With a howl, the shikigami expanded into a cyclone and hurtled past Emi. The kami couldn’t even raise his hands before it struck him. The funnel sucked him in and the spinning wind flashed with white blades.
Her shikigami dropped the kami and whirled back to her side, leaving its victim in a spreading puddle of blood on the floor. Emi staggered back, clapping a hand to her mouth as her stomach threatened to empty itself. She turned to her shikigami. Its blank face looked at her expectantly, the breeze whispering in her ears.
She hadn’t ordered it to do that. Why had it acted without her command?
Shuddering, she reminded herself that the kami’s spirit would return unharmed to Takamahara—and the human who’d once inhabited the mortal body was long gone. Skirting around the blood, she broke into a sprint and her shikigami glided after her.
On the third level of the house, she rushed toward a familiar set of double doors. Before she could open them, her shikigami roared past her and ripped them apart, exposing the dark rock garden and gazebo. A cold, sharp gust that smelled of salt water rushed inside. With the talisman in its center glowing brightly, her shikigami swelled into a whirlwind, engorged by the natural winds until it lost the shape of a woman.
Emi cautiously circled the cyclone, no longer sure what sort of control she had over it—if any. Jumping onto the steppingstones, she dashed to the center of the garden and set the canister on the ground before prying off the lid to reveal the gleaming liquid within—lamp oil. She rolled the obi tightly and shoved the material into the canister, leaving one end hanging out.
Shaking the oil off her hand, she fetched the lantern hanging beside the door and popped off the bamboo-and-paper shade. She lifted out the oil dish with a burning wick in its center and carried it back to the canister. Pulling out the drenched obi, she unrolled it, splattering oil across the sand. With the ten-foot-long sash stretched out, she took a deep breath and lowered the soaked material toward the wick’s flame.
Fire whooshed along the length of the fabric. The heat struck her face with a force of its own, and the oil splatters on the sand caught as well.
She flung the obi up. Her shikigami swept beneath it and shot skyward. The dancing fabric and writhing flames swirled higher and higher, a brilliant red streak across the black, starless sky. Hands clenched at her sides, Emi watched it rise. When it was a bright speck high above, her shikigami plunged to the earth to rejoin her. The flaming banner rippled like a tiny sun, sailing like a kite on the winds.
Then, from far in the distance, the deep boom of thunder rumbled across the sky.
Chapter 8
Emi’s heart leaped. The flaming cloth, a dazzling beacon in the night, would be visible for miles. The sudden thunder in a cloudless sky could only be the power of the Kunitsukami of the Storm. Susano had seen her signal, and he was coming—she hoped.
Thunder rolled again, and far to the west, a bolt of lightning flashed in the darkness.
Thudding footsteps pulled her from her urgent sky gazing. Another vassal stumbled to a halt in the splintered threshold and his attention shot straight to her shikigami. His hands rose, magic sparking in his palms.
The howling gale tore toward him. He cast a luminous shield and the cyclone struck it. Her shikigami pushed the kami and his barrier back a step, then encircled him.
From beyond the garden, the ocean winds surged. They swept from the sky and fed into her shikigami. The gale turned to a raging shriek and the garden sand was pulled into the cyclone.
Stinging pellets lacerated Emi’s skin and she dropped to her knees, shielding her head with her arms. The tugging beneath her ribs intensified sickeningly, pulling at her heart like a hand in her chest. The wind was an enraged voice in her ears, the words almost audible.
The gale died down, releasing the airborne sand, and Emi cautiously raised her head. The second kami, despite his attempt to defend himself, had suffered the same fate as the first. Her shikigami hovered nearby, and her pulse hammered fearfully at the sight of it. The dense whirlwind, glowing talisman in its center, had quadrupled in size as though it had absorbed the ocean winds.
She staggered to her feet. Susano was coming—she had to believe he was. When he arrived, they would need to flee this island swiftly or risk facing the overwhelming power of an Amatsukami.
Three stories below the courtyard, the trail led to the storehouse where Sarutahiko was imprisoned. She glanced at her shikigami. “Will you catch me?”
The whispering in her ears seemed to reassure her and a gentle breeze washed over her face. Swallowing her fear, she darted for the edge of the garden and jumped.
A gust lifted her easily over the railing behind the gazebo. She plummeted toward the rocks, choking on a scream. The cyclone caught her and she landed on the path in a run. The rough gravel cut at her socked feet but she ignored the pain as she swerved down the fork in the trail.
The storehouse came into view and her shikigami surged ahead. The ocean winds swept in again, feeding the cyclone as it swelled even wider. The funnel hit the storehouse and, with the shriek of tearing wood, ripped the building from its foundation.
Emi shielded her face again as bits of wood showered her. The storehouse’s remains pelted the rocks and the lights of the house illuminated the destruction. Papers from hundreds of torn books fluttered around her.
Had she really created this destructive power? Was she so powerful that her ki could fuel such a devastating shikigami, or was something else going on?
And, whatever was happening, how did she control it?
She hurried toward her shikigami. It sat atop the storehouse foundation, completely covering it. The wind softened as she approached and opened a passage for her to walk inside the cyclone. She stumbled over broken shelves toward the steps. Her shikigami shrank, condensing back into the shape of a woman, and followed her down.
In the underground space, she once again faced the doors with glowing symbols. The water in the barrels shimmered innocently.
She lifted an unsteady hand and pointed.
Her shikigami slammed into the doors. The symbol flashed brightly before the cyclone tore the entrance apart. She glimpsed a small room beyond, empty but for a simple futon and a shadowy figure lying upon it.
Then the water came alive and smashed into her.
She hit the floor as the water wrapped around her head and torso. A gale blasted into her, but the liquid clung stubbornly in place. She clawed at her face, trying to clear the water just long enough to take a breath. The whirlwind battered her, but it couldn’t dislodge the suffocating liquid. Her shikigami blasted outward, demolishing the storehouse floor above.
Her vision narrowed to a black tunnel as her lungs burned. She slumped to the floor, holding her throat against the need to inhale.
“Enough.”
The water fell away from her. She gasped frantically, filling her lungs with salty air. Her shikigami quieted its urgent spinning.
“Kamigakari, what have you created?”
She pushed herself into a sitting position, aware of the small room behind her containing an unmoving figure—Sarutahiko. Her muscles quivered and the tugging beneath her ribs pulsed faster, a hollow ache that kept worsening.
Tsukiyomi stood several yards back from the top of the steps, a water serpent on either side of him.
“What did you create?” he asked again.
“It …” She coughed, almost too hoarse for speech. She wanted to stand, to prepare to fight him, but her legs were still shaking. “It’s a shikigami.”
“No, it is not.” The wind tugged at his silver-streaked hair. “A shikigami is an extension of a kami’s ki and will. Your creation is tied to your ki but not your will. You have no control. You must release it now.”
She stiffened. “I’m not going to—”
“It is killing you. As it grows in power, it devours your ki. You must disperse it before you perish.”
She looked at her trembling hands. That tugging sensation i
n her chest hurt more with each passing moment. The wind murmured in her ears, oddly reassuring, as though telling her not to listen, not to worry.
In the darkness high above, an ear-shattering crack of thunder split the sky. The ocean winds gusted and her shikigami shuddered in agitation. Tsukiyomi glanced upward, then refocused on her.
“Release your creation, kamigakari, before it destroys you.”
“I can’t,” she gasped, struggling to rise. A breeze gently pushed against her back, supporting her. “I have to save Sarutahiko.”
“If I turn my power upon you, the wind will consume your life to defend against me. You cannot defeat me, even with this monstrosity. Release it.”
“I won’t.”
“I am trying to protect you. If you do not stop this, you will die.”
“Saving my life won’t earn you Amaterasu’s forgiveness!” She shouted the words, her hands clenching with sudden fury. “I would rather die fighting than give up!”
His dark eyes widened.
She thrust her hand toward him and the cyclone exploded. The serpents at his sides launched into motion, spinning around him to form a protective barrier. Gale-force wind struck it and tore at the water.
The steady roar of ocean waves changed. From the cliffs behind Tsukiyomi, a tsunami rose. The massive wave arced over him and came crashing down on Emi. Her shikigami retracted, condensing around her. She flung herself on top of Sarutahiko’s still form as the ocean slammed down on top of them.
The wind screamed defiantly and pain pierced her ribs. The funnel burst outward again, sweeping the water away before it could touch her. The spiraling cyclone grew into a howling tornado that reached for the clouds. A fiery spike lodged under her ribs and she doubled over, clutching the front of her kimono.
Lightning ricocheted through the clouds and thunder boomed, louder than waves or wind.
Another tsunami rose and hurled its immense weight against her shikigami. She cried out as agony ripped through her, the familiar pain of her ki—her life—being torn away. The unstoppable ocean winds powered her shikigami but her ki sustained its life. As it grew stronger, she grew weaker.
Alien voices murmured words she couldn’t understand. The shrieking tornado turned white with frothing water, obscuring everything beyond it and dousing the faint light. Surrounded by darkness and deafened by the roaring wind, she curled in on herself, arms clamped around her chest as though she could hold her life in.
Directly above them, another clap of thunder shook the island. Light flashed brightly and beyond the dark cyclone surrounding her, a giant shadow glided past. In a dreamlike daze, she watched the long serpentine body undulate with eerie grace as lightning flickered over it.
A dragon.
Susano was here. She wondered foggily if she should stop her shikigami. Pain thudded in her chest. It was so hard to breathe. Somewhere beyond the tornado, she heard sounds—voices? Voices calling to her? The funnel pulled in closer and the murmuring in her ears wormed into her head, blocking all other sound. The agony grew distant and her thoughts muddied further.
“Emi.”
A shudder ran through her, and she knew she was dreaming, or hallucinating, or already dead, because he couldn’t possibly be here.
“Ignoring me, little miko?” Fingers brushed across her cheek, then tugged gently on a lock of her hair. “I admit I was expecting a warmer welcome.”
She forced her eyes open, squinting through the darkness within the raging cyclone. “Shiro?”
He knelt beside her, obscured by shadows, but his unmistakable irises glinted crimson. He captured her hand, his fingers warm and strong, steadying her trembling. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, haven’t you?”
“Shiro.” She reached for him and he scooped her off the ground, pulling her onto his lap. As his arms closed around her, his familiar scent filling her nose, tears spilled down her cheeks.
“You need to release the spell, Emi.”
“I can’t. I can’t control it.”
“If you created it, you can destroy it.”
The cyclone howled with renewed violence and a hot pulse speared her ribcage. Wind slashed across them with frightening force, almost ripping her out of his grip. His arms constricted around her.
“Emi,” he said tightly, “you have no time left.”
He was right. Weakness like the weight of the entire ocean crushed her. As her lungs strained, something wet hit her cheek—a droplet of water that trickled into the corner of her mouth. A sharp, metallic taste stung her tongue.
Not water. Blood. But from where?
“I’m sorry, Emi.” Shiro sounded pained as he touched the base of her throat. His fingers slid down to her kamigakari mark. “It’s the only way to stop this.”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion, her head spinning. Then white-hot pain erupted beneath his hand.
She screamed and writhed as agony seared her chest. He held her tightly while he scorched her flesh. Torment pierced her torso, shooting deep inside her, ripping her apart from within.
Hot, familiar ki burst through her. Released from Tsukiyomi’s seal, Amaterasu’s power flooded through her mind and body.
“Amaterasu!” Shiro shouted urgently.
Strength that wasn’t hers steadied her weak muscles. Her head tilted back to take in the towering cyclone surrounding them. Without conscious command, her hand lifted skyward and scalding power flashed in her palm.
The maelstrom went utterly still. Released from the wind’s grip, clouds of dirt and sand fell from the sky. Fifty feet above, the paper talisman glowed.
Shiro thrust his hand upward, mirroring her gesture. Fire leaped from his fingers toward the talisman. With a bright flare, flames devoured the paper.
The tugging pain vanished, leaving only the throbbing burn of her kamigakari mark. As eddies of dust drifted around them, obscuring all else, Amaterasu’s presence slipped away. Tears tracking down her face, Emi looked up at Shiro.
Shock spiked through her, quieting her pain.
A deep gash ran from the hollow of his cheek, up his face, and into his hair. His vulpine ear was torn, the white fur stained crimson. Blood dripped steadily off his jaw.
“Shiro—” Her gasp died when she jerked back and saw the slicing cuts in his kosode. A dozen gouges marred his body.
From out of the dust, Yumei emerged, his black spear in one hand. “So you survived,” he observed.
“More or less,” Shiro replied casually.
“But—what—” she stuttered breathlessly, her hands hovering over Shiro without touching him. He was bleeding everywhere.
“We warned you the windstorm would rip you apart,” Yumei said as he swept past them and knelt beside Sarutahiko’s still figure.
Horror crystallized in her veins. Her shikigami had hurt Shiro? She had done this to him? Too many emotions expanded inside her at once, crushing her lungs.
Shiro smiled as he looked down at her. “I didn’t have to bleed for nothing, though.”
Another shadow appeared in the thinning clouds of dust, and terror lit through her. Tsukiyomi halted a few yards away, flanked on either side by shikigami serpents.
Shiro glanced up, following her stare. At the sight of the Amatsukami, he canted his head. “So now what, Tsukiyomi?”
At the sound of Tsukiyomi’s name, the warm power within Emi that had dissipated spiked. Amaterasu’s ki swamped Emi a second time, crashing through her like a boiling surf. Taking control from Emi, Amaterasu pushed away from Shiro, rising to her feet.
“Brother,” she hissed, the single word throbbing with wrath. “How dare you.”
“Amaterasu—” Tsukiyomi began.
“How dare you.” The wind surged again. “You have betrayed me, yet you believe saving my kamigakari will win my forgiveness?”
Pain tightened his features, his unwavering calm cracking under his sister’s rage. “I seek only to shield you from suffering. You must understand this.”
She stepped toward him, gusts whipping around her. “To suffer is to live. To struggle, to fight, is to know passion. You would deny me both in the name of peace. Your cowardice disgusts me, Tsukiyomi.”
He flinched.
“What is an eternity of peace?” she demanded, taking another step toward him. “What is an eternity of lifeless, passionless existence? You do not protect me—you condemn me!”
She raised a hand toward him, her fury deluging Emi.
Fingers closed around her wrist, interrupting her aggressive gesture. Heedless of his injuries, Shiro stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Tsukiyomi. “That’s enough, Amaterasu. Withdraw before you fall from Takamahara.”
“She is my kamigakari,” Amaterasu snapped, her rage unabated. “I will descend when I see fit.”
Something flashed in Shiro’s gaze. Though he didn’t move, his demeanor shifted—the minute flex of muscles in his face, the gathering of shadows in his eyes. Suddenly it wasn’t Shiro standing in front of her.
It was Inari.
“Do not test me, Amaterasu.” His voice slipped into a menacing croon. “I will rip your heart from the heavens if you cross me again.”
Amaterasu’s rage faltered with uncertainty and a touch of fear. She raised her chin, gathering her composure, her anger rising again.
Amaterasu, Emi cried as the Amatsukami’s emotions shredded her consciousness. Please!
Amaterasu’s focus turned inward and Emi felt the moment the goddess remembered her—and what was happening to her. In a hot burst, power rushed out of her body. Light flashed across her skin as Amaterasu’s power and spirit withdrew.
The heat of kami ki faded and the strength disappeared from her limbs. Emi sagged forward and Shiro—Inari?—pulled her into his arms. Dizzy with weakness, she labored to raise her head, needing to see his face.
For the first time outside someone else’s memory, she looked into the ancient, unclouded eyes of the Kunitsukami of the Fire.
Her heart pounded crazily in her chest. His gaze was inscrutable, and he looked right through her, down to her very soul and even deeper. He was identical to the yokai she knew, yet completely different. A familiar stranger.
Immortal Fire (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 3) Page 7
