by Julie Kagawa
“Tatsumi-san?” Yumeko turned, as I paused in the middle of the trail and turned to stare at the trees behind us. “What are you looking for? Is something there?”
I didn’t answer. Around us, large ancient pines grew close together, branches stretching over the path and mottling the trail with shade. Cicadas buzzed, their droning song pulsing through the trees, and a lone hawk soared overhead, its shadow gliding briefly over the trail. The air was cool, smelling of sap and pine needles, and except for the hum of insects, everything was quiet. But I could sense something wasn’t right, like a dark spot in the corner of my vision, keeping just out of reach.
It had been three days since the girl and I had fled the mountain, away from the destruction of the Silent Winds temple and the amanjaku in the forest. Not much was said during our travels; the girl had been quiet and withdrawn, and I had no desire to engage her in conversation. It was early summer, the days hot and humid, the skies threatening rain at a moment’s notice. We passed villages with thatched huts and terraced fields, where farmers shoved green rice seedlings into calf-deep water. When darkness fell we slept beneath the trees or in abandoned shrines, the nights warm enough for us to be comfortable without blankets, which was fortunate as all my possessions had been lost when my horse fled. Including my travel documents, most of my shinobi gear and my rations for the journey. Thankfully, late summer in Iwagoto meant there were plenty of places to get food in the wild, if you knew where to look. Mushrooms, berries and all manner of sansai—wild plants—were everywhere, and the rivers and streams yielded fish if one knew how to catch them without a line. I’d been trained to live off the land and survive in the wilderness, so we were in no danger of starving, though I was surprised to find the girl knew a fair bit about wild plants, as well. One evening, as I was cleaning the fish I’d caught from the nearby stream, she appeared and dumped an armful of wild persimmons on the ground near the fire. I didn’t care much for sweet things, but the ripe orange fruit contrasted with the blandness of the fish and filled our stomachs well that night.
Throughout our travels, I hadn’t felt the presence of demons, though Hakaimono had been unusually restless, either sensing invisible eyes on us or reacting to our unexpected companion. I had been alone for so long that having another human constantly present was distracting, for both myself and the sword. I ignored the girl as much as possible, trying not to see the tears that sometimes leaked from her eyes, or hear the faint gasps and sniffles when she was curled up, asleep.
This morning, however, she had greeted me with a smile and a cheerful Ohayou gozaimasu, Tatsumi-san, seeming to abandon her dark mood. We’d continued down the road, but this afternoon, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It had continued to plague me, irritating Hakaimono to no end, until I’d finally halted and searched the trees for our unknown stalker. I was giving away the knowledge that I knew something was out there, but at this moment, I would rather face something that I could fight and kill, instead of worrying about a nameless threat I couldn’t see.
My gaze stopped as I finally pinpointed the source of my unease. In the limbs of a pine tree that stretched over the road, a small, hunched figure gazed down at us, unblinking.
Crows again. I narrowed my eyes, glaring at the bird, which ruffled its feathers but didn’t move from the branch. Crows were everywhere in Iwagoto, from one end of the country to the other. Murders of them clustered on rooftops or in tree branches, fighting for space, their guttural caws scolding as you passed beneath. Sometimes they were seen as ill omens, bringers of misfortune, but for the most part, they were a common, everyday sight, and no one gave the squabbling creatures a second glance.
But every once in a while, especially when I was traveling, a single crow would appear, dogging me. Watching me. Killing the bird did nothing; another would appear soon after, as if to taunt my efforts. Or worse, it would stay just out of sight, irritating Hakaimono until it was ready to lash out at anything that moved. At least now I knew the cause of the uneasiness, and would be ready if my unknown stalker decided to attack.
“Tatsumi-san?”
I turned back to find the girl watching me, her head cocked slightly. She hadn’t noticed the bird in the tree, and I didn’t feel like explaining. Especially since neither of us could do anything about it.
“It’s nothing,” I told her, continuing down the trail again. “Let’s keep moving.”
She nodded, falling into step beside me. I could see her in the corner of my vision, dark hair rippling in the breeze, her gaze on the forest around us. Unlike the past two days, when she’d followed silently at my back, staring dully at the ground. The furoshiki cloth was wrapped around her shoulders; she hadn’t taken it off once, and every night, made sure it was secured tightly to her person. I imagined it contained the last of her meager belongings, and that perhaps she was afraid I would steal them, though I had no interest in the possessions of a peasant girl.
“Ne, Tatsumi-san,” she said, looking up from where she had been watching a squirrel on a branch. She did that a lot, I noticed; seemingly fascinated by the smallest things. Like a cat constantly distracted by flitting shadows. “We haven’t found anything to eat today. What are we going to do for food?”
“Chochin Machi is a few miles from here,” I replied. “We’ll resupply when we reach the town.”
She nodded again. “It’ll be nice to eat real food again,” she commented. “Not that I have anything against wild-caught fish and persimmons, but I’m starting to crave a hot rice bowl. And a real bed. Where I don’t wake up with spiders in my clothes. Not that I mind the spiders, but I don’t want to crush them when I roll about.” She cast me a sideways glance. “What about you, Tatsumi-san?”
I shrugged. I had gone days without eating or sleeping, both in the field and in training with my sensei. Sometimes as a punishment, but mainly it was to test my endurance, to see how far I could go before I collapsed. I had been trained to survive on very little; food, sleep and personal comfort were not as important as completing the mission.
The girl let out a long breath and gazed up at the sky, at the sun sinking slowly below the tree line. “Back at the temple, we’d be gathering for the evening meal right now,” she continued softly. “We didn’t have a lot, but we ate together three times a day. Satoshi had a little vegetable garden in the back—he could grow the biggest daikon radishes you’d ever seen.” Her nose wrinkled. “I hated daikon, and we had so much of it. I’d drop pieces through cracks in the temple floor, and then have nightmares of pickled radish monsters hiding under my floorboards, crawling up to force themselves into my mouth as I slept.” She paused, her next words even softer. “I would eat a dozen radishes right now, if it meant I could sit down with everybody one more time.”
I had no answer for that, so I said nothing. She was quiet, then I felt her gaze on me again. “Do you have any family, Tatsumi?”
“No.”
“But...you’re a samurai.” She cocked her head. “You carry a sword, and you have the mon-crest of house Kage on your back. So, that means you must be part of the Shadow Clan, yes?”
I narrowed my eyes. All the great houses had their own mon-crests that showed their lineage and to which family they belonged but, in my experience, none of the peasant folk cared enough to tell them apart. To them, all samurai were the same.
“How do you know that?” I asked her.
Yumeko blinked. “Master Isao taught me about the different clans and houses,” she explained. “He wanted me to know a little of the outside world, in case I ever left the temple. Let’s see if I can remember them all.” Her brow furrowed. “The Hino, Mizu, Tsuchi and Kaze are the four great families of Fire, Water, Earth and Wind,” she recited, “while the Kage, Sora and Tsuki are the minor clans—Shadow, Sky and Moon. Is that correct?”
“You forgot one.”
“Oh, right.” Yumeko nodded. “The Sun Clan is the imper
ial family, the Taiyo. But most of them stay in the capital, close to the emperor. They almost never leave their territories unless they’re visiting the daimyos of the other clans. Or so Master Isao told me.”
I regarded her seriously. “What do you know about the Kage?”
“That they’re the smallest of the minor families. Their territory borders the Fire Clan’s, and they’ve lost several battles with the Hino, who have been pushing into their lands over the past decade.”
All true. The Fire Clan was the ancient enemy of the Kage; even in times of peace, when the emperor ordered a countrywide truce, the Hino and the Kage were constantly at each other’s throats. The Fire Clan was large and influential, and thought that if a clan wasn’t strong enough to defend their territory, it should be taken by someone who could. Naturally, the Kage disagreed.
But that was common knowledge. Two clans feuding over territory was as ordinary as rain during the wet season, with borders changing so often that even the magistrates were hard-pressed to keep up. “What else?” I asked softly.
“Well, it’s said that the Kage aren’t like other clan samurai. That their warriors use darkness and questionable techniques to their advantage when fighting superior forces. That they can melt into shadows or disappear in a cloud of smoke, and that their daimyo is a mysterious lady who is rumored to be immortal.”
I relaxed. Those were all common rumors, some of them true, but encouraged by the Shadow Clan to keep our foes guessing and off balance. She hadn’t heard anything that the Kage did not approve of, which was good, because the true secrets of the Shadow Clan were not supposed to be known to outsiders; those who discovered too much were usually silenced, quickly and permanently.
Hakaimono approved of this idea, urging me to strike now, to cut her down. You don’t need her, the demon seemed to whisper in my head. One quick blow, and it will be over. There would be no pain. She wouldn’t even realize what had happened until she woke up with her ancestors.
I pushed those thoughts away. I had no orders to kill the girl, nor did I believe that she was a threat to the Shadow Clan. Besides, I had promised to accompany her to the Steel Feather temple, and I needed her help to find the scroll. Unless the clan told me otherwise, that was my first and only priority.
The shadows of the forest were growing long. I could still feel the crow’s eyes on me, but could no longer see it in the branches around us. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, blips of light began to wink in and out of existence, as fireflies drifted through the wood and floated through the air.
“Ne, Tatsumi?” Yumeko asked, holding up a hand so that a firefly perched on her finger, winking green and gold in the twilight. Bringing it close to her face, she watched it curiously, casting her skin in an eerie glow. “The sun is starting to set,” she said, unaware as I paused to gaze at her. “Are we very close to Chochin Machi?”
“Yes.”
She raised her arm, and the insect spiraled off into the forest. “Why is it called Lantern Town?”
We came out of the trees, and the road sloped gently away down a hill, toward a river and a series of docks on the other side. “See for yourself.”
Gazing down the rise, she drew in a slow breath.
Chochin Machi sat on the banks of the Hotaru River, glowing like a torch against the night. It wasn’t a large town like Kin Heigen Toshi, the capital city; it boasted a small castle, a handful of inns, shops and restaurants, and a fishing industry that did a fair job of supporting the town. Though that wasn’t why Chochin Machi was famous, or why it drew pilgrims and travelers from around Iwagoto.
On nearly every street, every corner and business and shrine, hundreds of red paper lanterns cast their soft glow into the darkness, lighting up the town. They hung from rooftops and tree branches, from doorways and awnings and from the helm of every ship floating on the river. The glow of the town could be seen for miles in every direction, and travelers flocked to it like moths to a flame.
“Sugoi,” Yumeko whispered. Amazing. Her eyes were round pools of black, and the lights of the town flickered in their depths. “It’s beautiful. The monks never told me there was anything like this beyond the temple.” She paused, then cocked her head, as if listening for something on the wind. “Are those drums?”
I stifled a groan. Late summer in Iwagoto was festival season, which meant Chochin Machi would be especially crowded tonight. “Stay close,” I told the girl. “It’s not a big town, but we don’t want to be separated.”
I turned away and started walking down the rise, hearing her hurry after me. We crossed the arched bridge over the river, where lanterns flickered atop the posts every few feet, and stepped into the ethereal glow of Chochin Machi.
Yumeko’s eyes remained wide as we walked down the broad, dusty street that cut through the market district. Unlike many towns that closed their doors when the sun went down, Chochin Machi’s shops thrived after dark. Strings of lanterns swung overhead, sometimes blocking out the sky, while individual chochin flickered in the doorways of shops, inns and restaurants, indicating that they were open. Market stalls sold their wares in the streets, everything from food to sandals to miniature paper lanterns, popular souvenirs of Chochin Machi.
As we neared the center of town, the sound of drums, deep and booming, began echoing into the night once more. Trailing the crowd, we came upon a large open square, where a tall wooden platform draped in red and white stood in the center like a beacon. Atop the stage, two bare-chested men with strips of red cloth tied around their foreheads beat a pair of large wooden drums with sticks, sending thunderous notes reverberating through the crowd. Strings of lanterns hung overhead, converging on the platform roof and lighting up the square, while people danced in a circle around the drummers, clapping and stamping their feet to the music.
I bristled, and in my head, Hakaimono stirred, riled by all the noise and movement. I did not like crowds. Too many things could happen; emotions could surge out of control, fights could break out, people could panic. If the gathering here became a riot and Hakaimono took control, this festival would swiftly turn into a bloodbath.
I walked a little faster, hoping to get away from the lights and music and into the darkness where I was comfortable. Preoccupied with watching the crowd, I suddenly realized Yumeko was no longer beside me. Turning, I saw her at the edge of the square, gazing at the circle of dancers, bobbing in place as she did.
With a scowl, I doubled back and moved beside her, leaning close to be heard over the drums. “Yumeko. What are you doing?”
“Tatsumi-san!” She glanced at me, eyes bright, apparently unable to keep her body still. “Dance with me,” she implored, gesturing to the singing, stamping mob. “Teach me how.”
I recoiled. Dance was not part of my training, being seen as frivolous and impractical by my sensei. I could appreciate the art, and the skill required to play an instrument, but I knew nothing of dancing and had no desire to learn. “No.”
“Please, Tatsumi-san?” She took a step back, toward the edge of the circle. The boom of the drums rose into the air, punctuated by the claps of the crowd, and she smiled at me. “Just for a little while. It’ll be fun.”
Fun. I stifled a wince. Fun was a dangerous word among my sensei. Are we having fun yet, Tatsumi? Ichiro-san had often crooned, usually when I was struggling with a given task, and right before I was punished for my failure. Since you’re having so much fun, we’ll try the same thing tomorrow. “We don’t have time for this,” I said.
She wrinkled her nose, then sighed. “Tatsumi-san, have you ever heard the proverb of the kawauso river otter and the Jade Prophet?” she asked. “In this tale,” she went on before I could answer, “there was a kawauso who took nothing seriously, who turned everything into a game and brought joy and frivolity wherever he went. In his wake, people laughed, danced, sang and forgot about their troubles. But one day, the kawauso met the Jade Prophet,
who told him, Life is suffering. Fun is a fleeting waste of time. You must stop these foolish games, and strive to work hard without fail. Only in suffering, dullness and boredom can you find true happiness. The kawauso took her advice to heart. He stopped all his games, worked himself to death and died a bitter old yokai with no friends, no family and no joy in his life.”
“I have never heard that proverb,” I said dubiously.
Yumeko grinned. “Of course not. It doesn’t exist.” And before I could stop her, she took three steps back and melted into the crowd of dancers.
I stared after her, fisting my hands at my side, as the girl joined the rippling throng. Overhead, the drums boomed, the crowd sang and Yumeko danced, swaying her body and clapping her hands to the music. Watching her, I found myself holding my breath, unable to look away. For just a moment, with her dark hair rippling about and her skin glowing under the lantern light, she was mesmerizing.
With a mental shake, I stalked along the edge of the square, keeping an eye on the girl as well as the people around her. Foolish, all my instincts told me. This is foolish. A waste of time. It had nothing to do with the mission nor did it bring us any closer to our objective. Do not let her distract you. She is important to the mission, nothing more.
As I circled after the girl, there was a flutter of something in the corner of my eye, like an enormous moth or bat. My hand shot up, snatching it from the air just before it hit the side of my head. Fragile, papery wings crumpled in my grip. I lowered my arm and opened my fingers to reveal a folded origami crane, the paper pitch-black and without design, lying crushed in the center of my palm.
Apprehension flickered. A summons? Now? Warily, I scanned the crowds, searching for hidden threats, for faces that I knew and gazes that lingered too long on me. I spotted nothing out of place, but a ripple of unease crept up my spine—not for me, but for the girl dancing in the crowd.
What should I do? I can’t take her with me. They’ll kill her. I glanced around, wondering if I could slip away and leave Yumeko here, if she’d be in the same place when I returned. But that was risky; I needed the girl to take me to the Steel Feather temple, and Yumeko seemed the type to wander after me if I simply disappeared. If she stumbled upon Shadow Clan business, they would show her no mercy.