Page 95 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

I take it. It’s a long strip of fabric. Red stitches march across it. Joe Nomura is embroidered in red against white fabric, along with black Japanese characters of a Buddhist chant.

“What is it?” I ask, staring.

“A senninbari,” Mama says, lingering. Her earrings quiver from her lobes, tiny blue gemstones set in silver. Recently, she’s taken a propagation class and glass bottles with stems are everywhere. She gets annoyed they aren’t growing fast enough. “I guess mothers make them for their sons when they go to war. Joe’s mother gave it to him when he joined the Great War. It’s supposed to protect soldiers in battle.”

“When did Mr. Nomura give it to you?” I ask, perplexed. We weren’t eligible to join when he left.

“Before the riot. I was angry, because I told him you’d run away to the war if you could. You’ve always wanted to run away.” I take a long, slow breath, trying to think what’s best to say. I don’t want to leave on bad terms. “Joe knew you’d join up, but he told me it wasn’t because you were running away.”

Abruptly, she turns to Cosette, who coos in her crib, and picks her up. She doesn’t say anything else. I stare at the senninbari. Then, slowly, I fold it up and put it in the duffel bag.

Night comes fast. There isn’t much artificial light behind barrack 27 latrines, but the moon is a big yellow eye. It stares unblinkingly down from a field of winter stars as I round the corner, body stiff, jaw so tight it aches. Flushing toilets, running showerheads, and voices filter through the latrine. Boser is already waiting.

“I heard you enlisted,” he says by way of greeting. I notice he has a pistol strapped to his waist, the same one he wore after the uprising. He spits at my feet. “You’ll be off somewhere in Europe, getting shot at like the good old American boy you truly are, instead of an inheritor of divine magic. Why’d you do it?”

“The dental care,” I snap, not about to have a heart-to-heart with the guy. “Do you want the spell or not?”

That gets him focused. His eyes flash in the darkness, coming alive with excitement.

“You say it summons spirits?” he asks. “Ones that are…malleable?”

“Yeah. They make dreams come true and shit like that.” I’ve folded the letter Akira gave me into an intricate origami triangle. I take a deep breath and recite the instructions the god wrote under his message. “You cut yourself and bleed on this. Then you say okirō.”

Boser snatches the letter from my open hand. I turn to leave, but he grabs my shoulder, intentionally reaching across to get my bad one. His fingers pry into the muscles, sending nauseating waves through me, awakening old hurt. I’m stunned by the pain. He grips me for a moment and then shoves, as hard as he can. I hit the latrine, my head smacking the wall with a loud whack. Dots dance in front of my eyes. I don’t know what I want to hold more—my shoulder or my head—but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I force myself to straighten up, but it’s about all I can do. I lean against the latrine, not trusting myself to take a step yet, and by God I’ll die before I faint in front of Boser.

“Sit back and relax, Hamada,” he says. “You think I’m going to trust you after last time? You’ll stay until I say you can go.”

Boser pulls out a pocketknife. Its pinkie-length blade glimmers as he unfolds it. He opens his palm and wavers, as though suddenly unsure now that he has to make himself bleed. My head and shoulder pulse in twin points of pain, but it doesn’t stop me. I let out a jeering snort.

He glares at me and slices the blade across his palm. Apparently my disgust is motivation enough. A few drops, black in the night, drip onto the origami. He puts the pocketknife back into his pocket. Then, taking a deep breath, he does a traditional bow.

“Okirō,” he says in a Japanese accent much better than any I could do, “Okirō.”

My heart jumps to my throat. Akira lied to me before—what if this is just another trick?

There’s silence. We both wait as the seconds tick by, nothing happening. Boser crushes the delicate triangle. He turns on me, the moonlight catching on the sharp rage glinting in his eyes. Injuries or not, I get ready to either block a punch or give one.

Then, cutting through the night, guttural sounds rise from the dirt. It makes Boser freeze. They whistle, rattle, gurgle, and rumble with pauses in between. Snoring. It’s snoring. Chills run down my skin, rousing me from the pain, blocking everything out but the sounds.

“It’s happening.” Boser’s voice is laced with awe and something darker. He grabs the front of my jacket and yanks me close. He almost presses his face to mine as he says, “And you would give this all up to assimilate and be American, when the divine waits at your fingertips.” He throws me violently against the latrine again, making dots wink in and out of my vision once more. “Come, spirits, I summon you.”

The symphony of snores abruptly stops, and mouths appear out of the darkness around us. They are sets of lips but nothing else. Most of them yawn. A few grind their teeth. One or two sleepily chew and drool a little. Then, together, they stop. I watch. My heart is in my throat.

“Who wakes us?” Dozens of low, furious voices speak as one, and a form detaches from the dark, bringing a single mouth with them. A few pairs of red eyes blink into focus, and sleep-tousled hair crowns the form’s head. They wear a loose white kosode that billows around them, disturbed by an unfelt breeze.

“It’s me,” Boser says, and he extends his arms to the figure. “I’ve awoken you.”

“Our slumber is sacred,” they say, and the form takes a single, menacing step forward. “You dare disturb us? You dare open our eyes when we are busy in our sleep, eating the nightmares of children who cry out to us in the dark? You have called us from our hallowed feast of nightmares into the realm of the waking?”

Boser nods, but he hardly seems to listen. He’s too excited to be wary that the sleep devils approach, their red-rimmed eyes burning in the night like blistering coals. I hold my breath and shrink away, frantically hoping they don’t notice me.

“I have,” he says. “You make dreams come true…you fulfill desires.” He pulls himself up and his voice rings with command. “I order you to do as I say. I want you to possess everyone in this camp—inmates, guards, officials—put them in a trance…wait! Even better. A dream. Make them obey me without thought or resistance. I will rule with your ancestral magic and turn this camp into my nirvana on Earth.”

“Obey you?” the spirits ask. The words come from behind clenched teeth. “We don’t know you. We don’t know this place. All we know is that some of our children are here and their nightmares are filled with men who look like you, ripping them from everything they know to bring them to this dusty place.”

“No—no, you misunderstand,” Boser protests. Frustrated anger taints his voice, undermining the command. “I revere you. I want to use you as intended—to bring your people into enlightenment. Most of them here have forgotten you and the other officials…and my father…laugh at the thought of you. But not me. I know what you can do and what we can make this place into under my command. Now, do as I order. We will be glorious together.”

At that, Boser lurches forward, hands reaching as though he can grasp the ungraspable and use brute strength to submit the devils to his will. Immediately, the form’s fingernails protract and their teeth bare. Their head casts back and then lurches forward, latching on to Boser’s cheek. They bite, hard. I shudder involuntarily. I think blood will gush from the wound but none comes. Boser screams and claws at his face. He tries to flee but falls to the dirt. They pull back, watching with intense curiosity as he drags himself to me. Boser’s hand strikes out and locks around my ankle like a shackle. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes meet mine. The desperation in them twists into spite, even now, and his fingers tighten into bars of iron on my ankle, as though he wants to drag me down with him. He’s made my life hell. I don’t care that he’s in one. I’m about to kick him off me, but I don’t need to.