Halting at a path of steppingstones, the kami gave her another slight bow. After a brief hesitation, she stepped from the walkway onto the first stone. Lifting the hem of her kimono so it wouldn’t disturb the sand, she crossed the stones to the gazebo. The kami—and the water serpent hovering behind him—did not follow.
Alone, she stopped at the wooden structure, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the pleasant shadows beneath the roof.
A man, dressed in the finest blue and white robes, sat at a low table with his back to her, facing the far end of the gazebo. Framed between the roof posts was a spectacular view of the rocky coast. The surf crashed incessantly against unyielding stone, the froth flowing and dancing with each wave.
The man turned and his dark eyes met hers. As sudden as a storm breaking, she felt it: the sizzling weight of magic, the electric presence of impossibly vast power.
She didn’t know why she was here. She didn’t know his intentions. But, enemy or not, she couldn’t disrespect an Amatsukami. She stepped into the gazebo, sank to her knees, and bowed until her forehead nearly touched the floor. Awareness of her sorry state—tangled hair and mud-splatted kimono—heightened her feelings of vulnerability.
“Rise, Kamigakari Kimura.”
She sat up and when he gestured gracefully to the cushion opposite him, she warily moved to it and knelt, the low table between them. Even without the other signs, she would have recognized this Amatsukami as Tsukiyomi of the Water simply by the aura of tranquility that surrounded him.
“How do you fare, kamigakari?” His voice, as low and soft as the song of a creek over pebbles, was as exquisitely pleasing as his striking face. His features were smooth and young, though he had possessed his current kamigakari for many decades. His long hair was tied back, but unlike his ageless face, silver threaded the dark strands in uneven streaks.
“How … how do I fare?” she repeated.
“Your ki was dangerously depleted when you arrived.” He reached for the tea set by his elbow and began preparing the beverage. “Have you recovered your strength?”
“Oh.” She twisted her hands together. “Yes, I feel much better. How—how long was I asleep?”
He added powdered tea to two cups. “Several days.”
“Days?”
“In your weakened condition, an unexpected relocation would have been perilously stressful. For your safety and health, I ensured you remained asleep.”
As she watched him pour steaming water into the cups, her hand crept up to grip the front of her kimono. “Did you also put a spell on my kamigakari mark?”
He nodded placidly. “You have no need of my sister’s ki here.”
“Where is ‘here’? The Sabuten Islands?” Her question came out as an accusatory demand. Uzume had told Emi to look for Tsukiyomi and his prisoner—Sarutahiko, the leader of the Kunitsukami—near the Sabuten Islands.
Tsukiyomi whisked the tea and hot water together, then placed a cup in front of her. “The Sabuten Islands are farther west, closer to the mainland.”
She hid her chagrin behind a sip of bitter tea, resisting the urge to gulp it. If this island was that far from the mainland, could Shiro, Yumei, and Susano find it?
Setting her cup down, she abandoned the pretense of polite conversation. “Why did you bring me here?”
Tsukiyomi’s gaze drifted toward the ocean. “Izanami would prefer I eliminate you. However, I do not wish to cause my sister more pain, and for reasons that are difficult for me to grasp, she anguishes over your suffering. Therefore, I will keep you here, safe and unharmed, until the solstice.”
“The solstice?” she repeated, her skin chilling from more than the breeze.
“After the solstice, you will no longer require guardianship.”
“Because Izanami is planning to descend on the Bridge to Heaven,” she said urgently. “Amaterasu told me. Izanami will destroy the world and—”
“Izanami neither plans nor intends to harm this world,” he interrupted.
“But—but don’t you know what will happen when she descends with her real body? She’ll—”
“I am well informed as to what her descent will entail for this world,” Tsukiyomi cut in calmly. “My sister sees only what will be lost and not what will be gained.”
“Gained? But what—”
“Upon Izanami’s descent, kamigakari will cease to be necessary. You will be free to return to a normal human life and live out your remaining mortal days.”
Her heart gave an off-kilter thump at his words. No longer be a kamigakari? Her life wouldn’t end on the solstice?
“Your survival is my gift to my sister,” he continued. “She will come, in time, to see the value of this future. Thus, until the solstice, you will remain under my protection.”
Her mouth opened and closed, but she couldn’t find her voice.
“Let go of your fervor to fulfill my sister’s commands.” He sipped his tea. “This island is protected by a barrier that not even a Kunitsukami can detect; they will see and sense only ocean. Discard your hope that they will find you.”
Placing his cup on the tabletop, he folded his hands. “My vassals will see to your comfort, and I suggest you use this time to rejuvenate your weary body and spirit. Stay within the house. My shikigami will not allow you to leave it, and it may harm you if you try.”
“Shikigami?” she whispered weakly.
“The water spirit guarding you. It will follow you whenever you leave your room.” He shifted back toward the ocean view. “I imagine you would like to bathe and eat. My vassal will return with you to your room. Inform him of anything you require.”
Recognizing her dismissal, Emi bowed and stood, too numb to speak. She stumbled back across the steppingstones and stopped in front of the kami waiting by the doors. The strange water serpent watched her with glowing eyes.
A barrier hid the whole island from yokai senses. If she couldn’t find a way to escape before the solstice, she wouldn’t have to die. Instead, she would keep her life but lose everything that made it worth living.
Chapter 6
Sprawled across her futon, Emi stared despondently at the ceiling.
For nights now—had it been four? Five?—she had dreamed of drowning in violent ocean waves, of being swallowed by a serpent of water, of burning alive as red flames devoured a beautiful palace. She had dreamed of a sword slicing through her abdomen while merciless silver eyes watched her fall.
Throwing off the blankets, she rolled out of bed. With waves crashing against the cliffs outside her window, she dressed in a simple kimono from the well-stocked closet and slipped out of the room.
In the hallway, the water serpent waited, and as she padded to a long staircase, it followed close behind her. Tsukiyomi had called it a water spirit, but she associated spirits with yokai, and the serpent was definitely not a yokai. Whatever it was, it existed only to guard her.
Even in the dim light of the few lanterns still lit in the corridors, she had no difficulty finding her way to the third story. She had explored the entire manor over the past few days, investigating every room and closet and spying out of every window. The sprawling house sat upon the higher, flatter half of the tiny island, while jutting rock formations sloped steeply toward sea level on the other side.
She opened a sliding door and stepped onto a spacious balcony. The restless breeze, refreshingly cool, tickled her face, the southern weather more reminiscent of late summer than early winter. She rubbed her eyes to clear the fog of nightmares, exhausted from reliving memories she’d never been meant to witness.
Despite the other worries occupying her thoughts, her shared dream with Yumei had been weighing heavily on her mind. Shiro had told her the Tengu of centuries past was far more ruthless than the yokai she knew, but seeing it herself had been something else. His daitengu’s intentions hadn’t been malicious—misguided, yes, but not spiteful—yet he had slain her. She bit her lip as she remembered him offering her the sword first. Seppuku,
ritual suicide, had once been a common way for fallen warriors to salvage their honor. It was also a method of execution.
In the dream, she had also seen Shiro’s past self. Like in Amaterasu’s memory, Inari was similar to Shiro, but also so different. Inari had shown little sympathy for Yumei’s inevitable doom at Izanagi’s hands—had even mocked him—yet he’d offered Yumei a way out. A preposterous suggestion, but a way out nonetheless. And then he had burned Yumei’s castle to the ground, an act of destruction that would prevent hundreds of needless yokai deaths.
She absently slid a lock of hair through her fingers as she watched the moonlight reflecting off the ocean. Cutting loneliness competed with restless urgency that bordered on panic. Time was slipping away. Awash in a frightening sameness that confused her memory, her days of imprisonment on this island had begun to blur. She didn’t know how long she had slept under Tsukiyomi’s spell or how many days had passed since waking.
And she was no closer to regaining her freedom now than on the first day.
Despite her careful search of the manor, she had found nothing helpful. The small dock she’d spotted on the opposite shore was devoid of any boats. Within the house, she’d uncovered no weapons, no way to escape, and no signs of how Tsukiyomi maintained the barrier around the island.
She scanned the rocky shore, probing the shadows yet again. She was trapped here, but she wasn’t Tsukiyomi’s only prisoner. Somewhere on this island, Sarutahiko was also confined.
Around two years ago, Izanami and the spider witch Jorogumo had ambushed the Kunitsukami of the Mountain. Jorogumo’s venomous bite had plunged Sarutahiko into an endless sleep, and Izanami had given the unconscious Kunitsukami to Tsukiyomi for safekeeping until the solstice. Deep in Tsuchi, Uzume stood guard over the lone healing blossom of a rare tree while she waited for Emi to bring her husband to her for revival.
Sarutahiko was not imprisoned inside the house. He had to be somewhere else on the island, but with the tireless serpent guard following her everywhere, Emi had yet to set foot outside.
She paced the length of the balcony. Regardless of whether Shiro, Yumei, and Susano had any idea where she was, they would eventually head this way in search of Sarutahiko. She had to ensure that when they got here, they could find the island. To do that, she needed to get through the barrier.
Her gaze rose to the bright moon. Where was Shiro now? Was he searching for her, or had he turned his attention to finding Sarutahiko? She wouldn’t blame him if he had. Saving the leader of the Kunitsukami, the only one who might know how to stop Izanami from opening the Bridge to Heaven, was far more important than saving her. She had little role left to play in this war of the heavens and earth. Once she removed the last loop of the onenju from Shiro, her only task would be to survive.
Pivoting on her heel, she strode through the balcony doors. To accomplish anything, she had to get out of this house. And that meant discovering exactly how dangerous a shikigami could be.
Emi pressed the tip of the paintbrush to the floorboards. It glided smoothly over the polished wood, leaving a streak of stark black ink in its wake. Carefully balancing the ink stone in one hand so the liquid wouldn’t splash out and ruin her work, she drew the last line and stepped back.
The marugata spanned the full width of the corridor. She only knew how to make one kind of exorcism circle—a simple spell to immobilize any yokai that entered it—and she had no idea if it would work on an elemental spirit. Soon she would find out.
Ten paces down the hall, the water serpent watched her. It hadn’t reacted when she stole the brush and ink supplies, or when she began painting the floor. She suspected that, whatever the spirit was, it was too simpleminded to understand anything she did—besides leaving the house.
Setting her supplies by the wall, she gave her marugata a final examination, then faced the double doors at the end of the corridor. When she attempted to leave, one of three things would happen: the serpent would glide right across the marugata, unaffected; it would detour to a different exit; or it would get stuck in the circle.
With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, set her feet, and launched into a sprint.
The serpent hissed furiously. She glanced over her shoulder as it rushed directly into the circle. The lines glowed and the snake jerked to a stop, writhing in place as though pinned to the floor.
It wasn’t completely immobilized, but at least it wasn’t chasing her. She ripped the front door open and flew outside, a chilly wind snagging at her hair. Dark shadows clung to the rocky bluffs and the setting sun cast a red film over the ocean. The gravel path sloped toward the opposite end of the island.
With a steep drop to the water on one side, she ran along the trail toward the shadowy dock, silhouetted against the water. She didn’t know exactly what she was searching for, but she had to find something—some clue as to how Tsukiyomi had created the barrier around the island.
As the downward grade grew more severe, she slipped on the loose gravel. With flailing arms, she grabbed a narrow sapling for balance, almost snapping it. As its narrow branches, bedecked in yellow leaves yet to fall, shook violently, she glimpsed something beyond it.
The path forked, and a second trail disappeared among the boulders and trees. She looked to the dock, fifty yards away, torn over which path to take. With a frustrated huff, she raced down the second trail.
Beyond a rocky outcropping that hid it from view, a rundown storehouse nestled among dark stone. With rotting wood and peeling paint, it clearly hadn’t been maintained with the same care as the house. Enduring a bite of disappointment, she turned to go back, but then spotted a clear footprint in the wet gravel. Someone had been this way recently.
She hurried up the steps and grabbed the door. Grinding loudly, it reluctantly slid open. Orange light from the sunset bathed the interior. Lining the walls, sturdy shelves were stacked with boxes—old wooden crates and cardboard containers that had absorbed too much moisture from the humid air.
She stepped inside, covering her mouth with one sleeve. It was just a dirty, abandoned storehouse. A darker shadow in the corner drew her attention. At the back of the room was a dark hole in the floor—a staircase leading underground. Surprised that an ancient storehouse would have a cellar—underground levels were exceedingly uncommon—she peered into the shadows. A bluish light emanated from below.
With uneasy excitement, she stepped down. Her foot landed in a puddle on the first stair and slipped out from under her. In a wild attempt to catch herself, she grabbed the nearest crate. The rotten wood tore away and she fell hard on her backside. A collection of damp, moldy books with leather covers tumbled down on her head.
She shoved the disgusting tomes off her lap, scanning the disintegrated titles. Light from the open doors caught on one of the covers, illuminating a smudged word: Shikigami.
After a quick double take, she grabbed the tiny book and shoved it under her obi at the small of her back to examine later, then stepped carefully onto the slick steps. Despite the dim light coming from below, thick darkness engulfed her as she descended. Stretching one hand out, the other hand sliding along the wall beside her, she crept down until there were no more steps.
Across a small open space was a heavy wooden door. A circle, inscribed with unfamiliar runes and symbols, spanned the width of the wood, the lines emitting dim blue light.
Aside from the door, the only other objects were two large wooden barrels filled with water. Stepping between them, she faced the glowing inscription. A protected room in an out-of-sight location. Could this be where Tsukiyomi was keeping Sarutahiko?
She doubted she could open the door with that spell, but she didn’t want to leave without trying. Cautiously, she lifted her hand and touched the damp wood.
The circle flashed brightly. She snatched her hand back too late. With a gurgling roar, water leaped out of the barrels and slammed into her. She crashed to the floor. As she shoved herself up, the water rose with her, encircling her
head and torso.
She writhed madly, trying to escape the liquid wrapped around her like a living thing. She couldn’t get it off, couldn’t escape it. It pushed into her nose and mouth and she had to clench her throat to protect her lungs, though they burned desperately.
Shukusei no tama, she cried in her head, trying to break the spell with a purification incantation, but despite the flutter of ki in her center, nothing happened.
Falling to her knees, she crawled frantically for the stairs but the water surged all around her, smashing into her like waves without ever releasing its grip on her body. Light popped in her vision, her lungs screamed, and her diaphragm tightened with the need to take a breath.
Liquid flooded her throat and she collapsed, drowning in water she couldn’t escape.
Light bloomed in the cellar and the water encasing her splashed to the floor. Emi rolled onto her stomach, gasping and coughing. Eyes watering, she forced her head up.
Tsukiyomi stood at the base of the stairs, his face in shadow. Behind him on the steps, two kami waited, one holding a lantern.
“Kamigakari,” the Amatsukami said, his deep voice betraying no ire. “Come.”
He turned. His kami preceded him up the steps and none of them looked back to ensure Emi was following. As she pushed herself upright with trembling arms, the deep puddle crawled over the sides of the barrels and refilled them, leaving the floor only slightly damp. Her clothes were almost dry, despite being drenched moments before.
Holding one hand against her tender throat, she staggered up the stairs. Tsukiyomi and his kami waited for her outside and as soon as she appeared, the Amatsukami swept down the path, his robes flowing behind him. In the house, he led her past the faded remains of her marugata, already washed from the floorboards.
Immortal Fire (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 3) Page 5
