New tears formed and trickled down her cheeks. She’d sacrificed so much to be the perfect kamigakari—including her parents. After the mark had appeared, she was taken to the Shion Shrine for protection and to begin her training. Her parents had visited often in the beginning, but Emi had been so busy and focused that sometimes she’d only spend fifteen minutes with them, even though they’d travelled hours to see her. She couldn’t blame them for cutting down the visits to a few a year. But no matter how little time she spent with them, her mother would always beam with pride every minute of their visit.
When Emi was twelve, her father had arrived to see her …alone. Her mother had lost a two-year battle with cancer. Emi hadn’t even known she was sick. Not wanting to be a distraction, her mother had kept her illness a secret. Her father, with tears standing in his eyes, told her that her mother had died holding a photo of Emi from a recent festival, taken from among the crowd because Emi hadn’t had a chance—hadn’t made an effort—to see them before or after her performance. Then he’d left. It was the last time she’d seen him. She’d made a few efforts to reach out to him over the years, but his cold responses, when he bothered to respond at all, had been to assure her that he wouldn’t distract her from her duties. The unspoken message was clear: she’d chosen a future as a kamigakari over a life with her parents in it.
She hadn’t meant to do that. It had just happened. She wasn’t always busy, but whenever her parents visited, her schedule had been packed. She’d always tell herself that next time, she would make time; next time, she would ask Ishida to clear her schedule for an entire day so she could visit with her parents. But it had never happened, and now it was too late.
Tears slid down her cheeks into her hair. Before this moment, she had never realized how truly alone she was. Her mother dead, her father uninterested in forgiving her for hurting her mother. Her best friend also dead. Between her constant relocations and anxiety over getting someone else hurt, she hadn’t formed any close friendships since Hana.
Wiping the tears away, she sat up and pulled out her box of mementos. As she sifted through the contents, she became more frantic with each worthless rock or feather or flower she pushed aside. Every item represented a precious memory—and every one was somehow related to being a kamigakari. She had to have one important memory that didn’t have anything to do with the shrines, something she’d seen or done that wasn’t tied to the web of lies.
But there was nothing. She’d been so good at being a faithful, obedient kamigakari.
She had two months left and nothing to show for it—no unique experiences, no special memories outside her duties. Desperate denial rose up until it blocked her throat, choking her. Was this it? Was this her life? Would it be over in a few short weeks?
She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the edges of the box. Even if she could escape her fate on the solstice, would she? Could she do that? Could she turn her back on her duty, her responsibility? She had volunteered for this task, and abandoning her obligations on the eve of the ceremony would be the worst kind of dishonor. Amaterasu needed a host. If Emi failed to become Amaterasu’s vessel, the kami would have to start all over again with another kamigakari, delaying her descension by another ten years. And some other young girl would unwittingly throw her life away.
Emi turned to the small shrine set up in the corner. The wooden ornament was carved into a perfect, miniature replica of a shrine, with a white vase on either side and small dishes for food offerings. In the center, a small mirror represented the shintai to transmit Amaterasu’s power during prayer.
Emi had loved Amaterasu, the kindest and gentlest of the Amatsukami, since she was a child. She’d been so excited to unite with the kami’s spirit, even if it meant losing part of who she was. Was her true fate that different? She would lose all of her mind and self; it was closer to dying than uniting. And yet, dying had been a risk from the beginning. Now, instead of her death being a possibility, it was a guarantee.
But she had chosen this path. Amaterasu needed her. The world needed Amaterasu. The Amatsukami of the Wind had been absent for a hundred years—a hundred years of imbalance, of disparate onmyo, which was only growing worse as time went on.
She had volunteered, but they had lied about the fate she was choosing. She had committed her life to this, but they’d never told her she wouldn’t survive it. It was her duty to see this through, but they had lied.
Standing abruptly, she let the box fall from her lap, spilling its contents across the floor. She couldn’t sit anymore. She couldn’t stand still. Her hands clenched and unclenched. Huffing, she grabbed a heavy haori from her closet and rushed out her door. Soft light spilled from her room into the walkway, enclosed for the night with wooden panels. The rest of the house was dark; no one would wake until after sunrise. Hurrying to the entryway, she toed on her sandals and opened the outer door.
A curtain of giant snowflakes drifted down from the sky. The lawn was covered in a pristine layer of white; it must have snowed all night. The world had taken on the bluish tint of coming dawn, dark but not the deep darkness of full night.
Kicking off her sandals, she crouched in front of the shelf by the door and pulled out her shoes from her old school uniform, placed there yesterday in case of bad weather. She shoved her feet into the shoes and descended the steps, the wet snow sticking to her soles.
A few steps away from the house, she stopped. She needed to move, to exorcise the maelstrom of conflicting emotions so she could think straight and figure this out. But the shrine was the last place she wanted to go.
She started toward it anyway, briefly considering another visit to the storehouse, but found herself swinging to the north instead. Past the house, a path, visible only as a perfectly smooth expanse of snow between the trees, beckoned. The stable. Fresh air, open space. Much better than a stuffy, moldy storehouse.
Quickening her steps, she headed into the snowy woods. The deep blue sky reflected off the snow, creating enough light to see by even in the dark shadows under the trees. Walking through the sea of swirling snowflakes, all else quiet and still, she felt like she’d entered another world. The house vanished behind her and all she saw were the nearby trees, their branches topped with a layer of snow like cake frosting. Despite the quiet, calming snow, she couldn’t shake the roiling emotions that kept her feet moving.
The trees thinned and disappeared as the pasture took over. The dark shapes of the horses stood in the field. She opened the gate and moved toward the nearest one—the black one with a single white sock on its back left leg. It perked its ears toward her and she made the uneducated guess that it was the gelding.
“Hi there,” she cooed. She tentatively reached out and he allowed her to stroke his soft muzzle as his nostrils flared, taking in her scent. She smiled and moved closer. “You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you?”
Before the kami marked her as the kamigakari, she’d loved horses and had even planned to start riding lessons the following summer. Horses were used in some ceremonies and festivals, the very reason the Shirayuri Shrine had four. Once she received the mark, however, horseback riding had been put at the top of the list of activities that were too dangerous for her. A kamigakari couldn’t risk breaking her neck, after all.
“They took everything away,” she whispered as she brushed the snow off the horse’s mane and smoothed it out. “They took everything from me in exchange for a promise they knew was a lie. How could they do that? How could they be that cruel?”
She leaned her forehead against the horse’s warm neck. They had tricked her into giving up her life, but sacrifice was part of being the kamigakari. Maybe they had withheld the truth, not to betray her, but to make it easier for her …or maybe they thought they wouldn’t get any volunteers if they revealed the truth.
She released a shuddering breath. What was done was done. She was marked and nothing she did could change what would happen on the solstice. This was her fate, her future, her duty. It wasn
’t what she had expected, what she had volunteered for, but she would see it through to the end. She had no choice.
Pressing her trembling lips together, she fought the waves of emotion that pushed and pulled on her heart in a terrible tug-of-war. Despair, resignation, and fear battled against a searing anger over the betrayal by all those who had sent her down this path.
The horse rubbed his nose against her shoulder, almost as though he were comforting her. She lifted her head and gazed into his dark eyes. She’d given up so much because of their lies. She’d already made so many sacrifices, and soon, she would make the ultimate one.
She went still, staring at the horse. The waves of despair and resignation faltered. Maybe she could claim one little experience for herself. One small, selfish experience was fair, wasn’t it?
It took her only a minute to find a snow-covered lead line hanging over the fence and rig it into reins that she attached to the horse’s halter. He unresistingly followed her to a rectangular hay bale and waited while she climbed on top of it. Standing on the bale with the horse’s back in front of her and the reins in one hand, she hesitated, her heart pounding. The ground was awfully far away already, and the horse’s back was even higher than the bale. She was alone in a pasture and no one knew where she was if something happened. Was this really a good idea?
One experience that had nothing to do with being a kamigakari, that was something she wanted to do, just for herself—that’s all she wanted. And if she didn’t do it now, she would never get the chance.
Swallowing her fear, she got a good grip on the horse’s mane and swung her leg over his bare back. Sliding into place was almost too easy. She settled in, uncomfortable but pleased. The gelding flicked his ears back toward her and snorted a cloud of white air that sent the snowflakes swirling.
She sat proudly on the horse with a broad smile. Look at her, riding a horse! Well, not quite riding. Sitting on. Close enough. She’d done it! A thrill of rebellion ran through her. She’d always been so obedient. Deciding something for herself, especially something forbidden, was surprisingly intoxicating. She stroked the horse’s neck, savoring the moment for as long as she could: the horse’s warmth and strength under her, the handsome arch of his neck, his ears lazily rotating back and forth. Closing her eyes, she imagined galloping across the pasture, her hair flying out behind her, the cold wind in her face, and the snowflakes spiraling crazily as they flew by.
After a minute more, she let out a wistful sigh, pleased with her small, daring experience, but also struck with a powerful, melancholic longing for the things she would never know. Katsuo’s pity made so much sense to her now. With another sigh, she leaned sideways and stretched her toes toward the hay bale for an easy dismount.
The horse stamped a hoof and his ears pricked forward. She froze mid-motion, looking to see what had caught his attention. His ears were pointed straight ahead, and framed between them was the pasture gate. The open gate.
She’d left the gate wide open.
The gelding snorted again. His muscles bunched under her. She grabbed the reins to pull them taut. The horse jerked his head down, yanking her forward, and then launched into motion.
She shrieked as he took off on thundering hooves. Clutching the reins, she hung on for dear life as the wind whipped her ponytail out behind her. The gelding shot through the open gate and down the path, careening left with snow flying off his hooves. The other three horses whinnied as though cheering him on as he galloped alongside the fence, leaving the stable behind.
Emi clung to his back, screaming in her head but unable to make a sound. She yanked on the reins but the pull on the halter didn’t faze the horse in the slightest. He lengthened his stride and ran for the pure joy of it. The pasture sped by and then they were in the trees. Snow whirled all around, turning the world white. Icy wind, far colder than in her fantasy, numbed her face.
Time vanished as panic blanked her mind. All she could do was hold on. Trees rushed by as the terrain sloped upward. Higher and higher, steeper and steeper. The gelding seemed to know the trail, taking each twist and bend without hesitation and sometimes slowing to an easy canter to take a turn. The slope of the mountain rose on their left and dropped away on their right.
The horse sped around another bend. A fallen tree only a few yards ahead blocked the snowy route.
He squealed—and then Emi was flying over his head as he slid to a violent stop.
She soared right over the fallen tree and crashed to the ground on the edge of the trail. She tumbled through the snow in a blur of pain—and then the ground fell away beneath her. Sliding out of control on her back, she careened feet first down the steep slope, missing trees by inches on either side. Leaves and snow flew everywhere, blinding her as dark shapes flashed by.
Gradually, the slope leveled out and she slid to a stop. With her head spinning, she lay on her back, snow melting in her hair. She flexed her fingers, digging them into the damp leaf litter. Her whole body hurt from head to toe.
Breathing hard, she carefully pushed herself into a sitting position and blinked methodically. Trees. She was surrounded by green pines, bushy spruces, and the interwined branches of maples and oaks, decorated with colorful leaves. Snowflakes danced around her, the deep shadows of the night softened by the barest hint of dawn. The ground was nearly level here. She looked in the direction she’d fallen from, clearly marked by the track she had carved into the snow, and her belly swooped at just how steep the slope was. It rose up and up until she couldn’t see the top through the snow. She couldn’t see the horse or the trail at all.
Fear crawled through her veins, gaining strength fast.
She was alone in the forest. In the northern mountains. The very mountains Katsuo had warned her were crawling with yokai. And not a single soul knew she’d even left her bedroom.
Chapter 7
She couldn’t allow herself to panic. Panicking would be bad. If she panicked, she wouldn’t be able to think, and she really needed to think.
Emi sat where she was, unwilling to move, as though relinquishing her spot in the snow would somehow make everything worse. She was alone in the forest. She was alone, but she couldn’t be that far from the shrine. Her terrifying, out of control ride on the horse had lasted only a few minutes—so no more than a couple miles, right?
A couple miles from the shrine. That wasn’t so bad. She could walk that in less than an hour, couldn’t she? Perhaps she could even be back before anyone got up. The sky had lightened but dawn had yet to touch the eastern horizon. She looked around. Which way was east? Which way was the shrine? Though the trail had headed north at first, it twisted to follow the contours of the mountain and could have easily turned east or west.
Barely contained panic danced in her stomach. She’d fallen down a slope. The shrine was near the bottom of the southern slope. All she had to do was walk away from the cliff and she’d be heading in the correct direction.
She clambered to her feet and brushed the snow off her clothes. Her body ached and her muscles twinged painfully even from small movements, but everything was working. She ignored the pain and focused on straightening out her clothes and picking the leaves from her hair. A tiny, panicky voice cackled at her foolishness for worrying about her appearance at a time like this, but the familiar motions helped calm her. She could handle this.
Looking again at the steep slope, she walked in the opposite direction. She could do this. Just walk straight and she’d be back at the shrine before she knew it. The leaves crackled beneath the snow with each step she took—the only sound in the forest. Between the darkness and the falling snow, she couldn’t see far. She squinted ahead and hugged herself tightly.
The woods were so quiet that her breath was loud in her ears. Her eyes scoured the snow, darting from leaf to branch to shadow in search of movement. She froze mid-step at the sight of strange tracks in the snow. After studying them for a moment, she decided the miniature hoof prints had to be boar tracks. Wild
boars were common in the mountains. She forced her gaze away and kept moving. The animals of the forest worried her far less than its yokai inhabitants, but she was less likely to see signs of the latter—at least not until it was too late.
As she wove around trees and low bushes, frantic thoughts tore at her composure like a pack of rabid wolves. What was the matter with her? Acting out in childish rebellion? How did running outside in the middle of the night and climbing on an unfamiliar horse fix anything? Were a few minutes of adrenaline worth crippling herself?
What would happen if the others discovered she was gone? She’d left her room in shambles with her mementos strewn across the floor. Her journal was sitting out in the open, along with the kannushi manual. She had to get back before they found her missing. If she did, they would never know she’d ventured anywhere near the stable. The missing horse could be blamed on the gate blowing open. Everything would be fine.
The sight of violently churned snow a few yards ahead interrupted her train of thought. She jerked to a halt. Something large had thrashed around on the ground—very recently, judging by the thin layer of snow dusting the disturbed ground. Had it been a yokai? How close was it? She strained to see through the falling snow. The violent trail led up a steep slope and vanished in the dark.
She looked around again—and saw footprints heading away, into the trees. Her footprints. This wasn’t the trail of some monstrous creature climbing up the slope; it was the trail she’d made while falling down the slope. She was back where she’d started.