Deadly Flowers

by Sarah L. Thomson

  Sharp, clear pain. It steadied my brain and gave me something to focus on. Now I was able to bring my attention to my ears.

  Dizzy, disoriented, I had little idea where I was, and more importantly, where the others were. Saiko was beside me; I could feel her huddled at my feet. But Ichiro? Masako? Where were they?

  And what was Masako doing here, out in the middle of a swamp at night?

  Think about that later. Now, listen. Listen.

  A frightened moan. Saiko. Panicked breathing. Ichiro. A long, eager hiss. A ravenous snarl.

  There.

  I gripped the knife by its black blade and sent it winging straight at that growl, praying it would not hit any of my friends along the way.

  A yelp, a whine, like an injured dog. Had the knife hit the fox?

  Because of course the woman in the white kimono had been the fox spirit, not Masako. My mind was clearing by the second, and I knew the truth. Masako was back at the school. Not out here in the middle of a haunted swamp. Not with me.

  I risked a glance and sank down to my knees, covering my eyes with my hands, as the sight of the thing writhing on the path twisted my senses into merciless tangles. Small, so much smaller than I’d thought. The nue was not any larger than my fox. And clearly my knife had hit its target.

  Something rolled and splashed into the mud and floundered off loudly through the swamp. The nausea eased. I took a slow breath and cautiously lowered my hands.

  Saiko looked shaken, but she stood. Ichiro grabbed my hand, let me pull him up, and then stumbled a few steps to throw up in the mud.

  I looked around for my knife, but it was nowhere to be seen. The nue was gone, and it must have taken my weapon with it. That meant it was wounded, but alive.

  Something barked once, sharply. An order. I looked up and glimpsed a white shape on the causeway ahead of me.

  “That way,” Ichiro said, wiping his mouth and pointing. “We should follow it.”

  “Wait.”

  Brother and sister looked up at me, surprised.

  “It showed me the way through the swamp,” Ichiro explained. “Kata, it’s here to help us. Look where it wants us to go!”

  The causeway led to a bridge. The bridge led to a road. The road wound uphill. Even in the darkness, I could see what was on the crown of that hill—a curving wall, a massive gate, a tall tower with a tiered roof beyond.

  A temple, the one I’d glimpsed from the ridge before nightfall. Surely the demons of the forest and swamp would not follow us there. Surely we’d be safe.

  Unless that was exactly what the fox wanted us to think.

  She had just helped us face a nue. She’d saved us in the warlord’s garden. She’d kept watch over us by the river and in the mountains—although she’d stayed away from Okui’s house. There she’d been wiser than I had been.

  She also knew about the pearl. She wanted it for herself. Had all her help been meant to make us believe her just when we should not?

  Trust no friend. Trust no ally.

  Would the fox lead us to safety? Or a trap?

  “Kata, she saved us. I think she’s a spirit. A good one.” Ichiro took a few steps along the causeway, then looked back at his sister and at me. “Please. I’m sure it’s all right. Please. Trust me.”

  I started forward, and Saiko followed. The fox turned and darted ahead of Ichiro, running along the causeway, soon disappearing into the night.

  “You think he’s right?” Saiko murmured at my back. “You trust a fox?”

  “No,” I said grimly. “That’s not why.”

  I was thinking of the nue I had injured. I’d always heard that nue were giant creatures, as big as houses. Perhaps it wasn’t true. Perhaps they only made themselves seem so. If no one could get a good look at one, how could anyone know for sure?

  The creature my knife had struck might have been the normal size for a nue. Or it might have been …

  Saiko gasped when I told her, in a voice too low for Ichiro to hear, what I was thinking.

  “It might have been young,” she whispered.

  Young creatures often had mothers nearby. The thought was enough to push our feet a little faster, to catch up with Ichiro, to hurry toward the river, and the bridge, and the temple.

  Just a little farther to run.

  SEVENTEEN

  We avoided the main gate, of course. It was magnificently carved and gilded and unlikely to open for anyone less than a saint. But no temple or castle has only one gate. We worked our way around the wall until we found a small back entrance for servants, deliveries, and humble travelers looking for shelter.

  This gate did have a gatekeeper, and he was in no hurry to open up.

  I could hardly blame him. His job was to keep suspicious characters out, and while we didn’t seem very threatening, we did look, at least, a bit odd.

  Saiko was in the silk kimono that Okui had given her, although what was left of it was no longer white. Ichiro’s kimono was no better, and though I had my own clothes on, I’d lost a sandal in the swamp and had a swollen bruise on my forehead from Okui’s windowsill. We were all scratched and battered and wearing more mud than anything else.

  But I made sure to have Saiko ask for admittance. And when tears welled up in her perfect eyes, the man gave in. Most men would.

  She blotted her cheeks delicately dry on a nearly-clean spot of her sleeve and gave the gatekeeper a grateful bow after he’d unbarred the gate, and I swear he would have taken off her sandals for her and brought her tea.

  I gave her a sidelong look as we hurried in, and one corner of her mouth quirked in a very brief smile.

  “Visitors? So late?” a mild voice asked.

  I was tired. The night had been long, and uncomfortable, and more than reasonably terrifying. But that was no excuse. It had been years since anyone had gotten within ten paces of me without being noticed. Now this man, the one who’d asked the question, was standing just a little behind the gatekeeper, and I couldn’t say how he had arrived.

  Granted, this particular person seemed harmless—an old monk, no taller than I was, in a yellow-orange robe a little too big for him, a strand of simple wooden prayer beads twisted about one wrist. His head was shaved and his smile was gentle. Not a threat. But that was no excuse. I should have seen him, and I hadn’t.

  Worse, I thought, he’d seen me.

  When he’d spoken, I’d jumped. And my hand had twitched toward my last remaining knife. The monk’s gaze had flicked my way, so quickly it would have been easy to miss.

  I hadn’t noticed him, and he had noticed me. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

  The gatekeeper was stumbling over his own tongue. “Just children, Tosabo. Alone. Out in the night. Could I have left them out there? Bandits and ghosts and foxes, you know.”

  “Bandits and ghosts would be a nice relief, actually,” Ichiro muttered under his breath. I gave my head a quick shake, to hush him.

  “He was very kind,” Saiko said, glancing up gratefully at the gatekeeper before casting her eyes demurely down. “We were so frightened …” The kimono sleeve again blotted at her eyes.

  And the monk was … unimpressed. His face stayed expressionless. Saiko usually prompted a response of some sort from men, monks or not. But this one was different.

  “You’re safe now, little one,” the gatekeeper soothed. “I’ve a daughter of my own at home. Wouldn’t like to see her out on such a night. I was just going to inform the abbot, of course. Right away. Of course.”

  “Oh, we’ll let the abbot have his rest,” the monk, Tosabo, said pleasantly. “I can take charge of them.”

  And so he did, leading us to a small, windowless guest room. I would have preferred a room that had more than one way to leave it, but I had neither an excuse nor the energy to object. With his own hands Tosabo brought us tea and rice and pickled vegetables, water to wash in, bedding, an oil lamp. He listened patiently to our story of the cruel parents who had cast us out and the aunt we were trying
to reach and the path we had lost in the darkness, and finally he bowed before leaving us for the night. Warm. Fed and comfortable. Sheltered by stone walls, prayers, and mantras, surely as safe from demons as we could possibly be.

  So why did I feel that there was a threat somewhere here? Or perhaps not a threat, exactly. Something else, undefined. Something that was not quite as it should be.

  Was it merely that, at last, I had to admit to myself what had truly happened to Raku?

  It was a simple enough deduction. She must be as dead as Instructor Willow. If she wasn’t, she would never have allowed us to get this far.

  I could tell my heart that I had not done it, that the lonely ghost had destroyed Raku just as the nue—or perhaps its mother?—had probably eaten Willow. But of course, Raku would not have stood at the edge of that rushing river if I had not held my blade at her throat.

  I’d been trained all my life to kill. I should have been able to take a life as easily as I picked a lock. But I didn’t seem able to do so. And I had never thought my first kill would be … one of us. Another deadly flower.

  I’d faced Raku in the practice yard. I’d knelt beside her at meals. I’d fallen asleep to the sound of her breathing.

  She would not have blamed me or sought revenge. She had understood. Our missions had collided; that was all. And neither of us could go forward until one of us was dead.

  Maybe it was these thoughts that made me neglect a warrior’s first duty and stare into the dark long after Saiko and Ichiro were asleep.

  Or maybe it was simply that Tosabo had not believed a word we’d said.

  I’d thought so, as we’d told our story, and I had to admit I’d been impressed. It was not every man—monk or not—who could catch a lie coming from Saiko’s lips. And Tosabo proved me right, the next morning, when he followed the servant who brought in tea and millet porridge and knelt to light the lamp. With no windows, the room was dark even though enough hours had passed to bring the dawn.

  “So,” Tosabo said, as he knelt down beside us and took a cup of tea. The servant bowed and left the room, sliding the screen shut behind him. The monk rolled the small cup between his palms but did not sip. “Morning light may bring truth with it. Tell me again, before I go to see the abbot, what you were doing outside our gate in the middle of the night.”

  “Holy one,” Saiko began, all innocence. “We are trying to reach our family, as I told you, and we lost our way—”

  “My dear.” He set down his cup and held up his hand to stop her. “You lie very prettily, but that will not get us any farther along our path. It seems that all three of you need some help. I cannot provide it if I do not know the truth.”

  “Our aunt—” Saiko began again, but I shook my head.

  “Safety for the night is all the help we needed to ask,” I said, and got to my feet. “Now it’s light, and we’ll be going.”

  “Not if I don’t tell them to unlock that door.” Tosabo smiled brightly at me. “Kneel down, my dear. More tea? Let’s talk.”

  Here it was, the trap I’d sensed last night, sprung while I’d been slurping porridge. But why was this monk, Tosabo, inside the trap with us?

  “Yes, yes, my dear, I’ve no doubt you’re armed,” he said peacefully, still smiling, after I’d put my fist through the door’s paper screen—only to discover, painfully, the solid wood panel that had been shut and barred behind it. “I saw that last night. And I’ve no doubt you think you can make them open that door with a knife to my throat, and probably you could. But I told the servant to be about his duties, and it will be quite a while before anyone else comes along this corridor. You are our only guests at the moment. Travel has become so dangerous lately. So I don’t think they’ll hear you shouting threats for some time. Meanwhile, we may as well chat. Perhaps you’d like to start by telling me what was chasing you last night?”

  I had not knelt again; instead, I was standing over Tosabo, seething. Had I learned nothing from last night? How had I let us walk into two traps in a row? I was furious at myself for being such easy prey. And at the monk, too, for smiling up at me so pleasantly, for sitting there so calmly, for knowing all he seemed to know.

  “There was … something in the swamp,” I said guardedly. “It chased us. Something … not natural. We didn’t say because we thought no one would believe us.”

  “I am quite skilled at belief. Do please continue.”

  “There’s not much more to tell.” I shrugged and knelt down, warily. “We didn’t see what it was—”

  “Yes, we—”

  “Exactly.” I talked over Ichiro, raising my voice a little. “We were frightened, and we ran, and got lost. Then we saw the temple. We knew we’d be safe here.”

  Tosabo nodded, and said nothing.

  Neither did I.

  Tosabo seemed perfectly content to sit there. He didn’t even seem to be waiting for anything. He was just sitting.

  Ichiro fidgeted, opened his mouth, looked up at me, and closed it.

  I could wait, too. I’d answered the monk’s question. It was his turn.

  Saiko touched an eyebrow. Smoothed her hair. Twice. A third time.

  But I usually had something to do while I waited. A plan to carry out. Knots to untie. An enemy to observe. A wall to scale. A river to swim.

  Here, I had nothing. Nothing but a bare room with a locked door and the sound of four people breathing.

  Saiko’s breath was quiet but a little quick. Ichiro’s was nervous, uneven. Mine, impatient. Tosabo’s steady, calm, almost inaudible.

  “A nue,” Ichiro burst out. “It was a nue!”

  “Ichiro!” Saiko and I both snapped together, sounding equally like older sisters. The boy needed to keep his mouth shut. Once he started talking about demons, what else might he be led to reveal?

  “We have to. Kata, Saiko, we have to. Listen. He could help us! He might know … things.” Ichiro shifted his attention from us to the monk. “It was a nue, and it was after us.”

  My hand itched to slap the boy. But what good would it do now? He’d already fallen into the old monk’s trap, baited so expertly with silence. At least he had not been fool enough to mention why the demon had been on our trail.

  “Really, it was after Kata,” Ichiro explained. “She has a jewel. A pearl. It was in our family, but now it’s hers. And the demons want it.”

  Or, then again, he had.

  Ichiro had been seized by some madness of trust, and he poured everything out to Tosabo—the pearl, his family, his father’s death, the plot against his life, our harried trek toward his uncle and possible safety there. Ghosts and demons, bakemono, stories whispered in the dark come gruesomely to life.

  “And the nue in the swamp, it was awful. But Kata threw her knife at it, didn’t you, Kata? And then, well, then we ran here.” A little breathless, Ichiro finished his speech at last.

  “We saw the temple,” I said again. Certainly I was not going to add to Ichiro’s indiscretions by bringing up the fox spirit that had been trailing us. Helping us. Or possibly stalking us. Which?

  “I see.” Tosabo nodded, and his eyes moved thoughtfully from one of us to the other—Ichiro eager and full of words, Saiko with eyes meekly downcast—you had to know her well to catch the tightness at the corner of her mouth and in her shoulders that said she was angry, or anxious, or both. And last, at me.

  “I knew—well, the entire countryside knows—that there is a search underway for the Kashihara heir,” Tosabo said thoughtfully. “And he has been with the two of you all this time, safe and secret. Remarkable. Even more so, now that I know exactly what has been hunting all of you. May I see it? This pearl?”

  I would have preferred to keep the jewel hidden … but what harm could it do to let this monk see it? He already knew it existed. Slowly I reached inside my jacket. Carefully I took out the pearl and let it lie on my palm.

  Where did it get that unearthly glow, in this dim room lit only by the small flame of the lamp? The gold ring a
round the jewel looked almost dark against that otherworldly light.

  Tosabo bent forward and I drew my hand back.

  “Have no fear, child. I do want not to take it from you. Indeed, I would much prefer not to touch it at all. I’ve heard of such things, but to see one … My old eyes have trouble believing it; that is all.” He sat back, shaking his head. “Do you know, exactly, what you are holding there? No, I can see you do not. And you two?” Tosabo’s attention swooped like a hawk toward Ichiro and Saiko. “This thing has been in your family, you say? For generations? Do you know what it is? Three children carrying that around the countryside!”

  Saiko leaned forward, her eyes, for once, off her knees. “No one told us,” she said.

  “My father would have told me,” Ichiro said, “when I was grown. But he … he …”

  “Died. Bloodily, I’ve no doubt. Oh, my dear, I’m sorry, I am. But a bloody death is likely to be the fate of anyone who carries a thing like that about with him.”

  “A thing like what?” I demanded, my words coming out just a few beats before Saiko’s.

  “My dear, in your hand you hold the soul of a demon.”

  In a few minutes we were in another room, this one not a windowless cell with a barred door. Tosabo had taken us straight to the abbot, shooing out several servants and a few monks who looked disgruntled at being dismissed like maids so that three children could speak to the leader of the monastery.

  The abbot was even older than Tosabo, with a wrinkled face and a bald head as smooth as the pearl. He knelt at a low desk by a window, waiting patiently and silently as Tosabo ordered his monks about. Beside him was the room’s only decoration, a screen that reached from floor to ceiling. On it was a painting of a mountain so realistic it looked as if you could step on a rock and start climbing. At the top, clinging to a weathered outcrop, a single ancient cedar had been twisted into knots by the wind.

  “Show him,” Tosabo told me once we were alone with his abbot. “Oh no, my dear, there’s no time for that, truly. We are two old men, and you could kill us both easily, could you not, if you needed to? Save us time and let that mistrust of yours rest. It’s served you well, I’ve no doubt, poor child, but set it aside just for the moment. Show him.”