They didn’t move, waiting to see if she would break her neck so they could eat her without Yumei or Shiro getting angry. Being followed around by yokai eager to devour her was creepier than she wanted to admit.
Stretching her legs downward, she pushed off the branch. The rushing fall lasted only a second and then her feet hit the ground. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, compressing a patch of snow. Wincing, she clambered up and brushed off her kimono.
“See?” she called upward. “I told you so.”
The crows clacked their beaks and rustled their wings in disappointment.
Shaking her head, she started away from the oak, following Shiro’s footprints. Yumei hadn’t left any tracks, but she hadn’t expected him to; why would he walk when he could fly? As she moved into the trees, the sounds of the crows faded until all was quiet. The clear night sky offered enough light for her to follow Shiro’s trail, but she could see little else. The heavy, snow-laden boughs of spruce trees brushed against her sleeves as she slipped between them, and the occasional red leaf drifted down from the tangled maple branches above.
The trickling song of a stream reached her ears as she came out from between two thick spruces. Her breath puffed out in front of her in a visible cloud as she stopped.
Shiro sat on a rock on the bank of the stream, his elbow propped on one knee and his chin resting on his palm as he watched the water. The moonlight gleamed on his white hair. His sleeveless white kosode shirt contrasted starkly with the black hakama pants and black wraps running from his hands up above his elbows, bound in place with crisscrossing red ties. And, of course, the glossy crimson onenju looped around his right arm.
One furred fox ear rotated toward her and he turned his head. She forced herself to move, crossing to him. Using one sleeve, she brushed the snow off a flat rock before sitting. The cold seeped through her kimono and she shivered. The temperature was above freezing, but not by much.
He watched her shiver, then lifted a hand. Fire sparked in his palm, and an orb of white and blue flame—a kitsunebi—drifted into the air. Heat washed over her face as it hovered in front of her. She gratefully held her hands out to the warmth.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He nodded, his gaze returning to the water. The entwined branches of the trees were dark shadows against the deep blue night sky dusted with glittering stars. The glowing face of the moon brushed sapphire hues over the snow to create a beautiful but eerie palette of cool blues across the vista of forest and mountains.
The woods were quiet but for the babbling stream. Normally the sound would have sent apprehension trembling through her limbs but Shiro’s presence quieted her phobia of water. The light from the kitsunebi flickered over his face, casting elusive shadows across his features. She wasn’t used to him being so quiet.
“I’m sorry,” she tried again. “I didn’t mean to pressure you about your memories. It must be hard not to remember anything.”
“It isn’t that I remember nothing.” He picked up a red maple leaf from the snow and twirled it by its stem. “But what I can remember doesn’t make any sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“These memories … they have no context. Faces, voices, snatches of conversation, places I know I’ve been but I don’t recognize. Nothing is tied together. Nothing fits what I know now.” His hand closed around the leaf, crushing it. “Without context, my memories are useless.”
“You can remember some things, though.” She pointed at the kitsunebi floating in front of her. “Like how to use your magic.”
He squinted at the fiery orb. “I would call it instinct, not memory. I’ve been figuring it out as I’ve needed it.”
Sighing, she pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. “I wish there was some way Amaterasu could help us, some way to talk to her.”
“I don’t know about you,” he murmured, resuming his study of the water rushing over dark stones, “but I’m not eager to see her possess you again.”
She glanced at him in surprise but his profile revealed nothing of his thoughts. “Even though she could probably tell us where to look for the Kunitsukami?”
“Do you think you would survive it a second time?” He turned to her, and her breath caught in her throat at his somber stare. “You changed so much in just a few minutes. Your eyes, your voice, even your scent changed.”
“They … they did?”
“Your eyes and voice returned to normal, but your scent …”
She blinked in alarm. “What about my scent?”
His head tilted to one side as his nostrils flared. “You still smell a little like her—like a kami. No yokai will believe you’re just a miko now.”
Her hand crept up to her chest and closed over the front of her kimono. Beneath it was her kamigakari mark, a dark symbol that represented her connection to Amaterasu. The bond between them had formed when Emi was only eight years old, and in the intervening years, Amaterasu had filtered drop after drop of her ki—her life force and the source of her magic—into Emi. Was her connection to Amaterasu even stronger now, or had Amaterasu’s possession left traces of the Amatsukami behind in her body and soul? Was Amaterasu’s mind already leaking into hers, changing her? Destroying her?
“It’s … it’s inevitable anyway, I guess,” she said, trying to calm a rush of anxiety. Five weeks. She still had five weeks to live her life before Amaterasu took it.
As she glanced at Shiro, something flashed in his gaze—some powerful emotion she couldn’t identify—before he turned back to the stream. She blinked again, confused and uncertain. Had she said something to make him angry? He’d been more unpredictable than usual since Izanami’s attack. She desperately wanted to ease the burden of his lost memories in some way and bring back his sly, teasing smile.
“Maybe Amaterasu can help indirectly,” she said, straightening where she sat. “What about a spring blessing ceremony?”
“A what?”
“It’s a ceremony of renewal,” she said, a flicker of hope sparking in her. “Miko perform it for sick people and worshippers who want a fresh start or rejuvenation. Maybe it would help you recover your memories.”
“Those ceremonies have almost no power,” he said, doubt written all over his face. “And even if they did, I don’t think a kami ceremony will work on a yokai.”
She held up a finger. “One, I’m not just any miko. Two, the power of the ceremony will come from Amaterasu and she wants you to remember, so I’m sure she’ll make an exception.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple—”
Launching to her feet, she grabbed the shoulder of his kosode and tugged on it. “What’s the harm in trying? Come on.”
“Come on where?” he grumbled, giving in to her pulling and rising. His hovering kitsunebi flickered out.
“I need more space. Over here.”
She led him to the center of a clear, flat spot in the trees, the snow unbroken by animal tracks. As the kamigakari, she had learned all the same skills as a regular miko—in fact, she had learned them even better than the average shrine maiden.
“Sit,” she ordered.
He looked at her askance as he sank to sit cross-legged in the snow. “This won’t work.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist.” She scouted around the nearby trees and selected a thin, foot-long stick with a cluster of golden leaves clinging to the end. Snapping it off, she returned to stand in front of him.
“What’s with the twig?”
“I don’t have the proper tools. I can’t do the dance without something to hold.”
“You’re going to dance?”
“Almost all miko ceremonies involve dancing.”
His skeptical look intensified. Ignoring him, she turned her back to him and adjusted her kimono. Wrong outfit and lacking the proper instruments, but it would have to do. The ritual of the dance—the careful, precise movements that called upon the powers of the earth
and the heavens, human ki and kami ki coming together—was what mattered. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and mentally centered herself. Letting the tension slide away and the calm serenity of the ceremony envelop her, she cleared her mind and turned back to him.
His eyes widened when he saw the difference in her demeanor. Keeping her expression smooth and tranquil, she extended the twig out to the side, her arm perfectly parallel to the ground, and positioned her feet with the toe of her left sandal touching the ground in front of her right foot. And then she began.
The movements flowed from within her, rising from deep inside her core. Her arm swept slowly in a quarter circle until the twig pointed forward, and she simultaneously slid her left foot out and around, drawing a curving line in the snow. Her body began to turn, her other arm rising, palm rotating from the sky to the ground, wide sleeves fluttering, the motions smooth with slow elegance. Warmth shimmered through her body and resonated into the ground as her feet slid from step to step.
As she moved in the precise choreography of the dance, she became aware of Shiro’s gaze following her every move. She brought the twig toward her chest and swept her other hand past the leaves before lifting her palm to the sky, the dance requiring she lift her face to the stars as well. She spun slowly, feet sliding through the snow in careful movements.
She completed her turn, automatically seeking his face—and that ruby stare caught her, holding her fast. She lowered her body in a painfully slow and smooth kneeling motion that had taken months of practice. As she went down, she felt herself falling into his eyes, sinking into their depths. From within the shadows of his gaze, something ancient looked out at her, something wise and cunning and dangerous. Something that whispered to her and called to her soul.
Barely able to breathe, she extended the branch to him, turning her hand in the same motion. The leaves rustled as they brushed his kosode over his heart. She couldn’t look away from him. That ancient something in his eyes had her, held her, chained her.
Her leg muscles clenched, and she began the precise, measured rise until she stood over him, the leaves held over his head. His stare followed her up, refusing to release her. She was drowning in him, losing her grasp on the world around her. But the dance was ingrained in her very bones and she was so close to the end. She slid her right foot back, transferring her weight onto it as she spread her arms wide, palms turned up, the leaves rustling.
Then her heel hit a tree root under the snow and her graceful movements came to a crashing end.
She went over backward, arms flailing. With a poof of displaced snow, she landed hard, the air shoved out of her lungs. As she wheezed, Shiro’s face appeared above her, his mouth canted in a crooked grin that revealed one pointed canine.
“Is that the traditional way to end a ceremony dance?”
“Obviously not,” she croaked, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Trying to convince her lungs to work properly, she pushed herself up and discovered the broken twig in her hand, snapped clean in two.
Shiro crouched beside her, insufferably amused. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that the strange, ancient power she’d glimpsed was once again hidden among the shadows in his eyes.
“Did you remember anything?” she asked hopefully.
“Not a thing.”
His grin widened when she wilted with disappointment. He reached out and she froze when his fingers slid over her hair just above her ear, his touch sending tingles rushing down her spine.
“You have snow on your head,” he informed her, flicking some away.
She squeaked, her hands flying up. She hastily brushed the snow away, trying not to blush more than she already was. No point in hoping he hadn’t noticed. He noticed everything.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, pulling her hair over her shoulder to pick leaves out of it. “I guess a kamigakari isn’t much better than a miko.”
“I felt something. Just not memories.”
She peeked at him. Had he felt the same thing she had seen in his eyes? Or had she been imagining it? Maybe the dance had been working—before it ended so dramatically. But that ancient cunning … as much as she wanted him to remember who he was, that something in his eyes scared her.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, misinterpreting her worried look. “It’s our job to find the Kunitsukami. We yokai should be able to locate our own lords.”
“Even if Amaterasu hadn’t given me this task, I would still …” Her mouth hung open midsentence. Yokai looking for yokai lords. Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?
A hand waved in front of her face, snapping her out of her daze. She blinked at Shiro.
“Did you hit your head, little miko?” he asked dryly, looking more amused than concerned.
“I know where we need to search for the Kunitsukami,” she said breathlessly.
His amusement vanished, replaced with sharp focus. “What?”
She sprang to her feet. “Yumei said it, didn’t he? He’s asked every yokai he can think of about the Kunitsukami—but that’s the problem. The Kunitsukami aren’t lost where yokai can find them; they’re prisoners of the kami. We’ve been trying to think of yokai leads to follow, but that’s not who we need to talk to. Izanami has no reason to cover her tracks from her fellow kami.”
His anticipation soured. “We can’t question kami.”
“No, of course not. But kannushi and miko are gossipy like you wouldn’t believe.” She raised her eyebrows. “I would know, wouldn’t I? If there’s something weird going on with Izanami, then our best bet for finding out about it is from her human servants.”
He considered her idea, then smiled slowly. “Interesting theory. I’ll support it on one condition.”
“What’s that?” she asked warily.
“You have to convince Yumei.”
“You want to ask humans?”
Emi fought the urge to lean away from the Tengu. “Well, you see—”
“What could humans possibly know about the whereabouts of the Kunitsukami?”
“They might not know anything directly, but if there’s anything suspicious going on, they’re more likely to have heard about it than a yokai—”
“You have no concept of what would be required to imprison a Kunitsukami, and neither do the humans of kami shrines.”
She glanced helplessly past Yumei to Shiro, who was leaning against the wall by the fireplace. He shrugged and continued eating, devouring his rice and beans like he hadn’t eaten in a month. Though Yumei had ignored all her requests for human necessities, he’d at least recognized she couldn’t go days without eating. Food kept turning up on his table—fresh, hot meals in glossy white boxes. She was curious which unfortunate takeout restaurants his karasu were stealing from.
Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “Izanami knows she needs to hide her activity from the yokai, but she has no reason to hide what she’s doing from her vassals and shrine servants. Someone is bound to have noticed something strange when Sarutahiko went missing, even if they don’t understand it. Maybe strange things are still ongoing. It has to take resources of some kind to keep Kunitsukami locked up, so—”
“You have no idea of what you speak.” His quiet voice cut through her like a blade. “How can you determine what is relevant ‘strangeness’ when you do not know what—”
“You don’t know either!” she snapped, losing patience entirely.
Yumei’s face hardened and even Shiro’s eyebrows shot up at her blatant rudeness toward the Tengu. Her pulse quickened, but she told herself it was anger, not fear.
“You don’t know any better than I do what it would take to confine a Kunitsukami,” she said sternly. “You’ve been searching for years and found nothing. You said yourself you have no more leads to pursue. Well, I’m offering you a lead and you won’t even let me explain it because it’s not what you want to hear.”
At Yumei’s arctic stare, she wondered if he was about to murder her. Shiro�
�s eyebrows lifted impossibly higher and he looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. She ignored him.
“Izanami can’t do everything herself,” she continued. “We know she isn’t guarding the Kunitsukami personally since she had time to come here and try to kill me. That means someone is helping her—her vassals, like Koyane. Yokai are good at living off the land and don’t like humans, but kami are different. They use a human vessel that needs appropriate care. They live among humans and depend on humans.”
She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Somewhere, human shrine servants are supporting kami who are supporting Izanami. I know the odds are slim, but we have no better options right now. If we can uncover information about Izanami servants acting unusually, we’ll at least have somewhere to start.”
Silence fell, broken only by Shiro’s chopsticks scraping the bottom of his box. Yumei studied her before finally speaking.
“And how do you propose to procure information from Izanami servants?” The question, though worded neutrally, wasn’t friendly.
“Kannushi typically only serve one shrine,” she explained, “but miko and sohei sometimes switch shrines and affiliations based on personal preferences—or moving to a new city, for example. We can’t talk to Izanami servants directly, but I can start by inquiring among Amaterasu shrine servants.”
“We don’t have time for an undercover investigation,” Shiro interjected, crossing the room to drop his empty box on the table. “And you’re too recognizable as the kamigakari to pretend to be a miko.”
He picked up her half-eaten carton of rice and dug his chopsticks in. She frowned at him as he unapologetically started eating her meal.
“I know we don’t have time for that,” she told them. “That’s why I need the Guji’s help.”
Shiro’s chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth. “The Guji? You mean the high priest of your shrines that you ran away from because he planned to lock you up until the solstice?”
“Well, yes. But that was before Amaterasu commanded me to find the Kunitsukami. He can’t argue with Amaterasu.”
Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2) Page 2