They half landed, half crashed in the dirt. Emi collapsed, shielding her face with her arms. She yanked the silk off her mouth and gasped in a breath of sweet, clean air.
Footsteps thudded toward them and a jumble of voices assaulted her ears after so long in the strange echo of the caves. But there was only one voice she wanted to hear.
“Emi.”
Shiro’s voice was almost lost beneath Byakko’s deep tones. He didn’t shout her name, instead barely whispering it, yet she heard so much in the quiet sound.
Strong arms lifted her off the ground. She caught one brief, half-blind glimpse of his ruby eyes before he crushed her against his chest, holding her so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. He backed away from the others, arms wrapped around her.
“You’re an idiot,” he hissed. “A complete idiot.”
A weak, shaky laugh shuddered through her as she pressed her face against him, tears trickling down her cheeks.
“I’m an idiot,” she agreed in a rasp. Squinting blearily, she turned her head to peer at the sky. The sun peeked out from behind heavy clouds above the eastern peaks. Its significance belatedly dawned on her.
“It’s—it’s morning?” she gasped. “I was down there all night?”
He didn’t reply since the answer was obvious. His arms loosened and, holding her shoulders, he stepped back to look her over from head to toe, taking in her torn hakama and bloody knees, her scraped elbows and tear-streaked face.
His nose wrinkled. “You stink.”
Before she could respond to that, he let her go and turned to Susano, who had gathered himself and stood. As she’d noticed in the caverns, his build was slender and lean. He was several inches shorter than Yumei and half a foot shorter than the tall Byakko. The sun gleamed on his hair, now revealed to be a pale, steely blue that wasn’t white but wasn’t far off either. The dark streak that fell across his forehead with his tousled bangs was a deep, bluish-black. His stately garments were covered in grime that dimmed the rich blues and gray-toned greens. He looked entirely human except for his pointed ears.
Once he’d risen, Yumei and Byakko backed away from him, opening a respectful distance. Then, in almost perfect unison, both yokai went down on their knees, placed their palms on the ground, and bent forward until their foreheads almost touched their hands. Emi gaped at the two powerful yokai in full supplication. Shrugging off her astonishment, she quickly sank to her knees, wincing as they touched the ground. With her hands resting on the dirt in front of her, she bent down to touch her forehead to her hands in an even deeper bow.
A heartbeat of silence passed.
“Well,” Susano said, his voice still painfully hoarse. “Why am I not surprised?”
Emi blinked at the ground in confusion, then turned her head to peek sideways. Shiro still stood beside her. Stood. He hadn’t bowed. Why wasn’t he bowing? Of all the times for his habitual rudeness in the face of more powerful yokai, why was he testing the tolerance of a Kunitsukami?
“You have a disgusting capacity for arrogance,” Susano continued. A dark, vicious anger coated his voice, growing stronger with each word. “If anyone should be prostrated at my feet, it is you.”
In spite of the discourtesy of rising so soon, Emi sat up. Her gaze snapped between Susano and Shiro, who stood unmoving, his face expressionless and his unreadable stare locked with the Kunitsukami’s. Why was Shiro just standing there? Couldn’t he see his defiance was infuriating Susano? Yumei straightened as well, his attention fixed on Shiro.
“Do you have nothing to say?” Susano snarled venomously. His sapphire irises seethed with his fury, a dark tempest gathering in his eyes. The wind surged around his feet and the markings on his cheeks glowed with teal light. “You have always been a fool. Did you think, even for a moment, that I would let you live?”
A gale coursed around him as he set his feet. With a howl of wind, he launched forward in the same lightning-fast leap he’d used to carry Emi out of the caves. He hurtled into Shiro. They shot across the clearing in a blur, and with a loud crack, one of the huge maple trees quaked violently.
Emi whirled around, too slow to follow Susano’s movement. On the other side of the footpath, Susano held Shiro by the throat against the tree he’d slammed the kitsune into with lethal force. The Kunitsukami raised his other hand and lightning—actual lightning—crackled over his fingers and gathered in his palm.
“No!” She jumped up and sprinted toward them. “Susano, stop!”
Teeth bared at Shiro, he ignored her. “When did you grow so pathetically weak?”
She threw herself at Susano. With both hands, she grabbed the arm that held Shiro by the throat. Blood drenched one side of Shiro’s face and dripped off his jaw, his expression vaguely stunned from his impact with the tree. He hung limply, making no effort to defend himself.
“Susano, stop!”
“Get out of the way.”
She looked frantically to Yumei for support, but both he and Byakko still stood several yards away. When neither moved, she realized they would not stand between a Kunitsukami and the target of his wrath—not even to save Shiro’s life.
She ducked under Susano’s arm and put her back to Shiro, shielding him with her body. “You can’t kill him.”
“I owe you a great debt,” Susano snarled, “but I will no longer restrain myself. Move!”
She pressed back against Shiro, that growing orb of lightning writhing in Susano’s hand so close to her chest. Her limbs trembled and she could hardly believe she was putting herself between a Kunitsukami—an inconceivably powerful god—and his intended victim. But what else could she do?
“You—do you really intend to kill him just because he didn’t bow?” she asked desperately.
“I might have at least heard him out if he had groveled in reparation for his betrayal, but—”
“Betrayal?” she blurted, interrupting him without thinking as confusion briefly overtook her fear. Was he talking about Shiro’s failure to bow or something else? “What betrayal?”
“He knows what he did.”
“But he—” she stammered uncertainly. “But Shiro couldn’t possibly …”
Susano’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call him? Shiro? What sort of idiotic name is that?”
“That’s—it’s—” she stuttered, unable to answer as too many thoughts cluttered her mind at once.
Susano’s glare snapped to Shiro behind her, and with his next words, he shattered her world into countless pieces and left her reeling among the broken remains.
“You never tire of your twisted games,” the Kunitsukami hissed, “do you, Inari?”
Chapter 18
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. The name rang in her mind, obliterating all else. It echoed over and over until it filled her head and threatened to shatter her skull.
Inari. Inari, Inari, Inari.
“No.” The word escaped her in a breathless, hopeless moan. She felt like she was falling, like the world had opened up and swallowed her. “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong?” Susano barked, his anger unabated, unaware of the world-altering revelation he’d casually dropped upon her. “What do you mean, wrong?”
She barely heard him. The name reverberated through her.
A mysterious kitsune who had no memory of who he was. A white-haired, fox-eared, fire-wielding yokai who had been bound by a disturbingly powerful Amatsukami curse for decades. A smirking, teasing, fearless creature who sometimes looked at her with ancient eyes, who knew so much but knew so little.
Inari.
How had she never guessed? How had she never even suspected? The idea was preposterous. Utterly ridiculous. The little white fox who’d crashed into her in the dark, snowy woods, the yokai who’d tricked her, protected her, bled for her, kissed her—how could he be Inari, the ancient, immortal, all-powerful Kunitsukami of the Fire?
Her legs gave out. She started to fall when Shiro’s arm slid around her middle. His other hand
rose and when he reached for Susano’s swirling sphere of lightning, panic erupted in her. Flames shimmered over his hand as he closed his fingers on Susano’s lightning—and the lightning snuffed out. Disbelief appeared on Susano’s face as Shiro drew his arm back.
Then he struck, slamming his palm into Susano’s sternum. Fire exploded from his hand, hurling Susano backward. The flames roared up Shiro’s arm and burst over him in a whirling firestorm. Heat washed gently over her, the fire that licked at her skin entirely harmless to her even as it scorched the tree behind them.
As the flames died, vanishing almost as quickly as they had appeared, Shiro wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her back into him. He pressed his face into her hair, holding her tightly with one arm around her middle and one across the top of her chest. As her head spun with too many thoughts and feelings, she realized she could feel him trembling.
He held her to him as he shivered, held her as though she were his only anchor in a raging ocean. He hadn’t known either. He hadn’t known his name, his identity. If the realization that he was Inari had shaken her so badly, what was it doing to him?
Susano picked himself up, his clothes smoking from Shiro’s attack. Ki seethed in the air as the Kunitsukami gathered his power, rage still twisting his features. Thunder rumbled in the clouds and the wind came howling down the side of the mountain.
“I will destroy you for your betrayal, Inari,” he snarled.
Shiro didn’t move. He held on to Emi as though he were incapable of anything else until he put the shattered pieces of himself back together. She stiffened, fear sliding through her. She had to stop Susano, but what could possibly blunt his vengeance-fueled rage?
For the first time in too long, warmth whispered through Emi’s kamigakari mark. Power flashed through her body, burning hot. Her hand rose of its own accord, fingers spreading wide.
The howling wind Susano had called down from the heavens vanished. The air went deathly still without the faintest hint of a breeze.
“Susano,” she said, her voice ringing with command. The words fell from her lips, beyond her control. “Set aside your grudge. Inari is not your enemy, for he too has suffered at Izanami’s hands—and for far longer than you.”
Susano hissed, his eyes blazing. “Amaterasu.”
“Hear what they must tell you. Time is running out.”
With another surge of heat, Amaterasu’s power withdrew from Emi, leaving her cold and shivering. Only Shiro’s arms around her kept her upright. A natural breeze drifted among the trees, the wind released from the Amatsukami’s control.
Susano slowly straightened from his aggressive stance and the pressure of his ki lessened. His cold stare snapped over Emi.
“I am listening,” he said flatly. “Explain.”
Emi sat on the edge of the fountain and watched as Shiro wet the scrap of silk in the trickle of water running from a bamboo pipe. She held the ladle in her hands, having just drunk her third cup. Her thirst after an entire night in the caverns still wasn’t quenched.
He wrung out the torn strip of Byakko’s obi that she’d worn over her face in the caves. Crouching in front of her, he pushed her hakama up her leg and began to wash her bloodied knee. She winced as he carefully scrubbed grit and bits of rock from the scrapes. He hadn’t spoken since Susano had attacked him. Not one word.
He cleaned her knee, rinsed the material out, then started on the other one. Back near the cave entrance, Yumei was telling Susano everything they knew. She was grateful she could skip that conversation. Susano’s temper frightened her. When Uzume had said he was quiet, she had assumed he was even-tempered. Clearly, that was not the case.
She leaned back against one of the posts that supported the small roof of the washing pavilion. Shiro rose and began rinsing the cloth again. After sliding her hakama back down, she took the cloth from his hands and stood. Reaching up, she gently wiped the blood from his jaw, working her way up the side of his face. He didn’t look at her.
“Shiro,” she began softly, then flinched. “Or, I mean—”
“Don’t,” he muttered. His eyes, hollow and haunted, flicked to hers and away.
Biting her lip, she rubbed the cloth against the side of his head, finding the cut where he’d struck the tree. He pulled away, then sat on the edge of the fountain. Bracing his elbows on his thighs, he dropped his face into his hands.
“For years,” he said, his nearly inaudible voice muffled by his hands, “I thought if I could just find Inari he would fix everything. He would know what to do, would know how to remove the onenju, would know how to get my memories back. But this whole time, I was searching for myself.”
She sat beside him and hesitantly laid her hand on the back of his neck, unsure whether he would accept her offered comfort. The breeze whispered over them, fresh and crisp after so many hours in the stale, reeking caverns beneath the mountain.
“I don’t have any answers,” he whispered. “I don’t remember. I don’t know anything.”
“I’ll get the onenju off you as soon as I can, and your memories will start coming back.” Sliding her fingers into his hair, she leaned against his shoulder. “Even if you don’t remember everything right away, now that Susano is free, we can rescue Sarutahiko. He’s the leader of the Kunitsukami. If anyone has answers, it’s him. He can take over and figure out how to stop Izanami.”
Shiro’s ears twitched forward and he raised his head. Yumei came into sight, walking toward them with gliding steps. He seemed to have recovered from the poisonous spores, which gave Emi hope that Susano would return to his full strength quickly as well. He’d already regained a surprising amount of power in such a short time since waking.
Yumei stopped in front of Shiro, coolly surveying the kitsune.
“Did you know?” Shiro asked, his voice flat.
“No, but the possibility had crossed my mind.” Yumei studied Shiro. “Does your name stir your memory, Inari?”
Emi flinched at hearing the Kunitsukami name again. It sounded so wrong, so impossible. She looked at Shiro.
That ancient presence lurked in his eyes as they sliced across Yumei. “No.”
“Do you doubt your identity?”
The shadow of timeless power stirred, more noticeable than ever before, as though flames were awakening deep in his irises. “No.”
Yumei’s expression hardened. “Your memories are needed or we can go no further in liberating Sarutahiko.”
Emi straightened, fighting her exhaustion. “What do you mean?”
“I spoke with Susano. I told him all we know and what Uzume bid him to do, but his refusal was immediate. He cannot challenge Tsukiyomi with any hope of survival.” Yumei’s stare cut across Shiro. “Because of you.”
Shiro’s jaw clenched.
“Susano’s anger toward you is well justified,” Yumei continued. “According to him, one hundred years ago, you stole Ame-no-Murakumo. Then you disappeared, along with the sword.”
Ame-no-Murakumo—the Gathering Clouds of the Heavens—was a legendary weapon featured in many tales about Susano.
“I understand he’s upset,” Emi said hesitantly, “but can’t he use a different weapon to rescue Sarutahiko?”
“Murakumo is not simply a sword,” Yumei said impatiently. “It is an artifact of great power, bound to Susano’s ki and a conduit of the elements. Its loss is what weakened him to the point of falling to Izanami five years ago. Without it, his power is too limited to challenge Tsukiyomi.”
His focus returned to Shiro. “Susano searched for Murakumo—and for you—for nearly a century before his imprisonment here. He cannot fight an Amatsukami without it. Where did you hide it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You need to remember.”
“I don’t remember,” Shiro snarled, and Emi shuddered at the vicious sound. “I don’t remember stealing it. I don’t remember hiding it. I don’t even know what it looks like. What do you want from me, Yumei?”
“I
want you to be of some use for once.”
Shiro surged to his feet, the markings on his face glowing red. He stepped close to Yumei, getting in his face. “Why don’t I prove my usefulness by ripping out your insufferable tongue?”
The shadows around Yumei rippled eerily. “You have nowhere near the power yet to even attempt it.”
“Shall we find out?”
Jumping up, Emi pushed between them and stepped backward, forcing Shiro to move with her. “Stop it, both of you. This isn’t solving anything. He won’t remember just because we need him to. The only solution is for me to remove the onenju.”
The writhing shadows stilled as Yumei’s power resettled. “You need rest before you attempt it.”
She managed a nod, grateful she was leaning against Shiro. Overwhelmed by fatigue, she could barely stay on her feet. “Rest would be good.”
“We will return to Ajisai.”
As Yumei left to rejoin Susano and Byakko, Emi slumped against Shiro. He curled an arm around her middle, taking some of her weight off her weary legs.
“Do you think you can remove them?” he asked quietly.
She closed her eyes. “I will. I promised, didn’t I?”
He didn’t answer, perhaps not wanting to express his doubts out loud—the same doubts she didn’t want to voice.
She had promised, and she could not fail.
Chapter 19
Emi didn’t remember the journey back to the yokai inn. She’d drifted off at some point before they left the shrine and her only clear memory was settling on a soft bed and someone pulling a blanket over her.
She’d woken late in the evening to find she’d slept obliviously in the same room as four exceedingly powerful yokai who did not get along. The tension was palpable even in the spacious room. Byakko had acquired a detached, single-room building on the inn grounds that was normally used for banquets and gatherings but worked well enough for lodgings. Most importantly, it kept them away from other inn guests. A futon and a small table had been set up for them.
Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2) Page 22