Immortal Fire (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 3)

by Annette Marie

  This afternoon, she was trapped in the dressing room, being fitted with her outfit for the solstice. She would don majestic layers of violet kimono on the morning of the twentieth for the procession through the grounds and the ceremony to follow.

  As the elderly miko flitted around her, putting the finishing touches on her outfit, she labored to control her emotions, furious with her impotency, her idleness, her uselessness. Why was she just standing here? Izanami was poised to end the world in a few days. Why was no one doing anything?

  She’d asked Shiro what they should do next, but he’d simply told her they had to wait for Susano to return. In her mysterious dream, Amaterasu had mentioned something Shiro was supposed to tell the other Kunitsukami, but he had evaded Emi’s careful questions so smoothly she’d given up. He was keeping secrets, and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

  “What is all that ruckus?” a miko asked with a loud tsk. “Running about the hall of purification like a playground, my goodness.”

  Emi shook off her anxious inner tirade and glanced at the door where she could hear rapid footsteps and urgent voices. Normally, the hall was as silent as a funeral home.

  Footsteps thundered up to the dressing room and, without even a knock, the door flew open. A sohei half fell inside, his face as pale as snow.

  “My lady,” he gasped. “You—you need to come.”

  “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  “In the courtyard—Guji Ishida is at the shrine and—please, just come.” He whirled around and dashed out, waving at her to follow.

  Her apprehension ballooned into alarm and she swept after him, cursing the heavy layers of kimono and her unbound hair. She didn’t even have ofuda. Whatever had frightened the sohei so badly was not something she expected she could face without an arsenal of magic.

  He led her through the corridors at a half-jog, looking back anxiously every few steps to make sure she was still behind him. When they arrived in the vestibule, she found it jammed with people. Kannushi, sohei, and miko crowded around the closed doors as though they wanted to look outside but were afraid to touch the thin barrier between them and whatever waited beyond it.

  “Who are they—”

  “It can’t possibly be—”

  “Why are they here—”

  “Move aside for the kamigakari!” the sohei leading her announced.

  The crowd jumped like they’d been shocked, and with surprising swiftness, they crammed against the walls to open a path. With her lacquered wooden sandals clacking loudly in the sudden hush, Emi walked past the sohei to the double doors and the two nearest kannushi pulled them open.

  Sunlight flooded the dim entryway, blinding her. When her vision cleared, the courtyard came into focus and her racing heart stuttered to a halt. For a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. Then, straightening, she crossed the threshold onto the steps, her mouth dry as she counted swiftly.

  Three Kunitsukami and seventeen yokai stood in the courtyard.

  They waited in three perfect lines, each Kunitsukami heading a queue of vassals. Susano stood on the right, dressed in much finer blue and gray garments than she’d seen him wear before. Six unfamiliar yokai formed a line behind him, four males and two females. Uzume, garbed in a stunning green kimono edged in shimmering gold embroidery, waited on the left with six of her own vassals.

  And Sarutahiko stood in the center. The tallest among the gathered, with broad shoulders and a solid build, the leader of the Kunitsukami dominated the courtyard with his physical presence alone. His long brown-black hair was bound in a tail high on the back of his head, and his regal attire in shades of black and bronze would have put any emperor to shame. Five yokai stood a long step back from their lord, leaving an empty spot directly behind him as though someone was missing from their ranks.

  Emi kept her expression calm, even though power crackled through the air and the sizzle of yokai auras was so potent she could taste their ki. The human servants of the shrine were huddled in the doorways of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, and those who’d been outside had gathered in the corners, grouped together as though greater numbers might protect them. They knew the shrine’s visitors were not mortal.

  The humans seemed to hold their breath as Emi descended the steps and, alone, approached Sarutahiko. Internally panicking about how deeply she should bow, she stopped a few steps away and glanced imploringly at Uzume. The Kunitsukami of the Wood smiled in encouragement, her butter-yellow eyes alight with humor.

  Emi pressed her hands to her thighs and bowed deeply at the waist to Sarutahiko. She probably should have gone to her knees in a full genuflection as she had done for Susano and Tsukiyomi, but even though she was human and he was a god, she was also Amaterasu’s representative in this world. So she compromised with the deepest possible standing bow.

  To her shock, Sarutahiko bent forward in a bow equally as deep, and a mortified blush rushed into her cheeks. They rose together as she frantically ran through every etiquette lesson she’d ever had for any hint on how she was supposed to respond.

  “Kamigakari Kimura.” His voice, impossibly deep, seemed to rumble through the stones beneath their feet as much as it came from him. “It is an honor to at last meet the one who freed me and my fellow Kunitsukami from our imprisonment.”

  Her face still flaming, she offered another small bow. “Please accept my sincerest welcome to the Shion Shrine of Amaterasu, Amatsukami of the Wind.”

  “Your welcome is appreciated,” Sarutahiko replied. “There is much to discuss. Where, I must ask, is my wayward child of fire?”

  “Child?” Shiro’s voice floated through the courtyard. “Your perception of age is beyond twisted, old man.”

  Emi’s head snapped right. On the curved eave of a nearby building, Shiro sat casually with his arm propped on an upraised knee. When everyone in the courtyard turned to look at him, he uncoiled from his spot, stretched lazily, and sprang from the roof to land lightly on the courtyard stones.

  “My choice of language,” Sarutahiko murmured, “refers to your ethos rather than age, Inari.”

  Shiro strolled across the courtyard and stopped beside Emi, assessing Sarutahiko. The Kunitsukami of the Mountain gazed back, his expression inscrutable. Standing among his fellow gods, and with Emi in her magnificent kimono, Shiro was almost comically underdressed in his usual sleeveless kosode and black hakama.

  Emi glanced between Shiro and Sarutahiko. When confronted with the other two Kunitsukami for the first time, Shiro had frozen up, but it seemed their leader didn’t affect his confidence.

  Uzume laughed softly. “Such drama. Emi, child, may we retire indoors? As my husband said, we have much to discuss and time is short.”

  “Of course,” Emi said, almost stuttering in her haste. “This way, please.”

  Shiro and the others trailed after her as she retraced her steps across the courtyard. By the time she reached the hall’s entryway, the crowd of spectators had vanished, except for a few particularly brave sohei and kannushi standing at attention.

  She gestured at a kannushi as she crossed the vestibule, and when he joined her, she murmured, “Please have refreshments prepared immediately.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He gulped audibly. “Are those really—”

  “Yes. Please clear everyone unnecessary from the building, inform the Guji, and have him join us in the large meeting hall.”

  Bowing, the kannushi hurried away.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was kneeling at the head of a glossy table in the largest and most opulent room in the building. Uzume and Sarutahiko sat along one side, Shiro on the other side, and Susano knelt at the opposite end from Emi. Ishida sat flanking her, his face rather pale, but his demeanor had held fast despite the eminence of their guests. He had almost taken the spot at the head of the table, but a simple glance from Sarutahiko had sent him backing away.

  The vassals of the three Kunitsukami had accompanied their masters into the room, and most of them l
ined the walls, waiting mutely. Beside and slightly behind Susano and Uzume knelt their seconds—their most trusted vassals and immediate subordinates. Shiro, of course, had neither a second nor vassals, and Sarutahiko also sat alone.

  “So,” Shiro said before Emi could figure out how to open the meeting. “What took you so long?”

  His question was directed at Susano, who scowled. “We had to gather our vassals.”

  “I thought you did that weeks ago after winning back your sword.”

  “I was only able to locate my second at that time. My vassals were widely scattered and—”

  The door to the meeting room slid open with a clack. Yumei stood framed in the threshold. He looked from the table to the line of vassals along the wall, then shut the door and glided into motion. Emi expected him to take the empty place beside Shiro, but instead he strode along the other side of the table.

  Coming to a stop, he knelt in the spot flanking Sarutahiko—the seat for the Kunitsukami’s second-in-command.

  She stared at the Tengu. He was Sarutahiko’s second? How had he never thought to mention that particular detail before? She’d wondered many times why he had been so driven to find the missing Kunitsukami when all other yokai had seemed mildly concerned at best over their lost leaders.

  “You are late,” Sarutahiko murmured. “Well met, my friend. It has been too long.”

  Yumei inclined his head in a brief bow. “Over a century.”

  “Perhaps, in the future, we should meet more regularly.”

  “Assuming we are fortunate enough to enjoy a future,” Susano cut in harshly. “The solstice is but five days away and Izanami is poised to open the Bridge without opposition.”

  Sarutahiko nodded. “Since you and Inari were unable to retrieve Ame-no-Nuboko, I am confident Izanami has all she needs to open the Bridge. I see no recourse but to attempt to kill her before the solstice.”

  “She will be both well hidden and well guarded,” Susano countered. “Striking at her will require us to destroy Izanagi as well—likely first—and, as our last encounter proved, those odds are not in our favor.”

  “Emi injured him,” Yumei informed them. “A stab wound to the upper chest. Not fatal, but he will be weakened.”

  “Still an extremely dangerous foe. Even alone, he could delay us long enough for Izanami to escape. That assumes, of course, we can find her.”

  “We already know where to find her.” Shiro’s remark drew surprised looks from his fellow yokai before he added, “On the solstice.”

  Ire darkened Susano’s eyes. “Waiting until the solstice is precisely the kind of foolhardy nonsense we must avoid at all costs.”

  “On the contrary.” Shiro propped one elbow on the table. “I think it’s the exact kind of foolhardy nonsense we need.”

  Susano snarled. “What sort of idiotic—”

  A gesture from Sarutahiko silenced Susano’s angry retort. “What are you suggesting, Inari?”

  A slow, lazy grin curved his lips, and in it, Emi saw far more of Inari than Shiro. “Let’s say we kill Izanami before the solstice. We even recover Nuboko. Exactly the outcome we want, correct?” He tilted his head to one side. “So which one of you is volunteering to vigilantly guard the spear for the rest of your eternal existence?”

  Uzume frowned. “‘Volunteer’ is not the most accurate word, Inari, as we would be duty-bound to protect Ame-no-Nuboko from Izanami.”

  “Forever?” He raised his eyebrows. “Has anything in the long histories of any world ever been successfully protected forever? It cannot be done. Eventually, she will regain the spear. Or perhaps she’ll give up on the spear and send her vassals down each of the Bridge’s roads until she identifies the correct path. She has hundreds of years and thousands more to figure it out, after all.”

  Emi shifted uncomfortably as Sarutahiko and Uzume exchanged a look.

  “As unpalatable as it may be,” Sarutahiko said, “it is the only option we have. For as long as Izanami is determined to descend to this world, we must stand between her and that goal.”

  “You know what I find interesting?” Shiro lifted his gaze toward the ceiling as though fascinated by some internal thought. “When Amaterasu first commanded her kamigakari, she could have ordered Emi to seek the spear and hide it from Izanami. Or she could have commanded Emi to kill Izanami. I’m sure Emi would have found a way.”

  He lifted his wrist and shook it as though the onenju beads still gleamed around his arm. “She could have told Emi who I was and ordered her to free me so I could fulfill either of those tasks. But she didn’t. She commanded Emi to find and free the four Kunitsukami. All four of us. I wonder why?”

  “Because it will take all of us to stand against Izanami and Izanagi,” Susano snapped.

  Shiro shrugged. “Killing Izanami isn’t a solution. Neither is protecting Nuboko. They are delay tactics. You can’t win a war with delay tactics. How do you win a war against an immortal, indestructible enemy?”

  “You cannot. Not unless your opponent gives up their cause.”

  “We could never trust an apparent change of heart from Izanami. The war would never end.” A steely light gleamed in Shiro’s eyes. “Eventually, Izanami will win. It is unavoidable. We can delay her on this solstice and for a thousand solstices hence, but some day, we will grow weary and she will outmaneuver us, and she will walk upon the Bridge.”

  “Are you saying we should surrender to the inevitable, Inari?” Uzume asked softly.

  “No.” Fire joined the steel in his gaze. “I am saying we should end this permanently.”

  A hush passed through the room.

  “Tell us how,” Sarutahiko commanded.

  “Izanami cannot be permanently destroyed. But there is only one path from Takamahara to Earth, and that …” His smile mixed savagery with cold humor. “That can be destroyed.”

  “Destroy the Bridge to Heaven?” Uzume gasped.

  “You are mad,” Susano barked. “The Bridge has existed for as long as the worlds have. The consequences of destroying it, if it can be destroyed—”

  “You say that like you know what you’re talking about,” Shiro interrupted. “It can be destroyed—or rather, made inaccessible to Izanami or any other would-be travelers. And it just so happens the ones who can do it are sitting right here in this room. How convenient!”

  Susano bared his teeth in response to Shiro’s smirk.

  “The Bridge,” Shiro went on in a more serious tone, “is a collection of pathways between worlds. The crossroads, where the eight paths connect, is anchored to Earth by a great pillar, and if that were destroyed, the roads would no longer be accessible. And we, the Kunitsukami of the Earth, have the power to destroy the earthly anchor point.”

  Susano and Uzume looked questioningly at Sarutahiko.

  “Your knowledge of the Bridge is surprising, Inari,” the Kunitsukami of the Mountain said. “How did you come by this information?”

  “I had a chat with Amaterasu.”

  Emi’s hands clenched. She had expected him to evade that question, not answer it unapologetically.

  “Amaterasu?” Susano repeated. “How?”

  “When Amaterasu and I were on better terms, she taught me how to reach her in Takamahara using a shintai.”

  Susano crossed his arms, scrutinizing Shiro. “Exactly how much of your memory have you recovered?”

  “Amaterasu has been gathering information on the Bridge for decades,” Shiro continued, ignoring Susano’s question. “Since she first realized Izanami’s intentions, Amaterasu planned to have us destroy the Bridge—though she originally expected she would have significantly more time to arrange that. Izanami accelerated her plans after failing to kill Emi.”

  “And Amaterasu is certain there will be no repercussions from destroying the Bridge?” Uzume asked.

  “Reasonably certain. Obviously no one really knows, but she is confident.”

  Uzume, Susano, and Sarutahiko regarded one another. Yumei watched Shiro
with what might have been wariness.

  “We can still attempt to kill Izanami,” Susano said, “and open the Bridge on our own terms to destroy it.”

  “We can’t open it ourselves.” Shiro leaned back, supporting himself on one arm. “Opening the Bridge requires the blood of three Amatsukami.”

  “Three? Why three?”

  “No idea.”

  “The three ancient gods of creation built the Bridge,” Sarutahiko revealed. “The requirement for the blood of three heavenly beings reflects that. It was designed for the use of the Amatsukami alone.”

  “So,” Shiro said, “we need Izanami to open the Bridge. Then we need to destroy the pillar before she can ascend on the road to Takamahara.”

  “Um,” Emi mumbled, hesitant to interrupt. “I thought she wanted to descend, not ascend.”

  “She does,” he clarified. “But her spirit is here on Earth. She needs to ascend first to reunite her spirit with her kami body, and then she’ll descend on the Bridge back to the earthly realm. There’s no way to know if that will take minutes or hours.”

  Susano slammed a hand down on the table, startling Emi—though none of the yokai so much as flinched.

  “Do you hear yourself?” he growled. “We just discussed how near impossible it would be to reach and kill Izanami in the next five days, yet you propose an even more impossible mission? To ambush Izanami at the moment she opens the Bridge and either delay or kill her, Izanagi, Tsukiyomi, and whatever vassals they have gathered, while simultaneously destroying the Bridge’s anchor?”

  “That sounds about right. We might need a bit more help though.” Shiro glanced at Yumei. “How many daitengu do you think you can assemble in the next few days?”

  “That won’t be nearly enough!” Susano snarled.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “The risks of your insane plan are too high. Allowing Izanami to open the Bridge at all is outrageous. What if we mistime our offensive, they block or outmaneuver us, Izanagi attacks us first, or any one of us falls before we can destroy the Bridge? There are too many variables and too much that can easily go wrong.”