“You travelled far into the yokai realm, but there is no place in our world for a human. They want you to live your human life to its fullest. They will not see you so as not to draw you back into a world where you do not belong.”
She walked beside him, fighting to control her emotions. “They all agreed to this, but you …?”
“I did not agree. I promised I would not search you out, but if you came to me, I would not turn you away.”
Her throat tightened.
“But I wonder,” he continued, “when I see your eagerness for mere scraps of news from our world, if I am harming you.”
She almost tripped and rushed to catch up with him. “No, you’re not—”
“Can you effectively judge that? I anticipated, as the others did, that your memories would fade and you would stop seeking me. Every year after the first, I expected that to be the year you did not come.” His steps slowed. “But you will not allow yourself to forget. Even in your own world, surrounded by busy human things, you stand with one foot in our realm.”
He again turned to her, his face expressionless. “If I refused to see you again, to refresh your memories and rekindle your obsession, would you finally forget us? Would you finally embrace your human life?”
Panic lanced through her. “Please don’t, Yumei. Please.” She reached for him with a trembling hand but didn’t touch him. “This is—Every year, this is what I wait for. This is what I—It’s the only thing I can—”
His hand rose and he enclosed her fingers in his warm, solid grip. If she never saw him again, would he become a dreamlike specter in her mind, fading and fading until she lost his face, until she couldn’t even remember his name? Would she become like Katsuo, recalling only a story-like rendition of events with no memories of her own?
“More than just one foot in this world, I think,” he murmured. “How long can you endure the division of your soul, Emi?”
“I promised I would never forget him.” She blinked away tears. “But even if I hadn’t, I still wouldn’t want to forget.”
He resumed walking, keeping hold of her hand in a small, uncharacteristic offering of comfort. Perhaps he could sense the edge of panic clinging to her, the bone-deep terror that she would lose this, lose him, lose everything of this world that she was already terrified would someday slip from her grasp. The firm, solid hand around hers reassured her he was real, that she wouldn’t wake tomorrow to find this was all a strange, bittersweet dream.
If she lost him too, if she was left alone in the human world with no ties left to the yokai realm, she feared she would lose not just her memories, but her soul to listless despair.
By the time she finished grooming Tornado and turned him out into the pasture for the night, the sun had set. She walked back up the trail through the darkness, following the glow of lanterns. She ached with too many emotions and too much fear. Loneliness pressed close, a cold companion in the night. Susano, Uzume, Sarutahiko … they had agreed to never see her again. Had that decision come at a cost, or had they forgotten her as easily as they’d expected her to forget them?
The warm lights of the house banished a little of the chill from her heart as she opened the door and slipped off her boots. She’d barely made it into the hall when Nanako wheeled around the corner, red hakama flapping around her legs.
“We were just starting to wonder if you’d ever return!” She swooped down on Emi and pulled her into a hug. “You look lovely. The bangs suit you.”
Emi returned the embrace. “How have you been, Nanako?”
“Well enough,” she said, brusque but smiling. “Kannushi Fujimoto gets more scatterbrained with every season, but I’m keeping him in line.”
“Hmph,” a deep voice grunted. “I can manage just fine.”
With a welcoming grin, Fujimoto hurried after Nanako and took Emi’s hands, squeezing them. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he peered at her. “How are you, my dear?”
“I’m good,” Emi lied automatically. “It smells wonderful in here. Have you been cooking, Kannushi Fujimoto?”
He chortled as Nanako huffed in disbelief, but his humor faded surprisingly fast. Emi’s smile slipped as tension spread between the miko and kannushi.
Fujimoto cleared his throat. “Emi, a visitor arrived earlier this afternoon to see you.”
“A visitor? Here?”
“Yes. She is waiting for you at the shrine.”
“She?” Baffled, Emi looked between them. “Are you sure it’s someone to see me? Who is it?”
“She is here for you,” Fujimoto confirmed. “She didn’t offer a name, but … I recommend you see her immediately. We’ll hold dinner for you.”
Emi took in their rigid unease. “Of course. I’ll be back shortly.”
Returning to the entryway, she stuffed her boots back on and buttoned her jacket before stepping out into the cooling night air. She hurried across the footbridge, but as she entered the courtyard, her steps slowed with caution. Lanterns hung from the shrine’s eaves, but no one stood among the buildings or beneath the sacred tree.
She stopped a few paces away from the shrine and looked around warily.
With a soft scraping sound, the door to the shrine slid open. As a figure stepped from the interior, light fell across her, illuminating layers of silk kimono and black hair piled elegantly on top of her head. Dark eyes met Emi’s from a face too beautiful to be human.
Emi assessed the kami. Her instincts demanded she flee, but she controlled her fear and forced herself to lean forward in a deep, respectful bow. When she straightened, the kami inclined her head.
“Kimura Emi,” she said in a soft, chiming voice. “It is an honor to meet you. Amaterasu speaks most highly of you.”
“Thank you,” Emi managed. “May I ask …?”
“I am Tagiri, vassal of Amaterasu, Amatsukami of the Wind. She sent me to the earthly realm to speak with you on her behalf.”
Emi’s pulse quickened with growing disquiet. Tagiri gestured for Emi to join her.
“Come. Let us sit inside in comfort.”
Swallowing nervously, Emi followed the kami inside the shrine. Several cushions—not typical furnishings of the inner shrine—sat on the floor, a small wicker basket and a glowing lamp beside them. Tagiri glided to a cushion and sank down, her kimono pooling around her in folds of shining silk. Emi knelt across from her and twisted her hands together in her lap. She felt distinctly awkward in her jeans and jacket, even though she hadn’t donned a miko uniform since she’d ceased being the kamigakari.
“Amaterasu asked me to apologize for her lack of contact,” Tagiri began. “She is not sure whether you prayed to her, expecting an answer, in the first years after her departure from this world. Only in the past two years has she recovered enough strength to reach into the earthly realm.”
Emi shifted awkwardly. She hadn’t prayed to Amaterasu, or any kami, in seven years. “How is Amaterasu?”
“She is well. Her departure from the earthly realm occurred under … unusual circumstances, but she has suffered no ill effects.”
Emi flinched at the reminder of that night. “When will she choose a new kamigakari?”
“She does not plan to select a new vessel for some time yet. She, Izanagi, and Tsukiyomi have chosen to remain in Takamahara. They are currently occupied with recovering Izanami from Yomi.”
Emi’s second wince was more pronounced, but she swallowed the apology that had risen in her throat. She had done what was needed to stop Izanami from destroying her world. Sometimes, though, in her nightmares, she heard the goddess’s last terrified cry as she was dragged into the icy darkness within the black gate.
“What message does Amaterasu wish to share?” Emi asked, hurrying the conversation along so she could flee the kami and the painful visions crowding her memory.
Tagiri pulled the wicker basket closer and opened the top. “First, I must ask you to perform a simple exercise, if you please.”
She withdrew
a single sheet of white paper, a brush, and a bottle of ink. Emi stiffened, recognizing the supplies for creating ofuda. “What is this?”
“It is necessary. I beg your indulgence.” Tagiri uncapped the ink and held out the brush. “I will direct you.”
Emi looked from the brush to the kami.
“You have my sworn oath that I mean you no harm and intend no deceit,” Tagiri said calmly.
Reluctantly, Emi accepted the brush and dipped it in the ink.
“Draw three circles of equal size, forming a column, with their edges touching.”
As Emi drew the trio of circles, her blood chilled. “This isn’t a shikigami talisman, is it?”
“A simple one, yes.”
“I can’t make a shikigami. I’m human.”
“Please continue, Emi. Write your name within the first circle.”
Shaking her head, Emi obeyed, but only because she knew the spell would fail. It was a skill only kami possessed. She followed Tagiri’s instructions and filled out the rest of the talisman—a process of far greater complexity than she’d discerned during her disastrous attempt on Tsukiyomi’s island so long ago.
Tagiri relieved her of the brush and held out a small knife from the basket. “Add a single drop of your blood to the lowest circle.”
Annoyed that she had to bleed for this, Emi pricked her pinky finger and held it over the talisman. A crimson droplet fell, staining the paper.
Heat bloomed in her chest, a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. A strange tug pulled on her innards and the paper lit with a dim glow. As a breeze swirled through the room, the paper rose to hover a foot off the ground. It shimmered with light as a tiny whirlwind gathered around it.
Emi stared, her mouth hanging open. She would have accused Tagiri of tricking her if she hadn’t felt the ki within her chest pulsing in perfect time with the flickering light of the miniature shikigami. Since the solstice, she hadn’t so much as touched an ofuda, let alone attempted to use her ki.
“Ah,” Tagiri said softly. She reached into the whirlwind and touched the paper. It flared brightly and turned black. The hot pulse within Emi vanished as the paper fluttered to the floor, dark and inert. “So our suspicions are indeed correct.”
Her thoughts incoherent with astonished disbelief, Emi pressed a hand to her chest where Amaterasu’s mark had once been emblazoned on her skin. “What suspicions?”
Tagiri replaced the spell supplies in the basket. “What happened to you, Emi, has never happened before, not once in all the eons that the kami have existed. Once a kami binds her power to a vessel, she must possess the human’s body and control it from that day onward. To return to Takamahara, she has to end the life of her host to free her spirit.”
The kami closed the lid on the basket. “Never before has a human been bound to a kami, been exposed to the potency of divine ki, only for the bond to break and the human to continue living.” She gestured toward herself. “When I took this vessel, my ki changed the mortal flesh into something more than human. And I am but a minor kami, with ki that is but a dim reflection of an Amatsukami’s power.”
Extending her arm, Tagiri touched her fingertips to Emi’s sternum. “You were bound to an Amatsukami for ten years. She shared more of her power with you, even before descending, than is normally offered to a kamigakari. And then she descended, filling your mortal flesh with her ki.”
Emi’s heart hammered painfully beneath the kami’s fingers. “What are you saying?”
Tagiri’s tone gentled. “Amaterasu’s power changed you. You are no longer entirely human, Emi.”
She stared blankly. “I’m a human. I’ve always been a human.”
“Even before Amaterasu descended, had you not already begun to wield elemental magic independently?”
“I—no, I could never do it properly.”
“But a human could not do it at all.”
“I am a human,” Emi repeated more loudly. “I’m not a kamigakari anymore.”
“No, you are not,” Tagiri agreed, withdrawing her hand. “And we had expected … we had hoped that the kami power within you would fade once the connection between you and Amaterasu was broken. But”—she indicated the blackened paper on the floor between them—“clearly, it has not.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Exposure to kami ki changes our kamigakari into more suitable long-term vessels. It is well known that our power changes humans. But never before has a human lived on after a kami has possessed them.”
Emi raised her hand, surprised to find it trembling, and gazed at her pale human fingers. “But … what am I, then?”
“You are not a kami, for kami exist in Takamahara and cast only their spirits into this realm. But neither are you a simple human.” Sadness flickered in Tagiri’s eyes. “You are caught between, not one but not the other.”
Emi dropped her hand into her lap and balled her fingers into a fist, trying to clear her head, to think. “What does this mean for me?”
“It changes little of your day-to-day life,” Tagiri answered. “You have power in your ki—how much, we cannot say yet. You may grow stronger with time, or perhaps not. Your ofuda will be exceptionally powerful, and you can likely learn to command the wind and create useful shikigami if you wish. You will need to exercise caution should you enter the realm of yokai, for some may detect your altered nature and attempt to devour you.”
“I just saw two yokai and they didn’t notice anything.”
Tagiri shrugged delicately. “Perhaps you still appear only human to them. That would be preferable. Either way, Amaterasu has extended her permanent protection, offering her shrines as sanctuary should you ever need it, now and forevermore.”
A chill like the kiss of a winter breeze whispered down Emi’s spine. “Forevermore …?”
Tagiri pressed her lips together and folded her hands in her lap. “Exactly how the kami power within you has changed you, we cannot yet know. However, it is likely … it is most likely that, if you possess enough kami ki to fuel a shikigami, you also possess enough ki to halt the drain of time on your mortal body.”
“What?” Emi whispered.
“We suspect you will no longer age as a human, just as our vessels cease to age once we possess them.”
“Are you saying I’m … I might be immortal?”
Tagiri nodded. “But not invulnerable. You will need to protect your body from harm if you wish to experience the full potential of your extended lifespan.”
Emi shook her head, faster and faster as though she could rattle the kami’s words out of her skull. When the room began to spin, she stopped, breathing too fast. “Is that everything?”
Tagiri’s brow furrowed. “Amaterasu knew this would be difficult for you. She offered, should you desire it, to mark a kamigakari and descend at the earliest opportunity so she can support you through this transition. It would be at least ten years before—”
“No,” Emi replied, her voice hollow in her ears. “She should stay in Takamahara and help the others rescue Izanami.”
“I will remain here for another two days, then return to Shion, where I will live for the time being. If you need me, please do not hesitate to summon me.”
“Thank you.” Emi bowed automatically, then rose on weak legs and stumbled out of the shrine, her mind spinning and spinning until she couldn’t think at all.
Through a numb daze, she barely noticed the walk back to the house, barely registered Nanako’s and Fujimoto’s worried questions and apprehension when Emi could scarcely respond. She let them shuffle her to the table and robotically ate the food placed in front of her.
Amaterasu’s power had changed her. She was not a human. She was not a kami. She was something in between, something that had never existed before. Caught between the kami and human worlds. Caught between the human and yokai worlds. Forever.
Immortal. The word had never been so terrifying.
Already she had struggled so much to fit in, to find he
r place while Katsuo and Miyako and the other humans she knew flourished. While she was trapped, torn between worlds, they would move on, live, flourish—and grow old.
The only ones who wouldn’t grow old were the yokai, but Yumei had been clear that a human had no place among them. A part-kami belonged with them even less. And the one immortal who might have made an exception for her was gone, likely never to return.
She looked from her half-eaten plate of food to Nanako and Fujimoto, who attempted to carry on a natural conversation while watching her worriedly. They would age. They would die. She wouldn’t. They would leave her behind—or would she leave them behind? How was she supposed to find a place to belong when she fit nowhere?
She pushed her plate away. “I need to rest,” she whispered. “Please excuse me.”
Leaving the room in a rush, she returned to the entryway and shoved her boots on, but forgot her coat on the hook. She stumbled down the steps, intending to retreat to the guesthouse, but instead her feet carried her in the opposite direction. She found herself on the northern trail, walking past the field and beneath the torii, hardly aware of her surroundings.
With moonlight illuminating her path, she walked into the dark mountains, numb and aching inside. Time vanished, unimportant and inconsequential.
Through the dull shock that blanketed her mind, a cold chill of fear whispered over her. Her steps faltered and awareness filtered back as though she were waking from a deep sleep. She looked around in confusion at the unfamiliar trail and deep darkness beneath the trees.
Leaves crunched behind her. Before she could turn, a giant hand closed around her wrist and spun her around.
Mottled red skin covered the brutish frame of the oni. It grinned, tusks jutting from its lower jaw as it yanked her off the ground. Yellow eyes gleamed beneath a hideously heavy brow bone.
“What is this,” it growled, holding her in the air by her wrist, claws raking her skin. “A human wandering alone in my forest? An unexpected feast.”
Its grip tightened, and the lancing pain in her arm further cleared her head. She slapped her palm on the center of its face.