Keren reached out for Akar’s presence one more time. There it was, quietly waiting on the edge of the forest, just out of reach of the watchers’ arrows. Reassured that she had not been left completely alone in this strange place, she allowed herself the relief of sleep.
CHAPTER 9
THE SOUL DRINKERS
The hunter Irumi crouched low in the shadows of the forest, peering across the gulf of air between the mountainside and Ozora no Kyuden. The palace loomed majestically from the center of the waters, the Lake of Izanami spread around it like a shimmering skirt. A single bridge spanned the void between land and fortress.
The eaves of the palace were hung with thousands of paper lanterns, their skins blood-red and gleaming with malice. On the island the cherry trees were in bloom, and every breath of wind sent petals spiraling out into the restless air. The wind spirits danced overhead, their motions forming cyclones in the upper atmosphere. Higher even than they was the firmament of heaven, adorned with stars that shyly revealed their faces as the sun dove into the west.
Yokai could walk on water, but men could not. Men must use boats to cross the lake, or else capture the bridge. But monsters dwelt beneath the waves and stone ogres guarded the bridge. No spear or sword could pierce the thickness of their hide. No man had ever succeeded in breaching those walls.
Irumi would be the first.
In his hand he held the bow his father had given him. On his back was the quiver of arrows he himself had fletched. The bow had been blessed by the nymph whose tree it had been taken from; it would not break under any strain. The arrows had been enchanted with the dying breath of a wind spirit; they could not miss their mark.
Irumi nocked an arrow to his bow.
He aimed high, above the rooftops of the palace. His target he kept firmly in his mind’s eye. He whispered words of guidance to the arrow poised on the edge of the string. With a breath, he loosed the arrow.
The shaft leapt from the thrumming line and sang as it flew through the upper air. High, high above the lake it arced, glimmering faintly in the dying light. Gracefully it turned and smote its mark: a roof beam on the uppermost tier of the palace. Behind it reached the line Irumi had tied to it; he now knotted the other end around the tree beside him. The line formed a tenuous bridge between mountain and fortress.
There was little time. Irumi checked the rope harness around his waist and tied himself to the line. His bow he kept in hand as he launched himself into space. He plummeted off the side of the mountain, the wind shrieking in his ears as he sped towards the palace.
Gigantic water serpents seethed beneath the waves, their backs breaching the surface in maddened clouds of spray. Above him, the spirits of air spun and howled. They dove in fury, ethereal fingers stretching out to rend him, but they were too far and Irumi’s descent was too rapid. He unsheathed his knife in preparation and cut the harness just before reaching the roof.
Irumi dropped and shot beneath the eaves, rolling violently across the floor of the balcony. His body collided hard with the far battlement. The blow stunned him and he lay helpless for a moment, the gales of heaven streaming down to seize him. He recovered his senses and rolled to the trapdoor in the balcony floor, lifted it and dropped below.
The wind screamed and tore at the door from without, to no avail. Here all outside voices were hushed.
He was inside Ozora no Kyuden: the greatest bastion of the yokai.
A dull red light saturated the corridor in which Irumi found himself. The hall stretched away to either side, lined with semi-transparent rice-paper doors. The floor was polished to a dark sheen; strange shadows danced below its surface. The archer advanced on bare feet across the eerie scene. It was as if he stepped upon a floor of glass, staring into the spirit realm which lay below the earth. He shook the tingling fear from his spine and strode down the passage.
He sought out a staircase and made the descent. This tower was too high, too small. The Court of Seven Virtues would be a vast hall at the center of the palace. That was his destination.
Downwards he stole to the yokai’s innermost lair. There were no guards standing watch here. There was no need. No human had ever stepped foot inside the palace.
With infinite patience Irumi crept through the dim corridors, ears alert, barely breathing. He dared not contemplate failure, now.
At last a whisper of air told him the doorway on his left led to a vast space. Heart thudding dully in his temples, he crept around the corner.
The hall was cavernous, so high the roof was lost in shadow. Enormous pillars stood to each side, forming a colonnade. Their surfaces were carved with the images of monstrous beasts. Precious stones were set in their eye-sockets, gleaming and watchful.
Jeweled cages hung from the high ceiling between the columns, appearing to float in mid-air. Within fluttered captive fairy spirits bright with marsh gas. Their ghostly light illuminated a narrow way to the far side of the hall. There a jeweled throne stood. It was carved in the likeness of a great tree, its silver branches fanning across the wall; onyx roots curling across the marble floor. The trunk curved outward to form a knotted bowl in its center. In this silver seat sat a woman.
She was a woman who, once seen, could never be unseen. Her skin was unblemished, of a perfect alabaster hue. Lengths of sable hair were wound atop her crown in the most elaborate of headdresses, dripping with pearls and jade. Lips and eyelids were painted with a bright crimson blush. Her features were haunting and fey, with a perfection of proportion others could only strive to imitate. Her body was delicate, supple, mysterious, alluring.
The woman’s dress was woven of an airy substance Irumi had never seen before. It floated about her like a cloud, accentuating her sinuous curves. The fabric was embroidered with a garden of flowers: orchids, roses, lilies, and foxglove. A mask perched atop the folds of her hair. It was painted with simple lines that hinted at whiskers, a thin muzzle and pointed ears.
The beauty smiled as Irumi gazed upon her, and he found himself entranced by the coy tilt of her almond eyes. “Hail, hero. My name is Amaterasu.”
§
Keren spent a day and a half with the people of Shinrin, observing their odd yet familiar ways. Every hour of the day was filled with some kind of labor: tilling the fields, weaving wool, milking and butchering livestock. The craftsmen worked at their forges to repair and fashion new tools, arrowheads, and swords. The children wove reeds and clay together to fashion baskets and pots. Keren assisted where she could, but was mostly expected to rest and watch while she gathered strength for her departure. The evening was spent again in engaging talk.
Keren left the village on the second day, as she had promised. Mataro saddled and brought her horse to the front gate where several of the hanshi and many of the villagers had gathered. The elders laid blessings on her as the women offered up fragrant sprigs of mountain herbs. The saddlebags were laden once more with ample provisions.
Keren felt an almost uncontrollable upwelling of emotion as the people clasped her hands and prayed for her safe journey. Their expressions were carefully controlled, but their words were sincere. They had warned her well of the dangers that lay outside their walls.
They had also given her a simple but wickedly keen dagger to defend herself, and had also filled in some of the empty spaces on her map.
Finally she mounted her shaggy horse and trotted forth from the walled village. She paused at the foot of the hill to turn back and wave, and smiled to see Teruka and Nanoe bouncing on tiptoe, waving exuberantly as they headed out to the fields.
Keren followed the dirt track that skirted the forest. Only when she was out of sight of the village and its watchtower did she head towards the cover of the trees. It was then that she saw how truly enormous the trees were. They reached hundreds of feet into the air, and their trunks were wide enough to build a house inside. A house a hundred stories tall. Keren wondered then if the stories the people of Shinrin told were true. Perhaps this land really had been made a
t the dawn of the world…
And yet, according to them, gods and monsters also stalked this land, neither human nor animal: night-terrors, immortal queens, and heart-eating ghouls. Things Keren didn’t know what to think of. Things more outlandish than any of the tales Malak had told. Still, people had reasons for believing the things they did. Even if they were wrong, the absurdity of their beliefs did not bode well.
What on earth had she wandered into?
Keren had kept in contact with Akar ever since leaving the village, and soon she spotted the Necrow slipping lithely between the trees. “Long time no see,” she said. “Did you have any trouble the past few nights?”
“No,” Akar replied. The Necrow halted a few paces away, still concealed in the shadow of the forest. “It seems those they call yokai have no taste for cursed flesh.”
It twirled a freshly whittled staff in one hand. Keren pointed at it.
“Are you afraid the mountains will be too arduous for you, Necrow?”
Akar hefted the staff. “Unlikely. This is not for walking; it is the beginnings of a bow. Considering the welcome we had yesterday, it would be wise to have a ranged weapon to deal with certain threats.”
“Oh, do you intend to shoot the next villagers we come across?” Keren laughed.
“No. The issue is that a Necrow’s sword is a redundant weapon. If an opponent ever comes within melee-range, they stand no chance of victory.”
Keren thought she understood its thinking well enough. The Necrow were indeed formidable warriors. The memories of her people’s resistance against them – of Asher’s death – were enough to prove that. Beautiful, courageous Asher…he had fought better than anyone, sending one of the ghouls to the grave before the others overcame him through sheer numbers. Sometimes, in the dark of the night before sleep took her, Keren would pray for his soul. If salvation did exist, surely he would be one to find it…
It was interesting, though, to think Akar had just now thought of this new form of weaponry.
“You were listening last night, when the villagers told me about this place?”
Akar nodded. “Yes.”
“So you’re thinking we might need extra protection against those monsters they spoke of – the yokai?”
“It is likely.”
“You seemed, ah, rather interested in what they said. Especially when they mentioned the queen. Why?”
The Necrow seemed about to shrug, then stopped. “The knowledge of the yokai and their ruler are not unfamiliar. Mention was made of them in Xiramin.”
Keren stared at it. “You knew we were heading into a land full of creepy monsters, and you didn’t tell me?”
“It was decided there was no significant threat. The powers of the Necrow surpass those of the creatures here.”
“Akar, whatever they are, they supposedly eat humans!”
“It was also determined that your panic, though understandable, would interfere with any rational decision.”
“Excuse me?! You undead bastard, you deliberately deceived me and didn’t tell me everything when deciding where to go next! Why? Did you think it would be fun to visit a place where I might get eaten alive?!”
The Necrow gritted its teeth. “No. It was because the yokai said the secret to the Necrow lay here. Such a hope was too much to resist. Though it is possible it was merely a deception.”
Keren couldn’t believe her ears. After traveling for so long, after what had happened in Xiramin, she had almost grown to trust this creature. That it would mislead and betray her like this…
“I hate you,” she muttered, turning the horse away. She kicked its flanks and cantered away down the path.
For several miles Keren seethed, churning the words over and over in her mind. The Necrow had deceived her. It had not been honest; it had withheld information it knew would cause her to change her mind. Now here they were, in a place that was possibly even more dangerous than Herayon. At least the bands of Necrow roaming the countryside in that place could be turned aside by Akar’s will. Not so here. They didn’t know anything about the yokai, save that they were voracious, inhuman killers. How had Akar even known of them? Were they the reason the people of Pouthenos, with all their technologies, feared to tread this land?
Akar had deceived her.
Keren followed the path along the forest’s edge. If she was afraid, she only had to ride away, back to the plains and the safety of winter. Apparently the yokai would not follow her there, temperamental as they were towards this land of eternal spring. So why was she still here? It was daytime – if these were monsters of the night, they dared not come out into the sun. Keren kept along the border, taunting the shade that whispered beneath the gigantic trees, shivering each time a gust of wind shook the leaves and made the shadows dance.
Keren took out the map and considered her route. If she rode hard, she could reach the next walled village before sundown. There would be sanctuary there, good food and company. Perhaps she could ask to stay with them longer, perhaps learn their way of life. The Necrow would just have to put up with being left outside. Or maybe it would go away altogether…
Keren kicked the horse again, trying to get it to canter, but the mare would only speed up for a few seconds before subsiding back into a trot. Annoyed, Keren kicked it again, but the horse only grunted. Ugh. No problem; a trot should be fast enough, and they would surely make it to the village in time. After all, they had all day!
Keren began to worry when the sun slipped behind the highest peak, shooting orange streamers across the sky, and the village was still nowhere in sight. She frantically checked and re-checked the map. Damn it. We should have gone faster. We should have made it by now… Reaching out with her mind, she felt Akar’s familiar presence, more distant than usual. Keren was surprised she was still in range of the thing; it must have been running after her all day. What do you think you’re doing? Trying to catch me?
Trying to protect you, the Necrow said, its voice eerily disembodied inside her skull. You are being rash. Daylight does not necessarily hinder the yokai, and you cannot defend yourself against them –
Shut up! Keren snapped. I don’t want your help, you liar! Leave me alone! She scrabbled around, trying to use her will like a scythe to scrape the intruding presence from her thoughts, and bumped up against something odd. The horse. The horse had a tiny mind, one she had not been able to sense before. She could only see it now because the Necrow was latched onto it.
You’ve been holding back the horse! Keren screamed. No wonder it won’t listen to me! You’ve sabotaged it! Let go!! At the same time she plunged her hand into the saddlebag, yanked out a length of rope and began to whip the mare with it. The beast screamed and plunged ahead. Keren could feel it straining against Akar’s shadowy grip.
The distance weakened the Necrow’s powers greatly, and its tenuous link soon snapped. Keren could no longer sense the horse’s mind through Akar, which meant she now had full control. She whipped it harder and sped across the plain, determined to reach the next village before nightfall.
The Necrow burst into her thoughts, so strongly that Keren felt as if it were right beside her. STOP! Do not go any further! You will not make it in time! There was fear in its voice.
Keren jerked the reins back and forced the mare to a halt, so strong was Akar’s compulsion. She trembled, stunned by the familiar force of a mind unhindered by distance or anatomy; pure spirit that struck at one’s very core and demanded compliance. She sat frozen in the saddle, heart thudding out the seconds, imagining the Necrow sprinting across a long mile to reach her.
Oh, how she hated it! In one motion between one heartbeat and the next, Keren yanked the mare’s head around and cantered into the forest. Akar’s grip on her mind faltered and broke. She thought she could sense it calling after her, a distant echo no ears could hear. She chuckled grimly and phrased a silent apology: You know mind control only makes me angry. And you know I know how to get out of it – the trick is not to think a
bout what I plan to do next.
Right now she was willing to risk the unknown threat of the yokai over her insufferable companion. Let it try to track her down; she was leaving quite an obvious trail behind, after all. How dare it try to change her mind?!
It was slower going in the forest – the ground sloped gradually upward, broken by occasional outcroppings of stone. The foliage was blissfully sparse, however. Bushes and weeds alike were stunted by the lack of light filtering through the thick canopy overhead. Keren looked around warily, panting softly, trying to listen for any sound over the thud of the mare’s hooves.
The horse plodded to a halt at the edge of a small clearing, its ears pricked forward. Keren didn’t try to urge it onward.
This was wrong. There was a presence in this forest. It wasn’t just that the trees were of a kind she had never seen before, or that the air was filled with the scents of unknown herbs and fungi.
There was a spirit about this place. An awareness, watching her.
Keren shrank back, trying to turn the horse around, preparing to flee to the safety of the open plain. But the mare would not move. It strained against the bit, its flanks quivering, thighs tensing as if preparing to throw Keren from the saddle.
Keren dared not move then. Had she been in a clearer state of mind, she would have dismounted immediately. Fear clouded her judgment. It was not like the fear the Necrow wielded, the knowing that it could see your every thought, the knowing that it could force you into submission if you did not comply…
This was like the fear of an earthquake, or a hurricane: something that could not be reasoned with, something that was poised to destroy everything you were in a single instant without cause or mercy.
Necrosis (The Omens of Gaia Book 1) Page 12