Storm

by Amanda Sun

  “It’s obvious,” Tomo said, leaning forward to run his hand along the edge of the lantern. His fingers cast shadows on the walls as he moved them across the light. “Susanou used the sword to stop Tsukiyomi. We’ve known to do that, all along. This is the way to make a Kami go dormant.”

  “But it was Amaterasu who stopped Tsukiyomi, wasn’t it? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe they worked together?”

  My stomach twisted. It didn’t sound right. It was bad enough to hear Amaterasu say I’d betray Tomo. There was no way I’d go to Jun’s side after all this. “How does this translate into stopping Takahashi?”

  Tomo’s hand hesitated on the lamp, the shadows still for a moment. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe Takahashi really can’t take over the world without my help. That’s why he’s still pestering me, why he’s helping us get the treasures. Maybe stopping him is as simple as stopping me. What if all he knows is that Tsukiyomi was killed with the Kusanagi? He said he couldn’t kill me on paper like the others. Maybe he doesn’t know the blade can cleave Kami from human, that we could stop him with it, too.”

  “Good point.” A secret like the Kusanagi would definitely have been kept close to the imperial throne. With the threat of Samurai Kami trying to take over, the ability to erase the ink from an enemy would have been the best treasure for Amaterasu to give to Emperor Jimmu.

  I wished the adrenaline surge in me would quiet. I was exhausted, but my heart wouldn’t stop racing. I curled my arms around my knees, and then winced, startled by the sudden pain that spread from my right shoulder.

  “Oi,” Tomo said, his voice soft with concern. “You all right?”

  “I hurt it when I fell from the kirin,” I said, reaching back to try and touch the muscle. I cringed as the motion sent pain pulsing through me.

  “Here,” Tomo said, resting his hands gently on my hips to turn my back to him. I stared at the shadows the flickering lantern cast against the wall as he pressed gently on my shoulder. “The bone doesn’t feel broken,” he said, “but there’s kind of a stain on your shirt. Can I...?” He cleared his throat. “Can I lift it up to check?”

  My heart stumbled against my ribs. “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, his breath a whisper against the back of my neck.

  Our shadows moved against the wall. “I know.”

  His fingertips pressed against my skin, each of them like a tiny candle flame at the hem of my shirt. He hesitated, then gently pulled the T-shirt up toward my shoulders. His arm held mine out, his grip delicate, like he thought I might break. “You bled,” he said as he tried to move the fabric over the wound. “Let me know if it hurts, okay?” I wanted to be brave, but it stung like crazy. He peeled it slowly, watching me for cues. I squeezed my eyes shut, but didn’t stop him. The shirt lifted away, and he threaded my arm through the sleeve, and then lifted the shirt over my head.

  I stared at the shadows on the wall, my knees pulled to my chest where my heart was pounding. I didn’t know what to say, or whether to turn around.

  “Wait,” Tomo said, and I stayed still as he padded across the tatami to the bathroom behind us. I heard the water rush into the sink, and then he was back again, dabbing at my shoulder with his handkerchief, damp and lukewarm.

  “Is it bad?” I asked.

  “Not too bad,” he said, like this didn’t even faze him. Were we all going to pretend that my shirt wasn’t off, that I wasn’t sitting there in my bra? But I was grateful he was trying not to make it a big deal. This was a medical thing, after all. But then why did I want so badly to turn around and hold him?

  “It’s not a deep wound, but there are a lot of welts. It looks like you hit a bunch of gravel on the way down.” I shivered as the damp cloth lifted from my shoulder. “It’ll probably leave a huge bruise.”

  I groaned. “It feels like it.”

  “Just take it easy for a bit,” he said. “I’d skip kendo practice for a couple weeks or you’ll make it worse.” He traced one of the scrapes with his fingertips, and I shivered. “Now we match,” he said. “The marks of a Kami. Well, sort of.”

  We sat there for a minute, neither of us talking, his fingertips pressed lightly against my skin. I could hear his breathing, could feel the heat of it against my back.

  The pressure built up in my heart like a storm. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Let me get you a shirt,” he said then, kindness seeping from every word. “I have an extra packed in my bag.” His fingertips trailed along my back and lifted, leaving emptiness behind.

  I turned and grabbed his arm as he stood, pulling him back down toward me. I curled against his chest, wanting to hear his heart, wanting to be surrounded by the warmth of him.

  His arms wrapped tightly around me, his fingers trailing carefully away from my aching shoulder. I breathed in the smell of him, the light of the lantern blotted out against his shirt. I wanted to forget the giant raven, the kirin, the Imperial Treasures. I wanted to forget the demon that slumbered inside his blood. I just wanted to be with Tomo, just him and me, to be human and normal, like he’d said to me that day when he’d showed up at school. If my time is short, I want to spend it with you.

  He loosened his grip as I leaned back, looking up toward his face. His eyes gleamed in the lantern light, his bangs fanned across them like a copper veil. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and the words shivered through me like a dream. I reached up with my fingers to push his bangs aside, feathery as a paintbrush. He closed his eyes as I grazed his skin, a response that made my heart well with confidence. I trailed my fingers down his cheek and then down his neck, his skin so warm and tan, so different from mine.

  I pressed my lips against his and he stopped holding back, clutching me like he was drowning, desperate for air. His hands pushed me closer as we kissed, as we let go of the adrenaline and the tension and the unsurety that we’d locked inside ourselves.

  I reached for the hem of his shirt and slid my hands under, the heat of his skin radiating in waves. He released his arms around me and helped me slide the shirt over his head, his arms stretched upward as I tossed his shirt onto the tatami floor. The lantern light danced off the multitude of scars up and down his arms, the crisscrossing of wounds from sketches gone wrong. I traced my fingers across them and he shuddered, pressing his mouth to mine again. He tasted of sweetness and fire, every touch a jolt that sent me reeling.

  We fell against the futons laid out on the floor, the gap between them leaving my back and legs against the softness of the blankets, but my hip jutting against the hard texture of the tatami. It ground against my hip as we kissed each other, as we tried harder to get closer, to shut out everything that wasn’t this moment.

  The storm in me rose, but I felt like rain and thunder were crashing everywhere, unpredictable and wild. I didn’t know what to do with this feeling, how far I wanted to go. My brain felt hazy, filled with touch and happiness and want. It told me to give in and let Tomo take over. He’d hold my heart gently in his hand. I trusted him with everything.

  His hands twisted into the futon on either side of me as he pressed against me, as he trailed kisses down my neck. My skin flamed where it touched his, like we were one person, like we couldn’t get close enough. Even so, he waited, wanting me to show him how far he could go. It stirred a realization in me that this was real. What I had with Tomo was something worth protecting, something that mattered. But I felt awkward, too. I’d never done this before, and he was asking me to lead.

  The sliver of me that was still rational tried to consider what was happening. How much did I want to happen? How far did he want to go? What I wanted had always seemed such an obvious and comfortable boundary in the quiet of my mind. But now here, in the flickering lantern light, when the future was uncertain, when the time we had together could be short—and when the heat of his skin flooded my hear
t with such fulfillment, with such a feeling of right and truth—now I couldn’t tell anymore. All the boundaries seemed fuzzy and optional, unimportant. Maybe you couldn’t know what was right. Maybe you just fumbled through the dark and hoped for the best.

  “Tomo,” I said quietly, my lips on his ear. He made a gentle sound in his throat in response. “Are you sure?”

  He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes gleaming, his hair flopping over as it started to dampen with sweat from the heat of us. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice velvet and breathy and certain. That he wanted to give me everything flooded my heart with craving. “Are you?”

  “I’m... I’m not,” I said, hating the sound of my own voice. “I mean, I want to.” God, I wanted to. “But I... It’s just that I had this plan for my life, you know? I know it’s totally stupid, but... I don’t think I’m ready. I want it to be you, but...not yet. Not like this.”

  I thought he might say something, like “Plans change,” or “I don’t have much time left,” or something like that. But he didn’t. He closed his eyes, trying to get ahold of his breathing. Had I hurt his feelings? Had I destroyed what could’ve been wonderful?

  He opened his eyes, and playfully beeped the end of my nose with his finger. “Sorry,” he said with a grin. “I don’t put out on the first sleepover.”

  I stared at him with my mouth open.

  “I know you’re disappointed,” he said.

  I smacked him in the arm. “You’re such an idiot.”

  He laughed, ruffling my hair as he pulled back the edge of the futon. He stumbled across the floor and reached into his bag, tossing me his extra shirt. I hadn’t realized how cold it was in the room until the warmth of his skin wasn’t pressed against mine.

  I pulled the shirt on carefully, staring at the way the lantern light flickered across the contour of his chest. “Can we still make out?” I said, sliding in between the layers of futon. The comforter was already warm where we’d rolled against it.

  Tomo grinned, sliding in beside me and pulling me into his arms.

  The rain started to fall outside, pattering against the rooftops as the lantern on the table burned out. I lost myself in his invisible touches in the dark, in his warmth and soul and humanity.

  The train ride back to Nagoya was quiet and awkward—not for Tomo, but for Ishikawa and me. Tomo brushed his fingertips down the inside of my arm, and I quietly moved away from the touch as Ishikawa tried to stare out the window at the torrential rains.

  He’d arrived back at the ryokan around two in the morning, sliding the door open with a squeak that woke us from sleep. The light from the hallway had beamed around his silhouette, had illuminated the tanned skin of Tomo’s exposed back as he lay beside me on his stomach, his arm draped over me.

  The light from the hallway had lit the flush of pink that rushed to Ishikawa’s cheeks.

  “Ishikawa,” I’d said, panic rising in my throat. He’d looked completely dejected and worn down, the rainwater flattening his white spikes into a tangled mound of twigs and mud.

  Tomo hadn’t even looked up at first, turning his head to the side as he flexed his arms to push himself up. “Sato,” he’d mumbled, his voice deep and groggy from sleep.

  At the sound of it, Ishikawa’s whole face had flooded a deep crimson.

  I’d panicked. Tomo didn’t have a clue, but I knew how this would hurt Ishikawa. “It’s not what it...”

  “Spare me, Greene,” Ishikawa had said, his eyes cast down as he bolted for the bathroom. “By the way, I’m fine, thanks. Managed to shake off the priests and get back here without being followed. Since you were worried and all.”

  “Jealous.” Tomo had grinned as he flipped over, still half-asleep.

  Yeah, I’d thought. You’re half-right.

  The memory loomed like a cloud of horrible awkwardness as I stared at Ishikawa on the train. He’d probably joked around with Tomo in the morning to cover it up. I’d seen them talking together when I’d stepped out of the bathroom, but when they’d turned to face me Tomo had grinned, totally oblivious, while Ishikawa had looked down at the floor.

  Tomo curled his fingers around mine and I winced, pulling my hand away. Was he such an idiot he didn’t notice his best friend’s feelings? Not like I’d been careful, either, and I’d known the truth. It was my fault, too.

  “So, Nagoya today,” Tomo said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He looked at me with concern, and it clicked in my thoughts—he thought I was embarrassed at the way Ishikawa had found us. Not even close, Tomo. Think harder.

  “This is the last one, huh?” Ishikawa asked, staring out at the rain. “And then what?”

  “Then we use the Kusanagi to cleave out Tsukiyomi,” Tomo said. “And stop Takahashi.”

  Ishikawa frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous? What if you stab the wrong soul and then you’re gone? What if we make a slice and, I don’t know, cut the chains that bind Tsukiyomi’s spirit or something? And he takes over?”

  Tomo frowned. “I don’t think it works like that.”

  My throat felt dry, but I tried to move forward, too. “How do you cleave a kami from a human, anyway?”

  “Probably we’ll find out when we get the sword. Amaterasu’s memory has explained everything so far.”

  I stared at the rain pouring into Ise Bay as the train swayed along the track toward Nagoya.

  The end draws near, a voice whispered in my head. There is only death ahead.

  Tsukiyomi’s demise, I thought, and Susanou’s. Not real death, but only sleep. I wouldn’t let it be anything more.

  A man in the next row was hunched over a newspaper, and the front cover had an article about the supposed new “Kami gang” at war with the Yakuza. I nudged Tomo, who could read the newspaper more easily than I could. But he merely narrowed his eyes and looked away, and I knew it wasn’t good.

  “I told you,” Ishikawa said, glancing at the newspaper. “Things are bad. People are starting to hail the Kami as more than a gang. They’re starting to see them as a movement, as a rebellion.” He folded his arms across his chest, pressing his white hair against the seat as he stared at the ceiling. “They’re calling the ‘mystery leader’ Susanou, and they’re saying he’s saving Japan the way Susanou once stopped the Mongols from invading. That jackass is becoming the adored champion he wanted to be.”

  The train system chimed, and a women’s voice echoed in the speakers as the kanji 名古屋 scrolled in bright orange letters at the front of the train car.

  “Nagoya is next,” she said in a chirpy tone. “Nagoya Station.”

  “We don’t have much time,” Tomo said. “We have to take the sword and get the hell back to Shizuoka.”

  Take the sword? Even though it had been the plan, I hadn’t really thought about how we were going to take it. It had been hard enough to get to the first two treasures—wouldn’t the priests notice that we were walking off with the most valuable sword in the country?

  We transferred to the local train in Nagoya and got off at Jingu-Mae Station, where the sprawl of Atsuta Shrine spread out inside the depths of the modern city, fenced off only by dark green hedges sewn together with spiderwebs.

  I stepped away from the station, but Ishikawa’s hand reached out for my wrist. I turned to see him holding a clear umbrella. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. He nodded and opened another umbrella for himself. I looked over to see Tomo had one, too.

  “I bought them inside,” Ishikawa said.

  Tomo clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.” He walked forward, ready to face what awaited us, but I held back.

  “Ishikawa,” I said. “What happened in Ise. I’m...”

  “Uruse,” he said, his cheeks flushed pink. “Shut up, Greene.”

  I kept going. “I feel horrib
le. You were out there in the cold, and I... Well, we didn’t mean for it to happen, and I’m sorry, and...”

  “Katie.” He’d used my first name, and the sound of it startled me into silence. He looked straight ahead, watching Tomo cross the street in the rain. “Like I’ve already said. If I can’t be there for him, then you need to cover for me, okay?”

  I swallowed. “Okay.”

  “It’s just...it’s just hard to accept sometimes. I’ll be fine.” Ishikawa grinned. “He’s an idiot, so don’t think that you’re too lucky.”

  I couldn’t help but break into a smile.

  “And another thing,” he said as he stepped forward, the rain pattering against his umbrella. “Call me Satoshi if you want. Doesn’t bother me.”

  “Satoshi-kun,” I tried out.

  He gently smacked the back of my head. “Satoshi-senpai,” he corrected. “Damn it, Greene, you’re either stupid or you have no respect for your elder classmates.” He ran ahead to catch up to Tomo. I watched them for a moment, the two of them walking together in the rain with matching umbrellas.

  My heart ached, but I had to focus on why we were here. To give Tomo and Satoshi and me the normal life we all longed for. I stepped forward into the pounding rain.

  Atsuta Shrine was like a smaller version of Ise Jingu, the wandering pathways through gardens and the gravel crunching underfoot, the thick cedar trees wrapped with rope and the white cloth lightning bolts. Tomo jumped the fence to avoid the huge wooden Shinto gateway, and we bypassed the main shrine as he headed toward a large square building on the right.

  I ran to keep up with him. “You can feel the presence of the Imperial Treasure again?”

  He shook his head, and I saw the worry in his eyes. “Actually, I don’t feel anything.” He’d been so desperate to reach the other two treasures, but he seemed normal now, his expression too calm.

  “Let’s check here first,” Ishikawa said as we approached the square building. “It’s the museum archive. They keep all kinds of antique swords and crap in here.”