~~~

Stopping dead in the middle of the path, Miho held up the bun he’d just bitten into and frowned.

Grey with blue bits.

Not a typical colour for chicken, he thought, digging out one of the blue pieces with his fingernail and analysing it. But the guy selling it did say it was Kumamoto style, so maybe that’s what chickens looked like down there?

Grey meat with flecks of blue.

Taking another bite, he remembered the kindly smile of the old man with the makeshift bun stall. Yeah, must be Kumamoto style. No way someone like that would misrepresent his own food products.

Miho started walking again, breathing in deep the fresh forest air and admiring the weird green slashes painted onto the occasional tree trunk. It was invigorating to be this far from home, the path ahead full of potential and possibility...and hopefully, at some point, his beautiful, elusive Yuki.

Ah, how long had it been now? Three months?

She could’ve been halfway across the country already, or in the capital...or even in Kumamoto eating this weird-coloured chicken.

He paused again, his stomach cramping up and making a growling noise.

That didn’t feel right.

Holding the bun closer to the sun overhead, he did another quick study. Grey meat with blue bits…was there any possible way it made sense?

In the distance, a bird screeched.

Miho lowered the bun and followed the sound somewhere to the right. Far as he could tell it was a bird, but when the same sound echoed out again, he thought it seemed more like a person.

‘An attack…’ he said out loud, reaching for the small dagger tucked into his obi.

The forest gave no response.

No more screeches, bird or human.

He waited a bit longer, keeping his breath low. Then, after a bird in the canopy nearby whistled out something more melodic, he took his hand off the dagger and resumed walking.

Probably a bird fight, he assured himself. Or bird ambush.

It had been two and half hours since he’d left Kōfu and so far he’d met just one other person; the old man who’d sold him the chicken bun. The chances of a random group of others battling each other nearby was so tiny that it was barely even a possibility.

Unless it was one of those secret training camps for ninja spies?

Almost on cue, a heavily splintered sign appeared on the right side of the path, slightly tilted. WORSHIP POINT – 200M. He moved closer, searching for smaller text. Nope, nothing.

But then ninjas wouldn’t actively promote their camp.

Would they?

He turned to the sloped path indicated by the sign, watching the leaves shiver from the breath of the mountains.

Ninjas or not?

In truth, he had no idea. There had been tales in his village, mostly from Kentaro 2 and River Bitch, about Shingen using corpses possessed with demonic spirits as ninja assistants, but only about one third of the village had believed it. And in that third was about ninety-five per cent of the elderly population.

So it probably wasn’t true.

He lifted the bun up to his mouth and took another bite, grimacing when he realised what he’d done.

Then mellowing a little as he chewed.

Just about edible, he told himself, swallowing. If you bypass the taste buds. And picture a red bean bun instead of grey and blue chicken.

Still…I should probably stop.

After the next bite.

~~~

Walking for another ten or fifteen minutes, and warning himself at least four more times to stop eating the bun, Miho reached a narrow stretch of open field.

The trees pushed back on both sides, as did the foliage, and the slope on the right re-costumed itself as a full-on cliff.

Ah, finally, a bit of space, he thought, stopping for a moment to take a piss. Even though there were no other travelers around, he decided to play it safe and traipsed over to the tree line on the far left, concealing himself behind one of the larger trunks.

His mother’s gentle voice floated into his head, saying, literally, piss on the road and I’ll castrate you. Strangely, it had worked. Even if he were desperate, he would always find a bush or a stream, never a walkway.

As he shook off the final drops of his oddly dark urine [Kumamoto style chicken related?], a scream filled the air. That’s no bird, he thought.

He was correct; it was a woman. An extremely shrill one who could probably shatter glass if placed close enough, but a woman all the same.

Initiating brainless hero mode, Miho hurried out from the trees and followed the fading echo of the scream. It seemed to be coming from up ahead to the right, so he jogged forward along the path, making sure to avoid the occasional potholes and sneaky rocks embedded in the hardened dirt, until the trees on the left curved in closer and the cliff on the other side mellowed into a slightly less precarious slope.

Keeping his eyes locked right, he caught something odd; a wisp of purple smoke coming from the higher tree line. Ninja vapour?

He was so distracted by it that he didn’t notice the lump of clothes on the path directly in front of him, and when he did finally spot it, he was already tumbling down onto a surprisingly firm mound of soil.

‘Kuso…’ he swore, rubbing his shoulder as he lifted himself back up onto his feet.

Looking behind at the thing that had toppled him, he let out a gasp. It wasn't merely a lump of clothes, it was a clothed human, a man human, dead on the ground.

Or not dead, but injured?

Was that what this was?

Forgetting the sore shoulder, Miho shot forward and checked the unconscious figure for a heartbeat. Ah, it was faint, but he was alive. And there was blood coming from the back of his head. Didn’t look like a slash wound, but he was no doctor, or warrior, so he couldn’t be completely sure.

‘Excuse me, meijin…’ Miho said, lightly shaking the man’s shoulders.

There was a kind of brrrrrr noise, but no distinct words. And his eyes were still clamped shut.

‘Sir, can you hear me?’ Miho tried again.

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No response.

Giving up on the shaking strategy, he felt inside his own pockets for something to assist his efforts. There was no water left in his flask as he’d drunk all of it to wash away the taste of that chicken, and he didn’t have herbs or any of that new ball-shaped medicine from China cos that stuff was expensive.

What could he do?

The only realistic thing that came to mind was the ryokan he was heading to. But that was another five or six kilometres along the path. He could probably carry him some of the way, but not the whole distance, not without some kind of active, conscious leg movement from the man himself.

‘Kuso,’ he said again, more at the hopelessness of the situation than anything.

Didn’t this man have friends? What was he even doing out here, all on his own?

Miho let out an angry breath through both nostrils then another gasp [his third?] as he finally noticed the katana laying in the dirt nearby. Wah, where did that come from? Was this a samurai attack?

Wiping pre-emptive sweat off his brow, he scanned the surrounding area again. The path was deserted, in both directions, and the slope didn’t seem to show any sign of-

He paused, pushing his head forward and squinting like an elderly person at the wet market.

Was that…

Coming very cautiously down the slope, with the hem of her cloud-white yukata pulled up to avoid clipping the jagged rocks sticking out from the ground, was a woman.

Even with the distance between them, Miho could see she was pretty, and when she got to within talking range, he added exotic to the description, mainly because there were little plumes of purple smoke rising off her shoulders.

Was this the one who’d screamed, he wondered.

Did she know the man?

Was that her katana?

‘Oh, thank all the gods,’ she said, coming to a stop about a metre from the edge of the path and acting out a praying gesture with her hands. ‘I thought he had perished for sure.’

‘Err…’ Miho stammered, not sure how to respond.

‘And my gratitude to you as well, young man. Tell me, did you see the villain he was pursuing? Is he dead?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t see anyone,’ replied Miho, attracted again to the purple mist rising from her shoulders. ‘Is he-…are you his friend?’

‘Then he has gotten away.’ She looked at the katana laying on the path, then back up to Miho. ‘Please, young man, if it is not too much trouble, could you help bring my friend back to our camp?’

‘Your camp?’

‘My other friends are waiting there.’

Miho looked over to the slope, trying to find the rope that could be used to help lift this wounded man up there. If not rope, then some other device. Obviously, she couldn’t expect him to lift a grown man all the way up there by himself.

‘Quickly, please. It looks like a lot of blood is pouring from his head.’

‘Couldn’t one of your friends come down to help lift him?’

‘Of course, I will call to them when we reach the bottom of the slope. But we must begin moving him immediately.’

Miho nodded, still unsure, and bent down to the injured man. There would be no easy way to pick him up, his body was the strong, well-stacked type, but he couldn’t just leave him in the middle of the path. A horse might come and step on him.

As he tucked a hand under the man’s armpit, there was a groaning noise from the victim himself. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, but refused to do any more than that.

‘Maybe we should call your friends down first,’ said Miho, standing up again but too coy to look the woman directly in the eye. ‘Or better still, there’s a ryokan a little farther along the road. We could take him there.’

‘No.’

‘They’re likely to have herbs and medical equipment…’

‘He is needed back in camp. Please, lift him now. Bring him over to me.’

Miho followed the woman’s hand and saw it was pointing directly at her feet. Was that where she wanted him to be brought? Did it have softer grass or something? And why were her eyes suddenly lilac?

He rubbed his neck, growing more and more suspicious. His heart was saying, do as the pretty woman says, but his head was telling him to keep back, the whole situation was weird.

Reluctantly obeying his head, Miho looked back along the path and said it’d probably be best if her friends came down and helped carry the man to the nearby ryokan. ‘Cos I’m not sure what kind of medical supplies you have up there,’ he added, aiming a sceptical glance at the canopy sticking out from the top of the slope

The woman waited a long time before responding and, when she did, it wasn’t what Miho was expecting. Sliding one hand beneath her yukata, she told him that she would be very, very grateful if he could bring her friend to the bottom of the slope for her.

Miho watched the woman pull the yukata to the left, revealing the pale skin of her shoulder.

‘If you do that for me, I will give you one full hour of my complete attention.’

‘Err…what about your friends?’

‘Them too.’

‘No, I mean…can your friends just come down here and help us?’

‘Do you not find me attractive, young man?’

‘Me? Well…yeah. Kind of. I mean, yes, you are beautiful. Obviously. But I’m spoken for already. Actually, that’s why I’m on this path, I’m on a quest to find her again. You haven’t seen her, have you? Pale skin, also very beautiful, doesn’t smile much. Goes by the name of Yuki…if she can be bothered to say it. She’s a bit anti-social sometimes.’

Miho paused, realising the woman was staring at him. Her yukata was back in place and the purple wisps around her shoulders were starting to swirl more erratically.

‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s some kind of…purple smoke…coming off your body.’

She switched her gaze to the ashigaru, shaking her head. ‘We don’t have time for this. I am Atta Noe, advisor to Lord Shingen, and my samurai protector is dying. And that villain could return at any moment to finish him off. I require you to at least pull him over to that tall clump of grass there. Allow him to be safely concealed while I go and call my friends.’

‘You’re connected to the Takeda Clan?’

‘No, I am advisor to Lord Shingen himself, with the power to bestow reward and riches as I see fit…even to a simple village boy. Now, will you carry my friend?’

‘Err…’

Miho measured the distance to the clump of grass, then checked the path again. No sign of anyone else yet, though the woman was probably right. Whoever had attacked this…samurai…could return, and with reinforcements too.

‘Okay, I will take him to that grassy patch.’

The woman placed her hands together and repeated the praying gesture from earlier. ‘You are a kind soul.’

Miho let out a reluctant, ‘yeah, I suppose,’ a bit embarrassed suddenly that he wasn’t taking the samurai all the way up the slope, or at least attempting to. But then he remembered that he wasn’t a sumo wrestler and that kind of effort was way beyond his physical abilities.

Removing his dōbuku and placing it carefully on the ground, he bent down and put both hands under the samurai’s armpits. Taking a few deep breaths, he started to drag him towards the woman.

‘Wah, he’s not as heavy as I thought…maybe cos I’m sliding him along the ground instead of-…’

Miho’s analysis was broken by the arm of the samurai shooting up and grabbing him by the neck. Followed by the strangled words: ‘Don’t.’

‘Wah, he’s conscious…’

‘Faster, keep pulling,’ said the woman, taking a step forward and then, for some reason, bouncing back again.

‘Are you okay? Can you hear me?’ Miho asked the samurai, slightly relieved that his arms could take a rest.

‘Deem,’ the man replied, opening his eyes and blinking like a lunatic at the sky.

‘Sorry?’

‘Demon,’ he repeated, wildly swinging his arm backwards, clipping Miho on the ear.

‘Did you say demon?’

The samurai opened his mouth and coughed several times before finally forcing the words out. ‘Woman…is a demon.’

‘Who?’

‘Woman…purple smoke…demon.’

Miho squinted as if the words were visible bubbles of text in the air, then gave up and turned back to the woman. ‘I think he said there’s a-…’

‘… … … … … …’

The interruption sounded more like a violent melodic refrain than Japanese, but that didn’t matter as Miho was too stuck on the imagery in front of him to notice.

And with good reason.

It was like some mythological stage play, out of nowhere, had been dropped down into the clearing. Hell pays a visit to Kai Province, Act 1, scene 1.

No, weirder than that.

The woman…who had been a woman a minute earlier…was now only half there. Her head, shoulders, hair and nothing else were…somehow…floating on a giant, chaotic cloud of purple mist. And that mist was whipping out tendrils towards the path, towards him…but falling short…like they were crashing into some kind of invisible wall before they could connect.

Miho reeled back regardless, assuming at least one of them would break through and hit him.

Fortunately, he assumed wrong.

The tendrils ceased their attack and the woman’s head bobbed closer, her eyes boring through him. ‘Bring the ashigaru to me, and you may be spared.’

‘You’re on fire,’ was all Miho could manage in response.

‘This is a temporary offer.’

Weird fire…

‘Ending in five seconds.’

With no physical body…

‘I suggest you start dragging.’

He blinked a dozen times, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It wasn’t fire, and it wasn’t a normal woman. What was it? A demon?

Were demons even real?

‘Stop gawping and bring him to me, wretch.’

‘Will you-…what will you do with him?’

‘Consume his organs.’

Miho nodded, he didn’t know why. There was no way he could just give a man over to have his insides eaten. But he also didn’t wanna piss off something that was half made of purple smoke.

‘Move him now,’ the woman commanded, calming her mist tendrils a little.

‘I can’t…do that.’

‘Do it.’

‘Sorry…no.’

'Move him.’

‘I can’t.’

‘… … …’

'It doesn't feel right.'

The purple mist stopped abruptly, each tendril moving inwards to merge with the core.

‘Then you are both dead,’ intoned the woman, her voice and head absorbed into the smoke as it trailed at unnatural speed back up the slope and into the shadows of the forest.

Miho watched it vanish with his peripheral vision as the main parts of his eyes remained focused on the spot where the bizarre purple light show had happened. Where the woman had been standing. Where she'd looked pretty and seductive and dropped the shoulder of her yukata...then turned into a purple cloud and threatened to kill him.

He stood there for a long time, staring.

At the dirt.

Looking for purple residue.

Waiting for the woman to come back down the slope and say, ‘ha! Just kidding.’

But it didn’t happen.

Nothing did.

Apart from the occasional shout of ‘demon’ from the delirious samurai below.

‘Daydream,’ Miho mumbled finally, shifting attention to the remains of the chicken bun sticking out of his obi bag. ‘Has to be.’

In the trees beyond the slope, a bird screeched.

Four times.

Then all was silent again.