Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  The spider queen slumped to the ground, legs twitching robotically as death took her. Emi lay on her back, panting and lightheaded from pain. With distressed hisses, the spiders fled, vanishing into the fog.

  All at once, the unnatural gloom lifted and the light returned, tinted orange as the unseen sun began its descent. Yumei circled the fallen queen with gliding, predatory steps, his spear still dripping blood. Emi didn’t move as he stopped beside her and gazed down with those solid silver eyes. A shiver of fear ran down her spine.

  Then he extended his hand to her.

  “Today, we claim victory.” His ever-unreadable expression softened fractionally. “Well fought, Emi.”

  Her breath caught. He had actually called her by name. She managed an exhausted smile as she reached up to take his hand.

  Chapter 12

  Yumei pulled her to her feet. She flinched at the stabbing pain in her ribs, wondering how she’d ignored it for so long. Or had she further injured herself when she fell off the spider? Grimacing, she tugged her coat straight. The dark wool was liberally splattered with thick white blood.

  Yumei turned to the north. “I can once again sense the presence we were following.”

  Emi nodded but turned in the opposite direction, where Shiro was slumped at the base of the tree. Her lungs constricted. “What about Shiro?”

  “He was bitten.”

  “Is there a cure or a treatment …” Her voice broke and she couldn’t finish the question.

  Yumei’s eyes changed, his pupils reappearing and the silver shrinking to form dark-rimmed irises. “Despite the relative ease by which they can be slain, tsuchigumo are among our deadliest foes. Had I known they were present in this forest, I would not have brought you and the kitsune with me.” He rested the butt of his spear on the ground. “Their venom inflicts an everlasting sleep on yokai, so their ki can be fed upon at the spider’s leisure.”

  “But …” she whispered, her hands trembling so badly she gripped the hem of her coat to still them. She wanted to protest, to deny it, but she didn’t know what to say.

  His gaze slid over her, his expression unreadable. “Killing him is the kindest farewell.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “I imagine it is difficult for a human to accept death …” His shoulders shifted in a silent sigh. “Killing him while his ki is intact will aid in his eventual revival from the spirit realm.”

  “But … but how long …”

  He thought for a moment. “With the onenju binding him, several decades at least.”

  “Decades?” she choked.

  “Not all yokai revive. Some revive many times only to never return.”

  She bit hard on the inside of her cheek. “You can’t kill him.”

  “He will not wake, and the weaker he becomes, the more his chances of revival will diminish.”

  “You can’t kill him. Amaterasu said if he dies, all hope is lost.”

  “He is already lost.” Yumei turned away from her—toward Shiro. “You may think me heartless, but your weakness is far crueler.”

  Without thinking, she jumped in front of him, her arms spread wide. “You can’t kill him!”

  “I will not leave him to be fed upon.”

  “Then we’ll take him with us.”

  “I cannot carry you both, and we cannot linger. The tsuchigumo will soon return.”

  “There has to be some other option.”

  “There is no other option.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Move, kamigakari.”

  “I won’t let you kill him!”

  He closed his eyes as though gathering his remaining patience. When he opened them, his stare gleamed with cold resolve. Emi recoiled, then planted her feet in the snow, hands clenched. She would not let him kill Shiro. She would not accept that Shiro was gone, that he was already dead in every sense that mattered. She would not give up on him.

  Yumei stepped toward her, and she knew he intended to incapacitate her or restrain her so he could kill Shiro. He was a thousand times more powerful and she was no more of an obstacle to him than snowflakes were to the wind.

  She didn’t care. She wouldn’t let him touch Shiro.

  “I said no!” she yelled, thrusting her arm out. Her palm hit his chest, a harmless strike—except the instant she touched him, the wind erupted in a shrieking gale.

  The blast of wind hit him like a battering ram, throwing him backward. His wings flared and he landed ten yards away, skidding in the snow, astonishment clearly written across his normally impassive features.

  Emi waited for his counter attack as the wind spun around her in a slow cyclone of leaves and snow, ready to defend her.

  He observed the spinning whirlwind before his gaze lifted to meet hers. She wondered what he saw in her face. She gritted her teeth, heart hammering in her throat and hands quivering.

  He straightened and folded his wings. Blood ran from his wounds but he ignored it. “Terms then, kamigakari.”

  She blinked. “W-what?”

  “I told you I cannot carry two. I will bring the kitsune, but only if you can keep pace with me by your own strength.”

  Her tense stance relaxed slightly. “You’re not going to kill him?”

  “The wind is not a foe I wish to battle.”

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “Do you agree?” he asked.

  “Y-yes.”

  For the second time, he smiled sharply, revealing a hint of pointed, predatory canines. As he glided past her to collect Shiro, she wished she knew what that smile meant.

  Wrapping her arms around her legs, Emi wearily rested her chin on her knees and watched Yumei pace. Her ribs ached fiercely.

  He’d led her on a harrowing run through the woods, never letting up his grueling pace. She had followed at a desperate sprint, her muscles burning and chest on fire, but she hadn’t slowed either. Alone, she would have been left behind in moments, but once again the wind had come to her rescue. It had swept through the trees with her, pushing her on, lifting her until she almost felt like she was flying.

  They’d sped through the woods, heading toward something only Yumei could sense. She’d begun to doubt him as the endless trees whipped by, unbroken by anything but golden webs that he’d ripped right through without breaking stride, even with Shiro slung over his shoulder.

  Then, between one step and the next, the forest had changed. Warmth had rushed over them and the snow had vanished beneath their feet. She and Yumei had slid to a stop, shocked into stillness.

  They had run into a beautiful summer glade devoid of fog. Trees overflowed with broad green leaves and bright fruit, tall grass swayed in the soft breeze, and flowers bloomed in every color. She and Yumei had cautiously entered the warmth, with the late afternoon sun beaming down on them. In the center of the glade, a spring of crystalline water glittered in a hundred shades of aquamarine, so clear that the pebbled bottom fifteen feet below was visible.

  With the sun now dipping toward the distant mountain peaks, Emi watched Yumei pace another circle around the pool. His wings and spear had disappeared at some point when she wasn’t paying attention and he once again looked like the Tengu she knew. Beside her, Shiro was propped against the trunk of a sprawling plum tree, its branches laden with ripe fruit. She slid one hand toward him and curled her fingers around his. His skin was so cold. He hadn’t stirred since falling unconscious.

  Yumei finally ceased his pacing, stopping a few yards away to stare into the water.

  “I can sense it,” he growled. “I can sense it, but there is nothing here.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t sensing the glade itself?” she asked, lifting her head and glancing around. This small pocket in the forest was as close to heaven as she could have imagined. Surely there was magic in it.

  “This glade is a result of the ki emanating from this spot,” he said. “But where is the ki coming from?”

  “Is it Kunitsukami
ki?”

  He nodded, glaring at the spring as though it were personally responsible for the lack of answers in the glade.

  “Sit down for a minute, Yumei,” she said tiredly. His glare snapped to her but she was too exhausted to flinch. “Jorogumo punched a hole through your chest. You should rest a bit. Do your wounds need treatment?”

  “I am not as fragile as the kitsune,” he said irritably, but despite his words, he treaded through the long grass and dropped down beside her. “If we came all this way for nothing, I will not be pleased.”

  Emi’s hand tightened around Shiro’s. If she’d lost Shiro for nothing … She closed her eyes and again rested her chin on her knees. She was so tired and pain raked her ribcage with each inhalation. But the physical pain was nothing compared to her internal suffering. Anguish and terror over Shiro’s fate roiled endlessly and she couldn’t bear to look at him, to see his pale face and slack features. The spider ambush, the bow snapping, the monster dragging him away with its fangs buried in his shoulder—it kept replaying in her head, over and over until she wanted to scream.

  “Does it get easier when you live a long time?” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Or does pain still cause the same suffering? Does regret still make it hard to breathe?”

  Yumei brushed his hand over the grass. “With each year, each century, the burdens only grow. Yokai who cannot bear the weight do not survive. The loss of a life”—he glanced at Shiro—“is one regret among many that I must always carry.”

  She sniffed, wiping her cheek with her sleeve. “Maybe the yokai who can’t carry the burdens of a long life are the ones who stop coming back after they die. They don’t want to hurt anymore.”

  “Perhaps,” he murmured.

  “Have you ever died?”

  “Yes.”

  “What … what happens?”

  “If you ask of the afterlife, I cannot answer. We do not remember.” He plucked a blade of grass and slid it between his fingers. “When we return … when we revive … it is not a birth but a slow awakening, a gradual gathering of our inner selves and our power. Our consciousness returns first, followed by memories. The first memory is always of the final moments of life, not of what follows.”

  “It must be nice to know you’ll come back though, right? You don’t have to be so afraid to die …”

  “What about death is to be feared? The burdens of life can be so great that it would be a comfort to know that someday it will end … that someday, we will have earned the final rest.”

  She raised her head and looked at him, at his distant silver eyes that watched the blade of grass slide through his fingers. He let it go and it fell among its fellows, where it would wither and fade while they continued to grow. Fatigue touched his features, a weariness that spoke more of the soul than of the body.

  She uncurled from her ball and rose to her feet, resisting the urge to glance at Shiro. Pressing one hand against her ribs, she contemplated the sparkling pond.

  “Do you think that water is safe to drink?”

  “I imagine so.”

  She unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off, holding it in her hands. After a brief hesitation, she turned to Shiro. His still form, his chest barely shifting with each slow, faint breath, tore through her heart. Leaning down, she spread her coat over him. The glade was as warm as a summer evening, but his skin was still icy.

  With a sigh, she walked to the edge of the pool. How had it come to this? She had been so hopeful, so determined to accomplish her mission for Amaterasu … for the good of the world. But they had accomplished nothing. Kneeling on the pebbles at the edge of the water, she dipped her hand into the cool liquid.

  Emi.

  Confusion froze her in place. Her brow furrowed as she stared at the water.

  Emi, come to me.

  Her eyes went out of focus. The water rippled softly, filling her vision with shimmering turquoise and sparkling sunlight. Without thought, she pushed her other hand into the water. The call echoed inside her, pulling her onward.

  In a dreamlike daze, she crawled into the spring, heedless of the cool water flooding over her limbs and soaking her clothes. Yumei called her name, but she pushed forward. Caressing liquid rushed over her torso and she slipped beneath the surface. The pebbly bottom fell away and she sank, eyes closed, drifting peacefully.

  She descended slowly, lost in a tranquil haze, until she settled gently on the bottom. Her hands closed around soft blades of grass and she took a deep breath of sweet air.

  “Welcome, Emi.”

  The voice was even sweeter than the honeyed air. Emi blinked her eyes open. A face came into focus before her. Skin as white as a lily, hair in countless shades of golden brown, and bright eyes the color of sunlight. The woman brushed her fingers gently across Emi’s cheek.

  “I am sorry, child. The passage is difficult for a human.”

  “Passage?” she whispered. The dreamlike daze clung to her mind, slowing her thoughts. Hadn’t she been sinking in the spring? But now …

  She turned, trying to take in her surroundings, but all around her was a strange blur of rippling colors as though she were still underwater. The colors, though—every color she could imagine, every shade of the rainbow and a thousand more, swirled endlessly around her, too beautiful for words.

  The fingers on her chin turned her head back. “Look at me, Emi. This is not a world for mortal eyes.”

  She blinked again, focusing on the woman kneeling across from her. Her face was inhumanly beautiful, like a kami yet … yet somehow earthlier. Leaves and flowers clung to her butterscotch hair, the long length woven into a thick braid, and her kimono, patterned in pink blossoms, was soft, simple cotton.

  “Who are you?” she asked faintly.

  “I think you know, Emi.”

  She struggled through the haze in her mind. “You are Uzume, the Kunitsukami of the Wood.”

  The woman smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Emi.”

  Confusion slid through her. How would a Kunitsukami know her name? After a moment of mental fumbling, she placed her hands on the grass in front of her and bent forward in a deep bow.

  “Rise, child.”

  Sitting up, she squinted blurrily. “How do you know who I am? And … I thought you were missing.”

  “I know your name but little else.” Uzume’s voice was soft and gentle, as beautiful as a breeze through summer leaves. “The kodama told the forest of your arrival, and my trees have watched you since. I had hoped … Despite the danger, I had truly hoped you would reach this place.”

  “What is this place? Are you trapped here?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” She took Emi’s hands in hers, her skin smooth and warm. “Tell me how you came to search for me here, Emi.”

  Haltingly, Emi explained as simply as possible how Amaterasu had come to give Emi the task of finding the Kunitsukami.

  “I see,” Uzume murmured. “It is well that we have Amaterasu as an ally. I admit I thought poorly of her after we lost Inari …”

  Emi straightened, but before she could ask about Inari, Uzume continued.

  “I do not know what Izanami plans, or how my kin and I stand between her and her goal, but she is determined to end us.”

  “Was Jorogumo telling the truth?” Emi asked. “About Sarutahiko?”

  Sorrow settled over Uzume’s face, but beneath the outward sadness, something flickered deep in her yellow eyes—a blaze of rage that sent a shiver through Emi. This sweet and gentle Kunitsukami was not as passive as she seemed.

  “The spider witch spoke truthfully. She did infect my beloved husband with her foul venom.” Sighing, Uzume squeezed Emi’s hands. “We may be powerful, but we are not perfect, nor are we omnipotent. Over the past centuries of relative peace, of quiet simplicity, we grew complacent. When Inari died, we should have suspected, but we assumed it had been a quarrel with Amaterasu. Recklessness has always been Inari’s closest companion, after all.”

 
Rage burned in Uzume’s gaze again as she continued. “My beloved did not suspect foul deeds when he came to this forest to subdue the spider witch—a task he has completed with some regularity over the centuries. How was he to know Izanami was lying in wait for him? She ambushed him and before he could summon any defense, the spider witch struck.

  “When he didn’t return as expected, I came here to find him. The trees showed me what had befallen him.” She released Emi’s hands and sat back, her braid swaying behind her. “No cure for the spider witch’s venom exists in the mortal world because the tsuchigumo are not of the mortal world. But deep in the farthest reaches of Tsuchi are places that even yokai are reluctant to venture, where true magic lives and thrives.

  “In a few of those places grows an extraordinary tree. Its blossoms hold such potent healing magic that they can revive even the recently deceased. When I realized what had happened to my beloved, I knew his only hope was a healing blossom. I opened a passage to Tsuchi in the very spot I stood—the edge of the spring—and delved deep into its farthest lands. But when I arrived …”

  She looked to the side, her beautiful face tight with furious grief. The blur of their surroundings shifted, revealing the shattered trunk of a great tree laying upon the grass, its boughs broken and bare. The jagged stump was still anchored to the earth and from atop it, a tiny sapling rose, as thin as Emi’s thumb and only a foot tall. A handful of green leaves clung to its thin branches, and a single white flower bud hung on the verge of opening.

  “Somehow, Izanami knew of this tree and had it destroyed before I arrived,” Uzume murmured sorrowfully. “She had prepared well. How she knew of this tree and convinced a yokai to tear down such ancient majesty, I cannot fathom.”

  Emi regarded the blossom, her thoughts gathering sluggishly. “You aren’t trapped here, are you? There’s nothing stopping you from leaving, but you can’t go, because if the tree dies or Izanami has it destroyed, you won’t be able to revive Sarutahiko.”