Frail Human Heart

by Zoe Marriott

  “What was that, do you think?” I rasped. “A punishment from the dream realm for being unbearably emo?”

  “You are too harsh upon yourself.” The deep, rumbling voice echoed all around us, impossibly vast. “In fact, it was a shortcut.”

  The rock against Shinobu’s back stirred and stretched. It wasn’t a rock.

  It was a claw.

  Shinobu shot forward so fast that he cannoned into me. I caught my balance and stood up, turning in a circle as the sand along the beach – no, the beach itself – began to shift and loop upwards. The sand slithered away into the water, and great coils of a reptilian body lifted up from beneath it to reveal radiant silver scales the size of dinner plates. A five-clawed foot, at least nine feet long, emerged next to me, flexing luxuriantly.

  There was nowhere to go. Even the sea was blocked from us now. A scaled coil had emerged behind us. We stood on a small patch of sand no more than four feet square.

  “You might have kept on wandering for days more,” the voice rumbled on. “Some people walk here for whole lifetimes before they can be brought to honestly face their own mistakes, confront their deepest, most secret selves. Some people never can.”

  I looked up to see the whole shining cliff-face and the silvery mountain above it unravelling from around an unremarkable stony crag. An immense head with a slender snout, two slim, pointed ears and a crown of floating, glowing blue filaments like captured lightning slithered down the side of the crag towards us. The chin came to rest on the clawed foot in the sand. I looked into a multifaceted, almond-shaped eye – an eye wider than I was tall – swirling with lustrous darkness and shifting colours: a night sky filled with the aurora borealis.

  “Dragon…” Shinobu breathed.

  CHAPTER 17

  SILVER FANGS

  S hinobu went fluidly to his knees, bowing over hands pressed flat to the sand. Shock, disbelief and a hefty dose of pure terror kept me upright. Myths and legends cycled through my head – all that I had learned in two lifetimes about dragons and the things they did to humans. The bit of me that had grown up in Japan knew that dragons were wise, mostly benevolent celestial messengers. The part that had grown up in Europe was equally sure that they were psychotic man-eaters. A quote I’d seen on a T-shirt once drifted through my head: Meddle not in the business of dragons, for you are crunchy when fried and good with ketchup.

  Should I look it in the eye? Would it hypnotize me if I did? Should I bow like Shinobu? Or refuse to bow and show it that I was strong? My hands twitched with the desire to reach back for my sword and I only just managed to control myself.

  “This one is polite,” the dragon said, looking at Shinobu before turning its huge, swirling eyes on me. “Are you being rude? Or are you just in shock? I have some difficulty reading human facial expressions.”

  “Er … shock, I think. Sorry ‘bout that,” I managed to croak.

  “No apology is required,” the dragon assured me. She moved her snout a little closer and sniffed. The suction dragged me forward a step and made my eyes water. “You are Beautiful Cherry Blossoms Tied with the Red Thread of Fate. And this must be your mate, Stealthy Man Who Remembers and Endures. I am currently female, and my name is too long for a human to remember, but some of my friends call me Sharp Silver Fangs of the Crescent Moon. You may do the same if you wish.”

  “Hello?” I said faintly.

  The dragon tilted her head back and chuckled. The noise shook the sand under my feet and rolled through the air like thunder. Between her lips I caught a glimpse of pearly fangs as tall as Shinobu that spiralled like unicorn horns. Her breath smelled of jasmine.

  “Beautiful Cherry Blossoms Tied with the Red Thread of Fate, dragons do not eat humans. In fact, we like humans. That is why I guided you to me. I have something for you.”

  I remembered the voice I had heard when I first stepped through Ebisu’s portal, the distant sound of laughter when I unsheathed the katana and Ebisu’s warning. The dragon had been watching us the whole time. She was the guardian of this realm.

  “Honoured Grandmother,” Shinobu said reverently, lifting his head to look into the dragon’s enormous face. “You have the wakizashi?”

  “And you know everything that’s been happening?” I said. “In the human realm, with the sword and the gods, and—”

  The dragon lifted a claw, silencing me. “I was born in the centre of the first star that lit this universe. I have sailed on the milky winds of time and drunk from the ruby-red depths of nothingness. I know everything, human child, that there is to be known.”

  I blinked. “That would seem to … answer that question, yes.”

  “The first thing you need to know is the name of the final seal upon the sword. Its original name, the one it was born with, is Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi, or in this tongue, the Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven. To free the blade’s full power, you will need to use this name. You must also have the wakizashi.”

  Shinobu and I exchanged a look. Ebisu hadn’t said anything to us about unsealing the sword’s full power. Did we actually want to do that? And what about—?

  “Honoured Grandmother, may I ask, what exactly do we need the wakizashi for?” Shinobu ventured, reading my mind.

  “An excellent question. When Izanagi cast his enchantment upon the meitou to conceal and constrain its powers, he made one mistake. He did not realize that the katana he was using to disguise the cosmic blade did not belong to the human whose soul he had captured. Because your soul sensed that the katana did not truly belong to it, you did not fully bond with it or the meitou, as Izanagi-no-Kami had intended. A splinter of your spirit broke free and instead merged with your own blade, the one you had carried into battle – the wakizashi.”

  I nearly slapped myself on the forehead with exasperation. In every vision I’d had of that terrible, fatal confrontation between Shinobu and the Nekomata, I’d seen Shinobu fighting in his personal style, with a blade in each hand – katana and wakizashi. But somehow I’d never bothered to look at the short blade, or even wonder what had happened to it. Idiot.

  “Ebisu,” said Sharp Silver Fangs of the Crescent Moon, “who had been spying upon his father for centuries hoping for the chance to bring him low, saw what had happened. When Izanagi walked away and left the wakizashi discarded on the battlefield, Ebisu darted in and took it, hiding it within the fabric of his own body.

  “It took Izanagi a little while to notice that his seals upon the blade were imperfect. The sword’s power was leaking, creating a much stronger connection between it and the Yamato family than he had ever anticipated. A faint scent of the sword’s power was also perceptible − enough that Izanami would know it was still in the mortal realm and keep searching for it.

  “Izanagi realized then what must have occurred. But the wakizashi was gone, and all he found in its place were traces of Ebisu’s magic. He sought out his son and demanded that the younger Kami give up the wakizashi. Ebisu refused. Enraged and frightened, Izanagi placed a fearsome ward upon his son, imprisoning Ebisu within the energy of a natural nexus so that he could take no action without Izanagi knowing it, nor speak of what he knew. Most especially, Ebisu could not speak of the wakizashi.”

  “I still don’t understand,” I said. “Well, I mean, obviously if some of Shinobu’s soul is trapped inside it, then the wakizashi is important – I get that – but why do we need it for the fight against Izanagi? What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Free him,” Silver Fangs answered, nodding in Shinobu’s direction. “Free your mate from his binding to the Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven. When the wakizashi is unsheathed, the fragment of your mate’s spirit that was trapped within it will return to him, breaking Izanagi’s spell finally and completely. He and the sword will both be unbound and returned to their original forms. The sword’s true power will be unleashed at last – and in your mate’s case, he will become a fully corporeal, fully human being, exactly as he was in the moment that Izanagi impris
oned him in the blade.”

  Shinobu’s face lit up with wonder and happiness – and my stomach lurched. What had happened at Avalon Books when Ebisu began to draw the wakizashi from its sheath? Shinobu had collapsed in agony, hands at his chest, bleeding. Just like in my vision of the battle with the Nekomata.

  “He was dying,” I said abruptly. “When Izanagi trapped him in the sword, Shinobu was already bleeding to death. If breaking the seal returns him to how he was the moment before that happened, then…”

  The animated happiness drained from Shinobu’s face as he realized the implications. “No,” he said hollowly, looking at me. “Not again. Not when we have only just…”

  I reached out and our fingers entwined. “No,” I agreed firmly. “Shinobu, Ebisu is wrong. Breaking the final seal and unleashing the full powers of the Sword of the Heavenly—”

  “Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven,” the dragon broke in.

  “Yes, that. It’s the last thing we want to do. I know that it’s the last thing Izanagi wants as well, but that isn’t a good enough reason to just go ahead and do it – not for us, even if it is for Ebisu. Izanami would go ballistic if she sensed the sword’s full energy in the mortal realm again. She’d send everything she had after us, and if she managed to get hold of the sword, she’d be able to break out of Yomi in a finger snap. Then it would be bye-bye to our world. We can’t break the last seal. We mustn’t.” I met Silver Fangs’ glowing gaze and forced myself to hold it. “I’m really sorry, but Ebisu’s plan doesn’t work.”

  “You have misunderstood,” said the dragon, and somehow her vast eyes seemed kind. “Think back to the tales you were taught as children and you will see. Izanami does not want freedom. She has never wanted to leave Yomi. All Izanami has ever desired is for her husband to keep his promise. She will never stop fighting – the war in the mortal realm will never end – until that promise is kept. Izanagi must be sent back to Yomi.”

  “But he wouldn’t stay there,” Shinobu objected. “Yomi is not for gods. It is for denizens of the Underworld and for the dead—”

  I let out a choked sound – half gasp, half sob. My hands flew up instinctively, concealing my expression from Shinobu as I frantically worked it through in my head.

  “Mio?”

  I get it. I get it. Oh, God, I finally understand.

  Shinobu caught my shoulders, supporting my weight as I sagged. “What is it? Mio, talk to me. Tell me what is wrong.”

  My hands curled into fists against my face. I slowly let them drop and forced myself to look up into the smoky depths of Shinobu’s eyes. “They want me to use the sword to send Izanagi to the Underworld. For good. They want me to kill him.”

  CHAPTER 18

  THE RED THREAD

  Are you out of your mind?” Shinobu demanded of the dragon, low and furious, all his deferential respect burned away. “Even Ebisu admitted that gods cannot truly die – and certainly not at the hands of a mortal.”

  The cloud of feathery blue filaments shifted around the dragon’s ears as she tilted her head. “The Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven is unlike any other sword. It may do what no other weapon can. It is a god-killing blade. This is why, when Izanagi tired of his wife’s creatures hunting him, and it, he chose to place it in the hands of a human family. After all, he believed, no mortal would ever be able to use it against him. No ordinary human could face a god in battle and win. Yet your mate has carried the sword with her and fought with it many times. Her ancestors absorbed particles of the sword’s energy for generations. The sword has already bonded with her and has apparently chosen her to be its bearer. She is no ordinary mortal.”

  “He will kill her!” Shinobu snarled.

  “One way or another, the battle would end in her death,” the dragon agreed calmly. “Even should she succeed, the terrible forces set free by the death of a god would destroy anyone standing within range. Certainly anyone who was touching the blade. That is inevitable.”

  Shinobu stared at her in horror. “And you – you would ask her to do this?”

  “No,” I said, finally finding the strength to speak up. My voice came out strangled and I had to clear my throat as I disentangled myself from Shinobu’s embrace, placing the tips of my fingers on his lips to quiet him when he would have spoken. “She’s not asking me to do it. Are you? That’s why Sharp Silver Fangs of the Crescent Moon hasn’t given us the wakizashi yet. She’s giving us a choice.”

  “Of course,” the dragon said, as if surprised. “This war is between gods. It is born of their selfishness, fear and insanity. No human should ever have been dragged into it. You have both already suffered greatly and for five times the proper span of even the most long-lived mortals’ existence. If you wish, you may remain here in the dream realm, and you will be safe from the Kami. You will never grow old. Never be parted again. In a few decades or so, you will develop the ability to control your environment with your minds and shape it to your will as I do. In the meantime, you may stay with me, and I will protect you and provide you with all that you need.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” I said quietly.

  “Not at all. I will enjoy your company.”

  “So that is our choice?” Shinobu said, half speaking to himself. “To stay forever in the land of dreams while the human realm burns, or return home, fight Izanagi and die.”

  The dragon didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

  Shinobu took both my hands in his and stared down at them with glittering eyes. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “Why does fate keep bringing us together, only to tear us apart? Why is there no other choice but this?”

  I couldn’t answer. I stared at the familiar shape of his jaw, the glossy mess of his drying hair, the lines of his brow, and longed to comfort him. That was all. Just to be able to comfort him.

  “Do you remember,” I said, slowly, “when we were little and Hitomi the kitchen maid told us the story of the red thread? How some people are born tied together by a long scarlet string that no one can see? The red thread is fate. People joined in this way would always be searching for each other, always moving towards each other, even if they never realized it until the moment they met. Remember she said that the red thread may stretch, or tangle, but never, ever break?”

  A pained half-smile twitched at one corner of his mouth. “You stole the red silk from your mother’s embroidery box and tied our little fingers together.”

  “Which only lasted until bath time, when Father very firmly cut us apart again.” I stroked his left little finger with mine. “I still believe in that thread, Shinobu. I know it’s there. I can feel it, even if I can’t see it. We were always meant to be together. But maybe … maybe we weren’t meant to be together forever.”

  “Mio-dono…”

  “Shin-chan.” I forced myself to smile into his anguished eyes through the welling tears. “If none of this had ever happened, if Izanagi and the Nekomata had never come to the village, if we had grown old together in my family’s home the way we dreamed, we would have chosen this, wouldn’t we? To be together as long as we could. And, when it was time, to die together. After all these years, we finally get our wish.”

  He whispered, “You have already made up your mind, my love.”

  “Haven’t you? Where you go…”

  He raised my hands and pressed them to his heart, then kissed each palm. “I will follow, always.”

  “Humans are incomprehensible,” Silver Fangs said. “You are each given a stretch of years shorter than the blink of one of my eyes, yet some of you are willing to sacrifice even that tiny shining gift of life in order to save others.”

  Probably there was some grand sentiment that I ought to produce in answer to that, but I was all out. “Can we have the wakizashi now?” I asked instead.

  Silver Fangs let out a deep sigh that sent a mini sand-devil whirling around us. Our still-damp clothes and hair dried instantly in the heat of her breath. She lifted her massive foot off t
he sand and uncurled her fifth and smallest toe. The wakizashi lay there, plain, battered and disconcertingly ordinary looking against her glowing scales.

  The instrument of our victory – and destruction.

  I reached over, picked it carefully out of her grasp and held it out to Shinobu. He hesitated for a second, then took it from me and carefully attached it to the white sash at his waist. He rested his hand on the rubbed-silk wrappings of the hilt.

  “Strange,” he murmured. “It feels good to wear it again.”

  Silver Fangs lowered her head to look directly at us. “Time grows short in the mortal realm – noon has come and gone, and your sun is beginning its journey towards rest. Tonight is the winter solstice, the longest and darkest night, which increases the power of Izanami, goddess of all dark things. She will bring all her strength to bear on the mouth of Yomi and force it to yawn open in your realm, so that her most terrible creatures may spill free and hunt for the blade. It will happen at midnight. Izanagi will be drawn there, to the mouth of Yomi, and so will the god-killing blade. Let the sword lead you, and when you reach the place where Izanagi stands, you will have found your battleground. You must kill him there and force him into hell.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  Shinobu took my hand again. “If you will move a little, Honoured Grandmother, and allow us access to the sea, we will call on Ebisu to bring us home.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Silver Fangs said. “I can transport you, if you do not mind riding on my back?”

  Even after everything we had just learned, nothing could prevent the tiny thrill of primal excitement that ran through me. “I would love to.”