“The only thing we could do,” Shiro says, bracing me. “Don’t lose your courage now; the worst is yet to come.”
Oni-chan growls, glaring at something atop the main hall. I follow his gaze. A woman stands on the roof’s gables, watching the scene below her with distaste. She holds her nine golden tails in a great fan at her back, and her kimono—golden and glimmering in the last rays of sunlight—flutters in a breeze I can’t feel. Her beauty is otherworldly, so perfect, I almost wish I could capture it in my mind.
I know who she is without having to be told: Tamamo-no-Mae, one of the great evils of Japan, herald of Shuten-doji. Fear grips me so hard and fast, I can’t breathe. I can’t move.
They’re already here.
Tamamo-no-Mae lifts a conch shell trumpet to her lips.
The horn echoes through the shrine like thunder.
Thirty-One
Fujikawa Shrine
Kyoto, Japan
Oni-chan roars in response. He leaps to his feet, growing to his full size in a bound. I place a hand on the cat’s back, bracing myself. The coarse fur on his shoulders grows in fits and tufts around his crisscrossing scars. He wears a deep notch in one ear. When Oni-chan thrashes his twin tails, their fiery tips spit embers and hiss.
They’re here.
Shiro pulls me close and kisses me.
The blood moon hasn’t risen yet.
The horn sounds again, this time answered by the shouts of demons.
They’re here.
The shinigami unsheathe their swords. With a great shout, Kiku swings his club off his shoulder and shakes it at Tamamo-no-Mae. The shadows that surrounded the shinigami sink into the cobblestones, clawing at the air as if drowning. For now, the cabal ritual has been broken. Our enemy is at the gates.
“Shuten-doji shouldn’t be here!” I shout at Shiro. “The moon hasn’t risen!”
“It’s not him!” Shiro says. “It’s Tamamo-no-Mae—they’re here to interrupt the cabal. They have to kill only one shinigami to stop us, do you understand?”
I nod, fear gripping my throat so tight, it’s hard to breathe.
“We’ll hold them off here,” Shiro says, his ears pricked forward as if tracking prey. “Take Oni-chan and collect the shards of the Kusanagi. We can’t leave the sword unprotected.”
“Okay. Be careful. Please be careful.” I cup his cheeks between my hands, noticing the amber flecks in his eyes, the small freckle on his right cheek, and the way his bangs feather over his forehead at an angle. If I die tonight, I want to remember his face in my last moments.
“You too,” Shiro says. “Go. Hurry.”
Oni-chan butts my hand with his head, making a sound that’s more growl than purr. I step back from Shiro, wishing I could stay by his side. But Oni-chan leaps away. I scramble after the big cat, passing the main shrine, skirting verandas, and slipping past the priests’ dormitories. The motomiya looms ahead, its eaves looking charred under a sunset-scorched sky and bloodied clouds.
Oni-chan trots to a stop outside the door. I scratch him behind one of his ragged ears as I pass, whispering, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He makes a rumbling noise in his chest, leaping up to the roof to watch for invaders.
I descend into the motomiya’s empty cellar. The Kusanagi’s shards glint on the altar, resting on a silk cloth. I pause before the altar, bow twice to the shards, clap twice, and then bow once more.
“Please,” I whisper, keeping my palms pressed together in front of my chest, eyes closed. “If these shards have a kami to guard them, listen to my prayer. If there was ever a time to forge yourself anew, Kusanagi no Tsurugi, sword of Amaterasu-omikami, well, this is it.”
When I open my eyes again, the sword remains in pieces—as does my heart. Our mission now hangs by a thread, and I need the Kusanagi no Tsurugi whole again. If something happens to the shinigami, our only chance of success lies with this blade.
Outside, Oni-chan roars. Something shrieks. Tossing a glance over my shoulder, I twist the shards inside the silk cloth, tying it off at both ends. I loop the makeshift bag over my back and then tie it in front of my chest. It won’t hold the shards long, but it keeps my hands free.
A howl rocks the motomiya. I charge up the cellar stairs, emerging in time to see Oni-chan slam an ogre to the ground. With a jerk of his massive head, Oni-chan tears out the front of the oni’s throat.
A second ogre shrieks, swooping toward Oni-chan’s exposed back. I won’t reach them in time with my sword—so I tut the mudra for Rin, funneling all my fury toward the ogre. I collapse my fingers inward, riding the rush of heat that surges through my body. A bright ball of fire blasts from my hands, soaring across the courtyard and striking the ogre. He stumbles, his knotted mane aflame, shrieking and drawing Oni-chan’s attention.
The great cat pivots, snarling, blood dripping from his chin. He coils, muscles compressing like powerful springs, and pounces. His front claws gleam like razors. Oni-chan hooks them into the oni, then drags it screaming to the ground. I turn my face away. Bones crunch. Tendons pop. The courtyard falls silent.
As Oni-chan steps off the ogre’s corpse, I catch myself wishing I could climb onto his back and run—he looks large and fast enough to carry me far from here. If the shinigami fail, I can’t let the Kusanagi fall into enemy hands. And if I can’t forge the blade anew, perhaps it would be wise to take its pieces and flee.
I stand in front of the motomiya, one thumb hooked under the strap of my makeshift bag. My other hand rests on the hilt of my steel sword. The shadows thicken around my feet. Blood pools from the ogres’ chests and throats—it has the color of pitch in the growing darkness. Fear coats my tongue, coppery and electric. Oni-chan pads over and bumps my hand with his massive, scarred head. I scratch him behind one ear, looking toward the shrine gates, and shudder.
Shouts whistle through the shrine hallways like arrows. The trees around me quiver, perhaps able to see the violence in the main courtyard. From where I stand, I can only hear the battle shouts and the clang of metal on metal; in the distance, something cracks like a gunshot.
It’s hard to be brave when the monsters that haunt your past have shown up to destroy your future. I turn, looking at the stains on the motomiya’s floorboards. Even after they’ve faded away, I will always be able to see them. I will never forget what Shuten-doji did to me, to this shrine, and to my grandfather.
Stepping back into the motomiya, I drive the tip of my sword into the bloodstained floorboards. I wrench the hilt sideways, prying up a sliver of wood, which I take and stick in my pocket beside Shiro’s fox omamori. No matter what happens tonight, this is my shrine. This is my home. Even if I am afraid, I will defend this place till my dying breath.
“Come on, Oni-chan,” I say, sliding my katana back into its sheath. “Let’s go kill some demons, eh?”
I swear that big cat grins.
We race to the front courtyard, which has broken out in chaos. Kitsune move barricades—of the physical and magical varieties—into position to keep our enemy contained. I spot Kiku standing atop the main gate, swinging his great club and knocking oni off our walls. The shinigami must be in the fray—I can’t see them from where I stand, but a cloud of panicked butterflies churns the air with their wings. There’s no sign of Shiro, either. I need to find him. If we’re going to fight to our last breaths for this shrine, we’re going to do it together.
I need a better view of the battlefield, perhaps from the shrine’s roof. It’ll take too much time to fetch a ladder—which means I’ll need to get creative. I spot some leftover scaffolding still attached to the haiden wall. Hurrying toward it, I grab a steel pole and climb it like a jungle gym. I pull myself atop the building. Oni-chan leaps to the roof in a single bound, looking at me smugly.
“Thanks for the help,” I say sarcastically. He follows me as I run across the roof, his bulk cracking tiles as he goes.
From up here, I can see everything—we’re outnumbered two to one, at least. Shimada and Roji
hold off a knot of oni near the gatehouse. They’re standing their ground, back-to-back. One ogre charges at Shimada with a naginata-style polearm; Shimada sidesteps the blow, but before he can land one of his own, the ogre slams a fist into the shinigami’s side, staggering him.
The ogre does not see Roji, nor her blade, as she slices him across the abdomen.
Wincing, I scan the battlefield for Shiro, but spot O-bei next, surrounded by a phalanx of kitsune spellcasters. Ronin fights at their front, every bit as fierce as I’d imagined he would be. O-bei hasn’t yet unsheathed her sword, preferring to sling spells at any yokai who dares come near her. As the ogres try to push deeper into the shrine, O-bei and her kitsune hold them back.
I spot Heihachi on the walls with Kiku, pushing down ladders, stomping fingers, and smacking ogres in the face with what looks to be an iron wok. And Yuza! She moves like a hawk through the hordes of yokai, slicing down anyone or anything that comes close.
And that’s when I spot Shiro—on his own near the edge of the fray, battling a massive ogre. I bottle back a scream as the ogre swings his club, slamming Shiro in the torso so hard, it lifts him airborne. Shiro slams into the side of our ema stand, which explodes into a cloud of sawdust, splinters, and shattered prayers.
The ogre jounces his shoulders, swings his club like a baseball bat, and stalks toward Shiro. Going in for the kill.
“Shiro!” I scream, my voice hoarse. “Go, Oni-chan!”
The big cat roars, leaping off the roof and into the fray. Below me, the noise draws Ronin’s and O-bei’s attention. O-bei’s mouth drops into a horrified little o shape.
“Kira!” Ronin shouts, pointing at something behind me. “Move!”
I spin on the ball of my foot, my hand on the hilt of my sword. A woman stands behind me, one whose beauty makes time slow down so it can gaze upon her face. Her hair shines like liquid sunlight, bound by a piece of silk near her waist. Two perfect, triangular ears sit atop her head, and a tiny crown of bright orbs hovers between them. Nine golden tails float behind her like sunstruck clouds, and her furisode flutters in a ghostly wind.
She bears no weapons, but Tamamo-no-Mae—one of the Three Great Evils of Japan—doesn’t need steel to make me bleed.
“Hmpf,” she says, scanning me from head to toe. “You are the girl who bested Ibaraki with a look? I am almost ashamed I ever gave any credence to his abilities. You, girl, are nothing more than a human mutt. Kuzunoha’s blood has been diluted to the point of perversion.”
“This mutt managed to set your precious palace on fire,” I say, drawing my sword. The dying sunlight glints off its blade. “I’d be careful, Tamamo-no-Mae. Even mutts have teeth.”
She disappears, drawing a gasp from me. Something yanks my hair around its fist, and Tamamo-no-Mae’s lips brush the shell of my ear. She tugs me close. “Listen to me,” she says, and her voice cuts into my head like a scalpel. Blood leaks out my ear canal and drips onto my shoulder. I grunt in pain. “I refuse to watch a mere child of sixteen summers destroy my work. When the blood moon rises, you will bow before Shuten-doji and hand him the sword that you have stolen.”
“Never,” I whisper. “I will never bow to you or your master—”
A shock wave slams into my back, sending me tumbling, head over heels, across the rooftop. My sword clatters away. A rib hits a tile at the wrong angle, and a crack resonates through my chest. I roll to a stop near the roof’s edge. The Kusanagi’s shards clatter against my back. As I push myself up on one elbow, I watch Tamamo-no-Mae advance. She’s a black shadow, outlined by the setting sun, her nine tails blazing with bright fire. Long claws extend from her fingertips, each gleaming in the light. I try to breathe, but it’s like someone’s bound my ribs with silk. Each breath I draw feels too short, too shallow.
Get up, I tell myself. Get. Up.
My sword sits in the roof gutter several yards away. Out of reach.
“Little mutt,” Tamamo-no-Mae says with a tsk. Streams of light swirl around her hands. “It is time you learned what a proper kitsune can do—”
A dark shape lands on the tiles between us, crushing them under its feet. Black silk flashes as the figure charges forward, silver sword absorbing the visible light.
I squint against the sunlight. At first I think it must be Yuza, but the figure isn’t tall enough.
It’s O-bei.
“Traitor!” Tamamo-no-Mae shrieks. “You will regret this deception, O-bei Katayama!”
“I doubt that very much,” O-bei snaps, lunging forward. Tamamo-no-Mae dashes right, up the slope of the shrine’s roof. She conjures a ball of foxfire in her fingers, sweeping it high overhead. She leaps toward O-bei, slinging the fireball toward O-bei’s face.
O-bei brings the broad side of her sword up to deflect the blow, forcing it to explode over her blade.
I push up to my feet, gasping at the pain in the left side of my chest. With a groan, I press one hand against my side, grimacing at the strange looseness of one of my rib bones. Across the courtyard, we’re already starting to lose ground—Ronin now has control of the kitsune, and they’re battling to hold the courtyard against a growing number of ogres. I spot Shimada, Roji, Kiku, and Heihachi with them; Shiro, not at all. My heart aches. I don’t know where Shiro has gone. Oni-chan doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the courtyard, either. I can only hope and pray that they both still live.
On my right, a woman screams. O-bei stumbles back, clutching her right shoulder. Blood gushes through her fingers, and she struggles to hold on to her sword. She’s facing me. Bright streaks of pain shoot across her face. I can’t see how bad her injuries are, because the half-downed sun burns in my eyes.
Tamamo-no-Mae stands between us, her back to me.
“Do you want to continue with this nonsense?” Tamamo-no-Mae asks, advancing on O-bei. She grabs the shinigami by the front of her kimono. “You’ve already lost, Lady O-bei. Your foolish little rebellion ends now—”
I don’t listen to anything more. Lunging forward, I take two steps and grab my sword out of the gutter. Tamamo-no-Mae rotates an ear toward me. I get a better grip on my sword. Tamamo-no-Mae shoves O-bei away and turns her head. There’s no time to think about my next move; all I know is that I can’t afford to lose O-bei. Not now, not with the sun setting.
I charge in, shrieking at Tamamo-no-Mae. She feints left, but this time, I’m quicker at tracking her movements. I pivot and swing my sword in her direction. I slice through the air, missing the kitsune by inches. With a snarl, she sidesteps my blade and slashes at my open flank. Her claws catch the fabric of the bag I wear around my chest. The silk rips, and the weight of the Kusanagi’s shards goes crashing into the roof tiles. The bag splits open, leaving the shards to glimmer in the sun.
Tamamo-no-Mae’s eyes widen. A smile turns her lips. Before she can move, I dive toward her, thrusting my shoulder into her solar plexus. She loses her footing, and we go down, tumbling toward the edge of the roof. I barely manage to catch myself at the gutter, jamming one hand and my knee at the lip. My sword sails straight off the ledge and clatters onto the cobblestones below.
“Enough!” Tamamo-no-Mae shouts, heaving herself to her feet. Pushing off the gutter with one foot, I scramble toward the shards of the Kusanagi on my palms and knees. Furious, Tamamo-no-Mae rushes toward me, claws bared.
O-bei steps between us.
There’s a meaty crunch, and O-bei’s back goes rigid. Her head snaps backward, and her lips whisper something to the sky. She drops her sword, wavering on her feet. I see Tamamo-no-Mae’s claws last, sticking out of O-bei’s back. Blood drips off the ends of her fingers, spattering over the roof tiles.
Fury overtakes my good sense. I grab O-bei’s sword, and its hilt hisses against my skin. Before Tamamo-no-Mae can pull her fingers from O-bei’s body, I strike blind, bringing O-bei’s sword down in a whistling arc. Someone screams—I don’t know if it’s the sword, Tamamo-no-Mae, or me.
Tamamo-no-Mae stumbles backward. Blood spurts.
&
nbsp; We both stare in confusion at the severed stump of her arm.
Thirty-Two
Fujikawa Shrine
Kyoto, Japan
Tamamo-no-Mae shrieks in pain, stumbling out of reach. “This isn’t over,” she snarls, wrapping the length of her furisode sleeve around her injured arm. “Shuten-doji is rising, and now you have no cabal! Fools! May your ends be as pathetic as your useless lives!”
Tamamo-no-Mae blows two short blasts on her horn, and then disappears in a blinding streak of light.
With a gasp, O-bei wrenches Tamamo-no-Mae’s severed hand from her chest. Spasms race from the wrist to the fingers, making the hand snap to and fro. It flicks O-bei’s own blood over her face. Sneering, O-bei chucks it off the roof, grasps her chest, and falls to one knee. Thick black fluid pumps between her fingertips.
“O-bei!” I cry, dropping her sword. I hurry to her side, bracing her by the shoulder. She tries to jerk away, but manages only to crumple into a series of ragged coughs. I press my hand into her chest, trying to stanch the bleeding. It can’t end this way, not after everything we’ve done, not after everything we’ve suffered! Not like this!
“How can I—I mean, w-what do you need me to do?” I ask her. “You’re a death god, just tell me what to do! Can’t you stop death?”
“No,” O-bei rasps. Her shoulders slump. Something rattles in her chest, almost as if her heart has dried up and now clatters against dry rib bones. Shadows pool beneath her, circling like sharks. “The bitch hit her mark too well.”
My eyes burn. A single, hot tear races down my cheek. I help O-bei lie back on the roof tiles, supporting her head on my knees. “You can’t go,” I say, fighting to keep the tears away. “You can’t, we’re so close, we have to keep fighting—”
“You have to keep fighting,” O-bei says as one of my tears falls into her hair. I sniffle, wondering if I’m mourning her loss, the loss of our only way to defeat Shuten-doji, or both. “You failed to bring my seven shinigami, forcing me to settle for a filthy oni—”
Seven Deadly Shadows Page 24