2.0 いつまでも MIDNIGHT SESSION Part One

“Tea fish.”

The new arrival was clearly imagining the correct kanji for their surname when addressing Junna, but using the wrong pronunciation. They sympathized; the reading was unusual! If he hadn’t known who they were by appearance, he must have assumed he had the right person because of the ghost fish familiars that constantly swam through the air around Junna. They were used to the fish to the point that the school, however big, was just part of the scenery. Most other people couldn’t see them anyway, so bringing them up would be pointless at best, horrifically awkward at worst. The goldfish and koi familiars fit with their surname well, even if the match was only a coincidence.

“The kanji is read as ‘Sagyo’, actually,” they said. It looked like even supernatural entities could be tricked by unusual kanji. “But if you’ve never heard it out loud, that was a good guess.”

“I see,” replied the man before them. His appearance was “wolfish,” if they had ever seen someone who actually fit that description. Black kimono, wrapped reversed like a corpse, long shaggy hair in a high ponytail, thin, sharp features, white eyes and a scowl.

“Shinigami,” Junna guessed. He physically fit the description and had that dark, stale aura that other minor death gods did, along with the scent of decay, musty and oppressive, like he’d slept in a tomb for a few centuries. “Wait, have I seen you before? In Yomi?”

Junna was familiar with shinigami not for the rare sighting of them in the world of the living (actually, they never had seen one in the world of the living), but from their own brief visits to the land of the dead. They visited the banks of the Sanzu River often and sometimes watched the opposite shore where the souls of the dead went after crossing. Junna had only crossed once, but sometimes they saw shinigami escorting lost souls to the river. The shinigami were perhaps more fierce than the oni guards King Enma employed to guard the gates to the various levels of hell, and Junna had actually fought with the oni before. They had stolen a club from one they had defeated, but even a weapon like that might not do anything to a shinigami.

“I have seen you on the shore of the river. I’m called Inunaki.”

“Ah, so I was wrong, you’re not wolfish, you’re doggish! Makes you feel much more approachable. Did you know there’s an internet rumor about a village—” A village called ‘dog’s howl…’

“I’m aware of the stories of Inunaki Village. No, you don’t need to repeat them.” So he’d heard about the village that refused to recognize the Constitution of Japan then! “I’m here with a message from Milady Izanami-no-Mikoto, specifically for you.”

Junna had only ever glanced at Izanami, the kami who presided over Yomi. Yomi wasn’t hell, exactly. Hell was an idea imported to Japan from overseas long ago; Yomi had been there since Izanami and her husband, Izanagi, had created the Japanese archipelago, or so the story went. Dead souls didn’t go to Yomi for punishment, they simply ended up there if they had no conflicting beliefs, which is exactly what had happened to Izanami herself in the early days of mankind.

Izanami-no-Mikoto, the first kami on record to die, overseer of her own prison.

“Well that’s… probably bad. What is it?” Junna asked, eager to figure out the point of this conversation as soon as they could. Their stomach, which had stopped twisting in fear, was starting to roll again. It felt the same as their days studying at Doikawa Shrine when the head priest’s daughter had called them over for an inevitable scolding, but so much worse since the anxiety from Ibuki’s appearance hadn’t had a chance to fade away. They might fall apart if the two things were connected.

The average person couldn’t hear or see Inunaki, or, more accurately, wouldn’t. They would be able to hear and see Junna, but as long as Junna was speaking with Inunaki, awareness of them would be limited. It was a handy little slip in human perception that kept people without an aptitude for the supernatural from trying to comprehend things that might alter their fragile perception of the world.

“I’m to escort you to Yomi-no-Kuni so she may speak to you, personally.”

Junna sighed heavily, trying to release some tension. They were convinced they knew why they were being called, and that what was waiting would be much, much worse than getting scolded by Doikawa Touko.

“Well, I really don’t want to upset Izanami-no-Mikoto. Lead the way, Inunaki-san.”

Inunaki’s cold expression softened at the edges showing clear relief and just a hint of smugness. He scanned the street from one side to the other, then down further in both directions.

“This should do.” He led Junna to the closest alley they two of them could fit through, still only while walking single-file. Unlike humans but just like other spirits, shinigami had no trouble weakening the boundaries between the living realm and the realm of the dead, but psychologically, it was easiest when a sort of transition was involved, like a doorway or turning a corner.

Yomi existed in the realm of the dead, which was probably part of the spirit realm, but no human had fully mapped it out. All oddities seemed to rely greatly on the concepts and impressions living humans came up with, and what humans had come up with is “we can’t understand oddities.” Or maybe humans were influenced by spirits and other oddities? The more one learned about the supernatural aspects of the world, the less hope they would have for ever understanding it. Junna thought that was the fun part. A curious sort, they didn’t like the idea that they might one day find an end to their pursuit of knowledge and new experiences.

Well, they had felt that way before… There wasn’t much that could be called “fun” about their past two years of travels around the country, no matter how novel.

It was easy to get lost in thought walking through the winding paths in Yomi. It was a dark place, damp to the point of being waterlogged in some places, so dry the air stung to breathe in others. Blue ghost fires occasionally floated across their paths, but there were no other signs of life or afterlife. Luckily, Inunaki’s shortcut was not far from a large chamber where Izanami received guests.

Junna had not interacted with Izanami in the past. They had prayed to her many times before. They had seen her very briefly when they had reached the opposite side of the Sanzu River in their mad dash to complete a resurrection ritual. Despite causing so much chaos, at the time Junna got the idea Izanami hadn’t mustered up more than annoyance at their actions. King Enma was the one that Junna had really committed crimes against, though.

Junna followed Inunaki into the chamber to find Izanami-no-Mikoto, one of the two gods that had created Japan and the first to have been banished to the land of the dead, lounging in a giant clamshell that looked like it was carved directly from the stone walls. The way Junna saw her, she wore white robes, folded right over left just like Inunaki, as if she were a corpse.

Well, she was a corpse, despite also being a god.

The reason Izanami ruled Yomi, this horrible underworld without purpose or light, was because she was dead. Her pale gray skin was covered with the white wrinkled burn marks she had suffered when giving birth to Kagutsuchi, god of fire. That was also what caused her death.

Although she didn’t appear to be actively rotting, she had no eyes: just two empty black sockets. The burns were severe, but so pale that it looked like a natural flaw in her skin. Junna considered Izanami beautiful, in a dark way. Other people may have viewed her differently, though. Kami, especially kami that had come from the heavens, were even more difficult for humans to perceive than other spirits and ghosts.

Junna had heard from others that seeing a kami from the heavenly realm could be disorienting and even physically painful. A regular nature kami could render a human immobile with terror. Junna had experienced that. Izanami, however, filled them with a sense of… numbness. Dull comfort. Familiarity…?

Inunaki stepped to the side and bowed deeply at the waist to Izanami, who observed him from her clamshell throne on top of a flat stone dais. Junna thought it was a classy, understated piece of furniture. Maybe even Izanami got bored and occasionally redecorated the lightless, musty hole that was Yomi.

Junna bowed, trying to mimic Inunaki’s motions as precisely as they could: forty-five degrees at the waist. Thinking about it, Izanami was as close to a patron deity as they could hope for. Even if that wasn’t the case, Junna truly did respect her and would never intentionally offend.

“My Lady Izanami-sama, I am at your service,” they said as they straightened up.

“Sagyo Jun—or is it Junna now?” Izanami’s voice was cold and raspy, and had a sharp, whispering echo that repeated her words only just loud enough to hear. “It hasn’t been long since you last visited.”