“Curse them,” he said on an explosive exhale, then spun left and leaped into motion.
Loud crashing behind them made her turn to look. Two enormous oni smashed through the trees and charged after them.
Shiro ran, each leaping step carrying them just a little farther from the pursuing oni. Emi clung to him, petrified even as a trickle of relief ran through her. No human could have outrun the oni, but Shiro was fast. The oni were falling behind. They would escape.
With a triumphant howl, a third oni flew out of the trees right into their path.
Shiro dodged the oni’s grasping claws, but his surefootedness finally failed him. He hit the ground on his heels and went over backward, taking Emi with him. They tumbled together through the snow and skidded to a stop a few inches from a boulder that would have cracked her skull open.
Stunned from the fall, Emi lay sprawled on her stomach as Shiro shot to his feet, his back to the boulder and Emi on the ground just behind him.
“Well, well,” a deep voice growled. “Inari’s whelp can shape-shift. What took you so long, rat?”
“Time is a relative concept,” Shiro replied casually. He didn’t sound remotely frightened. He must have been afraid, though, since he’d just run more miles than a horse could gallop to get away from them.
“And you brought us a miko,” the oni continued. “Offering her as a sacrifice won’t save you.”
Pulling herself together, Emi scrambled to her feet. She peered past Shiro at the three towering oni positioned in a half circle around them, blocking any escape. Three. They were dead.
“Sacrificing the miko sounds fun,” Shiro said, “but it’s not really what I had in mind.”
The middle oni swung the huge metal-studded club in its hand. “If you tell us where the Tengu nests, we might reconsider your fate.”
“Unless you’ve learned to fly, I don’t think that would help you much.”
The oni snarled, drool dripping from one tusk. It raised his club, and the three oni charged them.
Shiro shoved Emi aside, knocking her off her feet, and dove in the opposite direction. Emi landed on her stomach and twisted around, expecting to see a spiked club rushing for her face. But the oni had all swarmed toward Shiro, rightfully identifying him as the greatest threat—or perhaps the greatest flight risk. If Shiro took off without her weight slowing him down, he might have a chance to outrun them.
But he didn’t run—or maybe he didn’t have an opening yet. He ducked under another club and leaped out of the cluster before they could trap him, but the oni were faster than she had thought possible, and they rushed around him. He spun and jumped back, staying just out of reach—but for how long? He couldn’t dodge them forever, and he had no weapons to fight with. Running, not fighting, was clearly his specialty.
Shoving herself to her feet, she yanked out her stack of ofuda and selected one. As the oni circled Shiro, she inched closer, legs trembling. When one presented its back to her, she jumped forward and slapped the ofuda against its spine.
“Sotei no shinketsu!” she yelled.
Blue light flared across the ofuda before the fiery glow whooshed over the oni’s entire body, encasing it. It froze in place, immobile as a statue.
Emi staggered back. Katsuo’s binding spell had only created a restricting bar of light. Why was hers so different? Her eyes dropped to the ofuda and her fear leaped—the edges of the paper were already turning black.
An outraged snarl erupted above her. The two remaining oni bore down on her, clubs already swinging for her head.
Shiro sprang out of nowhere. He seized her as he dove, taking her down with him. She hit the ground for the third time in as many minutes, and he landed on top of her, his weight squashing the air from her lungs. He grabbed her and rolled them together. As he spun her on top of him, a club slammed into the ground right where they’d been. The oni bellowed angrily.
With another fast roll, Shiro leaped up, hauling her with him. She staggered, dizzy from all the falling and spinning. He backed up, shoving her along behind him as the oni advanced.
“Don’t suppose you have any more of those binding ofuda,” he said calmly, even as he shunted her back another couple steps, standing between her and the oni.
“A couple, but I don’t think they’ll stand still long enough for me to stick them with one,” she said, her shaky voice betraying her terror. “And they don’t last long, just a couple minutes.”
“Hmm. We may be in trouble then.”
She blinked. Weren’t they already in trouble?
The two oni charged. Shiro grabbed her as he dove out of the way, pulling her with him. He tossed her back toward the boulder—literally threw her—while he ducked a swinging club. Landing on her feet, she spun around as he dove into a roll, popping up between the oni. He grabbed one by the arm and used it to leap right over the oni’s shoulder. He landed in front of her and whirled to face the enemy.
“What’s the plan?” she asked urgently, backing away.
“Plans are overrated, don’t you think?” He danced back as the first oni swung the club at his head. “I’m more the ‘just wing it’ type.”
Was he actually joking around with her while oni were trying to splatter his brains across the forest floor? Did he not know fear? As he jumped over the swipe of the oni’s club and darted away, leading the two oni after him—and away from her—she clenched her hands, crumpling her useless ofuda. Though even more outmatched than Shiro, Katsuo had at least had a sword when he faced the oni. Unarmed, Shiro was defenseless.
“You can’t dodge them forever,” she shouted desperately. “You need a weapon!”
“A weapon?” He skidded to a halt in the snow as a strange, arrested look crossed his face. “Yes, a weapon would be good.”
With a burst of blue light, the third oni broke free from her ofuda. It roared in mindless rage and ran at Shiro’s back like a bull while the other two charged him from the front.
Shiro didn’t move. His expression went blank, eyes sliding almost closed as he lifted his arms and extended them to either side of his body. Red fire erupted in his hands, swirling over his wrists and up his arms. Then the fire exploded outward from his palms in a rippling line.
The flames evaporated and he was left holding two identical curved blades.
He spun the short swords in his hands as the three oni closed in on him. She caught a glimpse of him launching himself toward the nearest beast with his blades whistling through the air, then he disappeared behind a mass of red hide and wild black hair.
Writhing limbs, an animal scream, a spray of green liquid.
Shiro sprang out of the fray and landed in the snow with his back to the oni trio. Green blood coated his blades. One by one, with gurgling groans, the oni collapsed onto the ground before going completely still. Lifeless. Dead, all three of them.
Without moving from his spot, Shiro lifted one blade and tilted it toward the moon above. Green blood shone on the curved blade, a foot and a half long with a katana-like hilt. The kitsune was silent and still as he stared at the blade. Cautiously, with her limbs still trembling from adrenaline, she circled the dead oni and stopped a couple yards from him.
“Shiro? Are you okay?”
“Mm?” His attention was still fixed on the sword. “Yes, I’m fine.”
She hesitated, unsure how to interpret his strange mood. “Why didn’t you use your swords sooner?”
He brought them together and held them before him as if he’d never seen them before.
“I only just remembered I had them.” The words were soft, scarcely more than a whisper. Then his head turned toward her and that crooked grin appeared. Red flames leaped down the blades. He opened his hands and the fire dissolved, taking the weapons with them.
She stared at his empty hands before looking at his face. “How did you do that—make them appear and vanish?”
“Foxfire has many uses.”
She regarded him suspiciously. How could he h
ave forgotten he had the swords? Why did he spend so long evading deadly blows when he could have summoned his weapons at any time? Weapons he clearly knew how to use very well, judging by the swift ease with which he’d dispatched all three oni.
“Caw.”
Emi’s head jolted up. From atop a towering pine, a black crow rustled its wings as it watched them.
“Finally,” Shiro said loudly. “How far were you going to make us walk?”
“Caw.”
A clear note of amusement sounded in the bird’s call. It spread its wings in a lazy stretch before hopping off the branch. It swooped down, passing over Shiro’s head and gliding off into the trees.
“Our ally has deigned to allow an audience,” Shiro told her. “Are you ready?”
No, of course she wasn’t ready. Her whole body hurt, her muscles trembled, and her heartbeat had yet to slow to its normal rhythm. She was exhausted, frozen, and scared.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
He started after the crow, showing no signs of fatigue despite having carried her through the mountains at top speed and battled three huge mountain oni. She trudged after him, weariness in every bone. Her mind spun with too many questions and her gaze dropped to his empty hands.
I only just remembered. How could he have forgotten about his swords? She might have suspected he was lying, but she’d seen the look on his face the moment he remembered he had them, right after she’d shouted at him that he needed a weapon to fight. But it was such an unlikely thing to forget that she couldn’t shake the feeling that something very strange was going on.
Chapter 11
The crow led them into a heavily forested valley. At this point, Emi had no clue how deep into the mountains they were. The moon hovered overhead, lighting their way but offering no hint of time or direction. How long had she been gone? How long until someone noticed her absence? Would Katsuo find her tracks in the snow beyond the stable and follow them? She hoped not. She didn’t want him in danger.
As they descended into the valley, she found herself walking closer and closer to Shiro until her sleeve brushed against his arm. An unnatural stillness permeated the valley, a waiting sort of attention. The back of her neck prickled incessantly.
Moving closer to Shiro shouldn’t have been her first instinct. If anything, she should be terrified of the kitsune. He’d killed those oni effortlessly—once he’d remembered he had a pair of swords to fight with—and showed zero remorse over the act. He’d said himself that he preferred to kill his enemies. Not that she thought he should have spared the oni, but a hint of regret from him for taking three lives would have comforted her a little.
Her first impression of Shiro had been that he was likelier to flee than fight, but she now suspected he was simply pragmatic. He’d fight when he needed to or wanted to, but he had no hang-ups about turning tail if that was the more logical decision.
“So,” she said, her soft words too loud in the silence, “what sort of yokai are we meeting?”
He lifted his eyes toward the sky. “Is it not obvious?”
She blinked in confusion and looked up. Shiro’s gaze was on, not the sky, but the canopy of the trees. Scattered among the autumn foliage and snowy boughs were dozens and dozens of black crows. Silent. Still. Watching.
Her steps stuttered and she had to force herself to keep moving. The crows watched them pass, eerily motionless. The only one that moved was their guide, who glided from branch to branch. She’d been so focused on the single crow leading them that she hadn’t noticed the others.
Crows. Why hadn’t she realized it before? The oni had even mentioned the yokai, asking Shiro where the creature nested.
“A tengu?” she asked breathlessly. “You’re taking us to see a tengu?”
He smirked at the frightened note in her voice. “Not a tengu. The Tengu. The Lord of Crows is unlike any other.”
She opened her mouth to speak but only a squeak of sound escaped her. All the stories she’d read, dating back a thousand years, that mentioned a tengu had been referencing one yokai? All those tales about guardians of the mountain forests and harbingers of war weren’t talking about a race of yokai but a single individual?
“He’s not that bad,” Shiro continued conversationally, either oblivious to her near panic or enjoying it. “He probably won’t kill you.”
She almost turned and ran before she remembered that Shiro was doing this to fulfill his obligation to her. If he truly thought her life was at risk, he wouldn’t have brought her—unless she had completely misinterpreted his motives.
The crowd of spectating crows grew denser, until over a hundred birds crowded the treetops. Countless beady black eyes watched them. Emi walked beside Shiro, bumping his arm with every step, her gaze moving from one tree to the next to the next, unconsciously trying to count the birds that surveyed her so intently.
Shiro stopped. She took a half a step farther before catching herself and jerking her attention from the forest canopy to the path ahead of them.
A large oak had long ago fallen across the meandering trail. Most of its branches had broken off or rotted away, but a handful of thick limbs remained. Each one was lined with crows, dozens of them. Upon the thickest branch, which jutted up from the trunk to form a perfect, level perch, sat the largest bird she’d ever seen.
It looked like a black-beaked raven, if ravens could grow to the size of young children. The bird stood three feet tall, and she couldn’t begin to imagine its wingspan. Its glossy obsidian feathers shone in the moonlight and it was just as still as its much smaller cousins. Eyes as pale as the moon above watched them.
She stared back at those solid silver eyes, unsure whether the bird was blind. Could it see them?
Shiro dipped into a shallow, overly casual bow of greeting. “Would it have killed you to fly a few miles to meet me? Don’t pretend you didn’t know I was looking for you.”
Emi’s mouth fell open at his rudeness. She swiftly bowed, much deeper than Shiro’s almost insulting bob. Weren’t they here to ask for help? Why was Shiro being so obnoxious?
The giant raven finally moved. Its head weaved back and forth, then it opened its wings, huge feathers extending until they spanned the entire path. Dark light emanated from the bird, spreading out in curling ribbons of power. A red glow veined the dark radiance as it overcame the raven’s body, softening its shape until it was no more than a specter of ebony light. The raven jumped off the branch as the light simultaneously shrank inward and extended upward.
When it touched the ground, the raven’s shape solidified once again—but it was no longer a raven. The Tengu’s eyes, pale silver irises rimmed in a line of black, drifted across her. His face was young and handsome but with that same agelessness that Shiro possessed. Dark hair shifted in the faint breeze, and short ebony feathers mixed with his hair behind each pointed ear. Black kosode and hakama edged in red and silver accents were as fine as any garments she’d seen.
The Tengu’s gaze released her and shifted to Shiro.
“You are as impertinent in this shape as your last.” His voice was soft, nothing like the harsh cries of the crows, and as expressionless as his face, betraying no annoyance despite his words. His focus, as cutting as a shining blade, returned to Emi. “Who is she?”
A crow in the trees above cawed.
“The miko. I see.” He studied her anew. “This insolent kitsune owes you his life. He does you no kindness leading you deep into the wilderness, so far from your kami’s protection.”
Her mouth went dry. Was he threatening her?
“Emi is a miko of the Amaterasu shrine in the southern valley.” Shiro glanced at her. “This is Yumei, the Tengu. He’s crankier than a hag with a hangover but he’s not entirely unbearable.”
Pressing her hands against her thighs to hide their trembling, she bowed again. The Tengu inclined his head toward her. She decided that was a good sign. He had better manners than Shiro.
“Why
are you here, kitsune?” Yumei asked flatly. “Your new form is not reason enough for me to endure the irritation of your presence.”
All signs of humor faded from Shiro’s face. “You were wrong.”
Yumei’s eyes narrowed, the first hint of a real reaction from him. “Was I?”
“You told me nothing less than the power of a Kunitsukami could free me from the onenju.” Shiro tipped his head toward Emi. “She pulled the first loop off last night.”
Yumei stepped forward, his motions swift. His hand closed around Shiro’s arm and pulled it up. He slid his fingers across the shining red beads. The long string was looped three times around Shiro’s forearm on top of the black wrap that covered his arm from wrist to elbow; the beads should have slid around as he moved, but she realized she’d never seen them budge, as though they were glued in place.
“The removal of the first ring unbound this form?” Yumei asked.
“And a good bit more,” Shiro answered cryptically.
The Tengu examined the beads for another long minute, then firmly gripped Shiro’s elbow and hooked his fingers through the loop around the kitsune’s wrist. Silver met ruby in a brief shared look, then Yumei pulled on the loop.
Power burst from the onenju like the heat of an inferno. Emi scrambled away as Yumei gripped the beads, a sudden wind whipping at his clothes. White light crackled over the beads, then erupted in a dozen bolts of lightning that blasted outward. With a boom, the two yokai were flung apart.
Yumei landed on his feet with his arm extended away from his body. Smoke rose from the scorched skin of his hand and blood dripped slowly from his fingers onto the white snow below.
Shiro landed on his back, sprawled on the ground—unmoving.
“Shiro!” Emi gasped.
Without thinking, she rushed to his side and dropped to her knees. His eyes were half closed, with nothing but the whites showing. She patted his cheek in a weak attempt to wake him and felt the warmth coming off his skin, as though he’d absorbed the intense heat that Yumei had triggered in the onenju. She grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it to his forehead. It melted on his skin, trickles of water running down his face.