Laura Rowland: The Incense Game

The men’s dismayed faces were taut and perspiring with their effort to maintain their trance. The veins of light dimmed. The ghost’s image faded.

“Then you forced me to endanger my master’s son.” Hirata was so angry that he could hardly speak. “All the while you were intentionally involving me in treason against the Tokugawa regime!”

“So the detective has found us out,” Tahara said. “Congratulations.”

Infuriated by his sarcasm, Hirata said, “Did you ever stop to wonder if I’m not the only one who’s been deceived? What did the spirit promise you in exchange for meddling with politics? Mystical powers such as have never been seen? A chance to train and lead a legion of superhuman martial artists that will rule the world someday?” It was a wild guess, but the men’s cagy expressions told Hirata it was correct. “How do you know that the spirit won’t dump you after he’s given you nothing more than a few magic tricks? Maybe you’ll have sold your honor for nothing but a selfish, petty man’s revenge on his dead enemy.”

For the first time Tahara, Kitano, and Deguchi looked worried. The ghost’s image shrank as their energy faded. “We’re going through with it.” Tahara sounded as though his fear of betrayal had only solidified his conviction. He looked to Kitano and Deguchi, who nodded. The ghost’s image enlarged, grew clearer. “And so are you. Or Sano will die.”

“No,” Hirata said. “I’m ending this now.” He drew his sword despite the fact that he was outnumbered by these men whose individual skills exceeded his own.

Alarm, then aggression, flared in their eyes. They must defend themselves, even if they didn’t want to fight Hirata, because someone was bound to be killed, which would ruin their plans. But they didn’t reach for their swords. Their outstretched hands seemed stuck together as if by magnets on their fingertips. Their jaws clenched with their effort to break free.

Sword raised, Hirata lunged at them. The veins of light crackled. He stalled in midair. The ghostly warrior glowed bright, brighter, orange-hot, then white, leaching energy out of Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. Blinded, Hirata had the sensation he’d experienced during his trance, of being sucked up toward the sky, then falling, accelerating, and cartwheeling. He thought, The ghost prevented a battle because it needs us all alive.

Consciousness briefly fled him, then returned. Hirata found himself lying on cold ground by the altar, in the gray dawn. Tahara, Kitano, Deguchi, and the ghost were gone. All that remained was Hirata’s conviction that he must make a clean breast to Sano, shut down the secret society, and consign the ghost to the netherworld from which it came.

If only he knew how.