Before she could panic, Katsuo reached behind his back, under his haori, and pulled the two books out. He smiled as he offered them to her.
“I grabbed them when no one was looking. I don’t think anyone noticed them in all the panic over what had happened and where you were. At first, we thought someone had attacked you and carried you off.”
Tamping down on another twinge of guilt over the worry she’d caused everyone, she took the books and hugged them to her chest. She almost asked if he’d read them, but when would he have had the time? He would hardly have sat around perusing her diary while she was missing and probably in danger. She must have scared everyone badly.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“No problem.” He hesitated. “Emi, if you decide you really want to experience something else, ask me next time, would you? New experiences are great and all, but not if you get hurt … or worse.”
She fought back the prick of tears. After all she’d put him through, he was still too kind to her.
He stepped back. “You should get changed and head to the bath.”
She bobbed her head in a nod. Her wet socks squished unpleasantly as she stepped into her room, and Katsuo closed the door. She listened to his footsteps on the walkway, knowing he was off to deliver instructions to Nanako. She cringed. Another lecture was inevitable.
Alone in her pristine room, she had to wonder what insanity had infected her to make her storm off into the night and get on that horse. The pull of duty and despair fighting her need to rebel against the betrayal she’d suffered had driven rationality out of her mind, but in the light of morning, she knew that sitting on a horse for a few minutes hadn’t been worth the trouble and worry she’d caused everyone.
Lifting her hand, she looked at her fingers, still smeared with dark ash. Sitting on a horse hadn’t been worth it, but she’d also trekked the mountains alone, faced off against an oni, and defended herself with an ofuda. She might even have saved that kitsune’s life, assuming it survived its wounds.
She’d wanted an experience outside the strict regimen of a kamigakari, and she’d gotten far more than she could have imagined. Terrifying, painful—she could feel every bruise—and exhausting, but worth it. Defending against a monster, allying with an odd little yokai, wandering the wild forests alone. Each memory was a vibrant image in her mind that pulsed with its own life, making her feel alive—more alive than she’d felt in years. A unique, exhilarating experience all her own, and despite the embarrassment and guilt, she couldn’t regret it.
If Fujimoto knew how she really felt about her escapade, he’d probably burst an artery.
After a bath, a meal, a cup of tea, and a nap, Emi found herself sitting in her room, staring out the window at the snow-covered garden. She didn’t have anything else to do. The kannushi manual and her journal were hidden in the closet for the time being. Her box of mementos was no more; Nanako had thrown everything out, claiming she’d thought it was all garbage. Despite Emi’s disgust with the kamigakari-centered mementos last night, losing her keepsakes hurt more than she wanted to admit.
With her elbow on the windowsill, she propped her chin on her palm. In her other hand, she held the shaft of a long black feather. Light gleamed over it as she twirled it between her finger and thumb. She’d brought it back from the forest, intending to add it to her memento box—her first keepsake that wasn’t directly related to her kamigakari duties. Unfortunately, she no longer had a box to put it in.
She set the feather on the windowsill and pushed her hair off her shoulders, fanning it across her back. Hanging below her hips, the ends brushed the floor. She slid a lock through her fingers as she watched the flurries outside the window drift toward the ground, a much lighter snow than that morning. Her hair was another part of being a kamigakari; she hadn’t been allowed to cut it in ten years, except for the occasional trim to keep it neat. She certainly wouldn’t have chosen to keep her hair that unmanageably long, but hair was thought to have spiritual significance.
Despondent misery lapped at her thoughts, trying to pull her mind into the pool of darkness within her. Her inescapable fate loomed. If she’d had a choice, maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard to accept. If they hadn’t lied to her … if she’d known from the start, would she have still sought this path as a child? An eight-year-old had little concept of mortality. Maybe she would have done it anyway.
Either way, it was too late. There was no escape from her destiny on the solstice. If she was going to lose her life, she should do her best to be the perfect host for Amaterasu—for the sake of the world, to restore onmyo. She just needed to stop thinking about it and pretend like nothing had changed.
She let out a long breath, trying to ignore the slithering anxiety and the odd, itching urgency that made her want to jump up and start pacing. As she gazed out the window without really seeing the garden, a bright red spot in the snow caught her attention: crimson autumn leaves. From a distance, they looked like blood in the snow—like the kitsune’s blood.
The fox yokai had probably been the most surprising part of her adventure. A nonhostile yokai … the very concept was preposterous to her. A kitsune, though, was among the most neutral yokai she could think of. They were known as tricksters, more than capable of causing humans serious trouble, but they didn’t have a vicious reputation like most other yokai. She might have had reason to worry if the kitsune from the forest had had more than one tail—an indication of age and power, according to the stories—but the little fox hadn’t even been strong enough to escape the oni.
Kitsune, however, were also the messengers of Inari, the Kunitsukami of the Fire; the oni had even called the fox Inari’s whelp. Maybe she should have been more concerned. Inari would no doubt want Amaterasu’s kamigakari dead, and might even be actively encouraging yokai to hunt her. If she’d been smart, she wouldn’t have saved the kitsune—though she hadn’t planned that part.
She bit her lip. She’d saved the fox’s life, yes, but it had saved her life first. When the oni had first come for her, she’d been too paralyzed by terror to act. The kitsune had jumped in front of her and bitten the oni. It had saved her, and she’d left it to die.
No. She shook her head, rocking it back and forth in her arms. The kitsune had run away. She hadn’t abandoned it. What had she been supposed to do—chase after it? It hadn’t known she was a kamigakari, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t figure out the truth. The fox yokai might not be an evil monster, but it was still dangerous.
She bit harder on her lip. So much intelligence in those ruby eyes. That troublemaker canine grin. All that blood.
But no, there was nothing she could do. Yokai were dangerous. She couldn’t take that kind of risk.
Lifting her head, she dropped her arms from the windowsill. She couldn’t take risks because Amaterasu needed her body—alive and whole, not mauled by yokai. But she owed the kitsune a debt, and with a bit of planning, she wouldn’t have to take any risks to help the little yokai—not any major risks, anyway. She had only weeks left to live her life, and with the short time she had remaining, she wanted to do something meaningful—something personal to her instead of in service to Amaterasu. She could repay her debt and, maybe, save a life in the process.
With grim determination, she rose and swiftly braided her hair, then twisted it into a heavy bun and tied it into place. Her white haori went on next, dry and only a little stained after her tumble down the mountain. As a final thought, she tucked the glossy black feather into her journal as a bookmark and slipped it back into the corner of her closet. Then she headed to the door and slid it open. Her plan required a few supplies.
She’d only been in the kitchen for a couple minutes when Katsuo appeared in the doorway, frowning at her.
“Emi, aren’t you supposed to be napping? What are you doing?”
Glancing at him, she pulled a package of pork cutlets from the fridge and dropped them into the cloth grocery bag in front of her.
“
Ah, Katsuo, there you are. Is there a first aid kit around here?”
Alarm sharpened his voice. “Are you hurt? What—”
“No, no, I’m fine. I just need a kit. Do we have one?”
“Yes, but—”
“Could you grab it, please?”
He frowned more deeply and walked out of the kitchen. She collected some leftover grilled fish and two bottles of water to add to her bag. He returned with a white plastic box and she held her bag open for him to drop it in. His eyes narrowed as he placed it slowly inside with the other items.
“What are you up to, Emi?”
“We,” she said with a smile, “are going for a walk.”
“A walk?”
“Yep.”
“Where?” He followed her out of the kitchen and down the corridor to the entryway. “Kannushi Fujimoto said you’re confined to the house.”
“He and Nanako will be at the shrine office all afternoon.”
“Emi.” He stopped and folded his arms while she put her shoes on. “I won’t help you break his rules. You’ll get us both into trouble.”
She straightened, raising her eyebrows. “I thought you said you wanted me to bring you along for my next ‘experience.’”
He winced, probably regretting that rash promise. “I did say that, but it’s also my job to protect you, and I can’t let you leave after everything that happened this morning.”
“Actually,” she said cheerfully, “you can’t stop me from going wherever I want. You’re not allowed to touch me.”
His mouth fell open.
“So, really, you have to come with me if you intend to protect me. Kannushi Fujimoto will understand, don’t worry.”
He spluttered wordlessly. Emi grinned and swept down the front steps onto the path, leaving him scrambling to put his shoes on. He caught up to her as she passed the north corner of the house and started up the trail.
“The stable again?” he asked warily. “Why are we walking to the stable? I’d figured you’d had enough of horses for one day.”
“We’re going a bit farther than the stable.”
“Farther? You want to leave the shrine grounds? Are you crazy?”
“I’m not crazy!” she snapped, her good humor vanishing—mostly because she was also wondering whether she’d lost her mind. With each step away from the house and toward the looming mountain, she grew more uncertain. What was she thinking? The kitsune wouldn’t just be waiting in the same spot as before, and she couldn’t search a thousand square miles of wilderness for a single little fox. And did she really want to help a yokai? Would it want her help? It had run away from her.
Katsuo followed her in stiff silence as she walked to the stable and followed the pasture fence beyond. She couldn’t help a guilty glance at the field, where only three horses were grazing. Minoru had searched the trails for hours but Tornado was nowhere to be found. Hopefully the oni hadn’t come across him instead.
A dozen yards beyond the pasture, a red torii marked the end of the shrine grounds. Emi paused in front of it and swallowed nervously. She’d been so busy hanging on to the galloping horse that she hadn’t noticed the torii on the way through the first time. This time, she was willingly leaving the protection that the shrine grounds provided. The torii gates formed their own barrier, far more powerful than any single human could create, that encircled the grounds and prevented yokai with ill intent from entering.
She hesitated in front of the torii. Bowing at a torii denoted respect for the kami, but her feelings toward Amaterasu were a tangled, painful mess. Part of her hated her kami, who would soon destroy her. Part of her knew that Amaterasu was a divine being who couldn’t concern herself with the life of a single mortal girl, not when the kami desperately needed a host. Amaterasu was supposed to be the gentle, compassionate Amatsukami, yet all those times Emi had felt Amaterasu’s presence, the kami had never warned her.
Emi tried to force her feet forward but couldn’t quite manage that level of disrespect. She jerked into a quick, stiff bow before scuttling between the red pillars.
As she walked away from the torii, Katsuo trotted up beside her and cast her a narrow-eyed look. “So where are we going?”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Well, you see, I had an … encounter … while I was out here this morning.”
“What sort of ‘encounter’?”
She braced herself for his reaction. “An oni attacked me.”
“An oni?” he exploded, his exclamation ringing through the trees. “You were attacked by a mountain oni? What happened?”
“I used a barrier ofuda. The oni couldn’t break through it, so it took off.”
“It just left?”
She shrugged. She had no idea how to explain the way her barrier had burned the oni.
“So what about this ‘encounter’ makes you want to go back?”
“The oni would have killed me before I could make the barrier, but a kitsune saved me. It jumped in front of me and bit the oni, buying me enough time to use the ofuda. But it was hurt … bleeding everywhere.” She frowned at the ground, too cowardly to look at him. “The kitsune saved my life, so I want to go back and see if it’s still there and leave some food … just something to thank it.”
“Emi …”
“I know it’s foolish,” she said quickly. “But yokai are kami too, and it’s proper to make an offering to a kami who protects us.”
“You’re hoping the kitsune is still there, but what if the oni is nearby too?”
“That’s why I brought you with me.”
“Lucky me,” he muttered under his breath. “I should have grabbed Minoru.”
She glanced at his grim face. “Would the oni be a problem for you?”
He huffed a dry laugh. “I’m flattered by your faith in me, but a mountain oni is not an opponent any sohei would take lightly.”
She stopped. He took a few more steps before catching himself and turning.
“We should go back,” she said, clutching her bag of food, water, and first aid supplies. She wouldn’t risk Katsuo’s life. He had his whole future ahead of him, not just a few weeks. “This isn’t worth your life.”
His brows drew down as he studied her. They stood facing each other on the snowy trail, the trees towering all around them.
“Not worth my life,” he said softly, almost thoughtfully, “but worth yours?”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. Before she could figure out how, he waved at her to start moving again.
“Let’s not waste time. We need to get back before Fujimoto and Nanako finish at the office.”
“But—” She hurried to catch up. “But what about the oni?”
“His ki should be pretty noticeable. We can rabbit out of here if I sense anything.”
She remembered that creeping, crawling fear that had seemed to climb up her body and under her skin. Powerful ki leaked out, warning others that a dangerous being approached. For the same reason, she had to wear Ishida’s omamori—to suppress her kami-infused ki so it couldn’t alert nearby yokai to her true identity.
Simultaneously worried and relieved, she took the lead again. Ten minutes beyond the torii, they walked past the spot where Katsuo and Minoru had found her that morning. Another half mile up the trail, she found the gap in the undergrowth where she’d broken through the tree line. It was easy enough to follow her footprints in the snow back through the woods. In the bright daylight, the forest was far less ominous. Birds called loudly among the trees and a red squirrel with a pristine white belly scampered across her path and up a nearby tree. It perched on a branch with a nut in its tiny hands as it watched the humans alertly.
The crooked meandering of her trail became embarrassingly obvious as they followed her footprints through the snow. She was clearly incapable of walking in a straight line, even when her life literally depended on it. Despite the cheerful serenade of bird calls, her anxiety intensified the deeper they forged into the forest. Katsuo
walked almost on her heels, so close she could feel the warmth emanating off him. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.
They abruptly came upon the small clearing. She stopped, her gaze sliding across the tracks in the snow, the blood, the green oni ooze. Katsuo strode past her, scanning the scene. He let out a low whistle as he knelt beside the oni tracks, softened by the falling snow, and put his hand out above it. His outspread fingers fit inside the footprint without touching the edges.
“A big one,” he muttered. “The tracks we found along the western trails weren’t even close to this size.”
She passed him, focused on the tiny tracks of the kitsune. Blood made the trail more obvious, drips and drops marking its flight out of the clearing.
“This way,” she said, holding her bag of supplies tightly under one arm. “Hurry, Katsuo.”
With fast steps, she followed the kitsune’s tracks into the denser bush. It had been hours; the fox could be miles away. But the blood … it was badly hurt. She didn’t think it could have run for miles.
As the trees crowded together and the underbrush thickened, Katsuo took the lead, crouching every few yards as the trail became harder to see. After pushing through several dozen yards of forest, Katsuo stopped with a sigh.
“I can’t find any tracks. The kitsune knew where to run to hide its trail. Short of a bloodhound, we can’t track it.”
Emi’s shoulders wilted. It had been too much to hope.
“We can still leave an offering,” he said softly. “If it’s around here, it’ll smell the food.”
She nodded, biting her lip. If that was all she could do, she would have to be satisfied with that.
“Caw.”
The loud cry cut through all the other bird calls. Her head snapped up. On a branch high above, a black crow watched her.
“You again,” she muttered.
The crow’s head tilted side to side. It spread its wings and sprang from the branch. Gliding soundlessly, it swooped through the trees and landed on the bough of a spruce thirty yards away.