Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  She now sat at the table, forcing herself to eat. The food was delicious and she would have enjoyed it if not for the hostile tension permeating the air. Shiro sat behind her, almost like a bodyguard, while Yumei hovered near the sliding doors to the small garden. Arms folded, Susano leaned against the far wall, the soft lamplight from the table flickering over his face. He was significantly cleaner than he’d been last time she’d seen him, the grime and dust of the caverns washed away. She tried not to cringe at her own less-than-fastidious state.

  Byakko had retreated from the room after bringing the tray of food. Maybe he didn’t like the unpleasant pressure of barely controlled tempers either. She wanted to lecture Yumei and Susano on their terrible attitudes, but she knew it would be pointless. A thousand-year-old Prince of Shadows and an immortal Kunitsukami of the Storm weren’t going to listen to a human girl telling them they were acting like children.

  Selecting a bite of fried fish with her chopsticks, she nibbled at its edge. Susano had spent a century nurturing his grudge, so she supposed she could understand his temper, which he was at least attempting to control. But Yumei’s animosity toward Shiro was beyond frustrating. His lost memories weren’t his fault.

  She poked at the remaining fish. Shiro wasn’t Shiro, she reminded herself. He was Inari—a Kunitsukami with amnesia and severely impaired power, but still a Kunitsukami. She needed to stop thinking of him as the sly, teasing Shiro she knew, but she just couldn’t call him Inari, even in her thoughts. Thinking about his real identity, about the irreconcilable differences between the yokai she knew and the Kunitsukami she’d heard about, made her stomach twist sickeningly.

  She pushed her plate away. Immediately, all three yokai looked at her—ruby, silver, and sapphire eyes.

  Rising to her feet, she turned to Shiro. “Are you ready?”

  “Are you?” he asked.

  She nodded. Yumei pushed the table out of the way and moved to stand along the far wall beside Susano. In the center of the room, Shiro faced her, searching her eyes.

  She offered a wavering smile. “It’s time to get those beads off you.”

  “Be careful,” he murmured, extending his right arm.

  Taking hold of his arm just above the beads, she studied the two loops that remained. The previous loop had unlocked his three tails of fire. The more tails a kitsune possessed, the more powerful it was. The next loop, she suspected, would release three more, for a total of six. And with the removal of the final loop, she already knew what form would be released. She’d been dreaming about it almost every night for two weeks: the bestial, nine-tailed specter of flame, the kyubi no kitsune.

  In her dreams, the nine-tailed fox always devoured the three-tailed Shiro. She hadn’t been able to make sense of the dream before, but now she wondered if she’d somehow known, when she’d first seen his fiery tails and the glowing markings on his face, who Shiro would turn out to be. Either way, she finally understood what the dream meant and what fear it represented: that sooner or later, Inari would consume Shiro, destroying him forever.

  Her hand tightened on his arm. She had to release his power—to release Inari from his memories—so he could be whole again. If that meant the Shiro she knew would be gone … She swallowed hard.

  When she met his stare, she was certain she could see the same fear in his eyes.

  She closed her other hand around the lower loop of the beads. Power licked at her fingers and crackled up her arm. She turned her attention inward, calling upon the warm ki sleeping inside her. The kamigakari mark flared with heat.

  She pulled the beads down.

  Power leaped up her arm like a bolt of lightning. It blasted into her chest where her own ki waited. The two powers entwined, then shot back down her arm to collide with the onenju’s spell. The beads clung stubbornly to his arm and she strained to move them, to shift them even a fraction. Her kamigakari mark flared hotter and a gale erupted in the room, spinning wildly around her.

  She wrenched at the beads, teeth gritted. Light flashed over them and the wind howled louder. An unbearable tide of power tore through her, the curse surging into her and ricocheting out again, its magic and her ki combining into agonizing electricity.

  The power built and built—and then it exploded.

  The beads tore out of her hand as she was hurled backward with lethal force. A flash of motion beside her and she crashed into Susano. His back slammed into the wall as he absorbed her momentum and cushioned the collision with his own body. The impact still knocked the air out of her lungs and she sagged, quaking from the force of the magic that had cascaded through her moments before.

  “Are you injured?” Susano asked, steadying her on her feet.

  She shook her head, gasping for air. Looking up, she saw Yumei pulling Shiro from the broken wall opposite her and Susano. Shiro was limp, his head lolling back and limbs hanging lifelessly. Yumei laid him on the floor and knelt at his side, leaning over him.

  His gaze flashed to her and Susano. “He’s not breathing.”

  Emi’s heart lurched. She sprinted across the room and dropped down on Shiro’s other side. She pressed a hand to his face. His cheek was scorching hot. Warmth radiated off him as though a bonfire burned under his skin.

  “Shiro!” She patted his face helplessly. “Shiro, breathe!”

  Susano approached from behind her. He looked down at Shiro, then lifted one foot and stomped on Shiro’s chest.

  Shiro gasped, his eyes flying open, then he convulsed in a violent coughing fit.

  “He appears to be alive,” Susano observed dryly. He crouched beside Shiro as his coughing subsided. “An impressive curse, it seems. May I?”

  Emi blinked, surprised by Susano’s neutral tone. Shiro’s chest heaved as he caught his breath, and he reluctantly extended his right arm to Susano. The Kunitsukami took his wrist and lightly touched the onenju.

  “How many times has she tried but failed to remove a binding?” he asked.

  “This is the second time,” Emi mumbled, shame at her failures bowing her shoulders.

  “The third,” Yumei corrected. “You attempted to remove the second binding at my command. I have also tried to remove it twice.”

  “Oh, yes.” She unconsciously touched her neck at the memory of Yumei’s talons piercing her skin. “Five times total then.”

  “And each time,” Susano asked, “has the backlash been increasingly severe?”

  Shiro sat up with a wince, massaging the back of his head. “Yes. And this one was significantly worse.”

  Susano released his arm. “Whether by design or not, each attempt at removing it seems to trigger an even more violent backlash. Another attempt could kill you.”

  Emi stiffened in alarm. “But—but I won’t know if I can remove it without trying again.”

  “You would be gambling with his life.” Susano scrutinized Shiro. “If Amaterasu is correct that you are necessary to oppose Izanami, that might not be a risk we can take.”

  Shiro flexed his jaw. “We can’t locate your sword if I can’t remember anything. And I can’t remember anything if she can’t remove the onenju.”

  Susano’s shoulders shifted in a sigh, and his temper finally abated. For the first time since they’d exited the caverns, she saw the steady, steely Kunitsukami who’d told her to take up her sword and keep fighting.

  “Is Izanami disconcertingly cunning or sickeningly lucky?” he murmured. “You stole my sword, crippling my power, and before I could reclaim Murakumo, she crippled your power and your memory. In one expert move, she incapacitated us both.”

  “Why would I steal your sword in the first place?” Shiro muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “In short, because you are a two-faced cur.”

  Emi winced and immediately felt guilty for wondering if Susano’s assessment of Inari’s character was accurate or a product of his grudge. She remembered Yumei suggesting that Inari was not always in his right mind and a strange, anxious flutter rippled t
hrough her.

  Unable to endure their company after her failure to remove the onenju binding, she excused herself to go to the hot springs. Shiro and Yumei must have been thoroughly distracted by their own thoughts, as neither suggested it might not be safe or attempted to accompany her.

  Thankfully, the baths were empty and she was able to soak away her aches, pains, and stiffness without interruption. She rubbed one hand against her chest, covering her kamigakari mark. Closing her eyes, she tried to resist the prick of building tears. It was so hard to hold them back. Exhaustion, anxiety, confusion, despair, fear … the dark emotions roiled inside her, fighting for an outlet.

  She was so tired. She hadn’t had enough sleep, enough rest, or enough food in what felt like weeks. She hadn’t had a break from the endless storm of emotions sucking away her energy: cycles of panic and pain that kept repeating.

  Now, after all their struggles, all their suffering, they were no closer to achieving anything of value. They’d located three Kunitsukami and knew where to find the fourth, but it made no difference. Susano was free but the loss of his weapon had debilitated his power. And Inari had no memories and even less power than Susano.

  To add a final, impossible hurdle, she couldn’t make another attempt to remove the onenju without risking Shiro’s life. Without removing the onenju, he couldn’t remember what he’d done with Murakumo. Without Murakumo, Susano couldn’t rescue Sarutahiko. Without Sarutahiko, and by extension, Uzume, they couldn’t stop Izanami.

  It all hinged on removing the onenju, and she had failed.

  Scooping up a double handful of hot water, she splashed it on her face to erase her tears. If she tried and failed again, Shiro could die. She couldn’t risk it. Even if she was willing to put his life on the line, Amaterasu had been clear: he needed to live.

  Amaterasu had known his identity all along. If he dies, all hope is lost. Amaterasu had known who Shiro was—and so had Izanami. Neither of them had revealed his name, though. Why hadn’t Amaterasu told her?

  Emi slid deeper into the water and squeezed her eyes shut. Each binding of the onenju had been more difficult to remove than the preceding one. It was possible she would never wield enough power on her own, and she couldn’t risk another attempt.

  The only one who could guarantee the safe removal of the onenju was Amaterasu.

  Emi exhaled slowly and concentrated on calming her churning fear. A desperate voice of denial chattered frantically in the back of her mind, but she knew what she had to do.

  She had done all that she could do alone. She had done all that a mere mortal could do. Her time was up.

  Climbing out of the bath, she dried off and returned to the changing room, already dreading having to put her filthy miko uniform back on. But when she pulled out the basket where she’d left her clothes, they were gone. In their place was a folded garment of soft, pale azure fabric with a darker blue pattern. A handwritten note sat on top, the short message informing her that her clothes had been taken to be washed. Even her boots were gone, replaced with traditional sandals and tabi socks.

  Bemused, she lifted out the kimono and found undergarments and a cobalt obi beneath it. She dressed quickly, enjoying the floral scent of the fabric, and braided her damp hair to keep it out of her way. Piecing together a plan while her heart fluttered unpleasantly, she exited the bath. As she turned down the hall, Byakko rounded the corner ahead of her.

  “Emi.” He glanced over her. “I see you received the kimono. It was the only garment I could procure in short order. Does it suit your needs?”

  “You got this for me?” She brushed her hand down the front, then bowed quickly to show her gratitude. “Yes, of course, it’s very nice. I’ll return it as soon as I can.”

  “You may keep it.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” She put the mystery of where he’d gotten the kimono out of her mind. “Byakko, do you know if there are any Amaterasu shrines near here?”

  “Amaterasu shrines? Yes, there is a small shrine near the human town on the other side of the mountain.”

  “Could you … could you take me there?”

  He frowned. “If needed. I do not know what Susano and Yumei plan—”

  “I need you to take me now.” The words came out in a rush. “Right now.”

  He looked at her askance. “Without the knowledge of Susano, Inari, or the Tengu?”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip. “I need to do something important, but Shiro … Inari … won’t take it well. He might try to stop me, and he’ll end up fighting with Susano and Yumei.”

  Byakko considered her, probably wondering whether he wanted to put himself on the receiving end of the wrath of any one of the three yokai waiting for her.

  “This task,” he said slowly, “it is for Amaterasu?”

  She nodded.

  “I will take you,” he finally said, “but I will have the innkeeper tell your companions of our intended destination after we depart so they do not misunderstand.”

  She nodded again. As long as she reached the shrine before Shiro caught up to her, that would be enough. Despite what she’d told Byakko, she wasn’t entirely sure Shiro would actually try to stop her … but she wanted to believe he cared about her enough that he would.

  And she wanted to take that belief with her when she left this world behind.

  She’d been correct in assuming that Byakko could travel a lot faster than she could on her own, but she hadn’t guessed how fast. Only when she sat astride the back of a huge white tiger as he ran upon gusts of wind did she consider exactly how out of her depth she was in the world of yokai. No matter how much power she thought she had gained, she was still only human.

  As the great tiger galloped along the wind, she glimpsed the shrine from the sky: a few small buildings surrounding a stone courtyard lit by glowing lanterns and enclosed by snow-laden trees. He spiraled out of the dark sky and landed before a small, faded torii. She slipped off his back, shivering in the cold and longing for her coat. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them for warmth.

  Wind swirled around the tiger and silvery blue light danced over him. In a burst of light, he resumed his human form.

  “I will wait here,” he told her.

  She faced the torii. Now that she was here, her body trembled with more than shivers. Fear tightened around her and a hundred thoughts whirled through her head, a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t do this. But she had to. Only Amaterasu could remove the onenju from Shiro.

  Struggling to control her trembling, she bowed at the torii and stepped onto sacred land. Amaterasu’s warm power whispered over her as she started up the dark path toward the shrine. The night sky was devoid of moon or stars, leaving the land blanketed in deep darkness, but the shrine’s lanterns drew her forward. From the sky, she’d seen a small house tucked away in the trees; the kannushi or miko who lived here had most likely already retired for the night, but shrines always kept their lights burning.

  At the washing station, her hands shook so badly that she dropped the ladle and had to start again, rinsing one hand then the other with icy water before taking a tiny sip in her mouth.

  Bands of terror constricted her lungs, squeezing tighter and tighter. As she approached the small hall of worship, she focused on the incredible experiences she’d had these past weeks. Meeting Shiro. Meeting Yumei. Seeing so much of the magic and mystery of yokai. She’d seen, heard, felt, experienced more than she could have ever imagined.

  Ascending the steps, she rung the bell and bowed twice. After two quick claps of her numb hands, she clasped them together and bent her head to pray one last time.

  Amaterasu. She had to gather her composure before focusing again. I tried to do as you asked, but I wasn’t strong enough. I can’t remove the onenju from Shiro … from Inari … and if I try again and fail, he might die.

  She squeezed her trembling hands together.

  I can’t do it, but you can. Please. It’s not the solstice yet, but we can’t wait any lon
ger. I’m ready. I know I am. It’s time for you to descend from Takamahara so you can help the Kunitsukami stop Izanami.

  Soft warmth pulsed through the kamigakari mark, and answering panic rushed through Emi. This was it, her final moment. Her life ended now.

  The gentle heat tugged at her chest. It didn’t build into the agonizing blaze she’d felt when Amaterasu had possessed her to fight Izanami. The breeze swept over her, spinning strangely and plucking at her clothes like invisible fingers. Emi blinked her eyes open, her brow furrowing as her kamigakari mark continued to throb strangely.

  The wind pushed at her back as though telling her to move. The doors of the hall rattled from a sudden gust.

  Lowering her hands, she stepped around the offering box and approached the doors. With her heart hammering against her ribs, she placed her hand on one and slid it open. Light from the lanterns on the eaves spilled into the room. She slipped inside, her sandals clacking on the wooden floor and the blue kimono swishing around her legs.

  At the other end of the room, faint light leaked through the crack between a pair of sliding doors—light that was far too pale and silvery to come from a lantern.

  She crossed the room and opened the doors to the inner sanctuary. Within the small chamber, a wooden shrine filled the back wall, and sitting on a low pedestal at the front was a large oval mirror. Silver light rippled over the glossy surface.

  Her kamigakari mark pulsed in time with the swelling light. Trembling, Emi knelt before the mirror—Amaterasu’s shintai, a conduit through which she could channel her power into this world.

  Emi struggled to hold back the terrified, anguished sob building inside her. To be undone, to be destroyed, to be obliterated from within her own body. She didn’t want to die. She wasn’t ready to leave this world. She hadn’t said any goodbyes.

  She wanted to say goodbye to Katsuo and thank him again for all he’d done for her.

  She wanted to say goodbye to Shiro, to tell him she was sorry and that she’d had no choice but to leave him so she could fulfill her promise. She had to leave him, even though he needed her. He might not admit it, but he did. He had held her so tightly, crushing her against him, burying his face in her hair to hide from the truth, from the terrifying reality of his past, his own identity. He shouldn’t face that alone.