Empress of All Seasons

by Emiko Jean

  Ren clutched one of the ropes, and Hanako leaped onto his back. “I hope this holds us, big guy. Tell me you put the spikes in deep.”

  Ren clicked.

  It could just as easily have been a no as a yes.

  “What about Large?” Akira asked, snatching up the other rope.

  Hanako winked. “He’ll be fine. He’s been training his whole life for this.”

  The battering ram rocked the door again, this time boring a hole. A samurai reached through the opening and unlocked the door. “On the count of three,” Hanako said just as samurai burst through the door, swords drawn. “Oh, screw it, go! Just go!” She slapped Ren’s massive shoulder.

  They jumped. Akira held his breath. Buildings and houses zipped by in a dark gray blur. Akira yelled as the rope snapped to an end, slamming him into the clock tower’s brick wall, nearly dislodging his shoulder from the socket. The streets below were empty, save for a few samurai. Most of the contingency had forced their way into the clock tower. Hanako and Ren landed in a similar fashion, bodies smacking against brick.

  Hanako’s see-through skin practically glowed in the dark. The Snow Girl hugged Ren’s neck tightly. “The rope is holding! If I didn’t like girls, and you didn’t like eating seagulls, I would kiss you.”

  They rappelled the rest of the way down. As soon as their feet hit the cobblestones, Akira drew his throwing stars, confident he’d be able to defeat the few samurai on the street. A blur of white scampered by: Large, escaping into the gutters.

  A dozen priests materialized out of the darkness.

  Hanako frowned. “That’s not good.”

  The priests began chanting. Curses thickened the air. The taste of burnt cinnamon coated Akira’s tongue. It felt as if invisible hands were at his throat, suffocating him. Hanako and Ren were on the ground, writhing in pain, their skin smoking, their souls flickering. The circle of priests closed in, bearing shackles and chains.

  A priest with a graying beard crouched beside Ren. The demon growled and flashed a fang. The priest laughed as he fastened manacles around Ren’s wrist and ankles. Then the priest bound the manacles together with the length of chain, tying him up.

  The priests chanted louder, faster. The soft tissue in Akira’s esophagus felt as if it were on fire. He opened his mouth, and smoke seeped into the air. He was burning from the inside.

  The priest with the graying beard advanced on Akira. Cold steel caressed his skin, a manacle looping around his wrist. What do we say to surrender? Something roared to life inside him. Like gunpowder touched by a match, Akira exploded. “Noooooo!” His roar echoed through the barren streets.

  A window shattered. A flock of frightened gulls took to the sky. For one crystalline second, the priests stopped chanting. It was enough time.

  Akira lifted his body, executing a roundhouse kick. He heard a sickening crack, the sound of the priest’s jaw breaking. Akira’s throat ached and burned, but breath passed into his lungs. Nursing his broken jaw, the priest with the gray beard was no longer a threat. Akira did a quick count. One down. Eleven to go. He plucked a star from his belt. He had only five of the precious weapons. Each throw must count.

  The priests resumed the chanting. Their voices swelled to a crescendo and echoed through the streets. Flashes of movement caught Akira’s eye. The streets were not as empty as he had believed. He felt his skin grow tight with anger. Agonizing whimpers filled the streets. He needed to shut the priests up. Through his haze, Akira realized that the curses did not affect him as they did other yōkai. It is because of my blood. I am half human. The curses burned, but they didn’t completely incapacitate. The throwing star warmed in his hand. He bent his elbow back and let the star flow from his fingers in a calculated arc. It grazed a priest’s throat and then another and another, until four priests were clutching their necks, red oozing between their fingers. He knew the minute their hearts stopped. Their souls flashed, then extinguished. Like the blink of an eye.

  Akira withdrew another star, ready to launch. But he paused. The remaining priests, faces stricken, turned and ran. Run, cowards. Run.

  He held his breath as he retrieved the star from its mark, then knelt by Hanako, his hands fumbling with the cuffs on her wrists. Footsteps clattered as samurai erupted from the clock tower.

  Ren clicked.

  “He’s right. You don’t have time,” Hanako said in a rough voice.

  The samurai descended.

  The yōkai in the street stood, eyes wide, uncertain about what they had witnessed. A yōkai resisting curses? Unheard of.

  “Akira, you must go,” Hanako said more forcefully. How many times had Akira run in his life? Fled in fear? Or because he’d been told to? No more. Hanako could have left him in the clock tower. But she’d risked her life to save him. Akira stepped over Ren and Hanako’s bodies so that he was a barrier between them and the samurai. An impenetrable wall. One against one hundred? Hardly seems fair. Akira smiled. For them.

  Something brushed against his left shoulder. An oni stood next to him. Then a geezer flanked Akira’s right side. More yōkai shuffled over, filling the street. Their hands fisted, ready for battle.

  The samurai formed single-file lines. With a whoosh, their swords were drawn. The priests had fled, which meant no more curses; the samurai were on their own. But the yōkai were collared, their strength reduced to that of mere humans.

  Now, this seems fair.

  Akira beckoned the samurai forward, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  Chapter 41

  Taro

  Taro’s hands were coated in grease. Sweat trickled down his forehead and cheeks. His eyes were dry and bloodshot. He turned the geared heart with his fingers, then let it drop to the table with a helpless thunk. It was mangled. Disfigured. It seemed that in grief, Taro could not bring anything to life.

  Sleep eluded him. How could Mari have done this? Her deception clawed at his soul. How could he have been so wrong about her? Had he been that desperate to be loved, to love, that he had fooled himself? The thought made him feel angry, humiliated. And still he didn’t want to believe it.

  Taro hadn’t left the workroom since Mari’s capture. Now he glanced out the window and saw the moon hanging low in the sky. The clock-tower raid should be over soon. He had wanted to go and see the Son of Nightmares brought to his knees, but Satoshi and his shōgun convinced him to stay. “It is much too risky, Heavenly Sovereign. Let us catch him. We will bring him back to the palace, and you may do as you see fit,” the head military commander had said.

  A quiet knock interrupted Taro’s thoughts. Satoshi stepped into the room, hands resting in the folds of his white robes.

  “You bring good news, I hope,” Taro barked.

  “Good and bad, Your Majesty.” Satoshi bowed.

  “I’ll take the bad first,” Taro said.

  Satoshi’s mouth lifted in a thin smile. “Just like our father.”

  Before the emperor’s death, Taro would have scoffed at being compared to him. But now . . . Taro had so many regrets.

  Taro saw Satoshi’s face change, and he cursed himself for his insensitivity over the last several hours. “You’ve lost a father as well.” His half brother was his only blood relative left.

  Dots of red blotted Satoshi’s cheeks. “I guess we are both orphans now,” Satoshi said.

  Taro was just a boy when Satoshi’s mother hanged herself from the imperial gate. Satoshi had discovered her body.

  “The bad news it is,” Satoshi said, his voice hoarse. “Unfortunately, the Son of Nightmares has eluded capture, Your Majesty. The priests who returned reported that he was immune to their curses.” Satoshi’s words were soft, but Taro heard them as if they had been shouted from atop a mountain. His father’s murderer was still free.

  “So what’s the good news, then?” Taro asked.

  Satoshi smiled. “The good news is that the revolt has been stamped out. The yōkai who took up arms against the imperial samurai will be punished and made examples o
f.”

  Taro nodded. So many lives will be lost. It was the Son of Nightmares’ fault. When Taro caught him, he would make him see the pain he had caused others. Look at how many of your brethren you’ve killed. It is your fault. Do not try to rise past the stair on which you are born. If everyone stayed in their place, there could be peace. Just as his father had always said.

  Satoshi continued. “We have also retrieved the Son of Nightmares’ conspirators, a Snow Girl and an oni demon.”

  “That is good news how?” Taro grunted.

  “We have reason to believe that he’ll try to rescue them, and the empress . . .” Satoshi trailed off.

  Taro’s jaw tightened at the mention of Mari. Would the Son of Nightmares come for Mari? “Let him come, then.”

  Satoshi grinned. “I was hoping you would say that. I’ve laid a trap for him in the Main Hall.”

  Outside the window, the moon inched lower on the horizon. Dawn would come soon. Taro cursed the new day. No sunlight would wash away the bitterness of betrayal. He wished for eternal night, something to match his black soul. Despite Satoshi’s plan, Taro felt weary. He flicked his hand. “Good work, Satoshi. You may go.”

  Satoshi took his leave, and Taro turned back to his metal heart. What a waste. He tossed it off to the side. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He’d never let another yōkai hurt him again. Mari’s face appeared before him, and his throat constricted. To love is to suffocate. Mari should be made to know what that felt like.

  Chapter 42

  Mari

  The groan of the wooden doors jolted Mari from her slumber. With her claws, she’d dug an ice cave in the Winter Room. Outside her cold home, she heard something click and then a voice like a tinkling bell. “I suppose we have been in worse situations. I just wish I had worn my fur kimono. I remember before I was collared, I couldn’t even feel the cold. But now it’s as if I’m human. Terrible.”

  Mari scrambled to sit up. Poking her head out of the entrance of her cave, in the full moon’s light she saw a girl with ash-colored hair and see-through skin standing next to an oni.

  Their eyes met, each measuring the other.

  The girl’s face broke into a huge smile. “Your Majesty!” She trudged forward, kicking up snow and ice. Then she bowed with a flourish. “The news of a yōkai empress has traveled through Tokkaido and beyond. It is an honor to meet you.”

  Mari’s gaze fixed on the oni as she pulled herself up.

  “Uh-oh,” said the girl, eyes wide. “I don’t think she likes you, Ren.” She positioned herself between Mari and the demon. “I am Hanako, Snow Girl, Weapons Master, and yōkai Revolutionist. And this is my lifelong companion, Ren. He means you no harm.” The demon held up his massive hands in submission and swept into a low bow. Tufts of air curled from his nostrils like dragon smoke. Mari retracted her claws. The Snow Girl and demon watched Mari in rapt silence. What do they want? She couldn’t find the will to speak. So quietly, deliberately, she crawled back into her ice cave.

  Mari closed her eyes as the Snow Girl invaded her hut. The space inside the cave was tight, with barely enough room for one. Still, the Snow Girl managed to wiggle in and sit next to Mari. She stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. “Well, this is cozy. You know, I grew up in a cave just like this one. Ours was a little roomier, a little homier. Maybe if you hung some pictures . . .” Hanako trailed off.

  How could she be so cavalier? At the opening of the cave, Mari saw the oni’s ankles pacing, bare feet sunk into the snow. “Whatever it is you expect of me, you will be disappointed,” Mari said. I’m not the one you are looking for. My life does not serve a greater good.

  The Snow Girl looked down at her interlaced fingers. “And what if I only expect you to listen?”

  Mari drew her legs in to her chest, laid her cheek against her knees. She was frozen, inside and out.

  Hanako shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs, adjusting her kimono. “When the emperor mounted his campaign against the yōkai, he targeted what he perceived to be the most dangerous first—oni, nure-onago, hari-onago, and yuki-onna—Snow Girls like me.” She gave a wry smile. “Before my collar, I was really something. One breath, and I could freeze the blood of a grown man. Two breaths, and I could make it snow. Three breaths, and I could transform oceans into ice.” Her smile faded. “I was four when the priests infiltrated the mountain pass where I lived with my mother. She saw them coming and hid me in a snowdrift behind a grove of trees. She told me to stay put, close my eyes, and wait for her to call. I can’t remember much after that, but they must have come and gone. Night fell, and everything was silent, then morning, and still nothing.” She glanced at Mari. “It’s funny the stuff you do remember, you know? I remember my aching legs as I left my hiding place, and I remember the smell of pine trees. I found a few samurai and one priest—all frozen like icicles. But my mother was nowhere. I stayed in the mountain pass for days, waiting for her to come back.” Hanako’s eyes went soft and distant. “She never did. I don’t know what happened to her. After many days on my own, the squish of softening snow underfoot awoke me.” Hanako paused.

  Mari’s curiosity was piqued. For a moment, she forgot about her imprisonment. “Who was it?”

  Hanako licked her lips, clearly pleased with her captive audience. “This is the best part. The winter snows had just begun to melt. That morning, I spied the first bud of a leaf on a tree. There were three children in the mountain pass—two boys and one girl, all with shaved heads and brown robes.”

  “The Taiji monks,” Mari whispered. Nobody really knew the origin of the monks locked eternally in childhood, whether they were yōkai or human or divine. Tami had said that they were the children who “could have been but never were.” They adopted orphans and lived in a monastery on the highest peak of the Tsuko funo Mountains. Mari often dreamed that the boys from Tsuma ended up there.

  Hanako’s smile was wistful. “I didn’t know who they were at first. My mother never told me about outsiders. We were secluded.” Her expression pinched. “That is how the emperor keeps such a tight rein on yōkai—he separates us, pits us against one another. Many of our species believe oni are all evil, but they’re not.”

  Outside the cave, Ren grunted his agreement.

  Hanako shook her head and crossed her arms. “Anyway, the monks had come for me. I looked at their scratchy robes and pink cheeks. And in that moment, I knew with certainty my life would change. But I was scared. When one reached for me, I darted away. But they stayed. Finally, one approached me as if I were a wild creature, with his hand out and a tentative step. He said eight words. Eight words that I’ve carried with me to this day so that I may give them to you.”

  “What did he say?” Mari asked.

  “Do not let your fear decide your fate.”

  They went quiet for a moment. “What is it you want from me?” Mari asked.

  “You are the Conqueror of the Seasons. The Cold Prince may have stripped you of your pretty gowns, the ribbons in your hair, even his love, but he has not taken everything from you. Already our people whisper about the yōkai empress chosen by the gods and goddesses. They have prayed for a champion, and a champion has been delivered.”

  “Their prayers are wasted. I’m no hero.” Mari slunk back down.

  “So, what? You’ll wait here for the Cold Prince to deliver his final judgment? To collar you or let you freeze? He may put you to death, but it is you who are signing your own warrant.” Hanako began to scoot from the cave. She paused, face twisted toward Mari. “This is not what Akira would want for you. It is not what you should want for yourself.” She quieted. “And it is not why Asami sacrificed her life.”

  Mari’s heart swelled and broke all at once. “You know Akira? And Asami?”

  “Know Akira? Who do you think taught him to use those throwing stars?” the Snow Girl exclaimed. She smiled. “We are like steel to a blade, he and I. He told me all about you. But I can see he was wrong. As for
Asami, she was part of the yōkai Resistance.” The Snow Girl’s expression flickered with pain. “I could have loved her in another life. But I wasn’t born to love. I was born to maim and kill, to fell an empire.”

  Mari’s hands curled into her kimono, and she turned her face toward the Snow Girl.

  “Do not cling to the hand that holds you down,” Hanako whispered, and scooted from the cave. “Let it go.”

  Slowly, Mari crawled from the cave. A few feet away, Hanako and Ren huddled together, teeth chattering, the demon’s arms wrapped around the Snow Girl. Mari shuffled over. Heavy snow fell. How much longer would she survive in the Winter Room? A day, maybe two?

  “Even if I did want to help,” Mari said as she reached them, “we’re still stuck in here.”

  A smile spread across Hanako’s face. “I am the best assassin ever to be trained by the Taiji monks.”

  Ren clicked and rolled his eyes.

  “It’s not bragging if it’s the truth.” Hanako removed something from beneath her kimono. Between her slender fingers, Hanako held a book of matches. She shivered dramatically. “I am so very cold. A fire sounds nice, don’t you think? I say we find something to burn.”

  All three of them turned toward the Winter Room doors.

  Chapter 43

  Akira

  With the support of the yōkai at his back, Akira felt invincible. But he wasn’t. And neither were the yōkai. When it was over, there had been so many bodies strewn about, poppies plucked from the ground and left to wilt.

  Several of Akira’s ribs were broken, a back tooth was missing, and there was a gash on his thigh. But he had escaped. Akira bound his ribs and closed the cut with sticky paste from a tree.

  He didn’t allow himself a moment of rest. Instead, he went to the palace.

  With the death of the emperor and the Revolution afoot, the palace was near impenetrable. The sewer grate Akira had used to access the tunnels was now guarded. Akira perched high in a cypress tree and watched the stoic samurai.