But Toshi ignored her. His plans, whatever their final goal, included seizing the Shadow Gate immediately.
With the artifact in his hands, Toshi smiled and bowed at Uramon. The silver metal began to glow as the black symbol woven through it absorbed the light like sand absorbs water.
Toshi held the Shadow Gate in both hands as the glow slowly spread across his body. As the symbol drew in the glow back in, it also absorbed Toshi and the Gate itself.
The last thing Uramon saw before the room went black was the ochimusha’s cruel smile, and his wide, expectant eyes.
Then the cold claimed her and Uramon fell into a death-like sleep.
Toshi went from standing in Uramon’s rapidly chilling basement to hurtling through a sightless, soundless void like a leaf on a river. There was no breeze to stir his hair, no landscape whizzing by, but there was a overwhelming sense of forward motion. He could not see where he was going, but he was going there very quickly.
This must be travel by shadow, he thought. He was fairly certain no one had used the Gate’s power for many years now, not even Uramon. The stories about her said she had some unknown method of eliminating her rivals that allowed her to seize control of things in and around the Araba, but that had been quite some time ago, in Toshi’s youth. Now, as a worshipper of Night, the power was his alone.
His immeasurable momentum eased, slowing to the point where Toshi felt he was floating instead of flying. The formless void around him remained the same, but his motion through it had definitely changed. As he drifted, he realized that he had felt something like this before, when he’d been stricken down by snakefolk venom and his oath-brother Kobo was being drowned.
He wished he could have learned the mechanism Uramon employed to select a destination. It had something to do with her ring, he was sure, but the ring was made for Uramon alone. It tied her to the Shadow Gate, reserving it for her exclusive use and communicating her goals to the magical force that powered it.
Toshi drifted to what felt like a complete stop. He hung suspended in the void as the first true misgivings about this endeavor stirred in his brain. Without the ring, he had no way of directing his passage. He expected his first blind jaunt to send him somewhere familiar, some place from a memory so clear and sharp that he wouldn’t have to navigate. Instead, he seemed to have completed only half a journey with no way to complete or abandon it.
Toshi turned his head in the darkness, scanning for any sight or sound that could help orient him. The other spells he had invoked with the Myojin of Night’s Reach had all been intuitive, almost instinctual actions. As he’d been trained, he assessed the situation and then fell back on the vast vocabulary of kanji spells he’d assembled. It was an improvisational art that so far had merged well enough with the structured worship of a major kami.
Wresting control of the Shadow Gate from Uramon should have been no more difficult than trapping the yuki-onna’s essence—which, he could admit to himself, was far more difficult and painful than he would ever let on. But he had done that under especially trying circumstances, and he refused to accept that a jaunt through the Shadow Gate was more of a challenge than yoking the curse that wandered the Heart of Frost.
Toshi pondered as he floated like a bubble in oil. Perhaps he was guilty of falling into his old habits, of trying to accomplish everything himself without beseeching his patron kami. He pictured her once more, imagining her as she had been on Uramon’s secret tapestry, a field of fine black fabric and a bone-white mask surrounded by disembodied hands.
“Hear me, Myojin of Night’s Reach.” Toshi’s voice was soundless in the void, but he felt the vibration of his words in his jaw and his ears. “I am alone, helpless, lost. Guide your servant home.”
A few moments passed. Then, Toshi winced as the kanji on his body began to seethe and sting. The hyozan mark on his wrist, the kanji on his forearm that allowed him to disappear, and the bruise-colored symbol on his forehead all throbbed in unison.
Look up. The whispering voice was soft but somehow vast, bypassing Toshi’s ears and stabbing directly into his brain. Though he had only heard it on one occasion, it was impossible not to recognize the myojin’s voice.
Toshi looked. The view remained the same, that is, no view at all, but Toshi felt waves of force gathering beneath him. Like an insect in a child’s cupped hands, Toshi was taken up, rising with ever-increasing speed.
A speck of white appeared on the horizon, a point no bigger than a distant star on a cloudy night. It remained there for several long seconds before it started to expand.
Toshi’s speed increased further, pressing the skin against his skull. The white dot grew larger, swelling to fill more and more of the dark void as Toshi rushed toward it. The brightness burned his eyes, and he closed them, but he could still see the glow beyond his eyelids. He felt his body coming apart. He screamed, but the sheer velocity carried his voice away and rendered him mute.
Toshi opened his eyes just as he hit the field of white. The small speck had expanded to fill the entire void, and as he crossed through the border from darkness to light, the change in his surroundings hit his entire body like a slap from a giant hand.
Toshi’s own scream caught up with him as gravity brutally yanked him down to the ground. He grunted and landed heavily on his stomach.
Toshi paused. Ground? He felt around with his hands, still blind and partially deaf, confirming the surface beneath him. Yes, there it was. He was on solid rock, or at least a well-built floor. This new world was only a mass of formless white to his eyes, he at least he was no longer trapped in the void of shadows. There was solid ground beneath him and a slight breeze on his face. He had been admitted to the myojin’s honden, her inner sanctum and place of power.
Rise, acolyte of Shadow. So you have declared yourself, so you shall be.
Toshi cracked his eyes open. The white glare had faded back to a dull silver glow. Before him stood the Myojin of Night’s Reach in all her glory.
A black curtain of luxurious fabric spread twenty feet wide and fifteen feet high. A pair of emaciated arms stretched out over the top of the curtain, suspending the fabric like a grotesque curtain rod. The myojin’s smooth white mask was at the center of the black field, framed by the swirling sheets of darkness. If Toshi squinted, he could see the outline of her hood and robes, though they seemed to merge and separate from the curtain at random as it billowed behind her. Her attendant disembodied hands floated above and to the side of the curtain, palms forward and fingers pointing straight up. The scene was deathly silent until Toshi spoke, his voice bright.
“Hello there,” he called. “Did you bring me here, or did I take a wrong turn?”
You have been busy, the great kami’s voice came. Isolating aspects of our power and claiming them for your own use.
“I’ve never been one to take half-steps,” Toshi admitted, “when leaping in with both feet will get me there faster.”
I salute your alacrity. You have acquired access to the Shadow Gate. What will you do with it?
“That depends on how far it can take me.”
As its name implies, it is a gateway through the realm of shadows. Anywhere that light exists but is partially obscured will now be open to you.
“Anywhere? No matter what locks or wards or sentries are in place?”
Anywhere. But go carefully, my acolyte. It will take you past any boundary, but it cannot protect you once you arrive.
Toshi grinned. “Not an issue, really. But thank you for the warning.” He glanced around at the strange, half-visible surroundings. “Tell me, O Night, did Uramon also come here when she first used the Gate?”
She did. Though she was better informed about its function, and she came with a mechanism for restricting its use. Also, she was far more humble in my presence.
“So the Gate is mine now?”
It is.
Toshi bowed. “Another blessing, gratefully received. I honor you, Myojin.”
Do you?
I wonder. How long will you continue to exploit my gifts without the slightest offer of payment?
Toshi’s grin hardened. “I expected this to come up sooner or later. You have been very generous, O Night. What could a humble ochimusha offer in return?”
The shadow chamber was silent for so long Toshi began to wonder if he’d receive an answer. Then, the myojin’s voice came again.
Like you, she said, I choose to leave my options open. But I am comforted by the act of offering.
Toshi was a good deal less comforted by the myojin’s interest in open-ended compensation, but he kept his feelings to himself. “You have but to ask,” he said, thinking, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.
You interest me, Toshi Umezawa. If you took the time to plan more, you would not risk so much. Yet if you were not so bold, you would not accomplish so much. It is no wonder that Mochi brought you to me. I believe you are the first being from the utsushiyo to have confounded his expectations.
Toshi cocked his head. “I have questions about that one,” he said. “May I impose upon your giving nature a while longer?”
I think not. You have acquired three aspects of Shadow so far, plus the use of the Gate. You are in a much better position to confirm or dismiss your concerns about Mochi than I am. Even now, you do not fully trust the great spirits of the kakuriyo.
“It’s hard to cast off the habit of a lifetime.”
Go now, Toshi Umezawa, and take this with you: Mochi seeks to save your world and ours, but only on his specific terms. Think carefully about your true allegiances and cling to them. Only this will see you through the coming maelstrom.
The curtain behind the myojin began to withdraw into itself, shrinking up into the cadaverous arms above.
Toshi called, “And what of your interests, O Night? If you have a purpose for me, state it, and I will see it through to the best of my abilities.”
The myojin’s frozen mask seemed to smile. Perhaps it was the dry amusement of her voice, but Toshi definitely had the sense she was entertained.
Perhaps, she said. Or perhaps you would use that information to plan a counter-strategy that would leave me as bereft and beaten as Uramon.
Toshi tried to look shocked. “Never, O Night. I am your humble—”
You are many things, ochimusha, but humble is not one of them. She had stopped her withdrawal so that only her mask and the hood around it remained. There was still a cluster of floating hands above and behind her.
Here, she said. The empty eyes in the white mask flashed, and black light spilled out of them. Toshi felt something fall away from his body, like he had shed a portion of his skin.
Now the item known as the Shadow Gate is no more. Its power has been transmitted to you, Toshi. Your body is now capable of transporting itself, so that no one may do to you what you have done to Uramon.
Toshi glanced down. There was an uncomfortable sensation on his chest, as if some caustic worm were wriggling just below the surface of his skin. Hesitantly, he pulled open his shirt to reveal a jet-black kanji forming on the center of his breastbone, the same symbol that had been woven through the filigree on Uramon’s artifact.
“Uh … thank you, O Night.”
Go forth, my acolyte. Use the power I have given you and the power you have taken. Know that I am with you always.
With a sudden slurping sound, the black fabric quickly drew in upon itself and the white mask faded away.
Toshi stood for a few moments. He absently closed his shirt and laid his open palm across the new kanji on his chest.
Without the myojin to sustain it, the solid bubble he was occupying began to decay. In a matter of minutes, he would be floating aimlessly on the void once more.
Toshi pressed his hand into his chest. He cleared his mind and pictured the secret chamber where he had left Uramon.
Something much louder than his heart thumped beneath his hand, and Toshi disappeared.
Toshi felt his body temperature plummet as he regained both form and weight. A thin layer of frost had formed on the walls of Uramon’s hidden treasure trove. The chest of drawers and the silver plate were dusted with white, and the tapestry depicting the myojin creaked stiffly as Toshi moved through the room.
Boss Uramon was gone, which was not a hopeful sign. Toshi blew on his hands, watching the skin of ice spread across the walls and floor. It was well past time to leave.
With an effort, he pried his feet from the floor with a harsh cracking sound—the ice had begun to crawl up the edges of his sandals. He would have been content to test the new power his myojin had granted him, but first he should check up on Marrow-Gnawer and Kiku. Toshi was confident they were alive because the hyozan mark on his hand had not throbbed or burned as it would have if they’d been killed, but just because the weren’t dead yet didn’t mean he could abandon them. All he needed right now was another reckoning to distract him from the matter at hand.
Toshi quickly exited the passage and dashed up the staircase to Uramon’s meditation chamber. He felt the temperature rise slightly as he rose, but it was still cold enough to be a hazard, and growing cold enough to kill.
There were more bodies in the chamber now than before, but a quick examination showed that none belonged to his fellow reckoners. In the gathering cold, the corpses were stiffening more quickly than normal.
Where were the rest of Uramon’s guards, he wondered. He knew that along with her small army of hatchet men and indentured nezumi, the boss kept enslaved monsters, hungry gaki ghosts with grasping hands and featureless faces, even toxic akuba with multiple arms and forked tongues. Where were these more monstrous retainers?
Toshi carefully opened the outer door that led from the meditation chamber to the main hall. He whistled softly, white fog pouring between his pursed lips.
The hallway floor was littered with frozen corpses—human, nezumi, and monster alike. They all seemed to have fallen in mid-charge, weapons drawn, claws extended, snarls of rage on their faces. Toshi prodded a nearby hatchet man with his toe, and the frozen thug’s ear broke off like the tip of an icicle.
“Okay, then.” Toshi wrapped his arms around himself and headed for the front door. The huge half-ogre who guarded the door leaned against the nearest wall, propped upright like a half-felled tree.
Then Toshi was through the door and out into the warm, wet air of the swamp. It was foul-smelling and thick with buzzing flies and biting moths, but it was a far cry from the increasingly brutal cold inside Uramon’s manor.
“What in the name of the cold gray hell did you do in there?”
Kiku stood at the far end of the path, just inside Uramon’s exterior gate. She appeared uninjured as she casually sniffed a camellia pinned to her cloak.
Beside her on the ground lay Boss Uramon. In death, Numai’s criminal overlord had thrown off the passive façade she wore in life but only with the help of one of Kiku’s flowers. A single purple bloom sprouted from the center of Uramon’s powdered forehead, its thorny roots dug deep into her skull. Below the camellia, Uramon’s face was twisted into a mask of pain and fury, her teeth bared, her lips stretched tight, and her tongue protruding.
Toshi gestured. “Why’d you kill the Boss?”
“Why didn’t you? I don’t know what you’ve got planned for the immediate future, but none of us would have lasted another week with a vengeful Uramon on the loose.” Kiku gestured to the manor. “Answer your own question. Why’d you kill everyone else?”
Toshi turned. Uramon’s splendid house was surrounded by a thickening bank of white fog. It didn’t seem to be expanding past the walls of the manor, but it was growing more opaque all the time.
“I was just showing off,” he lied. “As you said, it’s better to end this little drama here. No survivors means no sequel.” He looked around the empty courtyard. “Where’s Marrow?”
“He’s alive,” Kiku said, “but he lit out as soon as the cold started to claim the others. You’re lucky we were both able to walk. If w
e’d been trapped in there, you’d have killed your own reckoners.” Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled savagely. “From what I’m told, that wouldn’t be too healthy for you.”
Toshi nodded. “It’s pretty much the standard blood boiling, throat closing, and eyes bursting that comes with many broken oaths. Only when one hyozan turns on another, the others are also compelled to action. The idea was to keep the betrayer immobile and agonized until Hidetsugu or myself could come settle things properly.”
Kiku sneered. “So it’s a good thing all around we didn’t die. No thanks to you.”
“I have extraordinary trust in you,” Toshi said.
Kiku tossed her head, unimpressed.
“But I also have a piece of advice. Return to your clan, or at least some place where you can lie low. This—” he waved his arms around to include the frozen manor and the dead Boss—“will stir things up for awhile. Others will move in once they realize Uramon has fallen. You’ll want to stay out of the way until things settle down. I’m sure you’ll find an agreeable position with the new Boss, whoever that turns out to be.”
Kiku straightened her cloak and began lacing it shut. “I don’t need to you to coach me, oath-brother.”
“Actually, you do. I left Uramon alive because I thought removing her would help the soratami. They’re muscling in on her territory, remember?”
“What is that to me?”
“It’s a matter of great concern. The moonfolk have the best assassins, the sneakiest shinobi, the toughest warriors. Without Uramon, they probably will take over here or at least lay claim to a major chunk of the market. You must not work for them, jushi. Not even as a freelancer.”
Kiku’s face grew red. “Why not? Who are you to tell—”
“The soratami are my enemy,” Toshi said evenly. “More, they are connected to the academy, which is connected to the death of Hidetsugu’s apprentice. There could be a serious conflict if a hyozan reckoner took work with people the hyozan is targeting.” He shook his head. “Bad business.”
Heretic, Betrayers of Kamigawa: Kamigawa Cycle, Book II Page 11
