The panic she’d been fighting burst through her, almost taking coherent thought with it. She’d walked in a circle? How had she walked in a circle? She’d been certain she was going straight!
After wringing her hands and hyperventilating for a minute, she got herself under control. She faced the slope, turned a hundred and eighty degrees, and chose a tree in the distance—as far in the distance as she could see through the darkness and the snowfall. She started walking again, concentrating on her selected tree. When she reached it, she chose another one and walked to it. Then another tree and another tree.
The forest was silent and still, the atmosphere sleepy in the lingering darkness. How long had she been walking? Twenty minutes? Thirty? Her measured breath formed little clouds in front of her face. No sign of the shrine, the pasture, or even a trail. With the blanket of snow hiding the forest floor, she could have walked across a dozen trails without knowing it. She wasn’t even sure she was still heading downhill. The ground rose and fell in little bumps and dips, obscuring the overall grade until she wasn’t sure of anything. She stared desperately at the next tree she was aiming for, hoping she was still heading south—if she’d been heading south in the first place.
“Caw!”
She recoiled, lost her balance, and almost toppled over. Her head snapped back, snowflakes peppering her face. Above her, in the branches of an oak, a black crow was perched. Its head tilted and it cawed again, the harsh cry shattering the quiet of the forest.
“Shhh!” she hissed pointlessly.
“Caw!”
Casting the bird an angry glare, she looked down and realized she had no idea which tree she’d been heading toward. She was standing in the center of a ten-foot-wide clearing of untouched snow with no way to know which direction she’d been heading in.
“Caw caw caw!”
“Quiet,” she growled, hunching her shoulders. Which tree had she been aiming for? She didn’t think she’d turned at all, but she had jumped two feet in the air at the crow’s first call. Glancing back at her footprints in the snow, she tried to gauge whether they formed a straight line or were curving a little to the left.
“Caw caw caw!”
She gritted her teeth at the racket. The bird unexpectedly went quiet.
She couldn’t help it—she looked up again. The crow was staring into the trees to her right, still as a statue. The silence pressed in, too thick and heavy. Her heart pounded in her chest and fear crawled through her veins—a new, different fear. A fear that slithered along the ground and wrapped around her ankles, climbing with icy fingers for her heart.
She’d felt this fear once before, on the same day Hana died.
Staggering back a few steps, she shoved her right hand into the opposite sleeve of her kimono. From inside the tiny pocket sewn into the lining, she pulled out a cluster of paper ofuda. With trembling fingers, she fanned out the rectangular talismans and scanned the dark lines written on each one.
Back in the trees where the crow had looked, a twig snapped. Soft, almost inaudible footsteps thumped on the ground—fast, running steps.
Running in her direction.
She dropped to her knees and drew a circle in the snow around herself. Thump thump thump. Fast, bestial footfalls—something charging toward her, not bothering with stealth. The darkness was suddenly impenetrable. Every shadow hid an intangible threat. She clutched the ofuda, accidentally crumpling them, too panicked to remember which one was the barrier spell. Barrier spells were difficult, required a lot of ki, and were for emergencies only. Thump thump thump. Closer, closer. Too close!
The shrub two yards in front of her exploded in a flurry of snow as something tore through it at high speed. A white blur shot for her. She didn’t have the chance to raise her handful of ofuda before it crashed into her chest, bowling her over. The ofuda flew out of her hand.
Gasping, she rolled over and whirled to face her attacker, a scream clawing at her throat.
The creature lay sprawled on the ground, chest heaving and covered from head to paws in a layer of matted snow. It wobbled to its feet and shook its whole body, sending snow and leaves flying. Emi blinked, struggling to pull her thoughts together.
It was a fox. A white fox, not a monster. It turned its head toward her, its big fluffy ears perked forward.
And then its ruby red eyes locked on hers, piercing and intelligent.
Her heart stuttered. Those eyes. No, not a normal fox at all. It had to be a kitsune—a yokai.
“Caw!”
The crow’s shriek rang with urgent warning. The kitsune spun to face her, pulling its lips up to bare its fangs. Her blood ran cold before she realized it wasn’t looking at her, but beyond her—in the direction it had come from.
Fear was crawling through her again, growing even stronger. She pivoted to face the shrub, turning her back on the kitsune. Her instincts screamed at her, howling frantically that the little white fox wasn’t what she should be afraid of.
A dark shadow took form in the trees, approaching with eerie quiet. The bush shuddered violently before it was ripped from the ground and cast aside.
A beast stepped through the newly created gap. Towering at over eight feet tall, its human-like figure bulged with veined muscles. Dull, mottled red skin covered its body, and matted black hair fell down its back like a dark mane. Horns protruded from its head like a bull, and tusks jutted from its wide mouth. A loin cloth made from deer pelts was decorated with animal skulls—and a single human skull hung in the middle like a badge of honor, its hollow eye sockets fixed in an expression of horror.
The monster’s yellow eyes, shadowed beneath a grotesquely heavy brow bone, landed on her, and it paused in clear surprise. Her head spun, her lungs empty. Terror immobilized her, chaining her down with icy manacles.
The beast’s hesitation was brief, just an instant before its mouth pulled up in a vulgar grin. It stepped forward, one stride covering half the distance between them. It took another step and loomed over her, impossibly large. A huge hand, fingers tipped with wicked, stained claws, stretched toward her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. The monstrous hand reached for her face, filling her vision.
In a flash of white, the fox leaped in front of her and sank its teeth into the beast’s hand.
The monster roared and jerked back. The bellow shocked Emi like an electric prod, breaking her paralysis. The kitsune crouched beside her, fangs bared as it let out a high-pitched snarl that was as threatening as a kitten’s meow. The monster straightened, snorting angrily, and drew its arm back to strike.
Emi grabbed the ofuda lying beside her and slapped it down on the line she’d drawn in the snow. The monster lunged for her, claws extended to rip her open.
“Sekisho no seishin!” she screamed.
As the incantation left her lips, the ofuda warmed under her hand and the air shimmered. The monster’s hand swung down—and slammed into the iridescent air. Blue light flashed at the point of impact and the beast howled furiously.
A glowing blue dome arched over her, formed along the circle she’d drawn in the snow that, somehow, the kitsune hadn’t disrupted. The fox yokai huddled beside her inside the barrier, red eyes locked on the monster—an oni, she belatedly recalled. A yokai of the mountain, the terrible, violent kind that humans could only hope to avoid or appease.
The oni roared again and smashed its fist into the barrier. Blue light flared a second time. Emi recoiled, barely keeping her hand on the ofuda. The oni’s arm bounced off like it had hit a brick wall. It snarled and hit the barrier again. Again, she flinched. Even the kitsune jumped.
Three more times the oni struck the barrier, and each time its attack did nothing but enrage it further. The beast roared and stalked around the barrier, attacking different spots in search of a weak point. She turned her head to watch it, every inch of her body trembling, but her hand on the ofuda held steady. She didn’t dare let it go. She didn’t think she needed to keep touching it, but if the oni some
how dislodged the paper from her flimsy snow circle, the barrier would fail.
As the oni stomped another angry circle around them, she tore her stare away, unable to watch anymore. If she kept watching it, thinking about how those giant hands could crush her skull like an eggshell, she would lose all control over her panic. Instead, she looked down at the kitsune. The fox had lain down beside her, panting as it watched the oni circle them. She probably should have been frightened to have a yokai inside the barrier with her, but the poor thing looked almost as scared as she did.
“What did you do to tick off an oni?” she whispered.
The fox glanced at her and opened its mouth, pink tongue lolling out in a doglike grin that screamed “troublemaker.” Okay, maybe not that scared.
“Oh, I see,” she muttered. “Did you have to drag me into your mess?”
The fox tilted its head as if to say, “You’re blaming me?”
The oni hammered a fist onto the top of the barrier, making her jump. She hunched her shoulders, as though by getting farther from the barrier, she was somehow safer.
“What do we do now?” she asked, scarcely making a sound.
The kitsune whined softly and flattened its ears. It didn’t know either. As she stared at the fox in desperation, she noticed the red smears in the snow around it.
“Are you bleeding?”
It flattened its ears tighter against its head. The kitsune was hurt. How badly? She reached for it with her free hand, not sure what she intended to do. It was on its feet in a flash, dancing away from her hand while staying well within the barrier. She froze, her attention caught on the dark red snow where the yokai had been lying. The fur on its right front leg and side was matted with fresh blood.
The oni growled hungrily.
“I smell your blood, Inari’s whelp,” the beast rumbled, its voice so deep that it was more vibration than sound. Its beady eyes turned to Emi. “I will dine on fox meat and human flesh this morn. A shrine maiden. Such purity in your scent.”
“You’ll have a long wait,” she said boldly, taking herself by surprise.
The oni laughed, the evil hacking sound making her shudder. It pointed at the ground. “Not long, miko. Not long at all.”
She looked down. The ofuda under her hand glowed with faint blue light, but the edges of the paper had turned black, as though an unseen fire were consuming it. The blood drained from her head. The ofuda was burning up. When it turned entirely black, the spell would be done and the barrier would fall.
The oni smirked at her obvious fear and leaned closer to the barrier. “Where is your kami now, miko?”
In another couple minutes at the most, the spell would fail. What was she supposed to do? She didn’t have another one; her other ofuda had landed outside the circle when she dropped them.
“My—my kami is protecting me,” she stuttered. “She always protects me. She’s always with me.”
The oni laughed cruelly.
Warmth rose through her, gathering in her chest. The spot right over her heart blazed hot and the blue shimmer of the barrier brightened into a fierce glow that lit the trees. Recoiling, the oni threw both arms over its face. The barrier grew brighter until light rose off it like strange ribbons that rippled and danced in a ghostly wind.
A blue flare snapped at the oni. The beast howled and staggered backward. Its arm, where the light had touched it, blistered and bled green fluid. The oni glared at her within the rippling barrier and snarled a vicious curse. Turning, it stormed away, crashing through the forest until silence fell.
Beneath her fingers, blue light erupted over the ofuda and died an instant later. She lifted her hand, her fingers coated in black ash. The paper had burned away, its spell used up. She lowered her shaking hand and looked around.
The kitsune was already half a dozen feet away, watching her with wary red eyes. Blood slowly dripped from its belly onto the snow.
“Wait,” she began, lifting her hand toward the fox, “don’t—”
At her movement, the kitsune spun and dashed away. In a blink, it was gone, blending in with the snow and darkness.
“—go,” she finished in a mumble.
Still too weak and shaky to get up, she gazed around the clearing, inexplicably exhausted. Between the red kitsune blood, the green oni ooze, and the tracks and imprint where she’d fallen, the clearing looked like a miniature warzone. The beast had left, but nothing was preventing it from returning. Maybe the kitsune had the right idea about getting away from this place.
With a deep breath, she climbed to her feet, wobbling until she found her balance. She collected her soggy ofuda and looked around helplessly. She had no idea in which direction she’d been travelling. Giving it her best guess, she started walking again.
“Caw,” said the crow, who’d watched the whole thing from the safety of its perch in the trees.
“Shut up,” she muttered and walked on through the endless forest.
Chapter 8
Emi bowed her head and tried to pay attention to Fujimoto’s voice. It shouldn’t have been difficult. The moment Katsuo had deposited her wet, shivering form in front of him, anger had transformed the soft, awkwardly sweet old man into something remarkably similar to the red-skinned oni. He sat across the low table in his office, the sparse room reflecting each cutting word back at her. His blistering lecture had lasted a full half hour already, covering everything she’d expected: her complete lack of responsibility, her disrespect for everyone who’d worried about her and searched for her, her contempt for her role as the kamigakari, and several not-quite-stated references to her overall stupidity.
About ten minutes after the oni’s attack, she’d stumbled upon the trail, hoof prints and all. To her chagrin, she’d been walking northwest instead of south and had intersected the trail by pure chance. She’d been halfway back to the pasture when Katsuo and Minoru came charging up on horseback, following the tracks of the runaway horse. Both sohei had been furious with her; if she’d died in the woods, their careers would have been over.
Biting her lip, she bowed her head a little more as Fujimoto’s words piled on. When she’d decided to get on the horse, she hadn’t considered the consequences for Katsuo and Minoru had something happened to her. Then again, she hadn’t actually intended to ride the horse anywhere.
Fujimoto harrumphed furiously and leaned back. “Well, Kamigakari Kimura?” he demanded, using her family name. “What have you to say for yourself? You’ve offered no explanation for your disgraceful behavior.”
She didn’t meet his eyes. Shame battled with the quiet but unquenchable anger she’d harbored since reading the kannushi manual. Bitter words writhed in her throat, fighting to be voiced. But revealing that she knew the truth about her fate would change nothing, except make her remaining months more unpleasant.
“I had a nightmare,” she mumbled. “I walked to the stable to clear my head, and …”
“And you decided to go for a solitary, nighttime ride through the mountains?” he asked acidly.
“The horse bolted out of the pasture …”
Fujimoto made a sound of disgust, no sign of the stuttering old man left. “You are henceforth forbidden from approaching the stable. I do not know what spurred this reckless behavior of yours, but until I can discuss it with Guji Ishida, you are restricted to the house and garden. Do I need to assign you constant supervision to ensure you obey these rules, Kamigakari Kimura?”
“No, Kannushi Fujimoto.”
“You are dismissed.” He glanced at the door. “Katsuo, take her to her room. Also, alert Miko Nanako that the lady requires a hot bath, hot meal, and some herbal tea to combat illness after her night in the cold.”
Emi rose as the door behind her slid open. She didn’t look at Katsuo on her way out, and he shut the door behind her. His angry stare weighed on her back as she walked past the stage and the main hall toward the footbridge. He followed her silently until she reached her bedroom, but when she tried to open the door
, he slapped his hand on it, holding it in place.
“What the hell was that, Emi?” Though he whispered, each word vibrated with contained fury. “You had a nightmare? I don’t buy it for a second.”
Should she tell him the truth? No, that would just hurt him. He already mourned what she would lose. If he knew she was going to lose everything and that nothing could change her fate …
He leaned closer. “Didn’t you learn anything after what happened to Hana? How could you disrespect her by putting yourself in danger like—”
She had whirled around to face him before she could stop herself.
“Of course I learned!” she hissed, barely managing not to yell. “It was an accident. I didn’t think to close the gate and the horse bolted. All I wanted to do was sit on him for a minute!”
“Why did you want to sit on him at all?” he snarled.
“Because I love horses! Because I’ve never been allowed to ride, and I wanted to try just once.”
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him, his anger dissolving into astonishment. His shoulders slumped and he pressed a hand to his face, covering his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Emi,” he mumbled. “This is my fault. I never should have said those things to you about regretting what you were missing. I’m an inconsiderate ass.”
“No, you’re not.” Her anger evaporated, replaced by shoulder-bowing shame. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have gone out there alone. I was stupid. I never imagined the horse would run off with me.”
He lowered his hand enough to peek at her. “His name wasn’t warning enough?”
“His name?”
“The gelding is called Tornado.”
“I … didn’t know that.”
“The three mares are very sedate. None of them would have bolted.”
She grimaced. Just her luck that she’d pick the feisty horse. Katsuo finally removed his hand from the door so she could open it.
Inside, the mess she’d left had been cleaned up. Her futon and bedding had been put away in the closet and her luggage placed neatly in the corner. There was no sign of her wooden box, mementos, journal, or the kannushi manual.