Emperor of the Fireflies Page 24

  “But who made that first sacrifice?” Sakami persisted. “Was it like the Tide Dragon tattoo?” Fragments of dream returned. She grips the sword hilt, ramming the sacred blade through dragon-scale, flesh and bone. “Does it only begin to work when the blade pierces its target?”

  “Still so curious, Sakami?” Inari let her hands slide down to rest on her shoulders. “Yes; the contract began when the sacrifice offered a few drops of blood to the steel of the sword in the heat of the forge fires. And then, when the sword entered Kurika’s body, it drew the life force from the sacrifice, sealing the monster in the cave beneath his mountain forever. Or so I thought. . .”

  “So the sword sacrifice died?”

  “She was such a dear child. . .” Inari’s voice faded to a whisper, as if she were talking to herself.

  “Child? Your child?”

  “Heavens, no.” Inari withdrew her hands. “I had a son, Oujin, and he went on to rule Cipangu in my stead. She was a faithful servant. More than that: a friend.”

  “A faithful servant,” Sakami repeated. Just as I was to Kai. Or tried to be. . . “What would happen to me,” she asked, “if I became the sword’s Soul Sacrifice?”

  “No, Sakami!” cried Honou, grabbing hold of her arm, tugging at her like a small child. “You mustn’t do it.”

  “Tell me, Lady Inari,” she said, ignoring him.

  “If you were still mortal, it would mean your death.”

  “Then I’ll do it,” Sakami heard herself blurting out. “I’ll be the sacrifice.”

  “Sakami, you’re forgetting one important fact: you’re no longer human.”

  “I’m no longer. . .” Sakami had been ready to give all she had for the success of her mission. Now even that was an impossibility. “I died, didn’t I?” she said numbly. “Lord Naoki killed me to get his hands on the Tide Jewels. And it’s only because Kai begged you to bring me back to life that I’m here now.”

  Inari opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, shaking her head.

  “So – it has to be a mortal soul that’s linked to the sword?” Sakami stared up at the goddess’s pale face, wondering who could possibly be persuaded to give up their life to stop Kurika going on the rampage again. For a brief moment Yūgiri came to her mind but she pushed the thought away. “No. It’s too much to ask of anyone. Is there no other way?”

  “This is the worst possible time of the year to have to deal with that monstrous, malevolent creature.” Inari seemed to be speaking to herself. “Just when I must devote all my power, all my energies to the harvest.”

  “What if we gathered here together, all your kitsune, and each one of us willed a little of our life force into the sword?” Sakami gazed imploringly at the other three. “We’ll never have another chance to do this. It would give it a different kind of power than a human soul – but it would still be a sacrifice. Our sacrifice. And it would make a special sacred kitsune blade, so that Kurika could never destroy our kind again – or burn your rice harvest, Lady Inari.”

  There was silence in the inner shrine as the two guardian foxes averted their gaze.

  Have I spoken out of turn? I didn’t intend to offend them.

  “I’m with you, Sakami,” Honou said suddenly. “And if you call the other kitsune, my lady, they’ll come, even Yukiko and Kane. They’ll have to come.”

  “But that would mean leaving the harvest fields and the shrines unprotected.” Inari still sounded uncertain. “And there is no guarantee even then that a kitsune blade will be powerful enough to contain Kurika’s powers.”

  “If we don’t try,” Honou said staunchly, “we’ll never know.”

  Inari drew in a breath as if to make another objection. But then she reached out and tousled Honou’s russet hair. “Then let’s pay the master swordsmith a visit. But at night, when our foxfire is at its most potent. Tell your armorer to be ready after dark tonight.”

  Sakami squeezed Honou’s hand in gratitude.

  “Thank you, my lady,” she said, turning to Inari – but the goddess had already vanished and the ethereal rice-white light illuminating the shrine faded away, leaving them in semi-darkness.

  Sakami felt as if her legs were about to give way but she turned and bowed in gratitude to the two guardians.

  “You’re a bold little vixen. I’d never dare to talk so forthrightly to our lady goddess,” said Chinatsu with a little sniff of disdain. “There’s still far too much human nature left in you.”

  Sakami flinched. “But, when Lady Inari said I’m no longer human, what did she mean?”

  “It seems you’re still attached to that mortal man; Kai, Kaito, was it? You should keep in mind that there’s no future in it. You can never give him children.”

  “I can’t bear children? Not even kitsune cubs?”

  “Kitsune are made, not born,” Chinatsu said bluntly. “You’ve become a shapeshifter.”

  “I. . .see.” I’ve been so busy that I haven’t once stopped to think about who – no, what – I’ve become. I suppose I should have known that this new kitsune existence would make me different from the person I was before. I just hadn’t realized –

  “Sakami,” Honou whispered. “Your eyes. They’re leaking.”

  “I’m. . .leaking?” The words caught in her throat as she touched her cheek and found it wet with tears.

  ***

  Sakami walked unseeing past the stall holders thronging the street outside the shrine, the clamor of their voices a distant roar on the very edge of her hearing. And then a little girl ran across her path to a woman selling taiyaki, holding up her coin as she stood on tiptoe, eagerly pointing to the fish-shaped sweet biscuit she wanted.

  Her mother caught up and as the child turned around to show her purchase, Sakami saw the look of pleasure that passed between them.

  “Red bean jam, Mama!” The child offered her mother a bite from the biscuit and the mother refused, smiling.

  “That’s for being such a good girl today.”

  Hand in hand, they passed in front of Sakami and were soon lost in the crowd, the little girl chattering excitedly.

  They look so happy together, mother and daughter.

  “Your mouth is gaping open, just like a fat carp,” Honou said. Sakami took a swipe at him, but he dodged, laughing delightedly.

  Is he trying to distract me?

  “Buy me one of those taiyaki, Sakami.”

  “Why should I? You just called me a fat carp.”

  “I said ‘like a fat carp.’ And talking of fish. . .”

  I can look after other people’s children. I can take pleasure in them. But I can never have any of my own.

  The bright colors of the busy thoroughfare leeched away and even the faces of the people around Sakami faded as she stood transfixed by the truth of her situation.

  “I’ve been playing at being alive,” she said to no one in particular. “But that Sakami is dead. She died on Sakuranbo Mountain.”

  Someone tugged sharply at her sleeve. She looked round and saw the taiyaki seller holding out her hand for payment. Swaggering nonchalantly away from the stall, a biscuit in each hand, was a young man whose fox-red hair made him stand out in the crowd.

  “He said you’d pay,” said the woman.

  Sakami dug in her little purse for a coin and dutifully paid up.

  Why am I so keen to have children when I already have this overgrown fox-child to keep an eye on? she wondered, hurrying after Honou.

  “One for you,” he said, grinning as he handed her the other taiyaki. She glared at him, then bit into the biscuit, eyes widening as the delicious sweetness of the bean paste filled her mouth.

  “Tastes good?” he said.

  She nodded, tears welling up again, grateful for the distraction.

  “It’s good, Honou. Really good.”

  Chapter 30

  The night sky was clear and burning with cold starfire as Sakami made her way through the darkness toward the forge, Honou following close on her
heels.

  As she entered, the forge flames shot upward, exuding a gust of heat so fierce that it made her recoil.

  Kinkiyo plunged the blade into the fire again, setting off a spurt of sparks that briefly illumined the dark interior of the forge. But not before Sakami had seen him give a little shake of the head, a master craftsman perplexed by the task in hand.

  It’s still not turning out the way it should.

  Sakami closed her eyes, offering up a silent prayer to the goddess.

  We’re ready, Lady Inari. Don’t forget your promise. We’re counting on you.

  A sudden shudder of wind made the forge flames flare wildly.

  She’s here.

  Sakami’s heart began to beat wildly in excitement as the goddess appeared in a cloud of pale white light. A host of bright kitsune eyes glimmered behind her in the shadows. So many foxes!

  Kinkiyo was staring open-mouthed at the visitor.

  “M-my lady,” he stammered.

  “Master Kinkiyo,” she said, “I’ve come to give my blessing to your skill in the forging of this special blade.”

  The smith rubbed his eyes, furiously blinking, as if he could not quite believe what he saw.

  Inari drew out a gilded wand which Sakami recognized as the ceremonial rice flail.

  “Come closer, children,” she said to the kitsune clustering at her heels and Sakami felt herself borne toward the anvil by the other fox spirits.

  Kinkiyo drew the glowing metal from the fire and laid it on the anvil. He and Inari began to beat the blade in alternating strokes, not ringing blows but gentle, measured taps. And a soft, swishing sound arose from the kitsune as, one by one, each fox flourished its flickering tails, setting the darkness alight with an eerie glow of foxfire. Sakami spotted Chinatsu and Korechika, the elegant myōbu guardians of the capital city shrine close behind the goddess; on her right hand side stood Yukiko and Kane from Kurozuro, their slanted amber eyes gleaming with power.

  Someone nudged her and she saw Honou, now a dashing dog fox spirit, flaunting his fiery tails.

  “You too, Sakami.”

  “But if Kinkiyo sees me. . .” Suddenly she was overcome with shyness.

  “He’s too busy right now to notice.”

  Sakami closed her eyes and shrank into her white vixen form. Her spirit tails flowered to life, tipped with luminous flame, as she willed with all her might and soul her wish into the sword

  Protect us and keep the fire dragon from ever harming us again.

  ***

  “Inari’s here.” Kurika’s smoky voice breathed hot in Hotaru’s ear, making him start, dropping his ink brush. “In the capital.”

  His heart still thudding, Hotaru looked up from the official documents he had been studying and saw that the shikigami was quivering with agitation, giving off little spurts of steam.

  “Why has she come?” Kurika paced the room. “What is she doing? She should be watching over her precious rice harvest.” And then he said, “Anyone who had a mind to it could sneak into the granaries and set them alight.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Hotaru gave up any attempt at reading and rose. “How do you know she’s here?”

  Kurika beckoned him out into the courtyard garden. “See that glow in the sky?”

  Hotaru peered out and as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he spotted a soft, pearl-white light in the distance near the western gate of the city.

  “Perhaps it’s a festival at the Inari shrine,” he said even though he could not remember such an event taking place at this time of year until the harvest was over.

  “Let me go and investigate.” Kurika turned to him, his fiery eyes glittering. “Take the restraint off me.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll just reconnoiter – I won’t take any action.”

  “So you say but how can I trust you?”

  “Is it so much trouble for you to place a spell on me that will draw me back?” Kurika had moved in the time it took Hotaru to blink to loom so close that he could feel his hot breath on his neck again. “Or has My Lord Onmyōji lost the ability to control me?”

  Hotaru stealthily slid a paper onmyōdo charm from his sleeve. Kurika must have sensed him move for he turned as Hotaru lunged to press the blood-inked charm against the seal bond glowing on his dark-skinned breast. But in mortal form, Kurika’s reflexes were less acute and a growl of fury escaped the shikigami as his master’s charm took hold.

  “You will stay here, by my side, until I have need of you. Assume your lesser form.”

  “No.”

  But it was too late and Kurika’s body began to shudder and shrink until a black-furred creature emerged from the spiral of swirling smoke.

  Hotaru bent down to scoop up the dragon dog. Kuri snarled and sank his teeth into his hand.

  Cursing, Hotaru let him go – and the little dog bolted for the door, claws scrabbling over the tatami mats.

  “Kobai!” Hotaru shouted. “Catch that dog!” Looking at his hand he saw that the creature’s sharp teeth had pierced the skin. “Damn him; I’m bleeding.”

  “Kurika can’t stray too far away from you.” Uguisu’s words were meant to soothe him, but they only increased his agitation.

  “I need to fashion another collar,” he muttered, wrapping a handkerchief around the wound to staunch the blood. “One with a stronger binding spell and a lock that a servant girl’s agile fingers can’t undo so easily.”

  “As long as that seal glows over his heart, Kurika has to answer to you. Unless you shed your own blood to formally break the seal, he’s still yours to command.”

  “You trained me well, Uguisu.” He bowed his head, acknowledging his debt to the instruction she had given him into the arts of dark onmyōdo.

  ***

  “This blade has been wrought with the skill of the master swordsmith Kinkiyo and is infused with the spirit energy of my kitsune.” Lady Inari passed her hands over the metal until it gleamed with her pure radiance. “‘Foxfire-Fang’ – it is the will of those who live on Sakuranbo Mountain that you become their guardian sword.”

  In the blur of forge-smoke and glimmering foxfire, Sakami saw a shadowy figure arise, looming above the blade. She blinked, mesmerized by its writhing, changing form, seeing a flame-eyed kitsune warrior emerge, fiery-tipped tails lashing, ears pricked, white teeth bared in a ferocious snarl.

  Inari lowered her flail and Sakami realized that she was gazing directly at her.

  “Now it’s all down to you, Sakami,” she said.

  “Me?” Sakami blinked again and saw that Inari and the host of kitsune had vanished.

  Kinkiyo gave a start, rubbing his eyes as if he’d been asleep. He looked down at the blade and, laying down his hammer, gently raised it in both hands, examining its milky radiance by the light of the fire.

  “Did I nod off for a moment?” he asked bemusedly. “I had such a strange dream.”

  Sakami suddenly felt light-headed. “Is the sword finished?” she asked, tottering a step or two toward him.

  “All but the hilt and guard.” He put out a hand to steady her. “You should go and rest, Miko-san; you look exhausted. “

  She nodded and when Honou took her arm to lead her from the forge, she was too tired to object, leaning against him gratefully.

  The sword is nearly complete, but who has the strength and skill to wield it against Kurika?

  Chapter 31

  How I hate this daily morning ritual of hair-combing. Ayaka sighed and gritted her teeth as her ladies-in-waiting fussed around her. Reika was always so deft – and so efficient.

  In an attempt to make the time pass more agreeably, she had requested her ladies-in-waiting take turns in reading from texts of their own choosing.

  To her surprise, the ladies had – when encouraged to do so – chosen a wide variety of writings; they had just come to the end of an account of a journey to a distant temple which intrigued everyone with its descriptions of unusual foods and travelers encounte
red on the road, all with tales to tell of sorrowful ghosts, tricky fox spirits and spider daemons.

  “Whose turn is it to read today?” Ayaka asked. “Is it you, Lady Miruko?”

  “But suppose I’ve selected something your imperial majesty finds boring? Or distasteful?” the young woman wailed, hiding her blushing face behind her long sleeve. “I’ll be utterly mortified.”

  “I want to hear something new,” Ayaka said, silently resolving not to be critical of whatever she was about to be subjected to. “Surprise me. Delight me.”

  Fortunately, it turned out that little Lady Miruko had brought poetry and soon all the ladies were sighing over the romantic lines penned by a lover smitten by the sight of a graceful white hand extended from a passing palanquin.

  Hotaru used to send me poems; how sad that he doesn’t have the time to write them anymore.

  “‘Pale hand, as white as magnolia petals…

  Is she beckoning to me to follow?

  Or is that delicate gesture intended for another?’”

  But Ayaka’s attention was soon distracted. She thought she caught a faint bark in the courtyard garden outside. She listened attentively. There it is again. And this time, the ladies heard it too, for the reader faltered, breaking off as everyone turned toward the sliding doors that opened on to the garden.

  “Did I just hear a dog?” Ayaka asked.

  Ochiba rose. “I’ll go and check.”

  “Send Reika,” Ayaka said. Although the thought of Ochiba primly trying to pursue a lively dog while not tripping over her many-layered court dress almost made her giggle out loud.

  But even as Ochiba clapped her hands to summon help, a loud insistent scratching began at the sliding doors. Two of the ladies clutched each other’s hands.

  “Suppose it’s a mad dog, foaming at the mouth,” said one of the ladies and they both let out a little shriek just as – to Ayaka’s relief – Reika appeared.

  “Some creature is trying to get in, Reika,” Ayaka said. Reika nodded and slid open the screen as Ayaka’s ladies hastily retreated to the far side of the room.