“They won’t want to see you impure,” Takami said to me once while we waited in the back. The veil she had been wearing which covered every inch of her slender frame in silk had now disappeared, leaving the pale flesh beneath. “They always want something that hasn’t been seen, hasn’t been exploited by miserable sovereignties.” She smirked. “Be a feather, not a bird.” Takami never gives transparent advice, but the riddles she does provide are useful nevertheless.
If I could tell you what I remember first about Takami, it would be her cherry hair: the way that her fire-bombed nest crackled and hissed through blondes and burgundies. Her elongated and pointed features only accented her long face, which curved and rounded in all the places a person would desire. It was rare I never spied her defined collar bone, or the thighs she so desperately worked on.
“A professional is only as good as her thighs,” she once told me in the secrecy of an industrial back alley. She smoked a long ebony pipe from the Leitärke Empire, I drank spider wine from a plastic cup.
“If they ever saw something they didn’t like,” I pondered aloud, never specifying who Takami called ‘the sacred they’, “would you feel ashamed of yourself?”
Takami grunted musically; it sounded as if the northern mountains had shaken snow off their peaks. It was not the loudest of the snorts. “I pride myself in being a malleable teacher,” she responded with a hint of cocky bravado. “If a student does not pay attention to the lessons taught to them by their better, is it the fault of the genius or the slacker?”
I remember pondering over this logic for a long time before muttering, “But what if the student believes he or she is the better?”
Her hearty laugh I would remember for years after. Even more so than the reply she gave. As time has passed her words dwindle, fade like a painting done by a master on the verge of insanity. The glossy ink slithers and dries, just to become empty images of meandering meaning. Like Takami’s words, the painter’s intention will be forgotten with time, but their work . . . oh, their work will be the greatest epitaph of all.
Takami will never be remembered as the woman, but as the idol, the goddess of a thousand kingdoms. Along the banks of the urban city, Shein-Chiha, she was known as the Voge Messabene, the Ivory Ember: a single mythical, virgin flame that wandered and darted between the mire of clotting smoke. She remained their favourite not because of her talent, but because of her dedication – the work that no one would forget.
“It isn’t rare to create a masterpiece,” she told me after she had pleased a woman without even touching her. “It is rare to maintain that idealistic perfection, the status that you create and the eons of progress you manufacture for a single moment on an empty stage. You damn well want to follow up with a killer act, or you’ll be living in the steam of an old side street.”
To me, in that small but gorgeous dressing room, I thought her words seemed unnecessarily sanctimonious. Her hair all matted into perfect curls – like goddesses had run their liquid fingers through her blazing strands – and her cheeks flushed like a strawberry candy from the Empire – a gift I have received many a time from their most esteemed gallantry. But, once you realized who she was, how many gazed at her in lust, and how many eyes got turned away as empty as the bottom of a well during drought, then you may know just how her word held in the air, even during a blistering wind.
In fact, many of her stories will be left untold, that much I will take to my grave. But one will always stay with me, remain in my head till my blonde, sun-kissed scalp rests on a bed of lilies and drifts off towards the afterlife. This story is how I met the lovely dancer herself and learned of her true plight.
You might wonder how I got into this whole business – if being flirtatious with governor’s wallets can even be considered a ‘business’ at all. The stories of where, how, and why are often not as enticing or interesting as the act itself. It is for this reason that I will start with the ‘what’ of my tale: I don’t need to tell a perfect stranger every part of my life, do I? In the business we call this seikatai kyouru, a phrase more commonly translated as ‘professional distance’.
Every girl will tell you about the room they first stepped into during the initial process. To be a senshi ta’kotoi – a governor’s seraph – you must be unique, for any side street whore could whet your appetite for a few minutes, maybe an hour if she’s good. Our business, conversely, is in conversation, delicacy, refinement: like that of a princess belonging to the state and not to a man. Since the unification of the kingdoms, it has been a game of nobles, politicians who eye among the wafting smoke and singing saxophone. We are behind that smog, the glittering jewels that every king would want in his crown.
But then again, kings don’t exist in the east anymore, you’d have to visit the Empire for that masquerade.
Aside from the purpose of our illustrious living, you might wish to hear of my room. This is, after all, my story.
The room existed in a space of marble. Tall pillars framed the walls of oil paintings, some I do not doubt were originals from artists begging for company before they had the money to bring it to their house. I stood before five matrons who inspected me privately from the girls who had lined up outside. My father had presented me with a cherry silk dress, swirling waves bathing the blossoms in ivory water. It was his last present to me, a gift that I treasured for its brilliance.
“Your name?” they asked as I scanned the room, my head feeling light and spacious.
“Kaori,” I replied like a delicate flower pecked in spring. “Kaori Wantashabi.”
One of their eyebrows raised in interest: I suppose my family name carried weight back then. When you join the sisterhood – as they call it – you lose all titles except your first name: your spirit name. I was stripped of that connection to my family, to my father, to the pink silk dress. But the more I think about what happened, the more I am convinced that I never want to be remembered as one of them anymore.
“Sing,” they commanded, rightly so. I had heard of the trials that one would go through, if you had not been turned away first. It seemed that, between my name, my dress, and my curiously bleach blonde hair, I had their attention.
Being the child that I was back then, I chose to perform the musical sonnet “Between the Trees, Oh Great General of the Empire”. Regardless of my heritage, I had picked this for the range and height. Not many that I knew in my life sung with such vibrato.
Oh, you do not know of that term? Neither did I, before a few months ago. A Shasni duke told me that I had it, explained how it was a term to describe how my voice fluttered in the air. He likened it to a great white bird you could not see, flapping around the vibrations that came out of my mouth. He was an educated man: his pince-nez told me so.
I finished the song with ease, the final note hanging in the air long after I had clasped my hands before me. A woman, who I would come to know as Kitsune, walked from the panel. Her chocolate hair tied back by a golden comb and an elegant headpiece – also made of gold – fell from the front of her hair down to her forehead in a vine-like design. Her bosom and shoulders showed from her low cut dress made of shiny cotton. Blonde fur lined around the top edge of the dress, it looked to be from a fox. Her amber eyes scanned me once she had cut the distance between us in half.
From her glossed lips she said, “You confuse me, Kaori.”
My mind broke into shock, not out of the loveliness of Kitsune’s melodic tone – which I am sure you have heard yourself – but out of the directness of her speech. “I don’t understand,” I replied in a way I hoped would be more innocent and akin to my looks.
Kitsune’s brow furrowed. “You don’t belong here, koto.” Koto means youngling, or child, if you aren’t already aware. “You should have been married by now.”
I bowed my head and raised my dress to a curtsy. “The Great Divide has passed. The kingdoms are no longer in schism.” I raised my emerald eyes to meet her amber. “There are no more arrangements left to be made with suitable gentleman. The government does not allow the old laws to be –”
“Spare me the rhetoric,” she commanded, her face becoming more solid and rigid. “The abandonment of the old practices does not mean you cannot find an eligible suitor.”
“My father thinks so.” An empty silence followed my sentiment as I rose to full height. I rustled my straightened hair – plant wax is often the best to get rid of the curls at the ends of my hair – and clasped my hands before myself again.
I waited for a response, but Kitsune seemed uninclined to deliver one.
At last one of the others spoke, she being the black haired delicacy named Bareto. “You are here not of your own accord?”
Kitsune didn’t allow me to answer, for she silenced Bareto too quickly. “I will handle this, sister. Not you.” Bareto nodded and slumped her shoulders back, bringing her full chest forward and her chin up.
Kitsune’s gaze returned to my face. “Your father realizes that, indeed, you do not belong to one man? That you are connected to the state.” I remember this statement clearly, for it means more to me now than it did then. The way she shifted her weight, licked her lips, and sneered when she uttered her final sentence even now sends chills down my spine.
As a child, I responded, “But surely there are exceptions?” As a woman, I thought, You think my father cares about that?
Kitsune pursed her lips, her eyes becoming more intense and ignited. In the moment, I didn’t understand why her breath became caught in her throat, or why her body tensed with anxiety. Later on I would find out about her betrothed, how she was the only senshi ta’kotoi to belong to both the state and another human being.
“I can’t take you in,” she said at last.
My eyes stared at her, lost. “Why?” was about all I could manage to spit out.
“You are not here of your own accord. This is not a place for betterment. This is a lifestyle, koto. This isn’t some show that you put on every day and then go home with a bunch of zix in your pocket.” She grimaced. “I would suggest you go back to your family, try to find a nice job somewhere. I heard that the government is trying to equally employ—”
“You think that I’ll be let back?” I blurted, my face bright red and contorted. Back then I was used to whining for my wishes. I desired to be heard, to be remembered. “I’m not some ‘koto’, I am a woman. Even if my father sent me here, does it not mean something that I am still the one to present myself? If you value the power our gender has so recently received, should you not value my determination?”
Kitsune’s eyes held admiration, something I would learn she did not give out lightly. But in a place, in a time where the world was so uncertain, technology evolved in frightening and mysterious ways, and the presence of Spirit Dancers became more and more real, I could understand why she was so hard on me. But the critique she wanted to give, the command for me to leave with my head low, never came.
Clapping jolted the group, to which we all turned to find a woman with fire red hair in a black corset and matching lace gloves standing in front of the open doorway. This mysterious, sly entrance would be the first time I ever met Takami.
“That was quite bold, sister,” the intruder, Takami, exclaimed. Her face curled into a wry smile and her eyes shone despite their average colouring. “You must agree, Kitsune, that this woman does indeed have the unique appeal and style of a senshi ta’kotoi.”
Kitsune never snarled, nor raised her lip at all. But the command was all the evidence you needed to understand her displeasure. “You are not welcome here, sister. Your presence is not required for this interview—”
“You should say ‘trial’, sister,” she mocked. “It’s a much more fitting name for this display.” She walked towards us, her gait quick and slender, every moment so precise, every hip sway trained and refined. Kistune started at her intently, yet I stared with awe.
She slipped around Kitsune, who did nothing to stop her, and stared directly at me mere inches from my face. “Your name?” she said as the pomegranate-flavoured breathe washed over me.
“K . . . Kaori . . .” I muttered. “Kaori Wantashanbi.”
Takami’s brow did not rise like the others. That made me all the more intrigued by this woman. “You sing?” I nodded. “Like a fragile glass sculpture?” I furrowed my brow, but nodded anyway. She smiled at that. “If you could be any creature, from this land or the next, what would it be?”
“Takami!”
“Did you not ask me the same question, Kistune?” she fired back, her grin growing wider. “I am merely expediting her process in this procedure.”
She turned back to me. “What creature, Kaori. Or are you the koto that Kitsune suggests?”
Her jab didn’t make me angry, in contrast it actually made me giggle a bit. The laughter did not surprise Takami at all. “A dove,” I said with confidence.
Takami’s smile grew wider. “She’ll be perfect.”
Kistune now entered the fray, pulling back Takami and glaring at her. “First you come in here, in a private meeting, and then suggest how I should pick our sisters?”
“Look at yourself, Kitsune! So concerned with enforcing the new due to how afraid you are of the old. You fail to see talent before you, like a badger picking the perfect delicacy while it is starving.” She gestured towards me with her long, slender fingers. “Her form, her shape, her personality, it’s all unique. She looks like a Solen princess, some bastard child whisked away to an ancient and oriental land. You think that our imperial customers will not enjoy her, even request her?”
Kitsune paused. Her face looked as if it had been carved of marble, so elegant, so pristine, and so purely gorgeous that even I found myself ashamed to be in their presence. Sure, my pure blonde hair was uncommon in this land, but so was Takami’s fiery head as well. Was that all they truly cared about? The uniqueness of their toys so that they could please as many as possible?
Takami rested a hand on Kitsune’s bare shoulder. “So, is she accepted among the ranks?”
Kitsune sighed. “I have concerns that weigh on my mind, Takami. She has been forced here against her will –”
“Do you know that?” Takami interjected.
I remember Kitsune’s face, the way she stared at me with pity. It was if I wasn’t even there. Like they were staring at me behind glass, debating if I could become one in their ranks. At last, Kitsune turned back to Takami and gave her response. “I’ve see that look in her eyes before. She will regret this.”
Takami frowned and looked to the ground. In the moment I never heard what she said under her breath. I couldn’t catch that soft sentence that caused Kitsune’s shoulders to sink. But now, being with them for so long, I think I can guess at what she said: “Don’t we all?”
Kitsune spoke after a long silence passed. “You are welcomed into the sisterhood, Kaori,” she said in mid bow. “As is customary, we will present you with one of our own to teach and train you in our society. You will not be able to leave this building for the next cycle. You will probably never see your family again. All ties can and will be cut, a customer will always be a customer so long that respect and our laws are followed through.” She paused, looking me dead in the eye after she had risen. “Do you understand and accept these requirements?”
I said, “I do” without really thinking about it. I wonder to this day what I would’ve answered if I had thought more about it. It probably would’ve been the same. However, I doubt the decision would have been as easy as if I had not considered it.
Kitsune, without a smile, directed me to Takami. “Takami will take you back and prepare you. She will be your guide for now. She may or may not be your trainer. Follow and do not speak. You are in vigil for the rest of the night. You are dismissed.”
With a gesture of her finger, I followed Takami past the panel. Unceremoniously I departed, not speaking as I had been dictated so bluntly by Kitsune. I felt as though I had been passed from one hand to another, almost as a butcher passes meat to his customer. Exiting that room felt as if a gift had been given to me, but at a great cost.
Takami, as fate would have it, became my trainer: my venstoi. Every morning she would come to my bedside, knocking on my frame and flashing that same thick white smile. “Get up,” she would command. “This life isn’t easy and I’m not going to make it any easier.”
The day would be filled with rituals and practices. Sometimes it would be a language to learn, like Imperial Common, or one of the many old Eastern dialects. Next would be singing, or chanting together. We always, as you are aware, perform together. Solo acts are for a private audience, and that only happens if the client is wealthy enough to catch our attention. These acts are such a rarity that even Takami said it would not be worth preparing for. “You’re new,” she said with a wink. “I doubt they’ll be willing to pay big zix for that.”
Time drifted slowly, like the myth of Takayuki at sea. In the same way, how time must have blended for that love-struck fool, the years blended together into one great passage. Soon I was performing among my sisters, the illustrious Takami right there beside me.
But I had still yet to know her.
The event happened on the third cycle after I had started performing. During this day the crowds were thicker than usual. I had stepped onto the block that the hall resided on, newly manufactured cars already lined up along the streets. After the Kor Wars, mechanized technology had only improved with the stronger Imperial relations. I found no need for these mechanical beasts – for Takami herself had allowed me to stay at her apartment till I found a more suitable home – so I have only spied them out of the corner of my eye. But here, with gallantry all smoking around their sleek vehicles . . . I was gobsmacked, to say the least.
Inside, the signs of how crowded the hall was fared no better. Smoke bellowed from the chattering mouths of businessmen, each dressed in suits and ties. Some looked young: dreamers that wanted to change an opportune world. Others were old: men who had a stressful day not even their partners could fix. Already some of our sisters had started to chat, each dressed in elegant sequins and dazzling jewellery, their hair fixed just so, accenting their faces and other features that proved their uniqueness. In this lifestyle, what is shown is much more attractive than what is hidden underneath. Personality, temperament, ease of speech, all things you wouldn’t be expected to be excellent at a brothel.
But then again, we’re a special bunch, wouldn’t you agree?
I made my way through the crowds, catching the eye of many foreign nobles. It seemed like a diplomatic conference had been held that day. I could care less about what it was on, all I knew was that business would be high all night.
Slipping through the back curtains, I spied Takami by a glistening mirror. Her expression was blank as she traced her eyes in dark ink. I made no attempt to communicate as I threw down my bags and started to strip down.
Takami grunted. “You lock up the apartment?”
I paused, my leg halfway covered in a cotton legging. “Why are you asking me that?”
“You forgot to lock last time,” she said with a neutral tone. “Logically, I don’t want any people getting into my apartment, so I’m asking you to make sure –”
“What’s with the hostility then, Takami?” I replied with the same tender voice I used with all my customers.
I turned my head towards her to find her accented gaze directly on me. “First, you don’t talk to me like I’m one of your wallowing foreigners, okay?” She rolled her shoulders. “Second, you are living in my place –”
“A place you offered for me to stay at —” She raised a finger up as her gaze grew sterner. I fell silent.
“Regardless if you help pay or if I offered it, you still play by my rules, Kaori. Understand? I am in control of this situation, not you.” Now at the point of heaving, she clenched her jaw and spoke through it, “I need you to agree. Now.”
I don’t know what came over me in that moment. I remember standing to my full height, staring back at this woman who had taught me and offered me a home. Bowing before her, I muttered, “I don’t need another sovereign, Takami. I will find another place to stay next week.” Then, I stood up, registered her expression of shock and left.
Sure, she wasn’t the most gracious person to stay with. She growled in the mornings, growled at night and occasionally growled during meals. I knew her to play with the rules, to defy authority yet complain about how hers had yet to be honoured. There held an air of mystery, of concern, and of menace to everything she had ever said or any action she had completed. To deny her in such a way was to remove yourself from her forever and I was perfectly content with that in the moment. I expected, once the week had finished, to never see her again.
Fate is a funny thing, isn’t it?
I remember the beginning of the night being uneventful. I talked to a lot of Imperial Politicians, mostly nobles discussing ‘discontent maegus’ or ‘empty promises’. Knowing some Imperial Common to speak with them was enough to catch winks of the conversation, but nothing substantial.
It was in this group that I met Dexter soi Zen. His eyes shone like a lake and his hair held the same shiny blond quality that so many had loved in mine. When he turned I noticed his full jaw, the angular way it shaped his face and chin. Clean shaven, wondrously vocal, and with a smile that could melt hearts. Everyone called him ‘Dex’ in the group, but I was only allowed to call him by his full name. I think he liked that even more.
“So, Kaori,” I remember him starting with a grin. “Have you ever been to the beautiful state of Solen?”
I, on his lap no less, giggled at his assertion. “Dex, of course not. I’m an eastern girl through and through.” I stroked his cheek which he accepted graciously as he closed his eyes. I knew that the words I spoke were butchered at best, but at least he could understand me.
“No, you have Imperial blood, Kaori. I can tell from your face, your eyes, and your gorgeous hair.” He twirled the ends of my hair. It was not much to curl around his finger, mind you, but he still seemed to enjoy the action anyway.
I, meanwhile, tried to make conversation. “This has been, oh, the third time I’ve seen you this year?” He nodded to my question, unwilling or unable to speak as he amused himself with my hair. The others around us were no longer paying attention. “Trouble brewing in the North?”
His smile flickered slightly and his eyes grew heavy. “Something like that,” he said into my eye. “Maybe I have something that keeps drawing me here –”
With swerves and delicate ambition, his hand traced up my sides. I had to pat them down. “Ambition of the flesh?” I parried. “Oh, you are much too involved to be concerned with such fixable matters. You must be here for something more . . . enticing?”
He smirked. “Wouldn’t a pretty one like yourself want to know?” he said with coy purpose behind every word.
“Maybe I would,” I coerced back, getting caught in the thrill of the conversation. “What would it take to learn all your secrets perhaps?”
He chuckled. “It would be a much shorter time than yours, my dear.” He kissed my hand and gazed at me with lust in his eyes. I ignored the primal instincts he set off and continued my flirtations. “Why not extend this conversation into a more . . . private area. Wouldn’t you agree?” From his hand flashed a pouch of zix and immediately my eyes grew wide.
This is the money I need to move out, I thought as I took the leather sack from his hand and weighed it in my own. It feels heavy . . . enough to last me a year on a decent apartment. No more needing Takami: I will be dependant. The worry of his advances fell flat onto the floor. It was not unusual for one of my sisters to receive a hefty bonus. The action of tipping one of the girls was not, by any means, a sign of forceful activity. In fact, this was my first tip and I felt the surging of pride in my chest.
“You pick the room,” I said, rather foolishly. “I will keep this close.” I stashed the pouch in the front of my dress, which only amused Dex more.
Slipping into one of our many ‘private rooms’ – small alcoves that dot along the outside of the building – I followed him past the silk curtains. He had chosen a room along the left wall, three rooms away from a back door. I knew he aimed for the closest two to the door, but had to compromise since they were already taken. A sharp sigh left his breath at the realization, yet he remained steadfast and calm despite his wishes being dashed.
Inside each circular room was a table and two booths. Each booth could only seat two and was made especially so that no unprofessional activity could occur in the tight space. Not that many a sister hadn’t tried to gain a few extra zix, but it did mean if they were caught that they could never come back. This line of work, as you are well aware by now, has very strict rules.
So there I was, dressed in a silvery gown sparkling in the light of the room, tight and fitting to my petite form while accenting my ‘imperial attributes’. I have no doubt that it was a factor in Dex picking me that night for his company. My face was curious as I stood before the seated imperial, his eyes dogging my figure.
“You are too fine for this land, Kaori,” he said accompanied with a snicker. “Far . . . far too lovely . . .”
My brow furrowed. “You wished to talk more,” I stated, making my position clear. “Privacy is all I’m willing to give you, Dex. You know the rules of our sisterhood—”
“Oh yes, I know all about the need to respect a senshi ta’kotoi. After all, this is not a common whorehouse, is it?” I stayed silent, observing him with both hands behind my back and clinging to the closed sheets granting us privacy. “But . . . in the same vein, you’ve felt the wealth in your hands that I am capable of. You must know that not every sister follows the rules. They, though quickly dismissed, are often quite wealthy.” My eyes narrowed, my breath became quick and airy.
“One night. That is all I am asking, my dear Kaori. You’ve seen me thrice now, known my disposition in maintaining a certain . . . rapport. I do not ask for much, just a glimpse at the lovely siren that you are.” His smile shone again, except this time it held none of the warmth from before.
“Dex . . .” I wavered, his gaze boring into me. “I can’t . . .” My voice had changed, instead of the lightness that so many had craved, it became deeper, darker, and more earthy.
It bothered the imperial politician. “No . . . no, that simply won’t due.” His eyes became thick and overwhelming. “I need you to be as you have been before – speak to me like you have all the others.”
“You are frightening me,” I said, my voice reflexively going higher in pitch.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “I desire that ethereal creature, not the one that lives and breathes. The one that is unattainable, the one that only I can have!”
I grit my teeth, anger starting to burn inside of me. “I’m sorry, Dex,” I said in the most menacing tone I could manage. “This is not what you originally offered me. I cannot go any further in this engagement—”
“Oh, but you will,” he retorted, pulling a thin weapon from his black suit jacket. It took me a moment to realize the make of the barrel, the way his fingers clasped around the handle, and the motion in which his index finger twitched on the trigger: it was a handgun, crafted only by the finest in the north.
I nearly screamed, only stopping myself due to the possibility of the shot going off if I did. I stood there, contemplating whether or not he would actually risk the diplomatic repercussions of firing in this building. I had heard rumours, talks of dissonance in the relations between the Empire and our Kingdom. With alcohol in Dex’s system and lust in his eyes, would he risk the possibility of starting a war? Would I take the risk?
In the moment, I didn’t. And perhaps if I was the person I am now, I would have taken that chance. But fate, it seems, thought it would be better to place me in that situation, to push me in ways I had yet to understand. To be honest, I think I agree with the spirits and fate.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my voice never wavering in fear. I refused to give him that much.
His grin turned ever more horrifying. “I want you to be quiet. Walk outside through the back without any commotion and then come with me to my car. I will have my hand on the gun the entire way. I suggest you don’t risk anything if you want to stay alive. Remember, I’m not the only one here.”
I nodded, keeping my eye on his posture and stance. I would not risk anything in that situation.
I left first, my body tense and rigid as I glanced around the room. My sister were all discussing with their customers, laughing or engaging as was customary with their unique ‘traits’. I hated how I was known as the Princess of the Empire. Some exotic creature imperial men had to conquer.
These thoughts brought back memories of my childhood which flooded past my eyes as I remembered a small kitchenette, my father huddling over my mother, an imperial born, and whispering into her ear.
“You are safe here,” I remember him saying as he kissed her ear. “This land is free. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” I recalled these words right up until she died, beaten to death in an alley on the way from getting groceries. I reconciled these words every night as I laid in bed alone, my father screaming in his room. I still wonder if my father would have taken back those words if he knew his people better. If I had been in his situation, I sure would have.
The rough shove of my captor brought me blazing back into reality. “Keep moving,” he said under his breath. “Don’t fuss.”
I did as I was told, moving through the crowds as silent as a spirit. Though I tried to make as little contact as I could, I caught the eye of Takami as she danced with an Eastern official. She looked so graceful, at ease, at peace with the world and herself. I knew it was all a mask, something we all knew how to put on with such grace. Belonging to the state does that to you. Trapped within some cycle that never ends, it’s enough to make one scream and beg for the day they can be free . . . free to choose their own life.
What hit me the hardest was remembering what Kitsune said to me on the day of my adjudication.
Takami stared at me, confused and agitated at my vacant stare. I wanted to cry out, say things to make her realize that I was sorry. But I knew that there would be no redemption, no saving grace. What could she do, some senshi ta’kotoi with a hyperactive imagination? She could not save me. I, in the end, would be alone. I left her eyes with that same sadness as I left the building with.
Shoving me along the cobble path, I saw Dex pull out his gun and push me to the adjacent brick wall. “Why not start now?” he asked with determination in his voice. I remember the smell of his mints breaking away to a sickly smoker’s breath. “After all, you are getting paid, aren’t you?” He grabbed for the front of my dress, attempting to tear it from me. That was when I screamed and fought back, now in the open I could defend myself.
I batted him over the head, threw my leg up and smashed it against his stomach. A satisfying thud made me realize I had hit his gut as he coughed and spluttered in pain. Noticing that his grip had loosened, I bit down on his hand, tasting his blood fresh in my mouth. He cried out in pain at my defense, lashing out and smacking the handgun against my head. Falling against the pavement, I swore. My consciousness ached and begged me to run with all my might.
All those voices stopped when the gun’s singular eye fell on me again.
“You stupid whore!” he cried out in anger. “I thought you were a civilized bitch and not some dirty fighter!” He prepped his gun. “Didn’t they tell you to mind your manners, to watch your tongue in front of those who would put you down like a dog?”
My mouth twitched with both fear and retaliation. “You can talk mighty all you want, but the only reason you are winning in this fight is because you need a gun to save you! You don’t have the guts to get me to do what you want, you koto!”
The metal of the gun collided with my cheek and I felt iron in my mouth again; this time, the taste of iron was my own. “Maybe I am wrong about you,” he said with a heaving form. “Maybe an imperial charmer is not something that exists anymore. Those eastern whores have better manners than you ever did.” He spat at me. “Sing for me, dove! Sing your death song so that I may remember you. The spirits only know how quickly your body will leave my mind once I’m through with you!”
My breath quickened. My pulse raced. Every fibre of my being felt cold and pricked with anxiety. I wanted to run, but couldn’t. Everything slowed down to such an agonizing degree that I could barely think or function. With each passing beat of my heart another second passed, another second I still lived. I thought of how my mother died, how I was to follow in her footsteps and a single thought entered my head: I wonder if my father will cry over me like he did with my mother?
“Put the gun down.” I whisked my head to the third voice and found none other than Takami there, the light draping across her gorgeous form. She wore a tight black dress with crimson accents along the sides and front. If you were proficient in the myths of this land, I might have said that she looked like Yokana herself: the spirit of vengeance.
Dex’s expression was almost as shocking as her entrance had been. “Wha . . . what are you doing here?” The power that he used so viciously against me melted from his mouth as his eyes fell into a sudden realization: he now had two witnesses.
Takami continued, in the language of the east, “You will put the gun down and walk away. No one will speak of this night. Neither you, nor I, nor her.” She pointed a finger at me, never leaving her gaze on him. “Do I make myself clear, official?”
The Solen politician grimaced, his body losing the fear that had overcome him. “No . . . you should be afraid of me, bitch! I have the upper hand here.” He spoke and understood the basic eastern language, which I would have commended had he not proven how worthless he was to me earlier.
His gun fell on her now. “I will shoot,” he threatened with his eyes full of bloodlust. “I only want her, that’s it!”
“You will walk away right now,” Takami stated with a tone that was the closest I have ever heard to a rumbling thunderstorm. “If not, then I will force you to stop.”
A smirk fell onto his lips. “You’re—” It was in that moment that a horrid crack burst through the air and a cry of agony broke through the sky.
Dex’s arm, now hanging limply from his shoulder, looked like it had been twisted as a vine would around a post, the gun now lying in a puddle. He stared at her with his crystalline eyes, begging for mercy. Takami did not oblige, did not even give him the satisfaction of speech. She just moved her outstretched hand slightly as another crack sliced through the air. A finger was now twisted backwards in an unnatural way. Dex cried out again.
“Takami!” I said, but she couldn’t hear me, her face focused on watching this man suffer before her. I had no idea of the power in her fingertips, the ability to crush and mold the world like no other human – no, she wasn’t human, she was something far greater than us. She was known as a Spirit Dancer, those who had the ability to control the world itself. All but exiled after the Unification of the Eastern Kingdoms . . . at least, I thought they had all left.
Clearly I had been misinformed.
Another snap, then another, then another until his hand looked like bits of wire stretched out by a child’s curious fingers. Fear flooded through the man’s eyes as he spluttered and cursed in words that I could not understand. Each time another part of his body contorted into another shape, a horrific cry would emanate from his gut and it looked as if Dex had lost six years of his life.
In a mighty roar she threw her other hand out, causing him to be pushed backwards against the ground, accompanied by the crack of his back. Dex’s tongue lolled out his mouth, his eyes bulging and twisting about in his head. Takami walked over to him.
“Y . . . you . . . are . . . a . . .” Realization hit him in waves and suddenly a burst of fury howled into the air from his lips. “Y . . . you . . . bastards! You . . . left us . . . to die! Maegus scum! You wo . . . uldn’t help my f . . . family during th . . . the . . .” Tears started to flood from his eyes as he gritted his teeth. “You d . . . deserve to b . . . b . . . burn . . .”
With a cold and callous exterior, Takami knelt down, pushing her heel into one of his broken legs. “You have me wrong, Imperial. I am no maegus.” Her lips parted into a snarl as her hand fell upon his chest. “I am a Spirit Dancer and I will belong to no man!”
A hissing sound started from his chest; sickening, slicing sounds of tearing and snapping like when one would steps in a forest on a cold day. Suddenly, his chest caved in and his eyes became blood red as his lips parted and a slew of crimson vomit fell onto his neck. He lay there, broken and battered with her hand still over his wasted body. The once young and, dare I say, handsome figure now had been replaced with a dried husk. The only signs of life were from his bright blood and his frightened eyes. It looked as though he had been pumped of all life.
She turned to me, looking older by a few years and smiled. “You alright, Kaori?”
I could barely speak, even functioning was difficult. My stomach unleashed the past few meals onto the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said with genuine pity. “I wasn’t thinking . . . I only thought of ending his life, preventing him from . . .” She stopped, ripping her gaze from my shaking form. “You know of me now. You know what I am, how I shouldn’t belong here.”
“You’re a Spirit Dancer,” I said after wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. “Your kind was exiled from these lands . . . you would be killed if someone found out—”
“But they haven’t,” she interrupted with a mix of concern and terror. “They will never find out. They can’t—”
“Doesn’t Kitsune know? Do any of the sisters know of your . . . your curse?” Takami flinched at the word, knowing full well what people thought of her.
“Kitsune knows,” she confided, her face twisting into a snarl. “Even then, she was young when she found me. Barely a woman herself, she never fully understood the price of harbouring one such as I.” A small smirk broke through her contorted expression. “Then again, I bet there are some kinky individuals who would give anything to be in the company of a Spirit Dancer, regardless if my kind is an enemy of the state—”
My eyes grew in shock. “That’s a reason for your ‘uniqueness’? It’s a blight, Takami. A disease that needs to be purged—”
“Says a human!” she retorts, her eyes burning with passion and anguish. “You don’t understand because you exist in a world ruled by those who do not control life itself. All you have is your head, brains that can create devices so that you can become creatures like me! I am a perfect creation already and yet your kind believes me to be some demon or sprite that will kill and curse!” Her fists clenched, her breath became laboured and heavy before she cried out, “I deserve to live in this free world!”
I stared at her, her body quivering. “Kitsune always talks about how the unification was a small step in our gender becoming accepted into the world. How the government now cared for our wellbeing. The sovereignties of old, like in the Empire, only cared about borders and bloodlines. But here, we can have opportunity. We can thrive on our minds and our hearts!” She shook her weary head. “But not so for me. While she can strive towards a better tomorrow, I must remain in the dirt with my head pressed against the ground and my hands to the sky! There is no home for my kind.”
She jabbed a finger at me. “And while you have told me that your mixed heritage has been a curse, I tell you, is it not a blessing that you are from two homes? When I myself am seen as a villain in myths from other cultures and a divine nymph in my own?”
Licking my lips, I looked to her in a daze. No tears ran from her eyes, no wallowing aloud of her plight. It was sheer anger that burst from her lips, every moment another turbulence of animosity. “Takami . . .” I said, looking at her with a mixture of fear and pity. “I . . . I . . .”
“And now I might have to kill you too,” she revealed, her eyes turning back to the mutilated body of Dex. “I can’t have loose ends . . . not in this world. Maybe in another time, another world I could have allowed you to live. But here . . . now . . .”
“I . . . I . . .”
“You what?” Her top lip lifted into a snarl. “You thought me a monster a few moments ago and now you look at me, trying to prevent your own death because you understand—”
“I’m sorry.”
That stopped her raving. That simple, honest statement. I remember her staring at me as if I had changed, turned into another person that could be more than just an acquaintance: a friend. I don’t remember much of what she said, nor much about the rules she gave me concerning her secret. All I knew was that she gave me my life simply because I sympathized, I realized her plight and opened myself to it.
Maybe she wanted to kill me later, in private, and the thought crossed my mind as I went to the apartment to retire early that night. At moments I awoke to an empty suite, throwing myself upright to see if she was in my room, waiting to kill me. But she never came back that night, didn’t come and remove the life from my veins. I returned to my job in the morning and found her there, looking just as she did last night. She smiled at me as if nothing had changed.
But it had. Everything had and in that moment, I considered how much this new found trust meant to her, how much it mattered in keeping me alive. I thought about these things, these ideas, for a long time until I realized something very simple: that this revelation had created something deeper between us. Now I laughed with her, understood her attitudes and wry humour. I smiled at her advice and gave my own in response. She became, incredibly, more human in my eyes. Maybe that’s what this land needs. Not some regulation on what is and is not human, but a better understanding of the people that embody that world more than all of us.
So I come to the end of my tale and how I truly met the lovely Takami Noramoru. Now you must think me silly for telling you all this, my imperial friend. For how must she feel that I tell another about her plight, about her struggles with living? My telling you this could put her life in jeopardy, or worse, all the lives of the senshi ta’kotoi that have known her. But I know you, Grigori Stilvos. I know of what you want to accomplish, what dreams hide in that half Muirin blood. Takami talks about you often, dreams of meeting you in this private room like I have right now.
Maybe one day she will, but in her current state, I doubt you’d want to visit her.
What I want you to do is to tell her story. Change the name, change the location, spirits even get rid of me. But I want you to use her struggle as fuel in your fight. This world is on the precipice of change, my friend. And though those with gifts have been seen as traitors, demons, and sexual sprites, I see them all as sisters. The unification of this land was only the beginning of this journey, a stepping stone into the life that might be given to all Spirit Dancers.
What I am asking you for, Grigori, is simple. I want Takami’s dream of a life fulfilled, spent not as a Spirit Dancer but as a human, realized.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
