Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  Uzume nodded. “I have waited two years for someone to find me, but in exchange for Izanami’s offerings of innocent humans, the spider witch guarded the valley to ensure my location remained undiscovered.” She smiled sadly. “Besides, who would search for me? With Inari lost and Susano captured, who aside from my beloved would notice my absence?”

  “Yumei noticed. He’s been searching for you and the others.” Emi glanced around. “Why didn’t you bring him here too? I’m sure he wants to see you.”

  “I dare not bring him this far, this deep. Tsuchi loves its dark prince and would never let him go.”

  Fear trickled through Emi. “Will I be able to leave?”

  “Oh yes,” Uzume replied with a small laugh. “Tsuchi does not like you at all.” Her head canted to one side, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You are human but you are not. I can taste the kami in your soul, Emi.”

  “Well, I’m a kamigakari.”

  “It is more than that now, child. I saw through my trees how the wind answered your call. That was not Amaterasu acting through you.”

  “It … it wasn’t?” Though she hadn’t been able to feel Amaterasu’s power, she’d still assumed the Amatsukami was somehow aiding her.

  “Amaterasu commands the wind. She would never allow it to run wild as you did.”

  “I … I didn’t …”

  Uzume brushed her thumb gently over Emi’s brow, where a confused wrinkle had formed. “My dear child, this is so very much to handle, is it not?”

  Emi’s lower lip trembled with sudden emotion.

  “You are doing incredibly well. Your courage and strength are clear to me, and to Amaterasu, I am certain. Though you will pass from this life too soon, we who are immortal will never forget you. You will live on with us for all time.”

  Tears spilled down Emi’s cheeks and a sob caught in her throat. Uzume pressed a warm hand to her face.

  “I will tell them all,” she promised. “Sarutahiko will nod solemnly—he is always solemn—and he will commit every word perfectly to memory, to honor you. Susano will say nothing, for he rarely speaks of heartfelt matters, but pride will light his eyes for your courage. And Inari will laugh and say, ‘What a bold girl! I would have been pleased to meet such a spitfire child.’”

  Emi sniffed, smiling through her tears. “How do you know what Inari will say?”

  “I have known them all for time longer than you can conceive. Even the ever-unpredictable Inari is still predictable in many ways.” She drew herself up where she sat. “Emi, though I am loath to ask more of you, I must place yet another burden upon your shoulders.”

  At Uzume’s words, Emi wanted to weep that she couldn’t do it—that she couldn’t take on another burden, that she couldn’t bear the weight of more responsibility, more lives, more pain. But she remembered what Yumei had said about the hundreds of years and hundreds of regrets that he carried every day with no end in sight. She needed only to carry her burdens for a few more weeks before she could rest.

  Drawing in a shuddering breath, she focused on Uzume as best she could through her dreamy thoughts.

  “The blossoms of this tree bloom only in moonlight,” Uzume told her, “and the flowers die without it. Were I to pluck the lone blossom now and rush it to Sarutahiko, it might wither and die before I reach him. I cannot risk this.”

  “So you need Sarutahiko brought to you,” Emi guessed.

  “Yes. And though I have been unable to leave this place, I have not been idle. I have sought what we need to know through the trees. Izanami had Sarutahiko taken to the eastern coast near the Sabuten Islands. Are you familiar with this location?”

  “I think so. Why would they take him there?”

  “Izanami is cautious. Though Sarutahiko has fallen to the venom, she takes no chances. She moved him to the islands and left him under the guard of Tsukiyomi.”

  Tsukiyomi, the Amatsukami of the Water, would be most powerful in an oceanic location.

  Uzume tucked a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear. “I will not ask you to challenge Tsukiyomi; he would unquestionably destroy you. The only one with any chance to defeat him is Susano.”

  “The Kunitsukami of the Storm,” Emi murmured. “Didn’t you say he was captured?”

  “I did. And that is the task I must charge you with. I have been searching for him.” Her shoulders wilted. “I should have begun the search far sooner, but he is ever elusive and disinterested in companionship, so I did not recognize his absence these past few years as abnormal. The trail was old and it took much searching and seeking among the trees to learn what I know.

  “Where Susano vanished, the trees speak of darkness, of a place deep beneath their roots. I know he did not go willingly to such a place, for he is a creature of the sky and would never venture underground of his own accord. Do you know of the Wasurenagusa hot springs?”

  “Yes, they’re very famous among humans.”

  “He is there … somewhere underground. I know no more than that, but you should first seek a place where Izanami’s power is strong. When the trees do not speak to me, it is because she has claimed their will.”

  “We will go right away—” Emi broke off, grief spearing her at the realization that “we” no longer included Shiro. She swallowed hard. “Uzume, when we were fighting the spiders, Shiro was bitten …”

  “I know, child.”

  Tears once again filled her eyes, her emotions so much closer to the surface in the strange dream haze. “There’s only one blossom …”

  And given the choice between Sarutahiko and Shiro, Uzume would never choose Shiro.

  She and Uzume both looked to the white bud. As they watched, it lifted as though it were tilting its face to the sky and the petals unfurled one by one, spreading wide into a shimmering, rose-like blossom with a blushing interior.

  Uzume reached out with slender fingers and caressed the outer petals. Then she pinched one gently between her fingers and pulled it free from the blossom. Taking Emi’s hand, she set the petal in her palm.

  “Give this to the Tengu and have him place it on his tongue until it dissolves. His wounds alone will not claim his life, but he has weakened far more than he has allowed you to see. In his next battle, unless he is healed, his injuries will most certainly cause his demise.”

  Uzume pulled another petal from the flower and set it in Emi’s palm with the first. “This one, place upon your tongue for the count of three. No longer, for its magic is too potent for your mortal body.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You have four cracked ribs, child. I assure you, you do need it.” Uzume plucked a third petal and laid it atop the first two. “This one, place in Shiro’s mouth. It may not be enough to save him. If it revives him, he will wake within a few hours. If not, he will sleep forever.”

  “I could give him mine too—”

  “Do not give him a second one. It is a risk to give a mere kitsune even one petal; two will destroy him.” She curled Emi’s fingers around the petals. “Be brave, child. Not every life can be saved, but we must continue on regardless.”

  Uzume rose to her feet, tawny hair cascading down her back to the ground, the braid woven with leaves and flowers. Still holding Emi’s hand, the Kunitsukami drew Emi up with her.

  “You are a child of Amaterasu, Emi, but I now claim you as my daughter in name and soul. With my blessing, the forests of this world will always welcome you, unless another has claimed them. If ever you are lost, turn to the trees of the land and I will send whatever aid I can.”

  “Thank you,” Emi whispered.

  Uzume lifted Emi’s hand upward and a bizarre weightlessness spread through her body. Her feet left the ground as she floated skyward, anchored only by Uzume’s grip on her hand.

  “Stay in the glade while you recover; I will keep you safe. Luck and courage go with you, child.” Uzume released her.

  Emi drifted toward the sky as though gravity had forgotten her. Smiling serenely, Uzume watche
d her rise until the watery blur obscured her form. The vibrant colors dimmed and shifted, turning to a thousand shades of aquamarine. Emi gasped in a startled breath—and swallowed a mouthful of cold liquid.

  The dreamy daze shattered and she flailed in the water, completely disoriented. Which way was up? Her lungs burned fiercely and panic pierced her.

  A hand closed around her arm and yanked her violently upward. Her head broke the surface, cool air hitting her drenched skin. She inhaled desperately and immediately doubled over coughing, almost slipping back beneath the surface.

  Yumei grabbed her around her middle and hauled her out of the spring. He deposited her dripping, coughing form on the grass.

  “What happened?” he demanded, towering over her.

  In answer, she lifted her hand and uncurled her fingers. The three pristine white petals rested on her palm, decorated with crystalline water droplets that shimmered under the light of the newly risen moon.

  Chapter 13

  Emi lay in the grass on her side, her head cushioned on one arm. The broad leaves filling the branches above her rustled softly in the breeze, and beyond them, glittering stars dusted the dark sky. She fought the weight of her eyelids, refusing to close them.

  Shiro lay beside her, moonlight and shadows dancing across his face. His chest rose in a faint, slow rhythm that hadn’t changed as night crept closer and closer to dawn.

  Yumei sat against the tree trunk behind Emi, his arms folded and his head bowed. He’d fallen asleep a couple hours ago. The healing powers of the petals had caused them both terrible fatigue, but the Tengu had waited with her as the hours had dragged on before succumbing to his exhaustion. Emi still clung stubbornly to consciousness despite her desperate need for sleep.

  She’d given Shiro his healing petal, slipping it into his mouth before taking her own and touching it to her tongue for a count of three. Its sweetness had bloomed across her tongue and spread throughout her body in a wave of warmth. Over the next hour, the pain in her ribs had faded away, as had all her other tiny aches and pains, including the regular ones of day-to-day life. She’d never felt so whole, so strong, so alive.

  Though an hour had passed, then another, then another, Shiro hadn’t stirred. His breathing hadn’t strengthened at all. His eyes, when she pulled up his eyelids, were dull … blank … lifeless. The “few hours” that Uzume had indicated had come and gone. He hadn’t woken.

  He will sleep forever.

  Anguish built, crushing her lungs. The petal hadn’t saved him. It hadn’t been enough.

  She lightly traced the red symbol on his cheek. Her fingertips slid down his jaw to his chin, then traced the column of his throat until they found the pulse in his neck. It fluttered ever so slowly against her fingers, his skin so cool. Alive, but out of reach. Alive, but gone.

  Beyond the glade, the mountains were dark silhouettes against the starry sky. Hovering just above the summits, the moon gradually sank toward the horizon.

  With one hand still resting on his throat, she opened her other. Cupped in her palm was the white petal she’d briefly touched to her tongue. It shimmered as though emitting its own moonlight. Once the moon above sank below the mountains, the petal would die.

  She slid her hand down to Shiro’s shoulder and squeezed it tight. Uzume had said it would destroy him, but Emi hadn’t had a chance to explain Shiro’s circumstances—his bound power, his unknown identity. Uzume had called him a “mere” kitsune, but he was more than that. What if a second petal could revive him when the first had failed?

  Or maybe the petal would destroy him entirely—destroy any possibility that he would revive from the spirit realm.

  Her gaze flicked to the moon again. He will sleep forever. Before she could second-guess herself, she took the petal between two fingers and pushed it between his lips.

  Rigid with tension, she stared at him, waiting. Seconds dragged into minutes, but nothing happened. Nothing changed. He didn’t spontaneously combust, nor did he wake. She sagged down in the grass, pillowing her head on her arm again. The moon slid below the peaks and its silvery light dimmed.

  Dread whispered through her, gaining strength. Had she just condemned Shiro to a permanent death? Would he never revive again because of her? What had she done? Her hands trembled and nausea crawled through her. Out of pure selfishness—wanting him back while she was still alive—had she stolen his immortality?

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she shifted closer until her face was pressed against his shoulder. Exhaustion dragged at her, battling her grief and guilt. Sliding her hand across his chest, she once again found the pulse in his neck. He was alive. She would hold on to hope until all hope was gone.

  Emi walked hand in hand with Hana, their arms swinging back and forth like small children. Hana laughed, her brown eyes alight with happiness. They strolled past the pond at the Shirayuri Shrine, the sparkling water surrounded by a riot of green leaves and bright flowers—the colors of summer.

  She smiled at seeing Hana so happy, even as sadness gathered in her heart that neither she nor Hana would ever get to see the Shirayuri Shrine in full summer bloom. As they reached the footbridge, Hana let go of her hand and skipped to the center of the bridge, still laughing. Delight remained etched on her face even as the still waters began to churn.

  A monstrous spider exploded from the pond. It smashed through the bridge in a wave of frothing water and writhing legs. Hana vanished underneath it as it dragged her down beneath the surface.

  Emi lurched forward but her body was sluggish and unresponsive, an invisible weight dragging at her limbs. The spider erupted from the pond again and surged up the bank toward her, venom dripping from its long fangs.

  In a burst of blue flames, a three-tailed fox the size of a wolf sprinted past her. He vaulted onto the spider’s back, his tails—part fur, part white flame—flicking back and forth for balance. The markings on his face glowed and a fireball engulfed him and the spider. The heat slammed into her, forcing her back a step.

  Smoke roiled skyward and as the flames died, revealing the charred spider corpse, the kitsune sprang free. He landed on the bank of the pond beside her and looked up at her with inquisitive ruby eyes.

  Then his stare dulled and he sank to the ground. Two puncture wounds in his shoulder leaked blood and venom. Gasping, she dropped to her knees and gathered the fox in her arms, her hands buried in his thick, soft fur. She stroked his muzzle as tears of despair streamed down her face.

  Heat washed over her and a deep, savage growl rumbled behind her. She twisted around, still clutching the fox in her arms.

  The massive kyubi no kitsune towered over her, its nine tails lashing behind it as white flames rose from its body. Its nostrils flared, its nose only a couple feet from her. Blazing crimson eyes glared, its ears flattened to its head, and its snarl increased in volume. It bared its huge fangs and flames erupted over its body as it lunged for her.

  Her eyes flew open, a strangled gasp catching in her throat. Unexpected light blinded her. Shaking off the haze and lingering adrenaline from the dream, she blinked rapidly as she adjusted to the warm light of early dawn. Shiro’s profile came into focus and her inner agony reignited even more fiercely. Biting her lip to hold back tears, she lightly brushed her fingers across his cheek.

  Shock surged through her before she understood why. Then she realized: his skin was warm.

  At her gasp, his eyelids fluttered open. His chest rose in a deep breath and his head slowly turned toward her.

  “Shiro!” she exclaimed hoarsely, her relief so potent it hurt.

  His eyes met hers, groggy and not quite focused. But beneath the sleepy haze was something else. Her blood chilled. Somehow, she knew the yokai looking back at her wasn’t quite the Shiro she knew. He was more and less and different … and dangerous.

  With her fingers still lightly touching his jaw, she swallowed hard and whispered, “Shiro?”

  The ancient cunning in his gaze sharpened. “That is not my name.”<
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  Her heart stuttered. His voice was slower, smoother, lined with that purring undertone that sent shivers whispering over her skin.

  “What is your name then?” she breathed, barely making a sound.

  His ears swiveled backward. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she realized he wasn’t hesitating because he didn’t know. Rather, he was deciding whether he wanted to tell her.

  She pressed her fingers against his cheek. “Tell me your name.”

  His expression was a mystery. Who was he? Was there anything of the Shiro she knew in this yokai, who showed no sign of tenderness or mercy in his stare?

  Before he could answer—or not answer—something shimmered in her peripheral vision. A few feet above her, the tree trunk rippled like a mirage.

  A redheaded kodama came flying out of the bark with a loud squeal.

  Shiro jerked upright on one side of her and on the other, Yumei shot to his feet in one smooth motion. Emi was only halfway up, her reflexes much slower, when the kodama grabbed her hair and yanked it painfully.

  “Human!” the kodama exclaimed. “I have a message!”

  “A message?” she stuttered.

  “The trees said to tell you. The earth kami is coming and you must leave now.”

  “The earth ka—Wait, you mean Izanami?” she gasped.

  “Yes, yes. The earth kami! You must go now.” The kodama looked around fearfully. “I do not like the misty valley. I am leaving now.”

  “Wait—which direction is Izanami coming from?”

  “From the light of the sun. Leave now. I am leaving now!” Without another glance, it bolted back into the tree and was gone in a blink.

  Silence pulsed for a long moment.

  “You have awoken,” Yumei observed.

  Scrambling up, Emi turned to Shiro as he shrugged.

  “Seems like it.” He plucked at the two bloodstained holes in his kosode. “I admit I’m surprised.”

  “As am I,” Yumei murmured, regarding Emi with what might have been suspicion, but she was too focused on Shiro.

  “Shiro, you said …”