“Emi?”
Katsuo’s voice absorbed into her memories, his frantic shouting, the running footsteps. Then she blinked and saw him standing a few feet away, watching her with his eyebrows bunched together.
Gasping, she spun away from him and lifted her sleeve over her face to hide her tears. Miyako furtively passed her a tissue. As Emi dabbed at her cheeks, the other girl leaned in close, glancing at Katsuo.
“Who’s that?”
“He’s a sohei—a warrior priest.” With her face in somewhat better shape, Emi lowered her arm. She gave Katsuo a sidelong squint. “In ancient times, the sohei protected shrines and their kami’s shintai. Legends say they once ousted dangerous yokai and defended the innocent from evil or power-hungry kami, but nowadays, their purpose is mostly ceremonial.”
Katsuo raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He was hardly ceremonial. The sword at his hip wasn’t for show and he had even more tricks up his sleeve for dealing with an errant yokai or two. Modern yokai were, as a general rule, only trouble for the people who went looking for them—Emi being the exception.
Miyako rose to her feet, tugging at the hem of her sweater and glancing briefly at Katsuo as though unsure whether to include him. “Thanks, Emi. I’d like to learn more about the kami. Can I come back next weekend?”
“Of course, Miyako. You’re always welcome here at Shirayuri Shrine.”
With a bob of her head and another blushing glance at Katsuo, Miyako scooted away. Emi pursed her lips. How much had Katsuo overheard? He knew most of the story already, but had he heard her say she’d followed the boys into the park because she had a crush on one of them? Could he guess he had been the object of her infatuation?
“You’re really good at that,” he commented.
“At what?”
He waved a hand in the direction Miyako had gone. “Talking to kids, welcoming people to the shrine, explaining the kami.”
So he’d eavesdropped on everything she’d said. She would need to keep a sharper eye out for him. She suspected he was never far away.
“I don’t need you breathing down my neck every moment of the day,” she said flatly, rising to her feet and striding past him. “I’m in no danger here.”
He followed her as she almost stomped—she would never actually stomp, but she didn’t hide her irritation either—to the footbridge. Her heart rate kicked up again, annoying her further. She stopped halfway across the bridge and inhaled deeply through gritted teeth. When she felt a touch less terrified, she placed her hands on the smooth wooden railing, almost like she was enjoying the view of the pond and garden rather than stubbornly trying to conquer her fear.
Beside her, Katsuo leaned his hip on the railing, either showing off his utter fearlessness of the small, innocent bridge or trying to help her by setting a good example.
“I know I’ve been overzealous in watching over you, but this place … I don’t know why the Guji chose to send you to this shrine,” he said, referring to Ishida, the head kannushi at Shion. “It’s remote, yes, but it’s a bit too remote. Everything north and west of here is uninhabited mountains. You know what wild landscapes mean.”
Her eyes turned from the pond to his profile. He stared northward at the nearest mountain, swathed in autumn colors, that rose above the treetops. She did indeed know what remote, wild landscapes meant: yokai. Since kami needed a human host to have a presence in the earthly realm, they were most often found where humans were also present. But many types of yokai preferred remote wilderness—and didn’t welcome human intruders.
“I got here a week before you,” Katsuo went on, “so I’ve had some time to explore. I found signs of yokai less than ten miles from the shrine and they’re much bolder than usual. Normally, they avoid humans—especially sohei—but Minoru and I found their tracks mixed with ours after scouting an area. They were following us around.”
He rubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. “And yokai in several other areas have been acting strange for a while now. My last assignment was to investigate yokai attacks east of Shion. Dead animals and two missing children.” He gave his head a little shake. “I checked all the ofuda as soon as I got here. Kannushi Fujimoto has been keeping them in good condition, so the shrine grounds are secure, but it still worries me. Why didn’t Guji Ishida choose a small shrine near a city or somewhere else besides these yokai-infested mountains?”
Her hands tightened on the railing and she wished she hadn’t stopped on the bridge for her fear-conquering demonstration. Leaving now would feel like admitting defeat, but the idea of wild, yokai-infested mountains surrounding the shrine made her skin crawl. Perhaps Amaterasu had been trying to warn her to be extra careful because of the dangers surrounding the shrine.
She resisted the urge to check that the ofuda she always carried were tucked in the hidden pockets in her sleeves. The paper talismans could protect against yokai attacks but she’d never used one before. As long as she stayed on sacred ground, she would never need to test her abilities.
“Guji Ishida chose this shrine,” she said, making an effort to sound calm, “because it’s so tiny and remote that no one would guess I’m here, but also because the solstice ceremony location is relatively close and accessible.”
Katsuo’s shoulders twitched. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to see him as Miyako had. Tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, he hadn’t changed much from the seventeen-year-old she’d had a crush on three years ago, but she didn’t feel the same tingling infatuation. He was handsome, but that handsome face called forth so many bad memories, the sorrow and guilt, and the humiliation.
“The ceremony …” he repeated, his voice somewhat dull. “The solstice is less than two months away now. So little time …”
Ignoring the soft surge of anxiety in her belly, she offered a confident smile. “It can’t come soon enough. I’ve feared every shadow for the last three years, but after the solstice, it will be the yokai fearing me.”
He looked at her, his dark eyes intense. “You don’t have any reason to be afraid while I’m with you. I won’t allow anything to hurt you.”
Her stomach fluttered, hot butterflies dancing madly. Oh no, not that feeling. Hadn’t she just determined that she was entirely over her crush? She dragged her gaze away, silently cursing him.
“I have the utmost faith that you’ll fulfill your duties with dedication and skill,” she said in as formal a tone as she could muster. She didn’t dare look at him to see his reaction. His promise to protect her hadn’t felt like a statement of duty at all.
A quiet hush settled over them, broken only by the rippling pond. A crow cawed loudly from the trees beyond the main hall.
“What will the ceremony be like?” he eventually asked. “The kannushi are pretty mute about it.”
“I have no idea. They haven’t shared any details with me either.”
He straightened from his slouch. “What? You don’t know?”
She flicked a glance at him, mildly surprised by his indignation. “I’ll find out at some point beforehand, I’m sure.”
“How could they not tell you? You’re the kamigakari—it’s your ceremony. You should know everything there is to know.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think I actually have to do anything but be there.”
“Well, what about after? Do you know what happens then?”
She shrugged again.
Disbelief and disapproval competed on his face. “Aren’t you even curious? It’s your future. Don’t you care about what comes next?”
Stepping closer to the railing, she tentatively leaned against it. “That’s just it. It’s not my future. It’s not about me or what I want. It’s about Amaterasu and what she needs. Whether I know the details doesn’t matter. I can’t change anything—and I don’t want to.”
She sighed at his unhappy scowl.
“Katsuo, since the day I was marked as the kamigakari, my future was no longer mine. I live for Amaterasu’s will,
which is—for now—enacted by Guji Ishida and the other kannushi in Shion. On the solstice, her will becomes mine and mine hers. Our future will be a wholly new thing to be discovered. I can hardly make plans for it.” Her voice softened. “That is what it means to be a kamigakari. In a way, beyond even the most dedicated kannushi or miko, my life belongs to my kami.”
His scowl faded and something else touched his eyes. The strange, almost sad emotion took her a moment to identify: pity.
She recoiled from him. Pity? For her? Being the kamigakari was her dream. Her purpose. She might briefly allow the occasional doubt or longing to experience something different, but she would never truly want to change her fate. She had devoted her life to her kami for as long as she could remember. From among thousands of miko, Amaterasu had chosen her, Emi, as her host.
He didn’t miss her furious reaction and raised a placating hand. “I know being the kamigakari is a great honor and you’ll experience things I can’t even imagine. I’m just surprised you don’t … you don’t regret the things you won’t get to experience.”
“What’s the point?” she snapped. “Regretting things I’ll never have will hardly perk up my day.”
He mumbled an agreement and gripped the hilt of his sword with one hand—an unconscious gesture, she suspected. Perhaps his sword made him feel stronger and in control.
“Have you ever felt her presence?” she asked, her anger cooling.
“Huh?”
“Have you ever felt Amaterasu’s presence when you pray at the shrine?”
His eyebrows drew down. “No.”
“I have. I’ve felt her power touch me. She is … magnificent, divine … gentle.” The breeze teased a strand of her long bangs free from her ponytail and she tucked it behind her ear. “I’ve already made the most important choice I could ever make. You chose too. You became a sohei to serve the kami. It’s not that different.”
He shook his head. “You’re so devout and committed, Emi, that you think everyone is as selfless and dedicated as you. I became a sohei because learning to fight yokai sounded cool as hell when I was twelve. I enjoyed it and made lots of friends, so I kept at it. It wasn’t until you almost died three years ago that I realized it wasn’t just a hobby. That was the first time I’d ever seen a yokai. I’m not sure I really believed they existed until that day.”
She stared at him. He’d trained for years without even believing in yokai?
“After that, I started taking it seriously. But it’s different for me because I can walk away whenever I want. Today, tomorrow, next year, in ten years … I can decide I’d rather be an accountant or a lawyer and marry a nice girl and have a family. But you can’t. You’ve given it all up, and I’m not sure you’ve really considered the full scope of what you’re writing off. You only just turned eighteen. How can you know what you want out of life? In two months, you’ll never have the chance again.”
She frowned at him. Did he know her birthday had been last month? Why would he know that small detail about her?
“I already lost the chance,” she said. “I became the kamigakari when I was eight years old, and that can’t be undone. There’s no going back. Even if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change it.”
He grimaced, then let out a defeated huff and gestured toward the house. “It’s almost lunch time.”
She nodded and followed him off the bridge, watching his back. Did it bother him so much that she’d cast aside all the mundane dreams other people had? Why would she want those things? Give up being a kamigakari to become an accountant or a mother, raising children and cooking dinner every night? Why on earth would she choose such an ordinary future over the otherworldly destiny that awaited her?
On the winter solstice, the Amatsukami of the Wind would descend from the heavenly realm to join her power and will with Emi’s mortal body. Amaterasu had chosen her as the strongest, purest, worthiest vessel. Without Emi, Amaterasu could not descend and the kami’s power would remain painfully limited. A hundred years had passed since Amaterasu had last walked in this world. Emi would not fail her kami.
Aside from her doomed flirtations with Katsuo three years ago, Emi had never cheated on the requirements placed on her as a kamigakari. She wouldn’t take any risks that might cause the descension ceremony to fail. Impurities could make her incompatible with Amaterasu’s divinely pure power. Emi faithfully meditated and bathed, followed the dietary restrictions, exercised her body to keep it strong, and avoided inappropriate thoughts and corrupting emotions. Amaterasu was counting on her. She knew it. She could feel the kami’s need when she prayed.
An average kami could choose any human as a vessel. A willing and pure host was best, as an impure vessel wouldn’t last long under the stress of the kami’s power. An Amatsukami, however, was too powerful to take any average mortal as a host; Amaterasu could possess Nanako at this very moment if the kami wanted to, but her power would likely kill the woman within minutes.
Instead, an Amatsukami needed a kamigakari—a specially chosen and prepared vessel—to host their spirit. Emi had been preparing to receive Amaterasu’s spirit for ten years. Not only had she practiced all the necessary preparations and rituals, but the mark on her chest was in itself a conduit to Amaterasu’s power. The mark had been so faint that it was almost invisible when it first appeared, but it had darkened through the years. And as it darkened, the link between Emi and the kami grew stronger, acclimating her body to the power that would one day fill it.
The kami’s power was in her—or a miniscule fraction of it, at least—but it wasn’t something she could consciously sense or use. But that would change on the solstice when Amaterasu descended and joined with her.
Emi didn’t know what that would be like, exactly. Somewhere out there, three kamigakari housed the power of Izanagi, Izanami, and Tsukiyomi, but she could hardly waltz into another shrine and ask to chat about their experiences. She would find out when it happened to her.
Taking a kami into her body did come with some downsides—the big one being that, despite all her preparations, it might kill her. She would inevitably lose a certain amount of autonomy, but that was a fair exchange for shedding the limits of mortality and, in essence, becoming a kami herself. Would she and Amaterasu blend together into one mind and will? Would they exist separately and share her body? Either way, to see and do and experience everything along with Amaterasu, to become a part of the kami, was more than worth giving up other kinds of experiences. After all, she’d given them up a long time ago.
But to see Katsuo look at her with pity in his eyes …
Anger choked her, closing her throat. How dare he pity her. He didn’t understand. He only saw what she would lose, not what she would gain. An immortal life for as long as her kami needed her, to become a divine force in this world—how could he pity her for that?
He just didn’t understand. If he hadn’t believed in yokai, maybe there were other things he didn’t believe in. Maybe he didn’t believe in the kami and that was why he’d never felt Amaterasu’s touch within him.
Well, she believed. And after the solstice, she would make sure to visit him and let him see exactly how real the kami were. She smiled at the thought.
Chapter 5
“Stand up straight, Yui!”
Emi winced at Nanako’s acid tone. Her arm ached from holding the ceremonial arrow extended in front of her, balanced across her palm. Red and white tassels hung from the shaft at either end and fluttered in the breeze. The snow had melted away in the warm afternoon, but as the sun dipped toward the western mountains, the air began to cool.
“You’ll be a laughingstock at the winter festival if you hunch through your performance,” Nanako continued relentlessly. “Don’t make that face. Are you crying? You’ll need a thicker skin if you intend to perform in front of hundreds of people.”
Emi pressed her lips together. A few feet away, Rina was holding her arrow in the exact same position as Emi, her equally decorative bow in
her other hand. The young miko shifted her weight, glancing anxiously over Emi’s shoulder toward Nanako and Yui behind her.
“Your performance in the blessing ritual represents the entire shrine, Yui. Will you embarrass us in front of the whole town?”
Grimacing as Nanako’s voice rang across the shrine’s open-fronted stage, Emi looked at the arrow in her hand and sighed. She tilted her hand, letting the arrow slide off. It hit the wooden floor with a loud clatter.
Emi stooped to pick it up and rose to find Nanako in front of her, glaring.
“Oh, my sincerest apologies, my lady.” The woman barely bothered to contain her sneer. “Have you tired so soon? The miko rituals must be so demanding for someone with your fragile constitution. Perhaps you’d prefer to return to your room and rest for the afternoon.”
Emi could do a blessing ritual in her sleep—and with far more grace than Nanako had demonstrated earlier—but she didn’t say that. She didn’t acknowledge the insult in the woman’s suggestion she go nap as though she were entirely useless and incapable. Instead, she cast her gaze to the floor and waited. Nanako couldn’t make her cry.
When Emi didn’t respond, Nanako stormed to the front of the stage and lifted her bow and single arrow.
“Start again,” she barked. “No mistakes this time!”
Emi moved back a couple steps to the starting position. As Rina took her spot, she cast Emi a brief, grateful smile.
Nanako clapped her hands sharply. “Begin!”
Emi lifted the arrow above her head and simultaneously turned it exactly forty-five degrees like a compass point. As she brought the arrow down again and extended it in front of her, she moved her right foot forward, turning one way while spinning the arrow in a counter motion to keep it pointed exactly southeast. To a viewer, the sedate motions were breathtakingly graceful, but performing each precise movement in slow motion was exceptionally difficult.