by Emiko Jean
The man hadn’t moved an inch in over an hour. The tunnels were no longer an option. So Akira counted the guards and watched their patrols, noting the timing of their switching posts: every thirty-two minutes. This left some sections unguarded for sixty seconds. Not very long. But enough.
Akira patted the weapons concealed under his clothing. Peering down from the tree, he inhaled deeply, the smell of sap and cedar filling his nostrils. Carefully, he strapped the tekko-kagi he had salvaged from the clock tower to the backs of his hands. The iron spikes of the climbing claws curved over his fingers with bands that wrapped around his palms. He waited, trying not to let fear overcome him. I am unstoppable. I am a force of nature. That said, he began his assault.
* * *
Akira leaped from the cypress tree onto a willow branch, then onto another tree. The north wall, the one that backed the priests’ quarters, came into view. Two samurai marched past. If he couldn’t go underground, he’d go over. He preferred heights anyway. Inching along a sturdy maple-tree branch, Akira jumped onto the north wall, dodging the spikes jutting from the top of it. One heartbeat, and he hopped from the wall, rolling into a cluster of overgrown shrubs. He listened. Silence.
Akira crept through the weeds and thorny bushes, using them for concealment. The back walls of the priests’ quarters rose up ahead. The guards weren’t as heavy in this section. No doubt, the priests with their curses didn’t need the extra security.
“We had a deal.” A soft, meek voice reached Akira. The accusation piqued his interest. This was a private conversation. Akira crept along the wall until he came to an open window. Ever so slightly, he turned his head, risking a glance inside the room. The apartment was sparse. The only furniture was a platform bed and small writing desk. Inside was a priest—the High Priest, Satoshi. And a girl. Not just any girl, but Mari’s servant.
“How did you get in here?” Satoshi asked. Carefully, the priest’s gaze roamed the dim room. Akira jolted back, pressing his body against the wall. His heart beat double-time.
The Hook Girl spoke, defiant. “It wasn’t hard. Samurai are looking for uncollared yōkai. They couldn’t give two spits about us collared servants. We had a deal. You promised to remove my collar if I supplied you with information about Mari. I brought you her stationery. I lied to the emperor. I’ve done everything you asked.” Fury rose in Akira as fierce and unforgiving as a bolt of lightning. Sei huffed out a breath. “What has happened to my mistress? What have you done with her?”
“Careful of your tone, Hook Girl,” the priest warned.
“Where is Mari? Tell me now, or I’ll march straight to the emperor and tell him everything.”
“The emperor won’t listen to you. I am the only voice he hears.”
“I’ve done what you wanted. I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. It is time for you to uphold yours. The skin under my collar itches. I am ready for the metal to be removed,” Sei demanded.
“Haughty creature.” Satoshi laughed, low and malicious. Akira risked another glance. The priest’s back was to him. In his hand, he held a tantō knife. He turned it over, and the knife caught in the lantern light.
The girl’s eyes widened.
Satoshi’s laughter faded, leaving just the wicked smile. “Do you know who my mother was?” he asked.
The Hook Girl shook her head, eyes wild.
“Once, she was a beacon of beauty and grace. Supposedly, the goddess Kita blessed her with cheeks the color of a red rose, hair the softness of spun silk, and a voice like the sound of a nightingale. She was raised to be an imperial concubine. But her favors were not wanted at court.” Satoshi leveled Sei with his gaze. “The emperor had an empress he loved deeply.
“Then the empress died. And my mother was summoned to the emperor’s bedchamber. For years, she was the emperor’s favorite concubine. When I was born, His Majesty was the first to hold me, blessing me with the name he chose—Satoshi. Soon after, the emperor’s affections waned. My mother spent more and more time laid up in bed. The theorists prescribed lavender oil for her melancholy. It didn’t work.” Satoshi ran a thumb along the tantō knife’s blade.
“Sorrow can become a sickness,” Sei said. Akira saw the Hook Girl shift, almost imperceptibly, to the right.
Satoshi nodded, considering. “Yes. So can hope.” Satoshi advanced, his voice changed. “Did you actually think I would remove your collar? I knew you were stupid, but not this stupid.”
The slave darted, but Satoshi caught her arm in a vicious grip. The tattoos on his hands burned through Sei’s kimono, melting her skin. Akira nearly gagged at the scent of burning flesh. “Please!” she cried. “Let me go. I’ll never tell anyone.”
“You know I can’t do that, Hook Girl. You’re a loose end. And you know what happens to loose ends?” He clutched the tantō knife. “They must be cut off.” He plunged the blade into Sei’s stomach.
Her body buckled, and Satoshi let her crumple to the ground. Akira watched as blood pooled at the priest’s feet.
He crouched next to her. Her eyes flickered; a single tear slipped down her cheek. Satoshi paused. He was savoring this yōkai’s death. “To answer your earlier question, your mistress is in the Winter Room. If she is not dead, she will be soon. She’s been useful. Did you know she was yōkai?” The Hook Girl coughed, blood and spittle leaking from the corner of her mouth. “Ah, I can tell you didn’t. I knew after the Fall Room. I am the one who should rule. Taro never wanted to be Emperor anyway. And soon I’ll do him the same favor I did my father. I will steal the breath from his—” Satoshi stopped abruptly.
The girl’s eyes were open, still and unseeing. Dead. The priest sighed. He bent down and smeared more of her blood on his robes. He sliced his hand so that it bled and mussed his hair. Then he ran from the room, face fixed in terror. Outside, Akira could hear him shout. “Help!” he cried. “A yōkai attacked me!” His hands went to his knees as he gasped for breath. “She had a knife and cut me. I managed to take it from her and turn it against her. Please,” he said. “You must go. I don’t know if I killed her.”
Thundering steps ensued as samurai stormed the apartment. Time to go. Akira scaled the wall and pulled himself onto the roof. The slant hid him from view. He crept along the tiles, taking the same path as he had before. But instead of alighting from the temple roof, he kept going. Five minutes, and Akira was at the main palace garden, where he’d first glimpsed Mari as Princess. Again, he hid in a tree, a twisted pine. Below, two samurai guards lingered. He dropped from his perch. The guards swiveled, drawing swords. In an instant, Akira had one in a chokehold, swiftly cutting off his air supply. Just as the samurai lost consciousness, the other opened his mouth to shout the alarm. A kick to the gut silenced him. Both samurai lay in clumps at his feet.
Akira canvassed the open space ahead of him, charting a path. Then he cut through the grounds, ducking behind rocks and tall trees, narrowly avoiding samurai carrying lamps. Akira crouched behind a boulder near the great steps of the palace. Tension stilled the air as if every living thing were holding its breath. No flutter or buzz from insects. Too quiet. The hairs at the base of Akira’s neck prickled.
The massive palace doors were open to the Main Hall, lights blazing inside, cozy and welcoming. Something is wrong. It all seemed too easy. Down the long hallway, he spotted the Winter Room doors. Hopefully, Hanako and Ren were in there with Mari.
His hands flexed, covered by the iron bands of the claws. Now or never. Do or die. He broke from his hiding spot and sprinted up the stairs.
In the Main Hall, Akira froze. His mind raced, confused. The hall was empty, as quiet as freshly fallen snow.
They materialized from the shadows.
They came out from behind banners, from the balconies, and the rafters. They emerged from the darkened gardens. Dressed in navy with hoods and masks, they blended into the night, into the dark. Like Akira, they were moving shadows in human form. He remembered stories of warriors who drank the blood of the crow to abso
rb its power.
Ninja.
One broke formation, nunchaku spinning in his hands. The ninja didn’t pause for Akira to ready himself as honor dictated. He came at Akira with all the might of a boulder hurtling down a cliff. Akira ducked and rolled, barely avoiding the attacker.
Akira’s chest grew tight, and his limbs shook. The ninja loomed above him, the sticks and chain spinning in a deadly arc, ready to swing and bash his head in. Desperate, Akira swiped with the metal claws.
The ninja stiffened as the iron ripped through his thigh. Blood soaked the front of his pants, darkening the navy hue. The ninja paused briefly, then set the nunchaku spinning again. A determined glint shone in his eyes, the only part of his face that was visible behind his mask.
The ninja raised the nunchaku above his head. Akira rolled, but more ninja blocked his path. They swarmed around him like bees. The Son of Nightmares closed his eyes. The flash of the sticks imprinted on the backs of his lids.
He waited for the blow, to feel the sticks strike his temples, render him unconscious. The smell of smoke curled up his nose. Then came bright light. Akira scrambled from the distracted ninja just as the Winter Room exploded.
Chapter 44
Mari
Mari volunteered her juban as kindling. Her white undergarments were the only piece of dry material in the Winter Room.
Hanako bundled them near the doors. She struck the match twice before it blazed, the scent of sulfur exploding with it. Ren and Mari cupped their hands to guard the small flame as Hanako lowered it to the kindling. The cloth began to smolder and smoke.
“How long do you think it will take?” Mari asked.
Hanako lifted a delicate shoulder. “An hour at least. But as soon as the doors light and there is the smallest opening, we need to push through and run.”
That was the extent of their plan. No one mentioned what they might find outside—samurai, priests, certain death. They would escape, or die trying. If they could not control their impending doom, then they would its timing. There is always a choice, Akira had said. Mari winced. Where was Akira? Was he safe?
Ren sniffed and clicked.
Hanako breathed in deeply. “No, I don’t smell anything.” She inhaled again. “Uh-oh. Do you know if these doors were painted recently?”
Mari shook her head. “No. Why?”
“It looks like our timeline has accelerated.” Just as Hanako uttered the words, the doors exploded. Splinters of wood shot out with the crimson flames. Heat singed Mari’s cheeks. She crouched, hands covering her head. Ren leaped, placing his massive body over Mari’s, shielding her from the back draft.
Fire, dust, and snow rained down.
The last piece of the door fell, and Ren helped Mari to her feet. She coughed, expelling smoke from her lungs. “Thank you,” she rasped. The oni patted Mari’s back with his massive paw. “Where’s Han—” Mari didn’t need to finish her question. Ninja lined the Main Hall, and Hanako had already raced into the fray. Her kimono swished as she kicked and struck at navy-clad warriors, disabling one after another. The flames reflected off her see-through skin.
Hanako snapped up the swords of the fallen and tossed them to Ren and Mari. They couldn’t be much different than a naginata.
“I counted twenty, but there might be more,” Hanako panted.
Ren grunted, whipping his sword back and forth.
The fire was spreading down the Main Hall, leaping onto the red banners, eating the golden wallpaper as it climbed. Some of the rafters were already smoldering.
Ninja assaulted from all angles. “Like swatting flies,” Hanako called out.
Ren lacked skill with a sword, but his colossal strength made up for it as he batted ninja away with single swipes of his meaty arms.
A whirl of navy caught Mari’s eye. A ninja hurtled toward her. Mari brought her katana up, blocking the blow. Using her sword as leverage, Mari pushed the ninja back. With a low roundhouse kick, she clipped his knees. The ninja stumbled. Then in one swift move, she plunged the katana into his side. Not a killing blow, but a disabling one. The ninja would live to fight again, just not in this battle. This battle belonged to the yōkai. Mari felt it in her blood, in her bones.
A flicker near the doors caught Mari’s eye. A figure clad in black was fighting off ninja.
“Akira!” Mari screamed. He had come. Their eyes connected across the struggle. The air whistled. Arrows rained down, piercing the wooden floor. Ninja with bows and arrows had gathered in the rafters.
One took aim at Akira, whose movements were a blur as he launched throwing stars. Ninja toppled like felled trees. Ren, Hanako, and Mari sprinted to the palace doors, driving swords into ninja as they went.
Escape was within reach.
They joined Akira, forming a circle with their backs turned toward one another, ready to fend off the remaining ninja. The hall buckled and hissed, a serpent on fire.
“Ruuun!” Hanako shouted.
Thousands of samurai were storming the main garden. Alarm bells trilled. A fire like this could spread, jump from rooftop to rooftop, and decimate the city. Mari paused, ready to defend herself, but the samurai raced past her. They weren’t armed. Instead, they carried wooden buckets sloshing with water.
Mari didn’t question their good fortune. She caught Hanako’s eye, then Ren’s, and finally Akira’s. A silent agreement, and they bolted into the night.
* * *
Mari broke into a coughing fit. Blood and soot covered her arms. They stood by the north wall of the palace. Thick smoke billowed into the night sky.
“The whole city will be looking for us,” Akira said between deep breaths. “It isn’t safe here.”
Ren clicked and cleaned blood from one of his horns.
“I agree with Ren. We should go to the West Lands. I have friends there,” Hanako said. “We’ll find sanctuary.”
“Sei,” Mari wheezed. “My servant. We have to go back for her.” Mari turned, ready to climb the north wall. A hand wrapped around her arm. Akira’s.
“The Hook Girl?” he asked.
Mari’s eyes drew wide. “Yes. I can’t leave her behind.”
Akira’s eyes shone bright in the darkness. “She betrayed you. She brought the priest your stationery. She helped frame you for the emperor’s murder. Satoshi is the one who killed the emperor.”
Mari’s heart faltered. She remembered her conversation with Sei. What price would you pay for freedom? Sei had replied: Any cost. Sei’s betrayal wounded Mari’s spirit, but she understood. Desperate people do desperate things. “It doesn’t matter. She’s—”
“Dead,” Akira ground out. “The priest killed her, stabbed her with a tantō knife.”
The news buckled Mari’s knees. “No.” Her temples pounded as the word echoed through the night.
Akira reached for her but drew back. “It’s true. I saw it myself. Satoshi wishes to be Emperor. He killed Sei, and he used you as a pawn.”
Mari looked to the jagged silhouette of the Tsuko funo Mountains. Understanding dawned, fast and unforgiving. “I told Sei where my village is.” She blinked, and images flashed before her eyes—Tsuma under attack, Animal Wives collared, the mountain burning. “Gods and goddesses, I’ve put everyone I love in danger.”
Akira regarded Hanako. “Mari’s village is in the mountains. My parents are there too, just outside. We have to tell them that the emperor’s army is coming, give them a chance to flee.”
“I understand,” Hanako said. “And of course, we’ll go there first. We’ll give your parents the chance that was never given to my mother.”
Mari bowed her head in her hands. If what Akira said was true, Taro’s life was in danger. After all he’d done, still she wanted to save him.
“Mari?” Akira reached for her. “We have to go.”
Mari looked up and into the eyes of the Son of Nightmares. Behind him, the palace burned, blurring the lines of her vision. “Okay,” she said, wiping at her eyes. Was she crying? No, her ey
es stung from the heat and debris; that was all. “We’ll go home.” She shoved past Hanako and Ren, and she let Taro go.
Chapter 45
Taro
Streaks of purple parted the orange sky. Taro wandered amid the rubble of what was once the Main Hall. The Spring Room, the Winter Room, the Summer Room, and the Fall Room, all gone, burned down by Mari and her band of rebel yōkai.
He’d been too late to do anything except stand by helplessly, watch the Main Hall crumple like paper in an iron fist. The fire finally extinguished at dawn. As Taro walked, Master Ushiba’s cries drifted on the wind, his life’s work decimated. Snow, cherry blossoms, and dry leaves swirled in the air, the last remnants of the Seasonal Rooms. Taro counted the burnt ninja skeletons.
Samurai reported seeing the Snow Girl, the oni, the Son of Nightmares, and the empress fleeing the palace.
Satoshi stood behind him, rattling off his report. “It seems that the yōkai believe Mari to be some sort of savior. A yōkai empress. I have priests and samurai ready to canvass the city at your command. It is imperative that she be recaptured. We cannot—”
Taro cut Satoshi off. “They’re not in the city anymore.”
“We can’t possibly know that.”
Taro looked sternly at Satoshi. “The servant, the Hook Girl, what did she say about the empress’s village?” He couldn’t bring himself to say Mari’s name.
“The mountains, Your Majesty. I believe south of the monastery, near the broken-topped ridge, a few days’ ride from Hana Machi.”
Taro felt something twist in his gut. Instinct. “That’s where they’ll go.”
“You think they’ll go to her village?”
“She’s on the run now. Where do you go when you want to feel safe?” Taro took in the shell of the palace. “You go home. Prepare the horses and five hundred samurai. We leave at dusk.”
