Shadow of the Fox

by Julie Kagawa

  “Huh.” Okame crossed his arms, his expression unusually grim. “So, your Master Isao sent this scroll away, presumably to another temple, and Kage-san just decided to escort you there, hmm?”

  “No, not really. I asked him to.”

  “And he agreed. The antisocial, don’t-bother-me-or-I’ll-kill-you Shadow Clan samurai agreed to escort a peasant girl across several territories to a mysterious temple hidden somewhere on the other side of the country.”

  “Um. Yes?”

  The ronin shook his head and bent closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t see what’s going on, do you?” he muttered. “He’s not taking you to the temple out of the kindness of his heart. He wants the scroll, Yumeko-chan.”

  “Of course he does. Everyone wants the scroll, Okame-san.” I could feel the lacquered case again, pressed into my skin under the furoshiki and had to force myself not to touch the spot where it was hidden. “But I promised Master Isao that I would warn the Steel Feather temple about the demon attack, and I don’t think I could make it there on my own, especially if there’s a blood mage after us. You’ve seen how Tatsumi fights. His sword was created to kill demons. He’s my best chance of reaching the temple alive.”

  “And what happens when you get there, and he demands the scroll from the monks?”

  “I’m...still working on that.”

  He shook his head. “Well, good luck, Yumeko-chan. Personally, I don’t know what would be scarier—an oni or an angry Kage demonslayer. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  I hoped so, as well.

  * * *

  The sun began to set while we were still several miles from the next town. As the shadows grew long and the first stars began to appear, I quickened my pace to walk alongside Tatsumi.

  “It’s getting late, Tatsumi-san. Shouldn’t we be looking for a place to spend the night?”

  “Sagimura isn’t far,” he answered. “If we don’t stop, we’ll reach it before the hour of the Boar.” He paused a moment, before adding, “I’d rather sleep in a village tonight than out in the open.”

  I shivered. So, he felt it, too. The sensation of danger, of eyes on us wherever we went. In fact, the closer we drew to Sagimura, the more uneasy I felt. Not only that something was watching us, but that something was coming. Chasing us. Stalking us.

  And if Tatsumi didn’t want to stay out in the open, then whatever was out there was something I did not want to meet.

  The moon was a full silver disk overhead when the road took us over a bridge that spanned the Hotaru River. On the other side, over the distant rice paddies, I could just catch the glimmers of light that came from Sagimura. There was just one problem.

  A stranger stood in the center of the bridge, the moonlight blazing down on him, a shining katana held loosely at his side.

  23

  The Demon on the Bridge

  “Oni no Mikoto,” Yumeko whispered.

  The swordsman waited for us in the center of the bridge, unmoving as a statue. I didn’t know what I was expecting of the Demon Prince, but it wasn’t the tall, almost elegant figure in front of us. He wore dark blue hakama trousers and sandals, but his chest was bare, lean muscles exposed to the moonlight. Long white hair, not uncommon in Taiyo lands, fell unbound past his waist. A white-and-red oni mask covered his face, its mouth split into a wide, tusk-bearing grin, curved horns spiking up from its forehead. His sword glimmered at his side, curved and lethal.

  “Well, shit,” Okame muttered. “It really is Oni no Mikoto, or someone doing their damndest to imitate the legend. Good thing I’m not impressed by legends. Or that silly code of honor. Don’t worry, Kage-san,” he said, grinning back at me. “I’ll take care of this.”

  In one smooth motion, he drew back his string and loosed an arrow at the figure on the bridge. I watched, knowing the ronin was a near perfect shot, wondering if the next thing I saw would be the stranger toppling backward with an arrow jutting from his chest.

  Oni no Mikoto didn’t move. He didn’t dive out of the way, or take a step back. His sword flicked up, a blink of silver in the darkness, and knocked the dart aside. The arrow clattered against the rails before dropping into the river.

  “Sugoi.” This from Yumeko, her voice awed. “That was...very fast.”

  The ronin blew out a soft breath. “Yeah,” he said, sounding half annoyed, half intimidated. “That confirms it, then. We need to find another bridge.”

  “There is no other bridge.” I stared at Oni no Mikoto, impatient. The Demon Prince regarded us in silence, seemingly unconcerned that he had just been shot at. I could sense his contemplation, the weight of his gaze regarding each of us in turn. Then, that long gleaming blade rose and pointed, very deliberately, at me, before lowering to his side again.

  Okame snorted. “Looks like you’ve just been challenged, Kage-san. Better you than me, though like I said, I don’t have to worry about honor and fair fights. I suppose you’ll be accepting the duel, then. Wouldn’t want to risk dishonor to...I guess everything, really. Yourself, your clan, your children, your livestock, the road you’re traveling, the sandals on your feet, the rice balls in your pack—”

  “Really? The rice balls, too?” Yumeko frowned at him. “I didn’t know you could dishonor your food.”

  “Everything can be dishonored, Yumeko-chan. Just ask any samurai. Of course, they’d probably cut off your head for asking such a dishonorable question.”

  “Enough.”

  Oni no Mikoto spoke. His voice was calm and smooth, and had a cultured edge that caught my attention. Definitely not a vagabond ronin or bandit; he almost sounded like Kage Masao, the well-bred courtier and advisor to Lady Hanshou. “Kage-san,” the Demon Prince continued, “if it wasn’t clear before, I challenge you to a duel to prove whose skill is superior. If you wish to cross, you must defeat me first. You can, of course, turn around and leave without consequence. I have no interest in cowards.”

  Kamigoroshi flared, eager and almost gleeful. I ignored the exciting pulsing of the sword and gestured at Yumeko and the ronin, a few paces away. “What of my companions?”

  “The girl may cross, if she chooses. The ronin...” I sensed his gaze shift under the mask, his voice taking on the faintest edge. “I would prefer he stayed within my sight, if only to prevent an arrow in my back once he crosses the bridge.”

  For any samurai, a statement like that would be an unforgivable insult, implying that he would strike from behind like a coward, but the ronin only shrugged.

  “Don’t worry about me.” The ronin put away his bow and settled against the railing. “There’s no way I would miss this. I’m only disappointed there’s no gambling hall to place bets. I’d walk out of here a rich man.”

  I could almost feel the disdain coming from the masked stranger across from me. Gambling, especially on another’s life, was something criminals, merchants and pit crowds partook in. Not respectable samurai.

  “Yumeko,” I said, finding the girl hovering close to the railing. “You should leave. Sagimura is on the other side of the bridge—find an inn and wait for us there. We shouldn’t be long.”

  “What? I’m not going anywhere.” Yumeko glared at Oni no Mikoto, then turned to me, her eyes conflicted. “This duel,” she began. “It’s to the death, isn’t it?”

  I looked at my opponent. There were several kinds of duels. Some used bokken, wooden practice swords, to prove who was stronger without bloodshed. Some duels were to first blood, and though they could be deadly, often ended without fatalities. Among skilled samurai, iaijutsu duels were favored, where two swordsmen stood an arm’s length apart with their swords sheathed, and the first to move, draw his blade and cut his opponent was the winner of the match. They, too, could be deadly, but death was not a foregone conclusion.

  “Yes,” Oni no Mikoto said calmly. “As I am the challenger, I will allow you to choose th
e type of duel you prefer, be it iaijutsu or something else. But there will be no first blood, no quarter given and no surrender. This will be to the death. Only one of us will cross this bridge tonight, unless you wish to turn around and go back.”

  “Why?” Yumeko asked. “What do you gain from killing people? Are you really a demon?”

  “A demon?” The masked stranger sounded taken aback. He stared at her, then shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he told her gently. “Those with no passion can never comprehend the drive for perfection. I am no demon. I am merely an artist who, for years, had no canvas to practice upon. I dedicated my life to swordplay, to perfecting the balance between myself and the blade. But dueling with wooden swords, or being forced to stop at first blood—that is like painting a picture with only half the colors. The ‘safe’ duels I fought hobbled me and told me nothing. The only way to truly test my skills is to fight with no limitations. Only then will I know if I have achieved perfection.”

  “But...you kill people,” Yumeko said. “You lurk on bridges and ambush travelers, just to prove that you’re better at swordplay. Why?”

  “Lurk?” The stranger sounded amused. “What a distasteful image. Were you a man, I would ask you to back up your insult with steel. Oni no Mikoto does not lurk. I challenge, and then I offer a clear choice. Anyone can refuse the duel. There have been several who have recognized a superior opponent and have declined the challenge, at no loss of honor to themselves. I do not wish to fight those who are not worthy. Acknowledging they are outmatched saves me valuable time, which I appreciate. All too often, I find my opponents are boastful and overconfident, and have a much higher opinion of themselves than their skills account for. I hope that is not the case here.

  “So, Kage-san.” That pale oni mask turned back to me. “I humbly await your answer. Will you, as several have done before you, turn around and leave? Or will you face Oni no Mikoto with honor and cross swords with him tonight?”

  “Neither.”

  I could sense his surprise, even though the demon mask gave nothing away. The ronin was mistaken; ideals of honor and glory meant very little to me. I had no pride to stand on, no loss of face to endure. Despite appearances, I wasn’t samurai; I was a Kage shinobi, one who struck from the shadows, who used misdirection and tricks to best my foes. Shinobi were already seen as dishonorable assassins, because true bushi faced their enemies head-on and did not stoop to skulking in the dark. I had my personal honor, and followed the code of the Shadow Clan, but Bushido wasn’t as important as completing my mission, at any cost.

  If I could have avoided this battle, I would have. But Oni no Mikoto was an obstacle, and it would take too much time to find a path around. “I would rather not fight here,” I told him, feeling Hakaimono rise up like a blood-filled typhoon. “But you’re in my way, and I have a mission to complete. I’m not going to cross blades with you, I’m going to cut a path right through you to the other side.”

  “Excellent!” Oni no Mikoto sounded ecstatic. “You honor me with your acceptance. Come then, Kage-san. Let us see whose skills are sharper.”

  “Yumeko,” I said, not taking my eyes from my opponent, “get back. This is my fight, understand? Don’t try to interfere.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her take a step toward me. “Don’t die,” she ordered quietly. “You promised to take me to the Steel Feather temple. It would be very rude to break your promise by getting killed, Tatsumi-san.”

  “I’m not going to die,” I told her. Within, Hakaimono was growing stronger, a surging tide of violence and bloodlust. “Go,” I repeated. “Get to safety. This will be over soon.”

  The ronin pushed himself off the railing. “This should be interesting,” he said, and moved away, retreating several yards down the bridge and giving us plenty of room. After a moment, Yumeko followed.

  I faced Oni no Mikoto over the center of the river, the moon shining down on us both, lighting the bridge. A cold breeze hissed across the planks from the water, ruffling my clothes and tossing his long hair.

  “Does your sword have a name, Kage-san?” Oni no Mikoto asked.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a scholar of the blade. I have studied the history of Iwagoto’s swordsmanship, its finest warriors and weapon smiths, and through the years, the names of a few special blades have appeared time and time again. The emperor’s sword, Dawn’s Glory. The paired blades of the famed duelist, Mizu Sasaki. If your sword does have a name, I would like very much to hear it. It would be a great honor to cross blades with a weapon from the history scrolls.”

  “There is no honor in this sword’s name.”

  Oni no Mikoto’s head tilted, as if he was seeing me for the first time. “You...are of the Shadow Clan,” he said slowly. “There are but two swords of note that originated within the Kage. Sasori, the blade of the Shadow Clan daimyo...and the cursed sword that brought destruction to the land and nearly wiped the Kage from existence.”

  I felt a smile creep, unbidden across my face, as I heard myself speaking words that weren’t entirely my own. “A true oni would know better than to cross blades with Kamigoroshi.”

  “Then it is true,” Oni no Mikoto whispered, sounding faintly in awe. “You possess the Godslayer, the cursed sword of the Kage.”

  I took a breath, pushing the other presence down and reclaiming my voice. “You can turn back,” I told him softly, as Hakaimono snarled at me, annoyed. “Kamigoroshi doesn’t care what soul it devours, be it human or demon. There is still time to bow out. You said so yourself—it is no dishonor to acknowledge a superior opponent.”

  “Kage-san.” Oni no Mikoto stepped forward. He was shaking, but it wasn’t in fear, I realized, but excitement. “This is the fight I have searched for my whole life. Long I have waited for a worthy opponent, one who would push me beyond the limit of my skills. How many can say they have dueled a legend? How many can say they have crossed blades with the sword that almost single-handedly destroyed one of the Great Clans? No, Kage-san, I will not relinquish this battle.” He raised his own weapon in a two-handed grip, the curved sword glittering between us like a shaft of moonlight. “I am Oni no Mikoto, the undefeated blade of the Taiyo, and it will be an honor to fight you.”

  I hesitated a moment more, then slowly drew Kamigoroshi. It howled eagerly as it was unsheathed, baleful purple light spilling over the planks.

  We faced each other on the bridge, unmoving, the wind tugging at our hair and clothes. I stood motionless, Kamigoroshi loose at my side, while Oni no Mikoto did the same, his blade held upright in two hands. Time seemed to slow, each of us sizing up our opponent, gauging strengths and weaknesses, waiting for that moment we would both explode into battle.

  Not yet, I thought, as Oni no Mikoto shifted his stance just slightly, drawing one foot behind the other. I tightened my grip on Kamigoroshi, feeling my muscles tense and Hakaimono’s impatience flare, eager for blood. He’s going to come in fast. Be ready—

  With a crash and a splintering of boards, a huge serpentine creature burst out from under the bridge, rising fifteen feet into the air between us. Pale light gleamed off a hardened carapace, and dozens of segmented yellow legs skittered over the planks as the creature crawled onto the bridge. A bulbous crimson head swung around to face me, green ichor dripping from two sickle-like mandibles, as the omukade, a giant, man-eating centipede, reared up with a piercing hiss and lunged.

  24

  The Great Omukade

  My stomach seemed to drop to my toes.

  A monstrous centipede loomed into the air, towering over Tatsumi and Oni no Mikoto, making them look like insects themselves. Its segmented carapace was jet-black, its head bright crimson, and two lethal mandibles opened like a pair of sickles as it sped toward Tatsumi.

  The warrior dodged, springing aside, and brought Kamigoroshi across the centipede’s back in a flash of purple ligh
t. But the blade screeched off the armor-like chitin, leaving a gaping scar in the carapace but unable to pierce through.

  “Kuso!” Okame scrambled backward as the monster spun on Tatsumi, dozens of legs clacking over the planks, and lunged again. Once more, the demonslayer leaped aside, and the pinchers sank into the railing behind him, slicing clean through the wood like it was rice paper. Tatsumi cut at the huge yokai, this time aiming for the bright yellow legs. With a spurt of green ichor, three severed appendages clattered to the bridge, twitching and thrashing about, but the omukade writhed around to follow him, not slowed in the least.

  An arrow bounced off the shiny carapace, then another, and a third. “Dammit,” Okame growled, firing a fourth arrow at the monster’s head. It skidded off the top of its skull, and the centipede didn’t even look up. “Kuso,” the ronin spat, reaching back for another arrow. “Tough ugly bastard. Every spot is armored. At this rate, it’ll eat Kage-san and then come after us.”

  Oni no Mikoto suddenly appeared, leaping over the centipede’s long, writhing body and raising his sword over his head. The omukade, still facing off with Tatsumi, didn’t notice the masked swordsman until the Demon Prince sliced down with his blade. Like Kamigoroshi, it screeched off the monster’s thick carapace, and the centipede whirled on him with a hiss.

  Every spot is armored. “Okame,” I gasped, turning to the ronin, who was fitting another arrow to his bow. “The eyes! The eyes aren’t protected. Aim for the eyes.”

  “What?” Okame lowered his bow and gaped at me, then the centipede. The huge yokai thrashed about in the center of the bridge, snapping at Tatsumi and Oni no Mikoto as they desperately tried to avoid getting caught between its huge pinchers. Tatsumi lashed out with Kamigoroshi as the centipede’s head snaked down, and the monster recoiled, furiously gnashing its jaws.

  “Dammit, it’s moving around too much,” Okame growled, sighting down his bow at the huge yokai. “And its eyeball is the size of a persimmon, so it’s really hard to get a shot. If the bastard would stop moving around, I just need it to be still for a second...”