by Zoe Marriott
Terayama-san’s smile got bigger. “Easy to say, Suzu-chan, but these three soldiers, armed and trained, could not stand against me. I am a master of the sword. Even poor Daisuke admitted it. I always won against him, did I not?”
“You are not fit even to speak my father’s name,” I hissed. And just like that, fury drove the weakness from my limbs. Power pulsed up along my skin, crackling through my hair and under my clothes like invisible lightning.
Terayama-san arched a brow, seemingly amused by my display of defiance. “Your father was a penniless provincial poet. It amused me to befriend him, to let him think he was my equal, but he was nothing.”
“Liar,” I said, and as I spoke, I knew that it was the truth. “You have spent years scheming and plotting — and for what? Why, when you are the great Terayama-sama, with your money and your title and lands, would you go to so much trouble to betray a provincial poet? Why? Because you know — you have always known — that my father was your superior. That is why you turned on him, and that is why you have hunted me.” I sucked in a deep breath, feeling exultation sweep through me as I was finally able to speak the words that had been locked inside me. There was a storm of power swirling in the air around me, arcing from finger to finger, sparking on my tongue. It felt like being in the center of a hurricane.
His face had lost its mocking expression now. “Watch your mouth, you stupid girl.”
“Why? You plan to kill me anyway. Why should I not speak the truth at last? Or are you afraid to hear it aloud? Afraid that if I say it, you will have to admit it? Nothing you had, not the wealth or power or name, could match what he had. You could not buy his integrity, his kindness, or his beautiful soul. My father might have been a mere scholar and poet, without riches or a title, but he was a better man than you will ever be. He could have beaten you whenever he chose and you knew it. You never won. He just let you lead because he felt sorry for you.”
Terayama-san let out a great roar of rage and swung back his blade.
Sparks of gold broke out from under my skin, lighting the corridor like an exploding firework. I said: “Stop.”
The light fell on Terayama-san, covering him for an instant like a golden net. There was a blinding flash — I turned my face away, closing my eyes — and when I opened them again, the light had disappeared, sinking into Terayama’s skin.
His voice cut off in midshout.
The dull eyes bulged. His mouth strained as if trying to close, but remained open. Snorting breaths puffed from his nostrils. His hands, clasped around the sword hilt, shuddered and trembled as he fought to bring the blade down on my unprotected neck.
Some instinct prompted me to speak, the words leaving a strange taste in my mouth.
“You are bound here by my will,” I said formally. “And bound you will stay. You shall not stir from this spot, or speak, or move at all except to breathe, until the moment that someone discovers you here and sees what you have done.”
Terayama-san’s breaths were shallow and rapid now, and the blind fury was fading from his eyes, replaced with dawning horror and fear. I looked at him, searching my feelings.
“You have no doubt killed many people, as you did my father and cousin,” I said. “Taking their lives without dirtying your hands. It is a shame you cannot be held accountable for all of their deaths. However, I think that your murder of three royal guards and your breaking into the prince’s chambers, when linked with the mysterious disappearance of the Shadow Bride, will bring a severe enough punishment to satisfy their spirits. This is the end for you. Perhaps my father and Aimi will be able to forgive you now, but they always were better people than me. I will not forgive you. I will forget you.”
I saw the rage flare up in his eyes again and nodded, knowing that what I had said would haunt him for however long — and it would not be very long — he had left to live. Then I turned away. Carefully I drew a new cloak of illusion around me and left the corridor behind, and with it the monster who stood frozen over the bodies of his victims. I did not look back.
I opened the door at the top end of the corridor and walked down the stairs, my cloak rippling and changing with the light, hiding me from the blurry eyes of the guests below. I slipped through the crowd with nothing more to show for my presence than a slight breeze here or an uneasy feeling on the back of a neck there. The room was hot, filled with the smells of alcohol and sweating bodies, and loud enough to almost deafen me. I did not search for Akira; if she was there, I knew she would not be visible to me. I did spare one look for the prince, who sat on his throne again, flushed pink and bright-eyed, surrounded by his courtiers.
He would not be broken-hearted, that charming boy. He might be a little sad to imagine that his Shadow Bride had been hurt or had fled, but he would not mourn me long. I would not pity him.
Behind the throne, his mother was staring into nothingness, eyes blank. Her I could pity, even if fleetingly. But she would have her wish now. I was leaving her and her son’s lives forever. I would be nothing more than a strange mystery, a suspected tragedy. A name for little girls to whisper to each other, snug in their beds, before falling asleep, dreaming of the Kage no Iwai. Kano Yue-sama, the most beautiful Shadow Bride who never was.
I slid back the screen and stepped outside.
The air was cool and sweet. I took a long, deep breath, letting my eyes adjust as I walked slowly into the deserted gardens, feeling the cool grass under my soles. I sought the shelter of the trees. There were still lanterns lit here and there, and the moonlight was strong, but from this angle the shining white path of the Shadow Procession was hidden. Should I search it out and follow it? Was Akira out there somewhere?
I shook my head, pausing to lean on the rough trunk of a tree, shivering a little.
It didn’t matter. I would find my way, and I would find her again. No matter what, I would be all right. After everything I had faced this night, I knew that.
I was free.
And if my freedom was lonely, that was my own doing.
“Where are you going?”
The voice came from behind me. Slowly, disbelievingly, I turned.
He stood in the open, the silvery moonlight illuminating his face. I could see, just, that his eye was still a little bruised, and the scrapes on his cheek were scabs now, but the bandage was off his hand. He was wearing black — the first time I had ever seen him in such a dark shade — and his hair was drawn back severely, emphasizing the prominent bones of his cheeks and jaw. He almost blended into the shadows. Almost.
Otieno.
He reached out and jerked me off my feet, into his arms, and I wrapped mine around him with a sob. “Got you,” he whispered.
I ran my fingers over the beloved lines of his face, breathing in his cassia smell, trying to make myself believe that he was real. Cupping his face in my hands, I pressed my lips to his.
“Well,” he murmured into my mouth, “that was the sort of welcome I was hoping for, but not what I expected.”
“You are here. You really are here,” I muttered, still touching him, testing the planes of his shoulders and the rounded muscles of his upper arms.
“Where else would I be?” he asked, voice husky, as he gently set me down on my feet. “I said I would not leave you behind again.”
I was laughing and crying at the same time, hiding my face in his chest, hiding myself in the wonderful relief of feeling him against me again. “But after what I did to you — Oh, Otieno, what are you doing here? You were supposed to be on a ship by now. I cannot believe you stayed.”
“Akira-san told me the truth. That morning, after we —” He broke off, his face turning a ruddy shade that I could see even in the half-light as he cleared his throat. “She gave me your note and let me read it, then she told me that every word of it was a lie. She said you loved me, that turning from me had nearly killed you, and that you had spent the whole night crying fit to break your heart. She told me that you felt you had to avenge your family, even if i
t meant being miserable for the rest of your life.”
“Did you not hate me for choosing my revenge over you?”
“No, though I did think you were being . . . How to say it?” He paused, as if at a loss for words, then suddenly grabbed my shoulders and shook me, his next sentence emerging as a restrained roar. “A half-witted, moronic, cake-brained fool!”
He stopped. Taking a deep breath, he carefully loosened his grip on my shoulders. “I was all for storming the city and dragging you out of your hiding place by your hair. But Akira said that she was sure you would not be able to go through with it, not if you saw me again. We agreed that I would wait until tonight and confront you at the end of the ball. My plan was to come as a guest, but I could not get an invitation. I think our friend Yorimoto blocked me. So instead I sneaked in wearing a cloak of illusions. I was about to try to get upstairs — and then you walked right past me and out the door! After I had spent half the night hiding behind one of those drooling lizards!”
I covered my mouth with my hand, unable to hold in a snort of laughter. “That is just what they look like!”
“But you looked beautiful,” he said, voice softening. “I saw you dance. I did not know you could dance like that, Pipit.”
I wanted to sink into his arms again, but this was not the place. “Otieno, we must go. If the prince catches me — us together — we will both be killed. I am the Shadow Bride now.”
“What are you talking about?” said Otieno, squeezing me tightly again. “You have already escaped them, even without my help. You are Akachi. You can hide from anyone.”
Except you, I thought.
I clasped his hand, and we mingled our gifts, weaving a dense illusion that hid us even from each other.
“Keep hold of my hand.” His voice came out of the shadows. I could see the shape of him there, a darker shade of black in the night.
“Otieno,” I said abruptly, “what would you have done if you had come here but I did not change my mind and agree to go with you?”
“Gagged you, thrown you over my shoulder, and taken you anyway,” he said promptly. “I have some ropes braided around my waist. Actually, I do not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that it is not necessary.”
And I did not know whether to laugh or hit him. He would not have needed the ropes; I was not strong enough to have rejected him a second time.
“I think we should hurry now,” Otieno said. His voice was casual, but when I reached up to touch his throat with my free hand, I felt his pulse galloping there. I flushed, imagining I could hear my own heart speeding up to match it. “Akira-san is waiting for us at the other end of the garden with my father, and they will both be worried.”
“Akira? Thank the Moon. Is she coming with us?” I asked, feeling a rush of relief.
“She slipped out to find me as soon as you were made Shadow Bride. She would not let you go alone. You are her family.”
“We are her family,” I whispered, tightening my grip on his fingers.
And together we disappeared into the darkness, swift and silent as shadows on the moon.
Shadows on the Moon draws on my love and appreciation of Japanese and other Asian cultures. The story is set in a fantasy realm called the Moonlit Land, or Tsuki no Hikari no Kuni. Most of the details of this country are pure invention, and the book is not intended to represent a culturally or historically accurate picture of any country at any period in history.
Just when I thought I had figured out how to go about writing a book, this story came along. I blew two deadlines, one computer, and probably more brain cells than I’d like to admit while working on it. Sometimes I would stare at the screen and think, with complete certainty: this book will never be finished.
The fact that it was eventually finished is down to a diverse network of people whom I will now attempt to thank. My sincere gratitude goes to:
The Royal Literary Fund — in particular, Eileen Gunn — for their astonishing generosity, which allowed me to write and take care of my family without being crushed by debt and financial hardship.
The Society of Authors and the Great Britain Sasakawa Fund, for making me the recipient of the 2009 Sasakawa Prize, as a result of which I was able to conduct vital research and create a much more realistic and textured story than I could otherwise have afforded to do.
Dr. Susan Ang, who always knows just the right book to send at just the right moment, and Dr. Mie Hiramoto, who looked at my sketchy Japanese translations, laughed heartily (I suspect), and did them again properly.
The intensely intelligent and well-read Furtive Scribblers’ Club, who offered me such levels of support, inspiration, and advice on every bit of this book that it was like having my own team of part-time muses on hand. So many people helped me that it would literally be impossible to print everyone’s name here, but Pembe, Skippy, Sniffemout, Hobbitlass, Bookherder, PhoenixGirl, Bookbean, Miyu, Kehs, Diana, Holly, Tina, Rachel, and Barbara especially deserve my gratitude. Not to mention Ruby, my one-girl focus group. I love you guys (sniff).
My editor, Annalie Grainger, who, with tact, persistence, and insight, turned my bloated first draft into this book of which I am so proud. Special thanks also go to Gill Evans for her extraordinary support and kindness through a very difficult period. To my brand-new agent, Nancy Miles, for engulfing me in a sense of safety and well-being.
Finally, David and Elaine Marriott. My first and still favorite readers.
ZOË MARRIOTT is the author of The Swan Kingdom and Daughter of the Flames. About Shadows on the Moon, she says, “I never liked Cinderella as a little girl. She seemed like the worst kind of wimp to me, and I hated the fact that she needed someone else to come along and rescue her. Then, one day, I was thinking about a completely different idea for a book set in fairy-tale Japan — and suddenly the two story ideas collided, and it occurred to me: What if Cinderella wasn’t a wimp at all? What if she was strong and brave and out for revenge all along? And so Shadows on the Moon was born.” Zoë Marriott lives in North East Lincolnshire, England.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2011 by Zoë Marriott
Cover photographs: copyright © 2012 by Image Source/Glasshouse Images (young woman); copyright © 2012 by Ian Cumming/Axiom Photographic/Glasshouse Images (bamboo)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U.S. electronic edition 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
ISBN 978-0-7636-5344-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7636-5993-6 (electronic)
Candlewick Press
99 Dover Street
Somerville, Massachusetts 02144
visit us at www.candlewick.com
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Suzume
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Rin
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Yue
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-
nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
