”
“You came back to kill me.”
“To kill you?” Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Never! Dear Inochinomi, daughter of my womb and breast, how could you even think such a thing?”
“You killed everyone! Sent assassins after me, and that giant hell-beast!”
“Assassins? Beast? Oh! You mean my sons!” She laughed.
“Your sons?” Inochinomi felt the blood drain from her face.
“Inochan, meet your half brothers,” her mother said with obvious pride. She gestured behind her. “You can’t see Little Brother, of course. He’s stuck halfway between worlds, but that will change. Soon!”
Inochinomi recoiled. Tried to slow her panicked breathing, to calm her racing heart.
Her mother leaned forward and grasped the back of Inochinomi’s head with subtle strength. Their foreheads nearly touched. Mother’s pupils half-hid muddy irises. Her armor had the bite of stale sweat.
“Inochan, Inochan,” she said, wide eyes filling with tears. “How I love you.” Her grip on her daughter’s hair tightened painfully.
“Inochinomi, Daughter,” she whispered. “You’re getting married today! And not to a mere man, but to a great kami, one older, more powerful than Amida and Amaterasu!”
Repulsion, fear, anger exploded within Inochinomi. She aimed the crown of her head into her mother’s nose and launched herself forward. They fell from the veranda to the courtyard. Her mother, still gripping Inochinomi’s hair, twisted in mid-air so that Inochinomi took the fall, landing on her back. The closest demon shifted its position, continued its drone.
Yonomi landed with one foot on each side of Inochinomi. Her mother leaned over her, blood dripping from her nose onto Inochinomi’s face.
“Oh, that’s my daughter!” She laughed again. “My lover will be so delighted!” In spite of Inochinomi’s panicked struggle, Yonomi grabbed her daughter with inhuman strength.
“My darling little child,” her mother said. She carried Inochinomi back into the worship hall, a mother carrying a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s all right. You don’t know anything yet. I didn’t understand, and I summoned him, offered my body to him.”
Yonomi shuddered, sighed. “Such pleasure,” she breathed. “Such pain. Unfortunately, I’m done now, Inochan. I started too late… But you! You’re still young. You could raise an army. He —” she motioned her head toward the altar “— requires consorts to seed the world with his children. Maybe someday he’ll come all the way through himself. But until then, you could unite and rule Nippon under the Takeda banner!”
Yonomi dropped Inochinomi on the floor before the golden statue of Amida. Her mother threw the rope over a ceiling beam. Pulled on the rope, raising Inochinomi painfully by her wrists. Tied the other end to a support column. Inochinomi stood before the altar, stretched toward heaven, like an offering.
“The children grow fast,” her mother said. “Little Brother grew up fastest of all! Don’t worry, we’ll find other consorts to help you. You’ll birth a swarm in no time.”
Her uncle’s worship hall had transformed into a temple of nightmares. The dying sunlight poured blood-red into the room. On the floor, a series of calligraphic circles. Old Hànzì from China. Sanskrit from further ago still. Strange symbols with animal heads. Staring at them brought vertigo. The statue of Amida wore Yonomi’s brother’s blood. Blackened cheek. Splatter across its chest, like a sash. Disturbing scripts appeared to crawl across its face and hands and feet. No longer serene. Tortured.
She turned away from the horror. Her hideous half brothers prayed behind her in the courtyard. Her weapons lay heartbreakingly close, on the veranda. Her mother meditated within a smaller circle. Knelt over burning incense. Cupped the smoke with her hands. Drew it toward her face. Inochinomi inhaled a thread of the bitter smoke. Her head spun, and the room seemed to expand and contract at the same time.
The largest circle contained only Inochinomi and the bloody Buddha. Animal terror hovered on the edges of Inochinomi’s mind.
Breathe. A strand of smoke snaked past her face. Hold. When it moved away, she breathed again. She all but hung from the ceiling. But her feet were free. She could step, hop.
Her mother began to chant, eyes closed, face ecstatic. Liquid, hissing syllables rose above the bass pulse from the courtyard. Together they summoned and seduced. Inochinomi’s heart beat faster. Blood in her head and groin throbbed. She spun to face the statue.
Under its carved wooden robes, Amida’s skin began to ripple. The torso expanded and contracted. Yonomi’s voice crescendoed.
The not-Buddha opened its eyes. The Void stared out at her.
Inochinomi stared back. She could not look away.
“Namu Amida Butsu,” she said. A eulogy.
There was no past, no future. There was only this moment, a rope, and her enemies.
She turned, took two short steps, and launched herself into the air above her mother. Seizing the rope above her bindings, she swung back around. At the end of the rope’s arc, she hooked the statue’s head with her feet. Pulled herself closer. Gripped the idol powerfully with her thighs. If she could, she would smother it. Crush it to dust.
She heaved it off the altar. The hollow statue lifted with surprising ease. But when she started her backward swing, its weight yanked her down. Rope bit into her wrists. Wrenched her shoulders.
She dragged the defiled idol into her mother. It scraped within that smaller circle. The statue fell forward into Yonomi’s entranced embrace. Her mother lay back. Wrapped her legs around it. Arching into it. Inochinomi looked away.
Suddenly, bright flashes lit the darkened hall like multicolored lightning. Explosive pops and cracks in the courtyard. The battle cries of peasants. Acrid gunpowder smell.
Voices. “I understand. Cut her down and untie her.” Mizuko issued commands. A middle-aged peasant man cut her rope with a sickle. Worked at her knot. Leapt into the courtyard, yelling, waving his sickle.
“Samurai, my people are dying,” Mizuko said. “If I bring the great demon fully into this world, can you kill him?”
No apology. No gratitude. Only this battle. Inochinomi rubbed her wrists.
“I think so,” Inochinomi said. She retrieved her weapons. Stood on the veranda, between what remained of Yonomi and the battle. “But what about my mother? She stopped chanting, but —”
“No time!” Mizuko shouted. She clasped bone and claw between flat palms. Beads of blood dripped along the rosary. In the courtyard, invisible tentacles tore a farmer in half. The man who had helped cut Inochinomi down lay crushed, chest flattened under an invisible foot.