Emperor of the Fireflies Read online

  “Imperial majesty?”

  Hotaru recognized Kobai’s voice. “What is it?” he asked, making an effort to collect his thoughts.

  “Is the letter ready for me to take to Lord Naoki?”

  Hotaru had completely forgotten in his concerns about Ayaka and Kurika that he had told Kobai to collect a letter ordering the postponement of the Iron dragons display.

  “I’m writing the letter now,” he called, hurrying to his desk. A few minutes later he handed the hastily scrawled order to Kobai who was waiting outside, his face marred by a singularly sulky expression.

  “Will there be a reply?” he asked with evident lack of enthusiasm.

  “I doubt it.”

  And when the boy set out at a distinctly unhurried pace, Hotaru found himself reflecting that the time had come for his son to take up a junior rank in the imperial guards and have some rigor drilled into him.

  Chapter 46

  Yūgiri heard raised voices coming from the forge, Kinkiyo’s considerably louder than the rest. Fearing for the sacred sword, he ran up the path to find out what was the matter.

  “The display is cancelled?” Kinkiyo’s outraged bellow could be heard halfway down the path.

  “Postponed,” Naoki corrected as Yūgiri reached the open doorway. “His imperial majesty informs us that ‘the court is observing a period of mourning for his brother, the ex-emperor.’” He was reading aloud from a letter bearing the imperial seal.

  Suzaku has been declared dead? One of the apprentices was working the bellows and a blast of heat from the fire almost took Yūgiri’s breath away. The thought that the kindly ex-emperor had perished in flames as searingly hot as these filled him with anguish.

  Kinkiyo let drop his hammer which fell with a clang on the anvil. “That’s a tragedy for us all; he was a good man and well liked. So they’ve found the ex-emperor’s body?”

  “Not yet,” said a clear, alto voice, a boy’s voice on the verge of breaking. “But Admiral Higekuro believes that he and Prince Norihira were trapped in the blaze and did not escape.”

  That voice. Yūgiri froze in the doorway but too late; the messenger turned around and spotted him. Kobai. Seeing the emperor’s favored page boy again brought back memories, all of them unpleasant, of when Hotaru had kept him imprisoned in the monastery to work his malignant spell on him. Yūgiri cast a hasty look around the forge, praying that Kinkiyo had not been working on Foxfire-Fang when Kobai arrived. To his relief the sacred sword was not visible; Kinkiyo must have hidden it in a safe place. Had Kobai been sent to spy?

  “The emperor asks us to be patient,” Naoki said, folding the letter. His voice was calm but Yūgiri could tell that beneath the polite veneer, his young lord was seething. “And all we ask of his imperial majesty is that he is gracious enough to give us plenty of advance warning to prepare the demonstration.”

  Kobai bowed. As he left the forge, he turned his head to look at Yūgiri, but said nothing and continued on his way, leaving Yūgiri feeling distinctly uneasy.

  “Well, perhaps it’s a blessing as it’ll give us time to prepare the saltpeter and make better fire drug,” said Kinkiyo, taking up his hammer again.

  “Is Hotaru going to cancel the Autumn Moon Festival as well?” Yūgiri asked, unable to hide the edge to his voice. There was so much at stake

  “Seeing as how he didn’t even think to invite my father to the festival to represent our clan. . .” Naoki began and then broke off, clenching his fist. “I can’t see this as anything but another snub. A slur on the Red Kites’ good name.” He tossed the emperor’s letter into the forge fire and strode out of the forge.

  “Was that an imperial messenger I passed just now?” Sakami appeared in the doorway. “Lord Naoki had a face like thunder. Was it bad news?” She looked so pale that Yūgiri hurried toward her, ready to support her if she felt faint.

  “You’re supposed to be resting, Sakami-chan,” he said softly. She gazed up at him, a little spark of mischief in her eyes, in spite of her pallor.

  “Yes, but I wanted to see Master Kinkiyo,” she said.

  “The sword’s ready, if that’s why you’re here,” Kinkiyo said, laying down his hammer again and going to the weapons chest he kept in a corner. Opening it up, he removed a blade that caught the firelight as he presented it to her.

  “It’s. . .beautiful,” she said, reaching out to touch the expertly crafted hilt and then snatching her fingers away in surprise. “And so lively! You try, Hisui-sensei.”

  Curious to find out for himself, Yūgiri laid his fingers on the silk-bound hilt. The effect was immediate; little darts of foxfire went shooting through his fingers and up his arm. For a second he glimpsed the spirit of the sword, wild-maned, fierce-eyed, challenging him with a smile on his lips.

  “I understand,” he said to Sakami, hand still tingling and a little smile passed between them.

  “I’ll send Honou to the Inari shrine to see if there’s anything they can lend us to protect the blade,” she said. Then she turned to the smith who had been watching them, scratching his head. “You’re a true and gifted craftsman, Master Kinkiyo,” she said, bowing her head in thanks. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done. I. . .” And she faltered; Yūgiri hastily reached out and caught her as she sagged at the knees.

  “You’ve overtired yourself,” he said sternly. “I’ll see you back to the house.”

  “I’ll be all right,” she said. “I just lost my balance.” But although she laughed as she said it, Yūgiri could tell that the laughter was forced. As he helped her down the grassy path, he could feel how fragile her slight body had become. Suddenly he found himself filled with a fierce desire to protect her. The search for the sacred sword had drawn them together, secret and unlikely conspirators in league against Hotaru. And, almost as if she had read what he was thinking, she looked up at him and said, “I couldn’t have done this without you, dear shaman.”

  “Promise me you’ll rest,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine after I’ve had some of Beniko’s tea,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  ***

  A gray twilight enveloped the river bank and wisps of mist began to rise from the muddy waters as Masao broke the surface. Checking that there was no one about on the path, he heaved himself up the bank, river water streaming from his hair and body, and covered his nakedness in the illusion of clothes. His heart was pounding in his chest as he made his way up the bank. Why am I so excited? What am I, a child? It’s just a sword.

  Yūgiri was waiting for him in the shelter of a stunted clump of willows.

  “You always know when I’m nearby,” Masao said, quickening his pace. “How do you do that?”

  Yūgiri gave him an impenetrable look – and Masao realized that something was troubling him.

  “What’s wrong? Is it the sacred sword?”

  “The sword is finished. But I’m concerned about Sakami; she’s been here too long and she’s used up most of her spiritual energy. She may not have enough strength left to make the journey back to Sakuranbo and –”

  “And Kai would never forgive us if she came to any harm.” Masao finished his thought for him. He glanced along the darkening riverbank, checking to ensure that they were still alone, impatient to see with his own eyes the weapon that could set him and Kai free. “So – can I see it?”

  Yūgiri nodded to Masao to follow him through the rising mist; in the dusk, his hair glimmered, more silver than milk-white so that to Masao he looked more like a pale ghost flitting ahead than a man of flesh and blood.

  Sakami isn’t the only one who’s been suffering; Yūgiri’s been bearing the burden of Hotaru’s malign enchantment for too long and it’s taken its toll.

  A long, low building lay ahead further up the bank and Masao recognized from the faintly acrid smell of metal lingering on the air that this must be Kinkiyo’s new forge.

  He hesitated. To be seen and recognized now would only cause more complications.

 
“They’re all eating,” Yūgiri said, beckoning him inside.

  Eating. The faint, delicious odor of shiitake mushrooms and fried tofu wafted up from Kinkiyo’s house, reminding Masao that he could hardly remember how long it had been since he had shared a meal with friends, let alone felt the need to eat mortal food. . .

  No time to think about that now.

  A faint glow from the dying forge fire gave just enough light for him to see the smith’s tools neatly laid out ready for the morning, as well as several pieces of unfinished metalwork.

  “Over here.” Yūgiri opened a sturdy weapons chest and brought the weapon out. The sword was wrapped in a length of red silk brocade; Sakami must have thought to protect it with this expensive covering.

  Inari’s sacred sword. And fresh hope surged through Masao as he eagerly stripped away the silken wrapping, revealing the reforged blade beneath.

  At last.

  ***

  Kobai did not return to the palace until the sun was setting. Hotaru was wearily scanning a sheaf of documents that required the official imperial seal and glanced up as the boy entered.

  “I carried out your orders.” Kobai’s delicate features were still marred by a sour and sullen expression.

  Has he been sulking all afternoon? Sometimes he’s as touchy as his mother.

  “And did Lord Naoki understand why the iron dragon demonstration has to be postponed?”

  Kobai gave an ambivalent shrug. “Were you aware that the shaman Yūgiri Hisui is here in the capital?”

  “He’s here?” Hotaru dropped the imperial seal. “Does that mean. . . ?” He pushed the documents aside, suddenly alert again. “Kobai; see that I am not disturbed for a little while.”

  As soon as Kobai had gone, Hotaru lifted the bronze scrying mirror and let fall a drop of his own blood to initiate the link with Yūgiri. Leaning forward, he saw – as though through a clearing mist – a river bank. Dusk was falling, making it hard to discern the details clearly but he thought he could make out a long, low building – and then the figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man. The man was standing with his back to the shaman but then he turned around, his lips moving, pronouncing words that Hotaru could not hear.

  “Who are you spying on?” Kurika suddenly materialized just behind Hotaru and, peering over his shoulder, let out a smoky hiss of disapproval. “Shiohiru’s Sacrifice. Ebb.”

  “How can you can tell?” Hotaru was furious at having his concentration broken.

  “Those sea-green eyes,” Kurika said scathingly.

  “And how did you get out?”

  “Uguisu’s losing her powers; she’s too old and her barrier was easy to break. Why do you still keep her?”

  “Be quiet.” Hotaru needed to focus and Kurika was distracting him. Time was running out and the pain of sustaining the link would soon alert Yūgiri that he was being watched and bring the session to an abrupt close.

  If I can just hold in there a little longer. . .

  ***

  Masao reached out to take up the blade. A tingle of energy radiated from the sword, jarring his fingertips before he had even touched it.

  “This is no ordinary weapon,” he said, awed. “It’s almost as if it’s challenging me.” He couldn’t help grinning as he stretched out his hand again to grip the hilt. “But I like a challenge.”

  He lifted the blade and felt another surge of energy flow into his wrist and up his arm. Closing his eyes a moment, he glimpsed a celestial nine-tailed warrior fox spirit grinning lazily back at him, his wild white hair tipped with luminous fire, his amber eyes glinting with a swaggering panache, challenging him.

  “Waouh! That’s one powerful spirit inhabiting this blade.”

  Silently accepting the challenge, he tested the weight, performing a few basic blade strokes just as Master Yūdai had instructed him to do when trying out a new weapon. It sliced the air with a satisfyingly silken hiss of steel, dusting the darkness with the faintest trail of steel-blue foxfire.

  “This is fine workmanship. Very fine. But then, I’d expect nothing less from Kinki –”

  Yūgiri gave a soft, shocked gasp. Masao glanced round and saw that the shaman had doubled up, clasping one hand to his forehead, trying to cover his eyes.

  “No,” he heard him say. “Get out.”

  Masao lowered the blade. “What’s wrong?”

  Yūgiri shook his head. His face was contorted with pain. Between his clenched fingers, Masao saw his eyes staring wildly as if some force too strong to resist was forcing his lids apart.

  “Hotaru.” The name came out on an agonized whisper as Yūgiri dropped to one knee, his body twisting as though someone else was manipulating it, trying to force him against his will to raise his head and look in Masao’s direction. “Go, Masao. You have to go now. He knows you’re here.”

  ***

  “What is that sword?” Kurika seethed with sudden fury, his body exuding a swirling cloud of black smoke so scaldingly hot that Hotaru nearly dropped the mirror.

  “Is it Lord Masao’s katana?” Hotaru peered with greater concentration, willing Yūgiri to move so that he could see more clearly. He sensed resistance. Masao was examining the weapon with all the concentration of a seasoned warrior, testing the weight of the blade, swinging it in a slow arc, so that the steel glinted like a ripple of water in the moonlight.

  “That’s why she was in the city the other night. Inari.” Kurika was muttering to himself. “She and her fox trash were creating a new cursed blade. They’ve made that sword to destroy me.”

  “Let my men deal with this,” Hotaru ordered.

  “Your men are too slow.”

  Hotaru tugged at the neck of his tunic to loosen it; a choking feeling of panic was making it hard to breathe freely. I can’t hold him for much longer.

  “Kurika – I’m ordering you to stay.”

  But Kurika suddenly vanished, leaving nothing behind but a wisp of dark smoke and a whiff of burning, the scent of a snuffed-out lantern wick.

  Hotaru cursed and picked up the mirror again, focusing all his attention on Yūgiri Hisui.

  ***

  Get – out of – my head.

  Yūgiri could feel Hotaru in his mind. And the realization that Hotaru had made him betray Masao was too much to bear.

  The physical agony was hard enough to endure, but the violation of his most private thoughts and feelings, making him the instrument of Masao’s undoing, was intolerable.

  This – stops – here. Now.

  Yūgiri made a superhuman effort to wrench his body out of Hotaru’s control, lurching toward Kinkiyo’s tools, blindly grabbing at the first item he could reach, a sharp-ended file, making one last, desperate jab toward the source of all his pain, aiming it at his left eye –

  As the pointed tip went in he heard Masao’s horrified cry. And then his sight in that eye went black in an explosion of jagged pain and sickening sensation, metal piercing viscous membrane, gelatinous eyeball, driving out the intruder in a hot flood of blood and lacerated tissue.

  Chapter 47

  “Hotaru.” Yūgiri’s choked warning caught Masao off-guard; he had been completely absorbed in testing the sacred sword. “He knows you’re here.”

  As if in a slowly moving dream, Masao turned to see Yūgiri, one of Kinkiyo’s iron files in his right hand, forcing it with his left hand up toward his own face.

  Too late, he realized what he intended.

  “No, Yū!” He dropped the sacred sword and launched himself toward him.

  Far too late.

  Even as he reached out to arrest the hand clutching the file Yūgiri drove it into his left eye. Blood spattered everywhere. He heard Yūgiri’s rasping indrawn breath and felt it resonate through his own body as if it was his own eye that had been penetrated by the rough blade.

  Paralyzed with shock, his mind went blank.

  His eye –

  And then his shinobi training kicked in. He grabbed Yūgiri’s wrist, flinging him down on to the ea
rthen floor on his back, covering his body with his own as he forced the hand clutching the blood-streaked file high above his head so that he could not repeat the action and put out his other eye. Or worse, drive the file-point into his brain and –

  The file fell with a metallic thud on to the earthen floor, out of Yūgiri’s reach. But even by the dying light of the coals in the forge, Masao could see the irreparable damage he had inflicted on himself: the socket a crimson, lacerated ruin.

  ***

  A sudden blinding pain pierced Hotaru’s left eye. He dropped the mirror which rolled away across the mats as he clasped his hand to the socket, letting out a hiss of agony.

  “What – just happened?” As he crawled, half-blind, across the floor, groping for the mirror, a hot trail of liquid began to trickle down his cheek.

  He found the mirror, and lifting it with a shaking hand, saw only his own reflection in its polished metal, his face streaked with a bloody slime. The connection with Yūgiri Hisui had been severed. And so violently that it felt as if something had torn within his own mind.

  “That was very rash, Hotaru.” Uguisu’s silky voice penetrated the jagged pain-haze. “I warned you not to abuse that forbidden onmyōdo again. Sympathetic magic – the melding of two minds – can take a terrible toll. It’s far too dangerous.” She brushed his forehead with her lips, breathing her soothing calm into the crimson chaos. His hazy vision slowly cleared and he found himself lying, his head in her lap, sustained by the sensation of being gently cushioned in soft, white feathers.

  “How are you going to explain this injury to the court?”

  “I’ll think of something. I’ll wear an eye-patch. . .” And then he remembered, forcing himself to sit up. “Where’s Kurika?”

  She let out a little sigh. “No sign of him, as yet.”

  “Your barrier wasn’t strong enough to hold him, Uguisu.”

  “I’m sorry; I failed you.” She bowed low in a gesture of profound apology. “But all is not lost. You saw Ebb’s sacrifice holding that sword. We both saw him. Sweat from his skin will have impregnated the hilt. You can use it to summon him.”