Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  “Inari …”

  Rage burned across his face again. “Get this off me, Amaterasu.”

  She squeezed her hands together. “I am so sorry, Inari. I was—I was misled. Once the seal completes, I can remove it.”

  He grunted, his scorching rage dulling in an almost sickly way as the onenju’s light brightened. Finally, the glow began to diminish. Amaterasu reached toward him and he stiffened, jaw clenching.

  Her hand hovered over his arm. “Inari … how can I ever regain your trust?”

  He looked into her eyes, into Emi’s eyes, and in his gaze was an ancient, bitter loneliness that ran so deep she couldn’t see the end of it.

  “You can’t.”

  Amaterasu met his stare, then reached for the onenju.

  The ground shuddered beneath their feet.

  With a crack, the ground behind Inari tore open. Amaterasu didn’t have a chance to react, to move, to even look away. Her stare was still locked on him as his eyes went wide with shock. His body jolted violently. Hot blood splattered her skin and enraged betrayal flashed across his face.

  Then the light faded from his eyes and his head fell back.

  She staggered back a step, her attention fixed on the pointed tree root protruding from his chest. He hung lifelessly, impaled on a root that had torn straight through his heart. Her gaze dropped to the onenju gleaming brightly around his arm.

  “No,” she whispered in horror.

  The wind flitted across her skin, a warning. Amaterasu spun around.

  Izanami stood in the trees, her expression one of quiet satisfaction, her hand already raised in a commanding gesture. Agony speared Amaterasu’s body. An identical tree root ruptured her chest in a spray of blood. Her vision blurred, then everything turned to bright silver light that swallowed the world.

  Chapter 21

  Emi flung herself backward, clutching at her chest and gasping for air. Her back hit the floor, jarring her, and the phantom pain faded. Rolling over, she rose onto her knees, one hand braced on the floor and the other pressed against her heart. It thumped reassuringly beneath her ribs.

  Taking deep, deliberate breaths, she tried to calm her rapid pulse. In her mind, she could still see the thick root piercing her body. She could still see Inari’s lifeless form hanging from the impaling root, his dead eyes staring at the bright sky.

  Shiro had remembered that moment—the instant he died, still enraged at Amaterasu for binding him with the beads. Emi’s hand slid from her chest to her abdomen, where she’d glimpsed the injuries Inari had inflicted on Amaterasu as she’d bound him. No hesitation, no mercy. Without even knowing what Amaterasu was doing or why, he’d struck with lethal force—wounds that would have killed anyone without the Amatsukami’s healing ability. But her healing magic hadn’t been enough to save her human body from Izanami’s direct strike to her heart.

  Emi shook her head slowly, the image of ruby eyes in her mind shifting from Inari’s cold cunning to Shiro’s impish humor and back again.

  Behind her, the doors to the inner shrine flew open with a crash.

  She whirled around. Lit from behind by the outdoor lanterns, a familiar dark silhouette edged in reddish light swept toward her, predatory aggression lining his movements, one hand reaching out.

  As his hand came toward her, the memory of Inari’s claws of flame flashed through her mind and she recoiled with a frightened gasp.

  Shiro’s hand hesitated, fingers stopping a few inches from her arm. He turned his palm up and a tiny flame sparked. Flickering light lit his face, casting sharp shadows across his features.

  “What did you do?” he demanded in a growl.

  Her lungs froze, his two identities battling in her mind. Hearing the same question from Shiro as Inari had demanded of Amaterasu only confused her more. She could see Inari in Shiro as she had never before—or was it that she had seen Shiro in Inari?

  His gaze swept over her face. “You didn’t just do something stupid like ask Amaterasu to descend, did you?”

  Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

  “If that is what she attempted,” Yumei said, his voice coming unexpectedly from behind Shiro, “she does not appear to have succeeded.”

  She looked past Shiro to see Yumei and Susano standing in the doorway, with Byakko hovering behind them.

  “What are you doing in here, Emi?” Shiro asked, command in his tone.

  “I …” She looked between them before focusing on Shiro, crouched in front of her. “I spoke with Amaterasu.”

  “Spoke with her? How?”

  “Through the shintai. She told me … She told me what Izanami is planning to do.”

  Yumei and Susano came the rest of the way into the inner shrine, joining Shiro. Swallowing hard, she repeated everything Amaterasu had told her about the Bridge to Heaven. When she finished, silence hung in the air.

  Finally, Susano spoke. “If she descends on the Bridge, our only hope would be to flee to Tsuchi and sever its anchors, separating it from the earthly realm.”

  “Tsuchi has always been tied to this world,” Yumei said darkly. “Would it survive alone?”

  Emi looked between them. “We have to stop her.”

  “I do not know how the Bridge is opened,” Susano said, “so I cannot guess how we might prevent it. However, Sarutahiko will know. He is the guardian of the Bridge in this world, as Izanagi is the guardian of it in Takamahara.”

  Izanagi, the Amatsukami of the Sky, was the ultimate ruler of Takamahara and Izanami’s brother. Guardian of the Bridge or not, Emi knew they couldn’t rely on him to prevent his sister from opening the passageway from the heavens on the solstice.

  “What’s significant about the solstice?” she asked. “What does it have to do with the Bridge?”

  “The solstice is a time of kami power,” Susano answered. “As the seasons change and the lunar cycles wax and wane, the balance of power between yokai and kami shifts. The winter solstice belongs to the kami. How that affects the Bridge, I do not know. Again, that is a question for Sarutahiko.”

  “But once again, we cannot act,” Yumei said flatly. “We cannot liberate Sarutahiko without Murakumo, which we cannot locate without Inari’s memories.”

  Emi inhaled deeply and glanced at Shiro, who watched her with an unreadable expression. “Amaterasu showed me … she told me something else. A hundred years ago, Orochi ambushed Inari and stole Murakumo from him.”

  “Orochi?” Susano snarled, the blue markings on his cheeks blazing with light as his temper resurfaced in a flash. “Orochi has revived?” His furious stare snapped to Shiro. “You lost my sword to Orochi?”

  “Inari didn’t know Orochi had revived either,” Emi said quickly. “Orochi set a trap for him to steal the sword. He—” She looked at Shiro. “You were planning to get Murakumo back for Susano before …”

  Shiro said nothing, his expression indecipherable.

  “Then I know where to find Murakumo,” Susano growled. “Orochi is a predictable beast. He has no doubt been waiting these past hundred years for me to come for my sword. His thirst for revenge will never be quenched.”

  “Waiting for you where?” Yumei asked.

  “The same spot where I killed him the first time.”

  “Can you reclaim your sword from him? I have never encountered Orochi myself but his reputation is fearsome.”

  “I will reclaim my sword or perish in the attempt,” Susano said, his eyes glinting like sapphire steel. “That beast has held what is mine for long enough.”

  “If Amaterasu spoke the truth,” Byakko said from behind them, where he had listened to their discussion, “Orochi defeated Inari, who would have presumably been at full strength at the time. I mean no offense, but do you stand any chance in your current condition?”

  “Orochi ambushed Inari,” Emi corrected. “He was injured badly before he even had a chance to fight back.”

  “I need only to lay hands upon my weapon and Orochi’s demise will be assured.”
Susano rose to his feet. “We will return to the inn and prepare.”

  Yumei and Byakko followed him out, but Shiro didn’t move. Emi sat where she was, unable to look up. His stare weighed heavily on her.

  “You didn’t come here to talk to Amaterasu,” he said, the words low and hard. “You came here to fulfill your role as the kamigakari, didn’t you?”

  “I—” She swallowed. “It’s the only way to safely remove the onenju. Amaterasu needs to do it, not me.”

  “So you left, without a word, expecting to die? You didn’t think to ask my opinion before running off to end your life?”

  She forced herself to look at him. “I … I didn’t think you would …”

  “Didn’t think I would what?”

  She didn’t want to admit she’d been afraid he wouldn’t care—at least not enough. His eyes bored into hers.

  “I would what, Emi?” he repeated, leaning closer.

  She flinched at his sudden movement, her hand flying up defensively as she again saw Inari’s fiery claws flashing toward her.

  He recoiled, his ears angling backward. “What’s the matter with you? What else did Amaterasu say about me?”

  “N-nothing.”

  His mouth curved in an empty smile and his voice dropped to a dangerous croon of ice and fire combined. “Don’t think I can’t tell when you lie to me, little miko.”

  “I—I’m not—”

  “I can smell your fear. I can hear your racing heart.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Lie, little miko. Another lie.” He abruptly stood, turning away from her. “Don’t rush to your demise for my sake. I’m in no hurry to remember all the reasons I’m so widely detested.”

  “Shiro …” she whispered.

  He spoke with his back still to her. “If you’re going to fear me for it, then call me what I am.”

  Her throat closed, muting her. He turned just enough to look back at her and in his flat stare she saw the shadow of Inari’s bitter loneliness already growing darker, already sinking deep into his soul.

  Shiro was slipping away. She could see it happening, could see Inari’s coldness overcoming him with each rejection—beginning with Susano’s vicious rage, then Yumei’s unexpected aversion, and now her fear. She’d been so afraid that Inari’s memories would overtake Shiro, but it seemed the Kunitsukami’s name alone was enough to destroy him.

  She lifted her hand, reaching for him as she desperately searched for words that could call him back to her, that could banish that darkness from his eyes.

  Byakko called from outside the shrine. At the sound, Shiro turned away from her, not seeing her reaching hand. He walked out of the room.

  Sucking in a breath, she scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the inner shrine. He was already passing through the main doors, about to descend the steps to the courtyard. She had to stop him. She had to tell him she wasn’t afraid of him, that she’d just been confused by the memory Amaterasu had shown her.

  As she flew out the door, an arm appeared in front of her. She stumbled to a stop, surprised to find Susano standing on the steps with his arm extended as a barrier across her path.

  “Let him go,” he said.

  Shiro, already halfway across the courtyard, was heading for the trees. He passed Yumei and Byakko without a word or a glance.

  “I need to—” she began.

  “You need to let him go,” Susano interrupted implacably. “It is time for him to remember what it is to be a Kunitsukami.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Delaying the inevitable will only weaken him further. He has been languishing in this diminished form for too long already.”

  Her stomach clenched. She pushed past Susano but he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her back. At the far edge of the courtyard, dancing blue and white flames rippled over Shiro. The large three-tailed fox took shape in the flames, and as the fire faded, he leaped into the trees, disappearing from sight.

  She fought to control the tight, inexplicable panic blooming inside her. Teeth gritted, she glared at Susano and jerked out of his grip. He released her, having no need to hold her back now that Shiro was gone.

  “It’s time for him to remember what it is to be a Kunitsukami?” Crossing her arms, she took another step away from him. “What does that mean?”

  Susano’s sapphire gaze drifted from Yumei, to Byakko, then lifted toward the dark sky, his eyes as distant as the stars.

  “What does it mean to be a Kunitsukami?” she repeated.

  When he answered, the single word rang with cutting finality.

  “Alone.”

  With a destination finally identified, Susano wasted no time. Soon after returning to Ajisai, the innkeeper arrived with a basket, which he handed to the Kunitsukami before bowing and retreating. At the table with the basket, Susano removed sheets of white paper, a flat ink stone, a stick of black ink, a porcelain flask of water, and a brush.

  Emi watched curiously as he wet the ink stone and began grinding the ink stick in the water. She recognized the supplies for creating ofuda, but she hadn’t known yokai used ofuda at all.

  For several minutes, he methodically prepared the ink before picking up the brush. He rolled it in the ink, but instead of writing on the paper, he touched the brush directly to the tabletop. She cringed as he moved the brush, the dark ink sliding across the smooth, polished wood in a perfect circle. He filled the circle with strange markings, then blew on the ink to dry it.

  Only then did he place the first paper in the center of the circle and begin writing out the invocation—except it was no invocation she recognized. It certainly wasn’t a barrier, binding, or purification ofuda.

  Shiro, whom she hadn’t seen since he’d disappeared into the forest at the Amaterasu shrine, strode into the room as Susano was finishing. He carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows in one hand. He passed them to Emi with barely a glance before moving to the table to study Susano’s ofuda. Emi held the bow in one hand, her heart in her throat as she tried and failed to catch his eye.

  Susano watched Shiro leaf through his ofuda. “Do you remember your own?”

  Shiro set the ofuda down again. “No.”

  Picking up a handful of blank papers from the basket, Susano pushed them and the brush toward Shiro. “Try.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Some knowledge runs deeper than memory.”

  Ancient power briefly touched his eyes. “Some, but not this.”

  Susano considered him, then gathered the supplies and returned them to the basket. He tucked his new ofuda into the sleeves of his kosode.

  “Yumei is preparing a passageway through Tsuchi to Orochi’s nest,” he told Shiro. “Are you ready for this battle?”

  “Probably not. Are you?”

  “You never would have admitted as much a hundred years ago.” Susano hesitated, then sighed. “I also do not feel well prepared to face Orochi again so soon.”

  Holding her new bow and arrows, Emi approached the table and knelt. “Susano? May I use your ofuda supplies?”

  At his nod of permission, she drew the basket toward herself and began mixing a new batch of ink. When it was ready, she wrote out a set of purification ofuda. As she completed them, she carefully wrapped each one around the shaft of an arrow. She stole glances at Shiro as she worked, but either he felt no need to look in her direction or he was doing an excellent job avoiding her gaze.

  “What should we expect with Orochi?” he asked.

  Susano drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Emi glanced over at the odd clicking sound and saw his fingers were tipped with dark claws.

  “Orochi’s greatest strength is his physical power. He has no elemental affinities of his own but he is somewhat resistant to elemental magic used against him. Defeating him will not be our initial goal. Rather, you, Yumei, and Byakko will distract him so I can retrieve Murakumo. Once I am armed, I can destroy him once again.”

  “What happened the first
time?” Emi asked, looking up from the arrow in her hand. “I only know the stories.”

  Susano shifted away from the table and propped his arm on one knee. “Orochi once reigned over an entire region, delivering terror across the land. He devoured all the kami of the area and most of the yokai. I came across an elder yokai lord and his lady who had fled Orochi’s territory with their last surviving daughter. Orochi was hunting them, determined to devour the entire family.”

  Emi frowned. “Orochi killing so many yokai and kami didn’t come to your attention before that?”

  “This was a very long time ago,” he said. “Longer than a human can conceive. The world was far wilder, with many powerful yokai holding power over territories won through battle and bloodshed. It was a violent world. What was one more violent yokai?”

  Wrapping another ofuda around an arrow, she tried to imagine a world so full of vicious yokai that a monster like Orochi would go unnoticed.

  “Orochi, however, seemed determined to exterminate all yokai who crossed his path. The lord told me of Orochi’s insatiable appetite and begged me to act. When Orochi came for them, I challenged him. However, his strength was more than I had anticipated. I could not defeat him, but neither could he defeat me. Once he had retreated to his territory, I followed and again fought him. The battle was fierce, for he had gorged on ki not his own for far too long, but eventually, I slew him.

  “He revived centuries later and immediately sought me out for revenge. A foolish error, for he was much weaker and I killed him with ease. He has revived twice since, whereupon I swiftly ended him.”

  “You’d think he would have learned to avoid you,” Shiro observed. “He would live a lot longer.”

  “What I wonder,” Susano murmured, “is whether he waited for me to be parted from Murakumo to act, or if pure happenstance allowed him to thieve my weapon from you. He demonstrated neither craft nor patience in our previous confrontations.”

  “If Izanami is involved, I don’t think we should assume anything is a coincidence.” When both yokai looked at her, Emi continued. “Orochi killed an entire village of people so he could ambush Inari and steal the sword. Afterward, Izanami showed the village to Amaterasu and told her that Inari had killed everyone. She convinced Amaterasu that he’d become unstable and his power needed to be bound for the safety of all.”