by Emiko Jean
Mari howled, feeling the bones in her hands crushing. She couldn’t keep a hold on the beast. It was drifting away. Her hands, arms, and eyes shifted back into their human form. Mari’s teeth chattered so hard, they nearly cracked.
Asami bent down, a veneer of triumph on her face, but underneath was a shadow of something else. Regret? Asami put her hands on top of Mari’s head and pushed down.
Mari struggled against Asami’s hold. Still submerged, Mari fumbled with her obi and withdrew Hissa’s metal hair pick. Mari surfaced, a scream on her lips, her hand poised to stab, but she withered. Asami sat on the ice, coughing and shaking, the fight drained from her. Spiders swarmed Asami’s ankles and shoulders. A frantic hug.
The girls locked eyes.
“I’ve come so far, but I can’t—I can’t do it,” Asami said. Her cheeks had turned the faintest shade of blue. “I can’t kill another yōkai, watch another of my kind die.” Asami crawled on the ice, hand outstretched. It reminded Mari of the Summer Room, when Asami had killed the boar, had saved her.
For one split second, Mari thought this might be a trick. But she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t lift herself from the water without assistance. Mari took Asami’s hand and allowed herself to be pulled up. Mari splayed out on the ice, gasping for breath. Asami sat next to her in pitiful shape.
Another deafening crack. A chunk of ice broke off, tipping into the water. Asami cast a look of terror toward Mari as she slid down, hands still fisted around the scroll.
“No!” Mari shouted, reaching for Asami. A second too late. Bubbles formed at the surface. The scroll floated to the top, pristine in its glass tube. Mari grabbed it, violent shivers wracking her body. A thump sounded underneath her. The chunks of ice pushed together and refroze, blocking Asami’s way back up. Mari scraped snow off the sheet of ice. Asami’s fist tapped uselessly on the frozen window. Her mouth opened, gulping water.
Mari clawed at the ice, banged on it, kicked it. It was too thick. “I’m sorry,” Mari cried.
Asami’s eyes fluttered closed, and she floated away. She is gone. The spiders found a crack in the ice and slipped into the water, lemmings going off a cliff, following their master into death.
A heavy ache settled in Mari’s chest, and she sobbed. She’d won. But at what price? Is the freedom of all worth the life of even one? Mari didn’t know. On hands and knees, she dragged her body from the frozen river and back into the snow, clutching the scroll. Inch by inch, she made her way. If she didn’t make it to the doors soon, she’d die of frostbite. A new storm started, blinding Mari once again.
In the whiteness, a figure took shape. Clad all in black, a mask covering his face. An assassin? Another challenge? How many times must Mari fight for her life? How many more would she survive? The figure stepped toward her slowly, unhindered by the cold. She recognized him.
The outline of his body, the silvery scars that disappeared beneath his mask. Surely this was a hallucination. The Son of Nightmares in the Winter Room? He stopped in front of her. She looked up at him. He tugged a leather glove from his hand, crouched, and placed a warm palm against her cheek. “Animal Girl,” he crooned. “I thought to help you, but it looks as if you’ve helped yourself.” She blinked, and he was gone. Definitely a hallucination. But the warmth of his unreal touch spurred her on. She kept walking, and when she couldn’t walk anymore, she crawled, scroll gripped safely in her hand. A snow-covered field came into view, and, rising above it, the frost-covered Winter Room doors. Two samurai guarded the exit, spears in hand, silent as statues.
“There are no more. I’m the last girl. Let me out,” she said, voice trembling. Seconds burned away; they did not move.
Mari curled into a shivering ball. Vaguely, she heard the heavy doors open. Master Ushiba appeared. He bent, helped her stand. She wavered on frozen feet.
He bowed low. Draped over one arm was a dark brown yamabiko pelt, and in his hand was Mari’s naginata. He placed the pelt over Mari’s shoulders, and she drew the cape in, relishing the warmth. “Congratulations. You have defeated Summer, Fall, and Winter. Please follow me to the Spring Room. Your final challenge awaits.” He thrust the naginata at Mari.
Mari’s gaze hardened.
It was not over.
Umiko:
Goddess of Moonlight, Storms, and Sea
Umiko, goddess of moonlight, storms, and sea, was so beautiful, so alluring, that to glance upon her was to experience uncontrollable desire, a lust like madness.
Eoku, God of War, Military, and Night, spied Umiko bathing in a river. He called a star into his hands and used it to lure Umiko to him. When she drew close enough, Eoku took her by force.
After, Umiko went to the god Sugita and begged him to strike down Eoku, to cast him from the heavens for his crime. “Punish him,” she pleaded, her cry harsh and anguished.
Sugita stroked Umiko’s tangled hair. With both hands, he held her bruised face and replied, “If you weren’t so beautiful, this would not have happened.”
“He hurt me,” she beseeched.
“Ah, silly girl,” Sugita chided. “He has no power over you save for the power you give him.”
Umiko left, shamed. Vowing to never let her beauty tempt men again, Umiko covered herself from head to toe. She drank silver to dye her body blue, the color of sorrow. She hid her face behind the mask of a big-cheeked, laughing woman. Then she shaved her head.
Still afraid Eoku might catch her again, Umiko ran. Her terrified footsteps shook the clouds, creating the thunder and lightning, and the sweat from her body became the rain.
Chapter 32
Taro
Taro paced the platform, palming the swords at his hip. Courtiers waited, expectant. The Winter Room doors had opened what felt like an hour ago. Whoever was champion would meet Taro here, in the Spring Room.
Anxiety coiled in Taro’s chest. What if it wasn’t Mari? Back and forth he walked, the cadence of his footsteps the only sound.
The platform sat in the middle of a cherry-blossom grove. The air smelled of sweet rain. A breeze coasted by, dislodging some of the blooms. Petals spun in the wind, and delicate pink flowers squished beneath Taro’s pacing feet. He caught his father’s eye.
The emperor sat on a golden throne, his face grim. Is this difficult for my father to watch? Does it stir up buried memories? The emperor had been in Taro’s position once. Behind the emperor, Satoshi hovered, always just within reach.
The crash of a gong was followed by the opening of the Spring Room doors. Taro turned. Framed in the massive doorway—small, delicate, and bloodstained—was Mari. Taro’s knees buckled. He wanted to smile, but his mouth settled into a flat line.
Mari’s steps were hesitant as she climbed the red-carpeted stairs to the platform. Master Ushiba followed, then diverted from the carpet to stand next to the emperor and Satoshi.
Taro studied Mari. She wore a simple white yukata. A yamabiko pelt was draped around her shoulders. Her hair was wet, and the naginata trembled in her hands. Looped around her delicate throat was a chain with a pendant containing a scroll. What had happened in the Winter Room?
“Taro,” she whispered. He didn’t like the vacant look in her eye.
He bowed low, every vein in his body pulsing. “I was born in the spring, during the mightiest of storms. The future empress must be an equal to the emperor. I am your final challenge.” He withdrew his swords and crossed them in front of him.
Her eyes darkened. “I cannot kill you.”
His expression softened. “You don’t have to. The first to draw blood wins.” This was a mere formality. A gesture recognizing the first empress, Makoto, who drew the blood of her betrothed before marrying him.
Mari nodded. She slipped the stole from her shoulders and unsheathed her naginata. “You will not go easy on me,” she demanded firmly and loudly. Such pride. Worthy of an empress.
“No, I won’t go easy on you. To do so would be an insult.”
Holding the naginata across her bo
dy, Mari moved slowly toward Taro. “The first to draw blood?” she asked.
“The first to draw blood,” he confirmed. Just as the last syllable left his mouth, she swung the butt end of the naginata, clearly intending to clip Taro at the knees. Taro jumped, avoiding the rod. Gasps rose from the courtiers. Mari withdrew and scampered to the corner of the platform.
Taro advanced, swords pointed. Mari blocked Taro’s strikes. The metal of their blades clashed, and sparks flew through the air. Mari thrust the naginata, divesting Taro of his small sword. The wakizashi went aloft, pinning itself in the soft grass at the courtiers’ feet.
Taro gritted his teeth. “You are well-practiced. You anticipate my moves.”
“My mother taught me that I’d never be as strong as a man, so I must be smarter,” she said, hardly out of breath.
“You shouldn’t give away your secrets so easily.” They circled each other.
She shrugged. “I never really believed in thinking before I speak.”
All at once, he was a blur of motion. He had trained a year with the shōgun, and though he never had the heart of a warrior, he had the strength and skill of one.
Mari blocked Taro’s strikes and rained down blows, which Taro deflected in kind. They were forces of nature. The clang of steel on steel was deafening. Mari managed a jab to Taro’s shoulder. Taro grunted in pain, and his sword lowered for just an instant. At that moment, Mari struck. Whoosh, the sound of steel as it sliced through clothing to flesh. A rivulet of crimson ran down Taro’s arm. She’d drawn first blood.
The naginata clattered to the ground. Taro’s hand went to the shallow cut—a paltry wound. Taro hadn’t been withholding, but he realized Mari had. She could have inflicted far more damage. She is not my equal. She is far better than I.
Wind swept the platform, banished the clouds, and warm sunlight filled the room. Taro caught Mari just as she began to fall.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“It’s over.” Then he cried to the courtiers, to his father, to all who could hear and would listen, “Behold, the Conqueror of the Seasons.”
The samurai stomped their spears, hands to their hearts. A chorus of cheers rang out. Taro’s eyes met his father’s. The emperor’s jaw clenched. They nodded to each other in mutual recognition. It was over.
The emperor stood abruptly and left. Satoshi hurried after him. His father would not stay and watch anymore. But for once, Taro didn’t feel blistering anger toward him. No, all Taro felt was pity, and empathy. Imagining if it were not Mari before him, at last he understood his father’s grief. A love like madness. Nothing would stand between him and Mari. He’d cut through death to get to her.
Taro held his empress tightly. How glorious she looked in her triumph, no longer a thing of moonlight and water but something forged in steel and blood. He spread his dreams at her feet. She had his heart.
Tread lightly, my love.
Chapter 33
Akira
Seagulls shrieked, and the smell of fish and brine filtered under Akira’s mask. Boats clunked against one another. He walked the docks in the dark and ruminated.
Akira had seen her, seen Mari, in the Winter Room. He had watched everything—the fight with Asami. He could have stepped in at any time, could have thrown a star and cut Asami off at the knees. But he’d done nothing. He’d watched and waited. He’d never get in her way. Victory would be hers, and hers alone. But he did allow himself one moment, to touch her cheek, to feel her strength, and, he hoped, to give her some comfort.
Then he’d followed her into the Spring Room and watched again. A silent sentinel in a cherry tree. It was his first time observing the Cold Prince, the man who had created the collars. Akira’s insides squeezed when Mari drew blood and was announced Conqueror of the Seasons. Soon, she’d marry the Cold Prince. Mari would become a princess, the future empress, but that wasn’t the end. She had the prince’s fortune to steal, and Akira would be by Mari’s side when she made her escape. They would travel together. Go home. Nothing had ever sounded quite so good.
A tavern door sprang open, and drunken yōkai spilled out. Among them were Hanako’s geezers and Ebisu, the yamawaro. If the group was present, Hanako was sure to be close by. The tavern door swung again, and Akira saw a flash of red. Ren. The demon never strayed far from the Weapons Master. Akira swiveled on his heel. Too late. A beefy red arm hooked around his neck.
“Well, what do we have here?” Hanako was as lovely as ever: leather kimono, white ferret draped around her neck, see-through skin almost glowing in the dark, pearlescent soul a hazy shroud around her shoulders. Did Akira detect new blemishes?
Akira struggled against the hold. His mask slipped down to his neck. Ren tightened his arm, and Akira wheezed. Hanako’s yōkai lackeys surrounded them. Akira turned his head, clearing his airway, then used his hands to grab onto Ren’s arm. He tucked his chin, raised his shoulders, hunched, and stepped back all in one fluid motion. Then he hooked one leg behind Ren’s and leaned forward, knocking Ren off balance. Akira swiveled and threw Ren down. The demon grunted as it hit the docks. Free, Akira cut through the line of yōkai and turned to Hanako, throwing stars at the ready.
Hanako held up her hands.
Ren got to his feet and clicked.
Hanako nodded. “I regret teaching him that move as well. Easy, Son of Nightmares. Let’s talk.” Large perked up, scampering down her body and into the sewer system.
The demon sneered at Akira. Akira sneered back.
“I believe you have something of mine.” Hanako snapped her fingers and held out a hand.
Keeping a grip on a throwing star, Akira reached into his surcoat and withdrew Asami’s map. He threw it at Hanako’s feet. She raised her brow and bent to pick up. She unfolded it, making sure that the map was intact before addressing Akira. “Why did you steal this?” A whistle and then a popping noise sounded, and Hanako frowned as fireworks in the shapes of lotus flowers and turtles lit up the sky. “The competition is over,” Hanako whispered. “There is a new Conqueror of the Seasons, a new princess.”
Ren grunted.
Hanako smiled at her demon. “Asami has succeeded. I knew it.”
Akira shook his head. “Your champion is dead.”
The Snow Girl’s eyes drew wide. “No.”
“I saw it myself. She fell into the river in the Winter Room. She drowned. Her spiders along with her.” He remembered how Asami had laughed. I am a spider. We can go anywhere.
Ren moved forward and placed a meaty paw on Hanako’s shoulder. The Snow Girl crumpled under the weight of her friend’s touch and stifled a sob. Akira loosened his grip on the throwing star and stepped forward, only to be blocked by the geezers and drooling yamawaro. His mouth opened and closed. “She meant more to you than you let on.” Above, fireworks continued to explode, the beauty at odds with Hanako’s heartache.
“Of course she did,” Hanako spat out. “Do you think me incapable of love?”
Akira glanced at the ground, shook his head. “I think you guard your heart. Perhaps you’ve built your walls so high, it’s impossible for people to even see it anymore.”
Ren clicked a soft agreement and stroked Hanako’s hair with a thick talon. Hanako sniffled and wiped her nose. She straightened. “I thought she was invincible.”
Ren clicked.
Hanako smiled sadly. “Yes, when you love someone, it is easy to think they are infallible.” Akira rubbed the back of his neck. He thought of Mari. Of how far out of reach she always seemed. Hanako’s face hardened, any remnant of grief gone. This was the true Weapons Master: cunning, decisive, cold. “Asami’s life will not be in vain.” The geezers rumbled their agreement. “She wouldn’t want us to mourn.” Another rumble of assent. Hanako’s fist slammed into her open palm. “We will gather our allies. We will storm the palace. We will end this empire once and for all.” She nodded to her followers. “You know what to do.”
Their chins dipped in response. They turned to go, to drum up
the masses.
“Wait!” Akira shouted. A tremor passed through him. “Let me go.” Mari will be safe. “Let me be your wind and assassin. Let me kill the emperor and prince for you.”
Hanako grew contemplative. “Why should I trust you? You stole my map. And you still haven’t said why.”
“I went to the palace to gather information—for you. The map works, but the tunnels are narrow. You won’t be able to fit an entire army. But I can slip through the halls as easily as the rats that inhabit them.”
Hanako snickered. “Did you just liken yourself to a rat?”
Ren clicked and crossed his arms.
“Ren is sure you’re lying. He wants to break your arm and see what truth spills out.”
Akira flashed the throwing star in his palm. “I’d like to keep both my limbs, if you please. I’m going to need them. Give me twenty-four hours.” That would be enough time for Mari to marry the prince and steal his fortune. Enough time for them to escape the Imperial City. “I will do your bidding. No one will ever know I was there. They may even blame humans for the imperial family’s deaths. No more yōkai would have to die, would have to be sacrificed.” He braved a step closer to Hanako. “Asami wasn’t the only yōkai in the competition. There is another girl, the one who won. She will help me.” At that, Hanako’s eyes glowed. “One day is all I ask. If I fail, you can go on with your plan.”
Hanako pinched her lips. “One night. Twelve hours.”
Akira jerked his chin. “The emperor and his son will be dead by morning.”
Part III:
After the rain, earth hardens.
—Proverb
Sugita:
God of Children, Fortune, and Love
Once upon a time, the god Sugita planted a tree in the spring.