by Julie Kagawa
However, as we turned a corner, a trio of men melted out of the shadows to block our path. They wore dark robes, and their faces were painted white with black markings across their cheeks and forehead. The majutsushi of the Shadow Clan.
“You are dismissed,” the lead figure told the samurai. “Return to your post. We will take the demonslayer from here.”
The warrior bowed deeply, turned on a heel and strode away without looking back. The sorcerer waited until the footsteps had faded into the dark before turning jet-black eyes on me.
“Kage Tatsumi,” he murmured as the others stepped forward, surrounding me. I kept my face blank, my hands at my side, though my head was filled with images of slicing them in half, drenching the corridors in blood. The robed figure’s painted black lips curled in a faint smile, as if he were reading my thoughts. “I can feel your hate from here, demonslayer,” he said in a raspy whisper. “You know what’s coming, and you desperately want to kill us all, don’t you?”
“Hakaimono’s desires are not mine, Master Iemon,” I replied carefully. “I am fully in control, both of myself and my weapon.”
“Are you?” The majutsushi’s lips curled higher. “Not according to Master Jomei. You have been seen in the company of a girl, a ronin and now, a samurai. A Taiyo noble, of all people. Did you think we would not notice your abnormal behavior? Have you forgotten the rules?” His stark black gaze narrowed. “What have we told you about dealing with those not of the Shadow Clan? Answer me.”
“I am to have little to no dealings with those outside of the Kage,” I replied obediently. “I am to avoid contact with people whenever possible. If it is not possible, I am to act as society dictates, until I can remove myself from their presence as quickly as I can.”
“And why is that, demonslayer?”
“Because my existence puts them in danger,” I quoted. “Because humans inspire emotion, which Hakaimono will use to weaken my defenses.”
“And if that happens?”
“I will lose control, and the Kage will be forced to put me down.”
Master Iemon nodded. “You know this,” he said harshly. “You know you must always work alone. Humans will only tempt you, distract you, and worse, they will bring out the emotions we have spent a lifetime teaching you to suppress. The Kage demonslayer must never give in to anger, fear, frustration or grief. Feeling anything only brings Hakaimono closer to the surface, and if you lose control of the sword, that will bring great shame and dishonor to the Kage, as we must clean up the mess you left behind.”
“I understand, Master Iemon. But—”
“But?” The majutsushi hissed, “There is no but, no excuse. You are nothing, demonslayer. You exist only to serve the Kage. Your personal feelings mean nothing, because you should not have them.” He straightened and stepped back, appraising me. “It appears that the Kage demonslayer’s resolve is slipping. Perhaps a reevaluation of the subject’s mental state is necessary.”
Rage filled me, and I fought the urge to draw Kamigoroshi and cut my way free, knowing Iemon was watching my reaction. Reevaluation meant days of mental and physical stress to determine if I could remain in control. It meant being shackled to a pair of stone pillars and beaten with bamboo rods, to see if I would lose myself to the demon. It meant plunging my hand into a bed of hot coals to prove I would follow orders at any cost, or kneeling motionless before a wooden target while fellow shinobi hurled shuriken and kunai past my face.
But, with Iemon and the rest of the majutsushi watching, judging my reaction, there was only one acceptable answer. Bowing low at the waist, I cast my gaze to the floor, feeling Iemon’s eyes on the back of my neck. “My life and my body belong to the Shadow Clan,” I murmured, as Hakaimono recoiled in angry disgust. “If this is what the Kage requires of me, I will submit.”
“No, Tatsumi-kun,” came a new voice behind me. “Not this time.”
“Masao-san!” Iemon exclaimed, as the courtier sauntered into the hallway. Clad in a flowing kimono of purple silk, a spray of golden bamboo covering one side, he stood out among the stark black robes of the majutsushi. The pair that had been flanking Iemon backed away, but the lead majutsushi stood firm as Kage Masao’s presence filled the corridor like a swan stretching its wings.
“Good evening, Master Iemon,” Masao greeted. “Please forgive the interruption, but I’m afraid I must intervene. The demonslayer will come with me.”
Iemon’s black lips thinned. “The demonslayer is under our watch,” the majutsushi argued, as Masao regarded him lazily from behind his white silk fan. “We are responsible for determining if he is a danger to himself and the citizens of Iwagoto.”
“Tatsumi-kun is on a very important mission for Lady Hanshou herself.” Masao snapped his fan shut and smiled at the glowering majutsushi. “He does not have time to be dragged away and tormented by your cadre of ghouls.” Iemon stiffened, but the courtier’s smile didn’t falter. “Worry not, Iemon-san. If he loses control and eats someone, I will assume full responsibility.”
“Very well.” The majutsushi stepped back, a sour look on his face. Victory went to the courtier, and I took a quiet breath of relief. “Then we leave him in your capable hands, Masao-san. I am certain you will know what to do if Hakaimono makes an appearance.” He smirked, his expression saying the exact opposite, as if he was hoping I would lose control and rip the courtier to shreds, but Masao only nodded serenely.
“Oh, you flatter me, Master Iemon.” The courtier fluttered his fan again, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks. “I am not worthy of such praise. Besides, with your excellent training and guidance, I am sure to be in no danger. Tatsumi-kun has had the most thorough upbringing, I am certain. And if the boy does lose control, Lady Hanshou would certainly not blame the death of her most trusted advisor on you. She is, of course, the kindest and most benevolent of rulers, and her punishments for those who disappoint her are reserved for only the vilest of failures.”
Behind his makeup, Iemon went slightly pale. “Yes. Well.” He backed away, suddenly eager to be gone. “We will take our leave, then. Good evening, Masao-san.”
“And to you, Iemon-san.”
As the majutsushi turned and drifted away down the corridor, Masao’s pleasant smile turned faintly savage, and he closed his fan. “Keep to your magic and manipulating the kami, Iemon-san,” he said in a quiet voice. “Don’t attempt to play the game of the court with a master.”
Tucking the fan into his obi, he looked at me, and the vicious mask disappeared, as if it had never been. “Tatsumi-kun,” he said brightly. “So sorry to keep you waiting. Will you walk with me for a bit?”
We started down the hallway, moving in the opposite direction Iemon and the rest of the majutsushi had gone. I was glad to be rid of Iemon and the three majutsushi, but strangely enough, being in the presence of Kage Masao felt just as unnerving, as if there were live vipers hidden beneath his robes, though I didn’t know why.
“I understand that the Silent Winds temple had been destroyed when you got there,” Masao commented after a minute or two of walking.
“Yes, Master Masao,” I replied. “Amanjaku had killed everyone, and the scroll was already gone. There were reports of an oni, but I didn’t see it.”
“Demons,” Masao mused, sounding grim. “So, Jomei was right. A mortal is summoning them from Jigoku, which means they’re likely after the scroll, as well. Lady Hanshou will not be pleased.” He sighed and gave me a sideways look. “This girl you’ve taken up with, who is giving Iemon a heart attack. Who is she?”
“The only survivor from the temple,” I told him. “She claims her master told her where he sent the scroll, but not how to get there. That’s why we came to the capital—there is someone here who knows where this hidden temple is located. I promised to escort her there once she has the information.”
“I see.” Masao gave no indication of what he thought of
this. “And do you trust this girl?”
“I...” I paused. Trust no one, that was Master Ichiro’s number one rule. Believe nothing but what your senses tell you, he would always warn. Humans manipulate. Yokai deceive. Everything has ulterior motives, and the second you let your guard down, they will slit your throat from behind.
I’d heeded his warning, of course. Everything, everyone I met, was looking to kill, harm or manipulate me in some fashion. That assumption had saved my life on more than one occasion, when the sobbing child at the river had lunged at me with bared fangs, and the frightened woman in the alley had attempted to strangle me with her hair.
But Yumeko... It was strange, and possibly dangerous, but I felt...almost comfortable around her. Or, at least, I didn’t believe she would try to stab me the moment I let down my guard. Master Ichiro would flay the skin from my back if he discovered I was having such thoughts, but Yumeko was different, genuinely curious and unassuming. She had saved my life, she didn’t demand anything of me and she was the first person to ever touch me without inflicting pain.
“I trust she will take me to where the scroll is,” I told the courtier. “I trust she will do everything in her power to get there.”
“Good.” Masao nodded. “Continue to aid her, then. Protect the girl from the demons and blood mages that might try to stop you. Do whatever it takes to ensure your mission is a success. And the moment she leads you to the scroll and you have it in your possession, kill her.”
A cold lance went through my stomach, but I nodded once, keeping my voice impassive. “Understood.”
“Excellent.” Masao smiled cheerfully. “I don’t understand why Iemon was so worried. Obviously you will do what you must to finish your mission for Lady Hanshou. So, Tatsumi-kun, what is the next step? Where is this person who knows the location of the scroll?”
“We don’t know,” I said, earning a puzzled frown from the courtier. “He was supposed to be at the Hayate shrine, but three days ago he was summoned to the Imperial Palace and disappeared.”
“Summoned to the palace? By whom?”
“Lady Satomi.”
“Oh? The emperor’s concubine?” Masao pressed his lips together, looking thoughtful. “There are rumors of her cruelty, but no more than most of the inner court. So, are you part of this little game as well, Lady Satomi? How very...interesting.” A sly expression crossed his face, before he shook it off and looked at me again. “A woman of Satomi’s station will be difficult to get to,” he said. “I assume you are going over the wall, but what then? How do you plan to discover what she knows?”
“There is an event at the palace tomorrow night—” I began, and Masao snapped his fingers together.
“Of course. The emperor’s Moon Viewing party, how could I forget?” For a moment, he regarded me with an amused smile on his lips. “A shame you can’t attend the normal way, Tatsumi-kun. I can just see the ladies of the court eyeing you like a pack of ravenous wolves.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Master Masao.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Abruptly, Masao turned and pressed the end of his fan beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I went rigid as he peered at me, studying my face. “Ichiro and Iemon have probably never told you,” he murmured, “but did you know that you are extremely handsome, Tatsumi-kun? A shame they chose you to be the bearer of that cursed sword. Such wasted potential. Of course, in the court, the right clothes would make the difference, but still.” His eyes gleamed as he lowered the fan and stepped back, smiling in a way that caused a flutter of trepidation to go through my stomach. “Well, do your best, demonslayer. And good luck with Lady Satomi. I fear you might find the emperor’s court more challenging than you think.”
28
The Moon Viewing Party
I didn’t quite recognize the girl in the reflection.
I knew her face. That was the only thing that was familiar. Everything else—hair, makeup, clothing—seemed foreign and strange.
I stood in the shrine maiden’s room, doors and windows firmly shut with strict orders that we not be disturbed, and stared at the kitsune in the small oval mirror above her dresser. The layered red-and-white robe, trimmed in gold and patterned with beautiful designs, was easily the most elegant thing I had ever worn. It was also heavy, nearly covered my toes and was quite cumbersome, especially the wide, billowy sleeves. My hair had been combed, trimmed and hung in a pleated braid down my back, tied with red-and-gold silk ribbons. A tall peaked cap sat atop my head behind my pointed fox ears; I pinned them back in distaste, and the cap toppled off and fell to the floor.
Reika sighed. “You can’t do that when you’re at the palace,” she chided, picking the cap off the tatami mats and placing it on my head again. “If you’re going to fool everyone into thinking you’re a respected onmyoji, you can’t be twitching at every little thing.”
“These robes are so heavy,” I said, wrinkling my nose. I could feel my tail beneath the fabric, pressed against the backs of my legs, and I shifted uncomfortably. At least the cumbersome fabric concealed the scroll, still hidden in the furoshiki, quite well. “I’m going to be tripping over my own feet every few steps. Can’t I just make my normal clothes look like this?”
“Fox magic is nothing but illusion and trickery,” the miko returned, the disdain in her voice reminding me of Denga-san. “If you are discovered to be half yokai within the Imperial Palace, not only will you be executed, everyone associated with you will be punished, as well. The ronin, the noble and the Kage demonslayer—all could be killed, because you didn’t want to be uncomfortable for a night. Do you really want to risk that?”
I sniffed. “Can I at least get some geta clogs so I don’t trip and fall on my face in front of the entire Imperial court?”
She grimaced. “I can raise the hem a couple inches, just give me a minute.”
She knelt beside me and began tugging on the fabric, muttering at me to hold still. As I looked in the mirror again, my thoughts wandered. After Tatsumi had departed last night, disappearing into the city with his clansmen, Reika had kindly provided rooms for me and Okame. Daisuke had left as well, returning to his family’s estate in the Sun district, though he’d promised to return the next evening to escort us to the palace. This afternoon, Reika had sent a few mikos out to find attire suitable for an onmyoji “of my station,” and had firmly suggested that Okame should head to the marketplace for an outfit as well; one that didn’t scream “filthy ronin dog.” The ronin had scoffed at first, but the shrine maiden insisted she wasn’t going to jeopardize our mission because of his stupid pride, and practically chased him out of the shrine, threatening to send the shrine guardian after him if he didn’t leave. After the ronin finally heeded her orders, she turned her attention to me.
“What are the names of the last five emperors?” Reika demanded, still kneeling at the hem of my robes. I stifled a groan. All morning, she had lectured me about the ways of the court: their customs, what was socially acceptable and what behaviors would scream “uncouth peasant.” The amount of details to remember when simply offering a bow made my head spin, as was the list of topics that were deemed unnacceptable for this time of year. When asked a question, it was considered rude to simply say yes or no; better to reply with poem and verse, using as many similies and flowery phrases as possible.
“Um...” I hedged, knowing Reika was expecting an answer. An onmyoji of my station, she’d explained earlier, would certainly know the history of Iwagoto’s royal family. “Taiyo no Genjiro, Taiyo no Eiichi, Taiyo no Fujikata, Taiyo no...um...Kintaro?”
“Now you’re just guessing,” the shrine maiden said. “And you cannot say ‘um’ or ‘ano’ in the imperial court. Peasants and commoners stutter. Nobles never do.”
With a sigh, I shifted my weight, earning a tch of displeasure from the shrine maiden. Abruptly, I missed Tatsumi; though he never said much, his quie
t presence could always be felt. I wondered where he was now, what he was doing. I hoped I would see him again, that he would meet us in the palace like he promised. I also hoped I wouldn’t put a foot in my mouth at the imperial court and expose us all.
“There,” Reika said, and rose, brushing off her knees. “I think you’re as ready as you’ll ever be.” Stepping back, she crossed her arms and regarded me with a critical eye, before nodding once. “Good enough. You look like an onmyoji, on the surface at least. Now, it’s almost sundown, and I must prepare myself, as well. Why don’t you go and see if the ronin has made it back yet? And please, do not get dirty before we even reach the palace.”
Trying not to step on the bottom of my robes, I walked outside.
Okame was leaning against the railing when I stepped onto the veranda, and his brows shot up as he saw me. “Sugoi,” he exclaimed quietly, pushing himself off the post. “Yumeko-chan, you look...different. I didn’t even recognize you.”
I grinned at him. “You as well, Okame.” The ronin had shaved, his goatee trim and neat instead of bristling over his chin, and his reddish-brown hair pulled behind him in a tight ponytail. His white hakama and brown haori jacket weren’t fancy, but they were new and clean and well fitted. He didn’t exactly look like a noble, but he didn’t appear to be an aimlessly wandering ronin, either. “You look almost respectable.”
“Bite your tongue,” he retorted, and looked away, a tinge creeping up his neck. “I can’t believe I have to parade around the emperor’s palace pretending to be a samurai with a bunch of stuck-up aristocrats.”
I cocked my head. “Why do you hate the samurai so much, Okame-san?” I asked. “Tatsumi said that ronin were samurai at one point, before they lost their master. What happened to yours?”