Empress of All Seasons

by Emiko Jean

  Nearing the front, Mari’s stomach churned. Her chest felt as if an iron band were cinched around it. It was here. The final moment, a sword hovering right above her neck. She approached the emperor, the High Priest, and the prince—Taro. She bowed. When she rose, the purple bruises on Taro’s face stole her attention. Striking a royal was a crime punishable by death. She waited for him to accuse her, to demand the priests or guards drag her away. She forced herself to meet the prince’s gaze.

  Taro lowered his chin, a deep furrow between his brows. “Good luck,” he rumbled.

  He hadn’t spoken to any of the other girls. What could he possibly be thinking? Don’t do me any favors.

  At the table, Mari picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, and scrawled her name on the contract along with a fictitious clan name. If she died, her body would not be returned to Tsuma. Without looking back, because there could be no looking back at this point, Mari stepped into the Summer Room.

  Chapter 17

  Akira

  Akira woke to the phantom smell of wild mint and fresh water. He’d dreamed of Mari, of the way she smelled. As his eyes cracked open, the scent of mint turned to must. He tasted salt on his lips, and gulls cried out above him. The docks? The floorboards under his cheek felt grainy, covered in dust, and gods and goddesses only knew what else. Akira lifted his hands to his face, felt the uneven terrain of his scars. His mask had been pulled off.

  What happened? Where am I? His body felt like lead, but he managed a sitting position. With a flash, he remembered. The alleyway. The two-eyed yōkai. Sweet grass packed one hell of a punch. He could use a drink of water. Once more, his fingers grazed his scars. A crumpled heap of black rested near his toes. His mask. He reached for it.

  A soft grunt and the warmth of another presence made Akira pause. His gaze roamed upward. A brick-red behemoth greeted him. An oni. He wore a tiger-skin loincloth. Piercings ran up his massive red chest. His neck was collared by a disk of metal inscribed with curses. The yōkai Akira had seen in the markets had similar collars. The cursed metal must steal yōkai powers. The oni grunted again and licked one of his double fangs. His yellow eyes narrowed. Two horns protruded from his forehead. Surprisingly, the oni’s soul was light pink, the exact shade of a cherry-blossom petal. Akira snickered.

  The oni growled.

  Akira clambered back, face cover forgotten. Fear burned a path up his throat. He was no match against the demon. His eyes darted, wildly searching for a way out. The oni blocked the only exit with his massive frame. The demon clicked his tongue. Is he trying to speak?

  Akira couldn’t breathe. He searched for a weapon. The room was bare, save for a spinning wheel bolted to one of the walls. What in the world? Then he saw the source of the light. A huge round window took up one of the walls. No, not a window—the face of a clock. Through the clock, the Imperial City could be seen, bathed in the orange light of sunrise. He was in the clock tower. How did I get here?

  The door flew open.

  Akira stood, paralyzed, as a girl sauntered into the room. The girl was tall, nearly reaching the oni’s chest. Her long, ash-colored hair was pin-straight and parted down the middle, cloaking her shoulders. Her eyes were milky bluish silver. Her kimono was crisp and white. The metal collar peeking from under her dress was highly polished, unlike the oni’s, which was caked in dirt. Her movements were as graceful as those of a dancer. A pure white ferret was draped around her neck, a living fur shrug. Most striking was her skin. It was see-through, like rice paper. Akira found himself equally fascinated and disgusted by the network of blue veins running rivers under her translucent skin. Her soul glowed, ivory and pearlescent, but was marred with black spots. A killer.

  She was yōkai. But Akira had never beheld one like her. “What are you?” Akira whispered, transfixed.

  The girl pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “What a rude thing to say.”

  The oni clicked his tongue in a sound of agreement.

  “And after we saved his life and everything. Those geezers”—the yōkai in the alleyway—“were going to turn you over to the priests. An uncollared yōkai fetches a high reward.”

  Akira hung his head, duly chastised. “I’m sorry. Thank you for saving my life.”

  The girl’s lips twitched, her smile calculating as she approached. “Already forgotten.”

  The oni clicked in rapid succession.

  She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the demon. “He’s warning me not to get too close to you. He thinks you might be dangerous. But I don’t think you’re dangerous.” She sniffed around Akira’s neck. Her breath was cold and carried the clean scent of winter. “At least you don’t smell dangerous. You smell kind of soft and sweet, like . . . almond cookies.”

  Akira resisted the urge to bring his shirt to his nose and inhale. “I don’t intend you any harm. I’m Akira,” he said, trying to sound good-natured.

  The oni clicked.

  The girl nodded. “I agree. A pretty name for such a pretty boy.”

  Akira gritted his teeth. “And you are?”

  The girl turned to the oni, slapping her hand against his massive chest. “This is Ren. I’ve had him since he was a baby. Have you ever seen an oni youngling?” She cupped his jaw, squeezing his burnt-red cheeks with her veiny fingers. “Cutest thing you ever saw.” The ferret around the girl’s neck awoke and scampered into Ren’s hands. The demon smiled, gently stroking the animal with a thick yellow talon. “And that’s Large,” the girl said, gesturing to the ferret.

  “Your ferret’s name is Large?” Akira couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  The girl’s eyes widened. She covered the ferret’s pink ears with her hands. “Shh, he’s very sensitive about his rodent condition.” She grew thoughtful. “He’s also very sensitive about his size.”

  “And who are you?” Akira asked. Had he been drugged with sweet grass again? It felt like it, trying to follow the girl’s inane chatter. She had the attention span of a fly.

  The girl tapped her bluish lips. “I never said.” The girl grew annoyed. Her head tilted; her eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in that alley? Tell me now, and make it snappy. Before I let Ren make your bones snappy.” Ren flexed his jaw and cracked his knuckles, ready to mete out violence.

  Even if Ren’s collar zapped most of his supernatural abilities, he appeared to be quite naturally large and strong. The oni could harm Akira if he wanted to. No question.

  “I was looking for the Weapons Master,” Akira said.

  The girl’s annoyance faded; her bluish lips curved into a smile—the grin of someone who likes to dance on sharp edges. “Now ask me again who I am.”

  The words of the yōkai, the geezers, in the alley curled through Akira’s brain. You like riddles, boy? I’ll give you one. You’ll find the Weapons Master when you find the thing with hands that cannot clap. Akira’s gaze flew to the window, to the face of the clock.

  A clock has hands that cannot clap. Realization hit in quick succession. “Are you—”

  She cut him off, dipping into a low, dramatic bow. “Over the course of my lifetime, I have been known by many names. My mother called me Hanako. Before I was collared, my touch froze anything with a heartbeat, and so I was called yuki-onna, Snow Woman. But now, most know me by another name—Weapons Master.” Hanako rose, forehead scrunched. “What, no applause?”

  Ren clicked.

  Hanako nodded. “Yes, yes. I’ll ask him,” she replied to the oni. But instead of asking Akira anything, she examined her nails nonchalantly. The white ferret scampered down Ren’s leg and into a hole in the wall.

  Akira cleared his throat. “Are you truly the Weapons Master?” He couldn’t believe it. This girl was the leader of the yōkai Resistance? She seemed not well, and that was putting it kindly. Other words came to mind. Off-balance. A few hairs short of a full wig. Crazy.

  Hanako scowled. She stepped toward Akira. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  Akira’s hands rose in defense. “No!
I—”

  “Would you like me to demonstrate my skill? Take a sword and slit you from stomach to sternum? Wield a bow and arrow and fire it through your heart? Or maybe I should make some companions to those scars on your face.”

  Akira touched the white gouges in his cheeks. Mean and bloodthirsty, perhaps that described Hanako best.

  Hanako smiled, wicked and joyful. “Ah, I see I’ve touched a nerve. It is not the threat of physical violence that hurts you. What wounds you most is inside.” Hanako’s smile changed, turning bright and young. She clapped her hands. “You are like Large, my ferret. He abhors his smallness, and so do you.”

  Akira was as tall as Hanako. “I’m not small,” he sputtered.

  “Maybe not in size. But here.” She splayed her hand right above his heart. Her palm was icy, and gooseflesh broke out on Akira’s skin.

  The oni clicked, the sound aggressive and impatient. “Do you know what he’s saying?” Hanako asked, letting her hand fall from Akira’s chest. Warmth flooded back into his body.

  Akira shook his head. “I don’t speak Oni.”

  “What a shame. They say the most insightful things. Like just now, Ren is wondering why you’ve been looking for me. The absence of your collar makes him suspicious. He thinks you might have made a deal with the priests. Perhaps you’ve promised to hunt down the Weapons Master? Ren thinks you’re a spy. Do you know what happens to spies, Akira?” she asked. Her milky-gray eyes swirled like a storm. “They end up dead. So I ask you, and answer carefully, for your life depends on it, why have you sought me out?”

  Akira closed his eyes. He smelled the salt of the Ma ni Sea. The window clock struck seven. When Akira opened his eyes, Hanako was directly in his line of sight, her head tilted in a question. “I am not a spy. I wear no collar because my family has lived as outcasts in the Tsuko funo Mountains since I was young. And I want to learn to fight.”

  Hanako observed Akira for a moment, scrutinizing him. Her lips spread into a slow smile followed by laughter, the tinkling sound filling the room. Ren followed suit, only his laughter came out as a roar.

  Humiliated fury rose within Akira. I am a joke to them. He bit his cheek hard, nearly drawing blood.

  “You want me to teach you to wield a weapon?” She wiped tears from her eyes as she sobered. “Seriously?”

  Akira folded his hands into fists. “I am serious. I want to learn to fight. I want you to teach me.” He left out his other desires. I want to be brave. I want to be worthy of love. I want to live in the light.

  Hanako circled Akira, an animal stalking its prey. Akira wished he were wearing his mask. Wished he were anywhere but here.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re asking? This is a serious undertaking. A weapon tempts violence, courts bloodshed. Once you’ve beckoned death, you cannot unbeckon it.”

  Akira nodded. “I understand.”

  Hanako tapped her chin. “I imagine you have not been in the Imperial City long. Nothing here is free. I command a high price. But since you remind me of my pet and you’ve made me laugh more than I have in seven moons, I will train you for the very small fee of . . . ten thousand ryō.”

  An absurd amount. Akira didn’t have a single ryō to his name, let alone ten thousand. “I don’t have any money,” Akira muttered.

  “A shame,” Hanako said with a shrug. “I guess this is where we part ways. Ren will see you out.” Hanako began to walk from the room

  Akira sighed. I have nothing to offer in trade. But then he remembered his footsteps that made no sound, his hands that left no prints. Perhaps there could be power in the shadows. Why had he never contemplated this? A vision of his mother flashed before his eyes. She had surpassed death and emerged on the other side, with a heart that still beat, with a soul that still raged. Her blood ran through Akira’s veins. He was mightier than the sum of his faults.

  “Wait!” he called to Hanako’s retreating form. Hanako’s steps halted, but she kept her back turned. “I don’t have any coin. But I’m an uncollared yōkai. Surely that could work in your favor. I offer you my services for your training.”

  Slowly, Hanako spun on one foot. Her brows drew together. She held his gaze. “And how do you think you can be beneficial to me?”

  Akira ducked his head. He spoke to the ground, but his words were clear. “My mother is the Slash-Mouthed Girl.” Hanako gasped. Ren grunted. So they had heard of her. For once, he was thankful for her infamy. “I am the Son of Nightmares. I am half ghost and can move like one too.”

  Hanako stepped closer.

  Ren clicked.

  “Exactly what I was thinking, dear friend,” she replied to Ren. Then, addressing Akira, she said, “You can get in and out of spaces easily?”

  “I am the wind. None will capture me. None will remember me. None will see me.”

  “And why do you wish to learn to fight, Son of Nightmares?”

  Akira’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I have been conditioned to be afraid.” He thought of his family, forced to hide in the mountains. “I have been conditioned to come second.” He thought of Mari’s mother, reminding him that he was not good enough for her daughter. “And I no longer wish to be either.” He would keep Mari a secret. For now.

  “At last, an honest answer.” Hanako bowed. “I accept your offer of trade, Son of Nightmares. I will enlist your services as the wind, and I will train you in the art of weaponry.” In a flash, Ren drew a knife and handed it to Hanako. She slit her palm. “Let us seal our bargain.” Hanako held the hilt of the knife out to Akira. Blood dripped from her fingers. His face went pale.

  Akira hesitated. “What will you require of me?”

  “You are the wind, no?”

  Akira nodded.

  “Wind can go anywhere, even cut through illusions. I have need of an inside man at the palace. You’ll be my eyes and ears.”

  Akira’s brow scrunched. Blood continued to drip from Hanako’s hand. “Why?”

  Hanako clicked her tongue. “The student doesn’t learn every lesson at once. You will go to the palace, gather the information I tell you to, and in exchange, I will make you a mighty warrior.”

  The Snow Girl’s words were seductive, playing to Akira’s desires. She would train him, help him breach the palace. He could watch over Mari. Still, Akira looked at Hanako’s outstretched crimson palm and grimaced.

  Hanako huffed. “Come now, Akira. How will you tear into an opponent if you can’t handle a little blood?”

  Akira straightened. He took the knife and dragged the gleaming edge across his palm. What’s a few more scars? Squeezing his hand into a fist, he let his blood drip to the floor.

  Hanako did the same, bringing her hand closer to his. Their blood pooled together on the wood beneath their feet. They watched as it was absorbed. “It is in the grain now,” Hanako whispered. “Our deal is part of the earth. If we break our promise to each other, gods and goddesses help us.” The air sizzled with their pledge. Hanako grinned wickedly and clapped her hands. “Tonight, we celebrate!”

  Chapter 18

  Mari

  Madness greeted Mari in the Summer Room. A wet blanket of thick, hot air wrapped around her. Sweat coated her face and neck. Above, a sun blazed in a cloudless sky. Ahead stretched a field of yellow and orange sunflowers. And beyond that, a white birch forest flanked a dry, dusty mountain.

  The doors to the Summer Room closed, and Mari heard the unmistakable sound of the oak bar slamming into place. They were locked in. She’d faced this before. The shed had taught her well. Staying calm was the key to staying alive. Do not lead with your heart, her mother had said. Lead with your head.

  Girls rushed into the sunflower field. They didn’t seem to care that Mari stood still, surveying the landscape. Perhaps they thought her too small to pay attention to.

  Swarms of bees alighted from the towering sunflowers. The girls had disturbed their hives. Just as quickly as they had flooded the sunflower field, they scrambled out of it, arms like win
dmills, batting away honeybees.

  Mari blinked. The chaos melted away. She was twelve and back on the mountain, in the cold, crisp air. Tami was beside her. It was early morning. Hunting time. The forest beckoned them, tree branches swaying with the wind. Mari lurched forward, but her mother stopped her, arm across her chest. “No. We wait. There will always be something stronger, smarter, faster, better than you. Let it reveal itself. Patience is a virtue.” And so they stayed as still and silent as the trees, but for the wind ruffling their hair and kimonos. Mari’s legs ached, and her stomach rumbled with hunger. Then came the rustle of leaves. And through a set of bushes, a small pack of gray wolves alighted, sniffing the ground, unaware of the Animal Wives feet away. The beast inside Mari trembled and wanted to attack. But Mari followed her mother’s cues. The pack left the clearing, and Mari and her mother followed, keeping just enough distance to stay downwind. The wolves led them to a deer. Tami smiled at her daughter and whispered. “See? They do the work. We reap the reward.”

  Another blink, and Mari was back in the Summer Room. Sweat coursed down her spine. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two girls dart into the birch-tree forest. Lead with your head. Mari thought of the riddle. I have roots nobody can see and am taller than a tree. Up, up I go, and yet I never grow. She hadn’t a clue what it meant. But those two girls looked as if they did. There was purpose in the direction they headed. Had they solved the riddle? Only one way to find out. She let loose a breath. They’ll do the work. I’ll reap the reward.

  * * *

  Mari kept to the side of the sunflower field, avoiding the swarm of bees. She maintained a quick pace, and, as she moved, she shed clothing, leaving her obi and kimono in a heap behind her. It was a bit of a struggle with the naginata strapped to her back, but Mari managed. In her thin, light undergarments, she was much better suited for the climate.