Narikiyo Mononobe was a young shaman residing in Shikoku. He didn’t live in one of the island’s big cities, like Takamatsu or Matsuyama, though. Mononobe’s home was a small settlement that seemed to be clinging onto the side of a mountain. His wheelchair made surprisingly smooth progress along the unpaved pathways that ran through the village.
Mononobe had started using a wheelchair after losing both arms below the elbow and both legs below the knee. It had happened some seven years ago—the cost of exorcising a particularly powerful demon. He’d long since accepted his injuries as the consequence of his own conceit, of thinking he could do everything.
Mononobe’s eyes were a strange, ethereal color. He had a delicate build, and his wheelchair meant most people had to look down at him, giving him the air of someone who might wither from a single glance. The way he spoke, on the other hand, could only be described as haughty and arrogant, something emphasized by his thick Tosa drawl. It made him come across as less friendly than he really was.
Taken together, these characteristics impressed onto everyone who met Mononobe that he was no normal man. His powers were beyond reproach, and even a nihilist like Rumi considered him her secret weapon. If Mononobe turned down a request and the client chose to go to someone else in the “industry,” they would inevitably be turned down. The more experienced the specialist, the greater their certainty that if Mononobe said it couldn’t be done, then it really was impossible.
In addition to all his skills and expertise, Mononobe was the kindest person Aoyama had ever met. His words were harsh but not his intent. You could tell from the way he showed such deep respect to other creatures, both human and nonhuman. Even the loss of his limbs was something that had only happened because he’d been trying to save a young girl under frankly impossible circumstances.
Aoyama had heard about all this secondhand. The young shaman always maintained his arrogant facade, almost as if he was intentionally trying to make people dislike him. So how did Aoyama know? The answer lay in his and Mononobe’s first meeting. As part of another case, he and Rumi had visited Mononobe to ask for his help. Aoyama had witnessed Mononobe’s powers for himself and realized they were nothing short of miraculous.
By just intoning a few words, Mononobe had peered through to the depths of Aoyama’s heart. Mononobe had seen that Aoyama still hadn’t fully accepted his grandfather’s death and was carrying a lot of pain around inside him, then summoned his grandfather’s spirit for a short time. Thanks to that encounter, Aoyama had been able to set his grief to rest and start moving forward again.
For that alone, he was more grateful than he could ever put into words, but the shaman had also given Aoyama his protection. It wasn’t something that could be seen, but Aoyama felt its effects. They went beyond the scope of minor protections that normal talismans granted. Since meeting Mononobe, Aoyama had found himself in severe danger a lot less often while on supernatural cases.
There was yet another side effect to all this: Aoyama and Mononobe’s minds were now connected. The connection might manifest anywhere, anytime. Whatever Mononobe was looking at would be overlaid onto Aoyama’s vision. It had to be a side effect of the shaman’s protection—what else could it be? It was bewildering, though. The sudden flashes of places he’d never seen, people he’d never met, and events he couldn’t possibly understand. They occurred without warning, sometimes in the middle of a conversation. People began to express concerns over Aoyama’s mental health.
He hadn’t even realized at first that he was sharing Mononobe’s point of view. But as he experienced it more, he started to get used to it. The episodes never lasted long, usually ten minutes or so. He developed a knack for excusing himself and retreating to the bathroom to wait until it passed. That wasn’t an option if it happened during services or a class, but even that was something he had learned to cope with gradually.
Aoyama almost looked forward to the visions now, mostly because of how gentle and peaceful they were. Just once, he’d seen something that worried him enough to get in touch with Mononobe and ask about it directly. The shaman’s reply had been brusque.
“Heck if I know, man. Don’t go callin’ me over hogwash like that.”
As always, though, he only sounded harsh. Aoyama and Mononobe had grown close enough that they got in touch with each other at least once a week.
The memory of Emi’s case had made Aoyama think of Mononobe. Rumi had been the one to actually resolve the case, but she admitted that Mononobe had given her the hint she needed to get it done. Why hadn’t Aoyama thought of asking him for help before now? Mononobe had power; anybody could see that, even if he claimed curses were little more than party tricks.
Aoyama would call Mononobe not as a friend (he wasn’t sure if Mononobe felt the same, but he considered the young shaman a friend nonetheless), but as a professional. Aoyama felt confident that Mononobe would accept the request gracefully. He was such a kindhearted man, after all. Mononobe had been reluctant at first the last time but had ended up giving his all to help Aoyama and Rumi. The week before, he’d mentioned finishing up a big job, so the timing was ideal, too. Aoyama returned to the office and explained his idea to Rumi.
“What do you think? Should I call him?”
Rumi had raised an eyebrow slightly, creating a small furrow in her brow.
“Is that a no?” Aoyama asked.
“It’s not out of the question, but…”
“If money is an issue, I can dip into my savings.”
“It’s not about the money.”
Rumi opened her mouth like she was about to say something but just sighed instead.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
She offered to make the request in Aoyama’s place, but he declined. Mononobe answered after just two rings, almost as if he’d been expecting the call.
“Hello, Mononobe? Can you talk right now?”