Читать книгу Kitty & Cadaver - Narrelle M Harris - Страница 9

Nagoya, Japan, 1999

Yasuko Hidaka discovered drumming as a child, pounding on the Taiko drums with a grin as wide as the sky. Long before she was Yuka, way back in high school, she discovered the driving howl of heavy metal and gleefully became a trial to her family’s neighbours, and her family, as a member of Fierce Stagecoach Bandits with four high school friends.

‘You chose that gaijin name from that American book,’ Yasuko had accused the band’s lead singer, Akemi. ‘Jesse James and his gang.’

Akemi laughed behind her black bangs and dark eyeliner. ‘It’s funny, though.’

‘Are we funny?’

‘Chibi Heavy Metal is,’ Akemi insisted.

‘Is that even a thing?’ asked the band’s token white guy, Todd, whose English father worked with a car manufacture in Nagoya.

‘It is now.’

Akemi’s indulgent and wealthy father was the one who negotiated for his daughter’s band of 16-year-olds to use Shibo Joto High School’s old sports equipment shed for rehearsals, now that the shiny new one had been built. ‘He just doesn’t want us to keep practising at home,’ Akemi said, wrinkling her nose.

Akemi had brought something special for their first rehearsal in the shed. She refused to tell them what it was until everyone was set up. Yasuko finalised the placement of her drum kit while Naoki checked that his keyboards were properly connected to the amp. Natsuko and Todd played guitar flurries to check their volumes before Akemi strolled up to do the same for her own guitar.

‘Hey, Nat! Pass me a pick!’ Todd called out, knowing that Natsuko hated the diminutive. He liked to tease her, not having worked out yet how best to say he would like to kiss her, if she was interested. Teasing at least kept her noticing him.

Natsuko was predictably annoyed. ‘I’ve told you, it’s Natsuko. Na-Tsu-Ko.’

‘Fine. Na, pass me a pick.’ The request came with a cheeky grin, to show he was joking.

Natsuko passed him a pick and a scowl, wishing she knew how best to tell Todd that if he wanted to kiss her, he should just say so, because until he did, she wasn’t sure if that was the point of all his charming idiocy.

Akemi was planning to tell them both to damn well kiss and get it over with to save them all the awkward, oblivious flirting. Tomorrow, maybe. Today she was excited about their new song. Super metal. The best. Yesterday’s lyrics had been awful, but she’d found the answer.

Todd strummed the melody of the song they’d been working on all week and regarded Akemi with a quizzical frown. ‘You said you were going to rewrite this one.’

‘I’ve written new lyrics!’ Akemi announced, brandishing a sheet of paper. Naoki, Natsuko and Todd peered over her shoulders to see.

‘These lyrics are weird,’ Natsuko said.

Naoki was impressed. ‘They’re awesome!’

‘You think everything’s awesome,’ Todd said absently while peering at the Japanese characters on the page. ‘What does it even mean?”

‘Ha, Britboy, are these words too hard for you to understand?’ Akemi teased. Todd’s Japanese was good for everyday, but he stumbled through a lot of the nuances.

‘‘I get the gist of it fine,’ Todd protested. ‘It says “Hey, Demon of the Earth, we call you. Take this… ah… gift”…’

Yasuko joined them in studying the new lyric. ‘Sacrifice.’

‘What?’

Natsuko and Naoki were both troubled, but Akemi was amused.

‘The lyric means “take your sacrifice”,’ Yasuko explained. ‘Akemi, where did you find this?’

‘You know my dad, always buying old books at auction. The older and rarer, the better, and this book was very old, with all these notes written by hand in the margins. It must be three hundred years old at least.’

‘Very old and very weird,’ Naoki said. ‘This is freaky.’

‘Freaky and very metal, that stuff about sacrifice,’ Todd said. ‘And there are those lines about blood,’ Natsuko added.

‘I know!’ Akemi said excitedly. ‘So I worked it up to scan with the new song. Want to give it a run?’

Keen and intrigued, they took their positions. Yasuko counted them in on the snare and Natsuko’s bass built on the beat. Naoki brought his keyboard in as Todd’s rhythm guitar threaded through, and Akemi’s lead guitar whined over the top of it before she began to sing her new lyric.

Aiooo, Demon of the Earth,

We summon you, we give you birth.

There is a Japanese proverb – asa no kougan, yuube no hakkou – which means “a rosy face in the morning, white bones in the evening”. It means that life is fragile and death comes for us all, young or old. Especially if we call it to us.

Let our instruments and voice bring you life

So you may bring this world blood and strife

None of the Fierce Stagecoach Bandits noticed how Akemi’s guitar or the tips of Yasuko’s sticks began to glow.

But to bind you to our will, we pay the price

Demon of the Earth – choose your sacrifice

Nobody noticed how the floor began to crack like crazed glass, it was so fast then, just as Naoki heard the concrete split, the floor erupted with rocks, dirt and sulphurous steam. The five of them were tossed up with the eruption, then to the smashed floor, where they gaped at the thing that stood in the epicentre of destruction.

A red-skinned monster loomed there, with black horns and yellow teeth and a laugh like mountains falling.

‘Thank you, little humans, for the summoning,’ the oni rumbled, turning each belly to water, each heart to terror. A leathery red tentacle unfurled from its body, wrapped itself around Todd’s throat and squeezed. ‘I have chosen my sacrifice.’

The brimstone-stinking claws of its left hand struck Naoki, sank into his body. The claws of its right slashed at Natsuko, and blood arced behind her as she fell.

Akemi, speechless with terror, tried to run. The monster sprang at her and another tentacle unfurled around her ankles and lifted till she dangled, inverted and screaming, above the rubble that had been the floor.

‘Stop it! Stop hurting them!’ Yasuko screamed, the only one the oni had not yet attacked.

‘Gladly,’ it said with a horrible courtesy, and dashed Akemi head first into the floor.

Yasuko heard the snap of Todd’s neck, the shrieks as it disembowelled Naoki and Natsuko.

Yasuko should be been screaming too, but the speed with which the oni had arrived and destroyed everything, everyone, hadn’t caught up with her yet. Spotted with her friends’ blood, her fury smothered the blank terror of it all. ‘How will you kill me, then, you bastard?’

‘Oh, little one, you do not die today. That is how I thank you.’

Her fury tripped on those words. ‘Thank… me?’

‘The words this little morsel found were powerful, but her song magic was weak. Without your magic to give strength to hers, I would not be free.’

‘M-my magic?’

‘Funny little one. The music magic was in you both, but yours is stronger. You have powerful earth magic in your voice and your hands.’

The demon laughed, rocks tumbling down a ravine, at Yasuko’s horror and dismay. It leaned close to her. ‘You are responsible for the success of my summoning.’

The oni laughed and laughed and laughed at Yasuko, standing blood specked and numb amongst the wreckage of erupted floor, shattered instruments, her fragile, dead friends.

She tried to speak and only sobbed. Her harrowed eyes asked the question: What next?

‘You cannot stop me, little minstrel.’ And wasn’t it pleased with itself. Didn’t it find this all deliciously, cruelly funny. ‘You are not strong enough.’

It taunted, but Yasuko wasn’t listening. Her heart pounded, guilt burned, but rage surged and she tried to think. The stories say that demons lie with the truth.

And she thought: We were strong enough to raise it. And this bastard says I have strong earth magic, whatever that means.

The demon wasn’t likely to explain, but Yasuko could feel the power underneath her skin. She reached for it, just as she had always reached inside for the rhythm of her music. Her heart thudded with this awakened power. Her fingers itched with the pulse of it.

She reached for the spare drum sticks she always kept in her belt when playing.

I have power. I can feel it.

Her fists closed around the drum sticks, gripping so hard her knuckles stood out pale against her skin.

I can use it to stop this demon. Even if I die trying.

The bastard demon was still laughing at her and its arrogance fuelled her fury as well as her courage.

‘What will it take to send you back to hell?’ she demanded, but she already knew the answer.

‘More than you have,’ the demon replied, in a voice to curdle blood.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Because the demon had told her she had magic in her voice and hands. She hadn’t been singing when it was summoned, only drumming. If she combined the two, perhaps she stood a chance.

‘Believe what you like,’ the demon said. ‘I will devour your world all the same.’

Yasuko raised her drum sticks like weapons, then crouched as though ready to pounce.

The demon regarded her, amused, as she opened her mouth to let free a pure vengeful note.

And Yasuko Hidaka beat her drumsticks on the floor while she sang instinctively.

Aiooooooooooooooo, Demon of the Earth

I curse you, I abort your birth!

She launched herself at the oni and the demon, shocked by her audacity, did not defend itself as she crashed into it and began to beat its head and body with her glowing drum sticks.

The demon recoiled, wincing at the pain of the blows and her song.

With my drumming and my voice, you I banish

And you will go now from this world, you I punish.

We paid your price and bound you to my will

The demon collapsed to its knees as Yasuko beat it down. She stood atop its bent back and shaking shoulders, singing and drumming with savage intent.

Demon of the Earth, become forever still!

The notes rang out, the rhythm of her sticks upon its skin filled the air. Beat upon beat, the demon changed. Froze and transformed into grey, grey stone.

And then, with a final blow, the stone broke into a million pieces, into dirt and dust and gravel beneath the feet of the girl who had defeated it.

Yasuko, covered in blood and grime, bruised and bleak, stood as the floor began to shake. The rubble of the demon vibrated all around her. The ground opened like an earthquake and swallowed down its remains.

Only when the shaking stopped did Yasuko move.

She fell to her knees, her fists gripping the drum sticks. Her knuckles and fingers were raw, bleeding, from where she had scraped them against the demon without knowing.

She was kneeling, numb, in the rubble when the firemen arrived, when the police and the paramedics came.

Behind her, someone said: ‘It was a…a gas explosion? Yeah. That must be what it was.’

‘She’s lucky to be alive,’ an unknown person said.

‘Being behind her drum kit must have saved her.’

‘What happened? An earthquake?’

‘Hardly. A gas explosion we think.’

Yasuko had never felt so alone, hearing and understanding that these people would never understand what had happened. Even if they believed her, what would they do? What could she do? It was partly her fault, even if she hadn’t known what her voice and hands could do. Akemi’s fault too, but Yasuko could hardly tell Akemi’s father that his ancient book had summoned a demon to slaughter his child.

Everyone thought Yasuko’s mind had been damaged by the tragedy. She hardly spoke, except to beg for pieces of the instruments that had been smashed in the disaster.

Silently, she sewed the fragments of drum and guitars and keyboard onto leather braces for her wrists. Nobody asked her to explain why, which was a relief. She wouldn’t have known what to tell them.

Her soul had become heavy with an ancient secret that nobody wanted her to share. The only thing she knew was that she had to leave.

The oni had said both she and Akemi had music magic. Where two had it, surely more carried it too. They must, or her life would be too lonely and dangerous to bear.

More than that, she knew she had to learn how to stop anything else like the oni from ever threatening the world again. She would avenge her friends and redeem herself. She swore it on the blood of her friends, on the memory of them she carried in her wristbands.

A month after, Yasuko packed her bags and slipped away in the dark of a winter night.

An elderly woman named Shiniqua was the first teacher Yasuko found. Shiniqua had lost her legs to the blades of the kama itachi.

‘The sickle weasels didn’t beat me, though,’ Shiniqua insisted. ‘I’ll teach you the song I beat them with if you like, girl.’

Yasuko bowed and thanked her, but didn’t otherwise speak.

‘You have a name, girl?’

‘No, Shiniqua-san.’ Yasuko Hidaka had been left behind in a smashed shed. She didn’t know what to call herself any more.

‘Before I teach you, Yuka, fetch water for me.’

he girl raised her eyebrows.

‘I have to call you something,’ the old woman said.

Yuka obeyed her music-magic sensei in every way, and learned everything she could. When Shiniqua said she had nothing more to teach, she gave Yuka the name of a hichiriki player in Fukuoka who shared their gifts.

From Fukuoka, Yuka sought a teacher in Sri Lanka, then in Somalia, then Croatia.

By the time Yuka met Steve Borman, nobody knew Yuka had ever had another name. Then Alex Torni invited her to become part of Rome’s Burning, and it was like she had never had another home.