by Julie Kagawa
I bristled, even as another flutter of fear went through my stomach. For a moment, the urge to use fox magic in not a nice way was very tempting. I had visions of ghostly hands reaching for him through the mist, or his robes suddenly bursting into heatless blue flames. But Naganori might recognize another form of magic; he might even discover I was part kitsune, and I did not want this man knowing my true nature. Nor did I want to put the others in danger, as the majutsushi had just made a very inelegant threat.
“Well, isn’t this a charming place.” Relief bloomed through me as Okame’s familiar, acidic voice echoed through the oppressive silence. The ronin stepped close, his bolstering presence at my back, and I could imagine his challenging smirk aimed over my head at Naganori. “Is this where you spend most of your time, mage? Now I see where your delightful personality comes from.”
The majutsushi’s chin lifted. “Insolent dog.”
“That’s what everyone tells me.” Okame grinned, as with ripples of color and warmth, the rest of our company emerged through the gloom. Reika whispered a soft prayer to the kami, as Chu and Ko growled and peered out from behind her legs, both dogs staring wide-eyed into the mist.
Naganori drew back, almost seeming to float as he drifted away. “Follow me,” he said. “Once again, I will offer this warning—keep to the path, do not stray from the trail and do not stare too long into the mist. If you do, you might find yourself separated from the path and your companions. The mist has a way of tricking your mind into thinking that you are all alone with the spirits of those who have died. If you cannot ignore them and focus on the path, it will become a reality. Now, hurry. The dead have already taken notice, and I am curious to see how many of you make it through to the other side.”
“Stay together, everyone,” Reika murmured, and we started down the path, following the majutsushi through the corridor of mist and darkness.
“Yumeko-chan,” whispered a voice.
My heart skipped a beat. It was impossible to tell how much time we had spent on the path, hours or days, but it was starting to feel like we had always been here. Like the flat, dead grayness was all I knew, and it was hard to remember anything else.
I turned my head, very slightly, to see a figure standing at the edge of the path just ahead, smiling at me. His face was lined and weathered, he wore wooden geta clogs and a familiar straw hat on his bald head. As my throat closed and my heart gave a violent surge of recognition, the figure chuckled softly and held up a withered hand.
“Hello, Yumeko-chan,” said Master Isao.
My steps faltered. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I wrenched my gaze away and hurried on. None of the others seemed to have noticed the monk at the edge of the path; when I looked at them, their own eyes were glassy and distant, their faces pale. Reika’s jaw was tightly clenched, and Okame’s eyes were suspiciously bright. I spared a glance behind me and saw Master Jiro marching rigidly on, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Daisuke trailed behind, his expression schooled into a blank mask. No one appeared to see or hear the figures in the mist. They seemed caught up in their own thoughts, or perhaps they were seeing faces that they recognized in the fog, as well.
“Fox girl,” said a voice, and now Denga-san appeared, walking alongside me down the path. “Running away again?” he said, in his familiar exasperated voice. “Where do you think you’re going, exactly? You know running away from your responsibilities won’t make anything disappear.”
“Go away,” I whispered, pinning my ears to my skull. “I’m not listening. I don’t want to see you, so leave me alone.” Neither Reika nor Daisuke glanced at me, though the ghost of Denga-san snorted.
“That’s just like you.” He sighed, keeping pace with me as I walked. “Carefree and immoral, just like a yokai. Like a soulless fox.” His voice hardened, becoming bitter and angry. “I knew it was a mistake to take you in. From the moment you arrived at the temple, I never wanted you there. And neither did Master Isao.”
My breath caught, and tears stung the corners of my eyes. I tried to shut out his words, but they echoed in my soul, cutting and painful. “That’s not true,” I whispered.
“No?” He sneered, a cutting, cruel expression I had seen him make only once or twice, but it was still painfully familiar. “Master Isao despised you, fox girl. He knew what a yokai could do, even a half-yokai. He taught you discipline and control because he feared the mischief and misery you would bring if you were allowed to run free. Because he knew a yokai could never be trusted.”
“No,” I protested, and turned to face not Denga but Master Isao, standing a few feet away in the mist. His eyes were hidden in the shadows of his wide-brimmed hat, and he was no longer smiling.
“Fox girl,” the familiar figure whispered, shaking his head. His sad, accusing voice cut into me like the lash of a whip. Raising his chin, he met my gaze, impassive black eyes stabbing me through the heart. “Disappointing,” he whispered in a voice of stone. “I had hoped for so much more. We raised you, taught you our ways, gave you everything, and you repaid us by leaving us to die.”
It was as if he’d punched me. Denga’s scorn and anger I could handle; his words were cruel, but not unexpected. But to hear those words from Master Isao…It was as if he had seen my greatest, most secret fear and had dragged it out to brandish in my face. I sank to my knees, as a hole opened in my stomach and my eyes blurred with tears. Denga appeared behind the head monk, as Jin and Nitoru stepped to his other side. Their reproachful gazes bored into me, heavy and accusing, though none were as terrible as Master Isao’s pitiless glare. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, as images of that night swirled through my head. Flames and demons and blood, and the lifeless bodies of the monks sprawled on the temple floor. Tears crept down my cheeks and stained my robe where they fell. “I wanted to save you…”
“You left us to die,” Master Isao repeated. “We gave our lives to protect the scroll, as the demons tore us apart, and you did nothing. You deserve to be here, with us. Why should we have died, and you lived? Come, Yumeko-chan.” He raised a hand, palm out, beckoning me forward. “Come with us,” he urged, “and all is forgiven. You can start over. It can be as it was before—no fear, no pain. I know you must be lonely, a half-kitsune all alone in the world. Forget your troubles, and your duty. Forget the scroll, Yumeko-chan. You belong here, with us.”
Forget the scroll?
Blinking, I looked up. Master Isao stood there, hand outstretched, a gentle, forgiving smile on his face. Denga, Jin and Nitoru stood behind him, but now their expressions were eager, hopeful.
Almost hungry.
A chill went through me, and I drew back, watching the monk’s smile turn to a puzzled frown. “Master Isao…” I began, feeling as if my mind was mired in cobwebs and just starting to clear “…would never tell me to forget the scroll. His duty was to protect it, and he died to ensure it would not fall into the wrong hands. He and the others gave their lives to make sure I could escape, because their responsibility to the scroll was everything.”
Master Isao scowled. “I died so that you could live,” he hissed, taking a step forward and making me shrink back. His face changed. Now he looked like a pinched old woman, lips pulled back from her yellow teeth as she glared at me. “Ungrateful child,” the woman spat. “You belong here with me. I gave up everything for you—my love, my health, my happiness. And you ran away to live your life with that insignificant merchant nobody. Disgraceful! And after everything I did for you.”
I blinked at her, shaking my head. The woman continued to rail at me, her voice a droning buzz in my ears. Behind her, I could see other forms in the mist, but the figures I had thought were Denga, Nitoru and Jin were now people I didn’t recognize. I had the dawning realization that the woman hadn’t been saying anything different, and she had not changed her image to look like Master Isao. But somehow, I had seen and heard exactly what I had feared, the secret guilt deep inside coming to the surface.
I blew out a breath in disbelief. They
weren’t real, I told myself. Master Isao, Denga, Nitoru, Jin—they weren’t here at all. I just saw what I expected…what I’ve always feared.
The woman continued to rail at me, accusing me of being a horrible daughter and forgetting her, of not visiting her grave as often as I should. She certainly didn’t recognize me as a stranger, and a kitsune at that; it seemed the dead saw only what they wanted, as well.
They’re not malicious, I realized. Just unhappy. Maybe it gets very lonely in Meido while they’re waiting to move on. They see the spirits of the living as people they knew, and it reminds them of when they were alive. I wrinkled my nose. Though you’d think Naganori could have mentioned that.
Carefully, I rose and bowed to the distraught spirits, sobbing at me beyond the wall of mist. “Safe travels to you,” I murmured. “May you find what it is you are looking for, so you can move on.” Then, I took a deep breath and turned my back on the spirits of the dead. They howled and cried, begging me not to go, but I stepped away, and their pleading, sobbing, cursing voices faded into background noise. Closing my ears to the clamor, I shook myself and looked around for the others.
I was alone on the dark path. I couldn’t see Reika, Okame, Daisuke, Master Jiro…even Naganori had disappeared. My heart gave a violent lurch as fear and panic spiked, and I gazed wildly around for any hint of the familiar.
“Yasuo?”
The whisper drifted out of the darkness, causing relief to flood my veins. I took a few steps toward the voice and saw a familiar figure materialize in the distance.
Okame-san. I nearly called out to him but stopped myself, seeing the faces of the dead watching me through the mist. Not wanting to attract their attention, I began striding toward Okame, moving as quickly as I could without making any noise.
“Okame,” I called in a loud whisper, but the ronin ignored me. He stood at the edge of the path, gazing at something in the fog. A few feet away in the mist, I suddenly saw the pale figure of an old man, who pointed an accusing finger at the ronin at the edge of the mist and snarled something I couldn’t hear. Okame’s shoulders were hunched, his head bowed, and a quiet sob came to me over the whispers of the dead.
“I’m sorry, Yasuo.” Okame’s voice was choked. “Forgive me.”
No, Okame. Don’t listen! Fear stabbed at me again, and I began to jog toward him, but it was like running toward something in a dream. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t seem to close the distance, though I could clearly hear his voice, shaking and tormented, drifting to me through the shadows.
“It was a mistake, brother. I didn’t…I didn’t realize what would happen. I know I can’t ever make it up to you, but…” A pause, as the spirit on the other side said something, and Okame’s voice came again, resigned and heavy with guilt. “Yasuo, if joining you is the only way to put your spirit to rest…”
“Okame, no!” I put on a burst of speed, but I was still too far away to reach him. “That’s not your brother, Okame!” I cried in desperation. “Your brother isn’t talking to you, it’s just an angry, lonely spirit who wants your soul! Don’t let it trick you into joining it in Meido!”
The spirits of the dead hissed at me, crowding the edge of the path, their voices rising into the air. Okame finally turned his head, his bleak, hollow gaze meeting mine through the darkness.
“Yumeko-chan,” he murmured, as the spirit in front of him gnashed its teeth. “I’m sorry,” the ronin said, making me frown in confusion. His eyes were bleak, but he still gave me that wry, crooked grin of defiance. “It looks like I can’t go with you to the Steel Feather temple,” he said. “My brother, Yasuo, has demanded that I stay with him. I have to put his spirit to rest.”
“No, Okame-san. Listen to me.” I hurried forward, pleading. “That’s not your brother. It’s not Yasuo. Would your brother demand that you stay here, in the realm of the dead? Really look at him, and tell me what you see.”
The ronin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Yumeko-chan,” he said dully. “The truth is I betrayed my brother, and he died because of it. Yasuo is right.” Okame faced the spirit again and took a step forward. One more step would take him off the path into the mist. “I should be here, with my brother and all the men I betrayed. It was my duty, and I abandoned it. I abandoned him.” He took a short breath, as if steeling himself, and raised his chin. “I’m the one who should be here, not them.”
I cried out and reached for him, knowing it was too late, that he was too far away. Ghostly hands reached through the fog and latched on to the front of his jacket. He did nothing to stop them, and they dragged him off the path, into the mist beyond.
“Okame-san!”
There was a blur of white and blue, and Daisuke appeared, lunging forward and grabbing Okame by the collar just as the ronin was pulled into the fog. Planting his feet on the path, the noble yanked backward, bracing himself, eliciting angry cries from the mist beyond. I hurried forward, heart pounding, as Daisuke pulled the ronin halfway out of the fog. Pale hands and arms clutched at Okame, trying to drag him into the land of the dead.
“Spirits,” I heard Daisuke grit out as I reached them and grabbed Okame by the sleeve, joining in the deadly tug-of-war. “I know you are angry, that you grieve, that you are jealous of those who still live. I apologize, but I cannot allow you to take this one just yet. Forgive me, but he is needed here!”
He gave a mighty yank, and the hands clinging to Okame tore loose. The three of us tumbled backward and collapsed in a heap on the path. Gasping, I struggled upright and looked at the ronin, who lay on the ground, unmoving. His eyes were open and glazed, and he was as white as parchment.
“Okame-san!” I shook the ronin’s arm; it flopped beneath my fingers, making my stomach twist. “Okame-san, wake up. Can you hear me?”
No answer from Okame. He was breathing—his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths—but his expression was slack and he stared at nothing. Blinking rapidly, I looked at the noble. “He’s not responding. Daisuke-san, what can we do?”
The noble sat up, wincing, and peered down at the still form of the ronin between us. “My master used to say, sometimes a whisper is all that is required to calm a storm, but when words fail, sometimes you need the thunder.”
I frowned. “What?”
He turned to the ronin and gave a quick bow. “My apologies,” he muttered, and struck him hard across the face. The crack of his palm against the ronin’s cheek echoed loudly in the darkness.
“Ow!” Okame jerked upright, put a hand to his face and glared at the noble. Realizing where he was, he slumped back with a groan. “Kuso. Is this Meido? Are we dead?”
Daisuke smiled. His long white hair had fallen into his eyes, and his robes, already torn, had suffered even more abuse. He looked quite disheveled sitting there on the ground, but still somehow managed to uphold his dignity. “Not yet, I’m afraid,” he murmured. “Though you did try your best a few seconds ago.”
“Damn.” Okame scrubbed a hand across his face. “Bastard ghosts. I really thought I saw Yasuo for a few seconds there.” He eyed Daisuke, a puzzled frown crossing his face. “Why did you save me, Taiyo?” he demanded in a rough voice. “It’s not like I’m a samurai. I’m a filthy ronin dog with no honor left to salvage. There’s no shame in letting a worthless ronin get yanked into the realm of the dead by his own stupidity.”
A furrow creased the noble’s brow. “You must think very little of me, Okame-san,” Daisuke said, sounding more hurt than offended. “We have bled together, fought together, battled monsters, demons and oni side by side. I’ve sworn to protect Yumeko-san, but there is an unspoken oath that I follow. For as long as I am able, my blade will defend those I cherish—my family, my friends, my fellow warriors.” He looked the ronin in the eye. “No matter who they are or what they have done in the past.”
Silence fell over the path. The two men seemed to have forgotten I was there. Daisuke continued to hold Okame’s gaze, unwavering but not accusing or challenging, and it was the
ronin who blinked and looked away first.
“Kuso,” he muttered again. “This place is twisting my mind and making everyone do weird things. My bastard brother has been dead nearly five years, and we never got along. But when I saw him tonight…” He shook his head. “I felt that me dying was the only way for him to be at peace, the only way to make things right.” He snorted a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “It sounds ridiculous now.”
“It’s not,” I told him, and both men looked at me in surprise, as if just remembering I was there. “I felt something similar, Okame-san,” I went on. “I saw…Master Isao and the others…calling to me. Telling me I belonged here, with them.”
Daisuke nodded grimly. “I had a similar experience,” he admitted, letting Okame pull him to his feet. “This place…” He gazed into the fog, where ghostly faces swirled through the mist, their voices sobbing and angry. “It’s not the spirits that call to us,” he murmured. “It is our own failures and regrets we see. The things we wish we could have changed, the memories that haunt us.”
“That is the lure of Meido,” said a wheezy voice, as Master Jiro came toward us on the path. Ko walked at his side, her white fur glowing softly against the constant gloom. “Only a few souls are pure enough to go to Tengoku, the Celestial Heavens, when they die,” he continued, his staff thumping softly as he came forward. “Those who have lived their lives without regret, who have suffered no uncertainty or hesitation. On the other end of the spectrum are the souls who are corrupt, who indulge in travesty with no regret. They will find that Jigoku awaits them at the end of their lives. For the rest of them, the souls who are neither unblemished enough for heaven nor wicked enough for Jigoku, they find themselves in Meido, awaiting the time they can be reborn. That is why it is also known as the Realm of Waiting, of reflection. It is a place to ponder your past life, to remember every regret, every failure, all the things you would have done differently. According to the teachings, only when you have come to terms with your past, when you have relinquished your previous life, can you be reborn.” His gaze slid to the ghostly figures in the fog, and his brow crinkled with what looked to be pity. “Though for some, it can take centuries, if they cannot let go of their former lives.”