Black Mass

They pressed their bodies to the remains of the stone wall, faces edged around the corner. Only five of the eight colluders had arrived at the black mass, where were the rest? Arata turned to Nagami beside him, and he mouthed to ‘hold’. She nodded, thinking the same thing, and sank further into the mud. Around the ruined fort of Yomogi-jō, eight witch hunters waited. They had arrived an hour ago, before the new moon had even set with the sun, and caked themselves in mud to blend in with the ruins. It was three-hundred years old at least, dating back further than Giseizawa, maybe even to the time of the gods themselves. It was a tactical location, a fort in the swamp, where the barriers between worlds were the most thin. As night began to fall, balls of demon fire flickered in the trees. They braced still, watchful, passing messages around the chain, each waiting behind a different stone. When the first colluder appeared, wearing a mask of a dour-faced frog, they all breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t just been a rumour.

The figure stoked a fire in the centre of the ruins, tendrils of warmth a stark relief to the chill of the night. Soon more appeared, masked as a wolf, a bear, a tapir, and a lion. They talked, cross-legged around the fire, passing things between themselves. Each held the trinkets up for a better look, none of them were witch circles. They needed that to convict them, proof they were colluders and not just an amateur performance troupe.

A thought occurred to Arata after ten more minutes, what if they knew they were there and three colluders were taking them out, one-by-one. He was at the end of the chain, how long would it be until he noticed?

Before he had a chance to explore that thought, there was movement through the mist, past the gap in the stone wall that must have at once point been a gate. Two came into the light, both wearing tanuki masks, whilst a third held back. Arata could tell why. They wore a pointed, wide-brimmed hat. Tsukishiba had been lying. The eighth member of the black mass was a witch.

It approached with ceremony, the other seven rose in turn as it passed them, resting a hand on their masks. It took its seat on the opposite side of the fire and the orange flickered to a blue. The colluders stood and came forward, circles of willow and spiraea in their hands. Arata nodded to Nagami and she nodded back. They pushed inwards. Like shadows in the fire, each witch hunter slipped from outcrop-to-outcrop. They had their marks, the only challenge was the bonfire. 

The colluders were more focussed on the witch than anyone approaching behind, the crowd meant the witch’s field of view was limited. Arata stood back, reached out to fire with his bandaged hand, and snuffed it out. Everyone else all rushed in. Seven animal masks turned around as one, before their eyes, their worst fears came true. Some froze, giving their witch hunters easy jobs, the ones that ran struggled to see where they were going in the dark. They were tackled to the dirt. Arata mark was the witch and he was ready for it.

It turned to run. He already had his hook in his hand, swung it once, and threw. The rope caught it around the waist and Arata yanked it taut. If anything, he had the easier job, witches were far less fragile than people. His target fell backwards into the mud, abruptly off balance, and by the time it righted itself, Crowsbane was pointed directly at its scalp.

“Another move and you’re dead.”

They met each other’s gaze. The witch croaked out a laugh. “Tell the orphan, Grandmother doth not desire her return.” It lunged with pointed nails for Arata’s throat and he did what he’d been dying to do to a witch for the last week. He cut her arms at the elbow, then its legs at the knees. It wouldn't be running off.

***

“It’s like we thought, all of them are desperate. Incurable illnesses, abusive husbands, this was the last thing they turned to.” Nagami shrugged her shoulders and breathed out. “We can prove all were colluders but it was its own network, it didn’t connect to the temple.”

Two separate groups of witch colluders. "How hard did you push?"

She balked. "I can do my job. Anyway, Sawatari liked your theory, I've yet to see proof. None of them were involved with scalpings, that's all I can say."

"You considered enchantment?"

"How hard is it for you to believe that this is just a group of sad decrepits who want something to ease the pain of life?" She stepped towards him. "People are complicated Arata, stop trying to put them in a box. Why are you pushing so hard? Did the witch say something?"

“She only spoke in riddles,” Arata didn't answer her main question, just gave his end of the interrogations. The ones he requested he do alone. He didn't want to admit with Sawatari gone, his theory was losing the weight it had. “But I concluded the witches are able to communicate with each other without ever speaking. It’s related to this Grandmother that they talk about.”

“They?” Nagami squinted her eyes.

Arata searched for an explanation. “The big one mentioned her as well, right after…" He took a long breath. "Anyway, it works in our favour for a lure.”

“So we have the daimyo's approval for that now?"

"He said he would deny everything if it doesn't go as planned. But killing the witch will not count as an official execution, it's already dead."

Nagami nodded for him to continue. 

Arata had learnt this weeks ago but still he had to act surprised. "No pulse but the skin doesn't decay."

Nagami hummed. “How do you kill something that is already dead? Cut off its hair.”