by Emiko Jean
Taro inhaled. The air was cool and musty. His broad shoulders brushed the walls. The tunnels were narrow in this part of the palace, widening as they drew closer to the Main Hall. A rodent scampered across his path, followed by a cat chasing its prey.
A hazy light flickered. He’d come to the section of tunnel where samurai patrolled. He let his feet fall heavily, announcing his entrance. Two spears crossed and blocked his path. Taro arched a brow.
“Your Majesty.” They bowed, lowering the spears. It wasn’t unusual for Taro to walk through the tunnels. As a boy, it had been a game to him, playing to see if he could sneak up on the samurai. He passed the samurai without acknowledging them. Taro’s nightly walks served a purpose. The guards were used to his presence. Unsuspecting. Soon these lacework tunnels would be his way out. Every day Taro walked these tunnels and dreamed of all the directions he could go. He longed for only one: the one that led to freedom from the castle walls. He’d vowed to be liberated from this fancy prison before the start of the competition.
Eight steps and a left turn, and Taro came to another set of guards. These two slept at their posts. Taro flattened against a wall and waited for another two guards to vacate a section of the tunnel. Their patrols left certain parts unguarded, but only for a few seconds. He’d memorized every guard’s movements, the sound of their individual breathing, even what times they took breaks to relieve themselves. He knew their habits, their distinct quirks. If he were planning to be Emperor, he’d warn them not to be so predictable. But their flaws were his gain.
Taro slipped from his hiding spot and up the stone stairs. Again, this trapdoor lifted and closed effortlessly. Taro was in the Main Hall. While pelts hid the trapdoors near Taro’s workroom, they were unnecessary here. The doors camouflaged seamlessly with the high-glossed zelkova floor.
Taro cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing through the cavernous space. He didn’t need to worry about guards here. The samurai in the tunnels were trained to keep their ears open for the slightest sound. Intruders would be detected before they made it to the Hall. Another chink in the palace armor.
The Winter Room doors rose above him as he faced them, dark and ominous. Moonlight danced through skylights. He pressed an ear to the door. No sound.
Placing a shoulder under the oak, he pushed up. Even with his newfound strength, the weight was nearly unbearable, and Taro swore foully as he removed it. The doors creaked open. Against a rush of cold air, Taro slipped inside. His feet immediately sank into inches of crusted-over snow, his toes curling at the freezing temperature. The night was clear in the vast Winter Room. The moon was thin, but the stars shone bright, making the snow appear like spun glass. Hundreds of thousands of meters of Ice Forest stretched before him. In the middle of all the trees was a river upon which he had skated as a child. In the distance, wolves bayed. Closer, a white owl screeched in the trees, and beneath the owl was the kappa.
As Taro had suspected, the kappa had frozen to death. Its mouth was open, strained in a perpetual scream. Little icicles hung from its orange beak. Something in Taro’s stone heart cracked. The yōkai had spent his last moment of life cold, afraid, alone. This is not how it should be.
Wind swirled, kicking up snow around Taro’s ankles, billowing his purple robe. He stared down at the kappa. Tucked into the belt of his hakama was his hammer. Usually, he used it to create. Today, he would destroy. He brought the hammer above his head and slammed it down upon the kappa. The resounding crack was inordinately loud in the silence. Startled owls and crows flew from their trees. Snow loosened from branches, falling in clumps to the ground.
The kappa shattered into icy crystals. One by one he gathered the kappa shards to his chest and strode through the forest until he came to the frozen river. He hammered a hole into the ice and cast the shards into the running water beneath. He had returned the creature to its rightful home.
There, he hoped, it would find peace.
Chapter 5
Mari
Mari stepped into Hissa’s bedroom and covered her mouth. Inside, it was hot and humid, crowded with Animal Wives.
The Animal Wives, her lovely sisters—if not by birth, then by heart—parted like curtains, revealing her friend. Hissa lay on a cypress bed, all her attention focused on the tiny white bundle she clutched. White cloths stained with watery pink scattered the wood floor.
Hissa’s cheeks and lips were as pale as snow, her eyes shiny, red-rimmed, and bleary with fever. Despite that, Hissa was lovely as ever. Almost incandescent. “Tami-sama,” she cried. Mari’s lips twitched. It stung that Hissa had cried for her mother and not for her. I know why, though. Tami was Alpha of their clan. With a single word, Tami could bend rules, break customs, allow Hissa to keep her baby.
“My dear one.” Tami brushed past Mari and knelt beside Hissa. Another Animal Wife appeared over Tami’s shoulder, handing her a damp cloth. Mari watched as her mother blotted the sweat from Hissa’s brow.
“I’ve named him Yutaka.” Murmurs ran through the room. Hissa should not have given her boy a name. It wasn’t done. It only made things worse, made it harder to let go. A sob broke on Hissa’s lips. She tightened her hold on the bundle. “I—I can’t give him up.” The Animal Wives lowered their heads, embarrassed for Hissa. “Tami—”
“Shush.” Tami touched Hissa’s cheek and thumbed away her tears. “You don’t have to do anything. Give the boy to me.” Gently, Tami reached for the small bundle.
Hissa’s arms loosened. She was going to release him. Mari’s fingernails dug into her palms, suppressing a desperate need to grab the baby and run. Cool logic overruled Mari’s wild impulse. She wouldn’t get far. A hundred beastly Animal Wives would hunt her. Just as Mari’s hands unclenched, Hissa seemed to gather her wits. In a sudden burst of willpower, Mari’s friend wrenched the baby back. Hissa’s arms tightened around him. “You won’t take him from me,” she whispered. The tone of her voice carried a warning, a threat. Hissa’s eyes flashed. Her pupils expanded until only black fathomless pits remained.
Fear beat in Mari’s throat. She stumbled back, along with the other Animal Wives, their collective breath held.
Tami was quick to react. With a thin, lithe hand, she pinned the new mother to the bed at the neck. She drew forward, speaking quietly in Hissa’s ear. Mari couldn’t hear her mother’s words, but she witnessed their effect. The fight drained from Hissa. Her eyes returned to their soft, natural brown, her face mottled with fear and sadness, defeat. Hissa thrust the baby into Tami’s arms, giving in. Giving up. Mari clenched her fists, feeling her friend’s surrender as her own.
Silent tears streamed down Hissa’s cheeks. “Take him,” she said. “Take my baby, but know that today you kill me, too!” With that, Hissa sank onto the bed, shriveling into herself. The baby boy let out a mighty wail, as if sensing its watery future.
Hissa’s body shook with sobs, her hands shuttering her face. “Get him out of here! Don’t make me listen to him cry.”
Tami stood, her mouth set in a straight line. She tucked the bundle in her arms and strode from the room, not even sparing Hissa a backward glance. The Animal Wives filed out behind her, moving like sunbeams dancing on water. So graceful. The opposite of Mari. They don’t know how to swing a sword, Mari consoled herself.
The room emptied, leaving Mari alone with Hissa. Mari’s hands trembled. Mere hours ago, she had faced an imperial samurai in a game of death. The navy kimono she wore was still specked with dust from their combat. And now, she hesitated with what to say, how to comfort Hissa. Sometimes words are so much more difficult to form than fists.
As girls, Mari and Hissa had been the very best of friends, running barefoot through the streets of Tsuma, catching cherries as they fell from the trees, the red flesh of the fruit still warm from the sun. When Hissa’s beauty blossomed and Mari’s did not, the other girls abandoned Mari, but Hissa refused to desert her friend. Mari used to envy Hissa’s looks, thinking they were the key to happiness. Now she realized t
hat no one was above suffering.
Mari crept closer to her friend. Faintly, she detected pine and cucumber on Hissa’s skin. Night flower. The Animal Wives used it to treat infections. Mari swallowed, her throat dry. “Do you want a cup of tea, something to eat?” she asked. Hissa continued to weep. Mari stepped around the futon and crouched, bringing her face level to her friend’s. “Hissa.” Her friend’s name emerged like a plea. Say something. Talk to me. Show me how to make this better.
Hissa fought to still her quaking jaw. “I was so silly, so desperate for a girl. Now it’s as if the gods and goddesses are laughing at me. You can’t possibly understand what it’s like to think you have the world at your feet, only to have it pulled out from under you like some cheap rug.” Hissa’s hands balled into white-knuckled fists, her tears continuing to flow unchecked. “I should have stayed with him.”
Hissa’s words weren’t treasonous, but they were taboo. “Don’t say that.” Mari’s voice was unsteady, cautious.
Animal Wives never stayed with the men they married. From birth, it was ground into them to honor and provide for the clan. Duty and home, the whole before the self. How many times had Mari heard those words?
She’d been seven when the last Animal Wife defected. Akemi fell in love and decided to stay with her husband, a farmer. When she’d shown him her true nature—the beast inside the beautiful woman—he’d rejected her. She returned to Tsuma but was rejected there, too. Animal Wives punished by ostracism. Refusing to leave her mountain home, she starved to death. Her bones, bleached from the sun, wrapped in woodbine and half-sunk into the ground, could still be found nestled near the iron gates.
Hissa’s eyes dimmed, her laughter laced with bitterness. “I’m a monster. We’re all monsters. No man, no human, will ever love us. That is the curse of the Animal Wife, never to be loved for who we truly are.” Hissa’s lips twisted. “You’re lucky that you’ll never have to face this.”
Heavy hurt flourished in Mari’s midsection. Hissa is right. When it became apparent Mari would not be beautiful, her mother had altered her daughter’s destiny. If you won’t be beautiful, Tami had said, as if it were a choice, then perhaps you will be Empress. From that day on, Mari no longer schooled with the other girls, no longer suffered through lessons on charm and etiquette. Instead, she was trained on a naginata, and then shoved into the shed. A boy around her age had been in the musty dark room. Only one comes out, Tami said before slamming the door. Mari had swung first, cracking the naginata against the boy’s knee.
Mari chewed on her lower lip, willing the memory away. “I know,” she replied to Hissa. Mari had fought her last opponent tonight, but it only meant that she would leave soon for Tokkaido, the Imperial City, carrying the weight of her mother’s expectations. You will enter the competition, conquer the Seasons, become Empress, and steal the prince’s fortune, or . . . Her mother had left it at that, but Mari could fill in the blank. Or you will die trying. The right to rule was paved with bloody stones. Not only would Mari have to survive the Seasonal Rooms, beating out the other girls, but yōkai were forbidden to participate. Even to set foot on palace grounds was an act of treason. So yes, Mari would probably never have to let go of a baby boy. Most likely, she’d die first.
“I’m sorry,” Hissa said, her face falling. “That was cruel.”
“It’s all right.” Hissa was just a cornered animal lashing out.
Hissa’s gaze drifted to a crumpled pink silk blanket. Her fingers caressed the delicate fabric. For the last few weeks, Hissa and Mari had worked tirelessly, stitching bright orange and red poppies on that piece of cloth. “I was going to wrap her up in this.” Hissa thrust the blanket at Mari. “Please, please take this to the river. Make sure they don’t let him go without it.”
Mari gathered the blanket in her hands. She kissed Hissa’s salty cheek. “He won’t even feel the water,” Mari vowed.
* * *
The Letting Go ceremony took place at night, outside the gates on the banks of the Horo River, a lazy body of water that cut down the mountain, curved across several towns, and filtered into the Ma ni Sea.
Mari followed the sound of the river and the baby’s cry—Yutaka’s voice. The moon was just a hangnail in the sky. By the time she broke through the cedar trees, the Animal Wives had already gathered at the shore, waves lapping at their bare feet. Each wore a simple white kimono. Their long, glossy black hair hung loose. In their hands, they held lanterns. The yellow light limned their features, giving them the appearance of apparitions. Ghostly brides.
“Wait!” Mari shouted, nearly out of breath.
Yutaka was in a reed basket, half floating in the water, the other half anchored by Tami’s hand. Mari shoved her way through the Animal Wives, almost slipping on the moss-covered rocks. Her chest heaved, and she caught her mother’s eye. “Hissa wanted him to have this.” She held up the blanket.
Tami dipped her chin. Permission.
Mari knelt by the basket. The baby’s face was red and scrunched, wrinkly like a dried plum. If I’d been born a boy . . . Mari shook her head. It’s too terrible to contemplate. An Animal Wife sniffled. Probably Noriko. She had given birth to the last son. The day after his Letting Go ceremony, his reed basket was spotted on the other side of the river, shredded and soaked. The white blanket that had covered him was snagged on riverbank branches.
Mari tucked the pink blanket around Yutaka. She closed her eyes and said a little prayer to the gods and goddesses for the lost boy.
May the river keep you safe.
May the river keep you warm.
May the river guide you to a loving home.
Tears blurred her vision. The weight of the day pressed down upon her. Most of Mari’s life had been spent pulling away, burying her sorrow, building walls around her private pain. All her safeguards failed her now. Mari couldn’t watch as the Animal Wives pushed the little basket into the river, or set their lanterns to float after him. Instead, she looked up, past the jagged mountain peaks and into the endless night sky. A scream locked in her throat, choking her. What is it all for? She turned and walked toward the edge of the forest, then paused, feeling her mother’s gaze on her back like a taunt.
You wouldn’t dare.
That little ball of rebellion loosened in Mari’s veins again, rolling like a boulder down a hill, picking up weight and speed. Mari broke into a run, allowing the trees to swallow her up.
* * *
It was not wise, her decision to flee.
Mari would pay for her defiance. Perhaps her mother would strike her, or maybe she would disown her, cast Mari from their mountain village. In her heart, Mari knew the latter would never happen. Her mother wanted the imperial fortune. Badly. Tami liked the comforts of life—maybe even more than she cared for her child.
A sharp pain in Mari’s side stole her breath and stalled her thoughts. She slowed to a walk, massaging the stitch above her hip. The wind tapered off; the forest grew peaceful and still. At her feet, white flowers opened like hands to the moon.
She leaned against a gnarled oak with a gigantic trunk. Angry tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with a furious hand and pressed her lips together, steeling herself to return to Tsuma.
In front of her, a patch of trees shook. Mari stilled. There was no wind. Panic inched up her spine, and gooseflesh broke out on her arms. I am not alone.
Her breaths grew shallow and ragged as she listened. Every sense sharpened. The beast within stirred, a sharp tickle against the inside of her skin. She blinked; her eyes dissolved to black. Her nails elongated to talons. Ebony scales popped out along her hands. The shift ground to a halt. This was all the beast would give her—a partial transformation. Another of Mari’s deficits, and her mother’s greatest shame: a daughter with only half a beast. Plain and powerless.
The trees rustled again.
Mari’s hands flexed as she wished for her naginata. She was weaponless, but not defenseless. Her talons were as sharp as knives. She d
ropped her body into a crouch, her lip lifted in a snarl. Arm-to-arm combat it is. She waited. Let my enemy show his face first. Her skin prickled the way it did when the mountain air was charged before an approaching storm.
The brush parted. A form appeared.
Mari sprang, her arm hooking around her assailant’s neck and forcing them both to the ground. She landed atop her foe with an undignified grunt. She wrapped her hand around his neck, her talons nearly puncturing the thin skin. She could feel his pulse pounding beneath her fingertips. Mari pulled back to study what she’d caught. A boy.
He wore a simple black uwagi tied with twine. His skin was a shade lighter than hers, and his hair was dark and long, woven into braids to keep the locks from his eyes. A black cloth covered the lower half of his face. She wrenched the mask away.
She let out a soft breath. The boy’s face was terribly scarred. A slit emerged from one corner of his mouth, extending in a graceful arc to the upper part of his cheek. Her gaze lingered on his ghastly half-smile. More slash marks covered the same half of his face, one across his eye, another bisecting his forehead. The other side of his face was unmarred, beautiful, with a high cheekbone and straight nose. Her hand twitched. She kept her hold even as he smiled, revealing straight, white teeth and gleaming eyes. He knew her. And she knew him. The Son of Nightmares.
Chapter 6
Akira
The son of nightmares grinned like he’d won a prize.
His gaze settled on the girl, her face half illuminated in a single shard of silvery moonlight, half shadowed by her curtain of thick hair. The trees around them stilled as if the forest were holding its breath. “Animal Girl,” he murmured.
