my feet several yards away.
A flood of small grotesque creatures spilled from the bamboo forest, cackling and waving spears and crude blades. They swarmed the horse, leaping atop its back, shrieking and poking as it struggled to its feet. Panicked, the mortally wounded horse fled, bucking wildly down the path with its demonic passengers clinging to the saddle, while the rest of the horde spun on me.
Amanjaku? I felt a ripple of both shock and unease, even as Hakaimono flared excitedly at so many things to kill. I had dealt with them in the past, but never in these numbers. How were there so many?
I drew Kamigoroshi as the demons shrieked, baring their fangs, and attacked. One sweep split the first wave in half, severing heads and torsos, and the amanjaku howled as they were sent back to Jigoku. Leaping forward, I dodged a spear thrust at me, stabbed a demon in the eye and beheaded another as I yanked the blade out. Then I was in their midst, and it was nothing but teeth and claws and flashing blades. I gave myself over to the dance of death, Hakaimono’s unrestrained glee surging through my veins.
With alarmed shrieks and howls, the remaining amanjaku scattered into the bamboo forest, their small forms fading quickly from view. Panting, I lowered Kamigoroshi and looked around, wondering where they’d come from, who had brought them here. Amanjaku were minor demons of Jigoku; they couldn’t appear out of nowhere, but the blood magic needed to summon them was a dangerous power that was strictly forbidden throughout the empire. The key component to working the magic of Jigoku was, of course, blood. Sometimes it required other things: souls, organs, body parts, but mostly it called for the life force that ran through all mortal veins. The larger, more powerful the spell, the more blood was required to successfully cast it.
But, the dangerous catch was, it didn’t have to come from the practitioner. Jigoku didn’t care whose blood was spilled, be it man, woman or child, as long as it was human, and as long as the price was paid. Although, as befitting the realm of evil and corruption, the more you cared for the person whose blood was being spilled, the more powerful the magic that came of it. A lover, brother or child whom you betrayed would bestow far more power than a nameless stranger. This was the reason the empire forbade blood magic, why practicing the dark arts was an immediate death sentence. Even a single amanjaku required a blood sacrifice to draw it into the mortal realm; I couldn’t imagine the amount an entire horde would call for.
I didn’t know who had summoned the demons, but I could certainly guess why. After sheathing Kamigoroshi, I sprinted up the trail, heading for the temple and hoping I wasn’t too late.
The Flames of Despair
The temple was on fire.
I burst out of the forest, panting, staring in horror at the bright orange flames snapping against the night sky. The elegant, four-tiered pagoda roofs were ablaze, a roaring, savage inferno, the stench of smoke, ash and charred timbers scorching the air. Ripples of heat seared my skin as I approached the back wall, scrambled gracelessly to the top and dropped with a thump into the gardens.
What did this? Who would dare? I’d heard tales of the world beyond the temple walls, stories of warring clans and fierce, proud samurai. Tales of rival daimyo lords and their endless bickering, how they would declare war and hurl entire armies at each other over some imagined slight to their honor. But according to Master Isao, even the most savage, warmongering daimyo respected the monks, or at least, would not risk the kami’s wrath by attacking a peaceful temple.
Unless they knew about the scroll.
A shriek turned my blood to ice, and I ducked behind a juniper tree. Peering around the trunk, trying not to inhale smoke and ash, I dug my nails into the bark to keep myself from gasping in terror.
A crowd of small grotesque...things were gibbering and dancing around the pond, silhouetted in the hellish light of the fires. At first, I thought they were misshapen children; they wore ratty tunics, had large, bulbous heads and stood barely past my knees. But then I saw the horns, the mouths full of pointed teeth, the tattered ears and jutting fangs. Their skin was either a mottled blue or red, and they carried crude weapons in their claws: kama sickles, spears and short knives.
My blood chilled. Demons? Jinkei’s mercy, why are demons here? I had seen pictures of demons in the temple library, terrible red-or blue-skinned oni with horns, fangs and enormous clubs, who tormented the wicked souls sent to Jigoku. These creatures, stabbing the poor trapped carp swirling frantically around the pond, weren’t as big as the monsters in the books, but I could tell they were demons nonetheless.
I clenched my fist against the trunk, feeling the bark dig into my knuckles. Why were demons here? Why were they attacking the temple? For the scroll? But I’d thought the creatures of Jigoku lived only for bloodshed and chaos; the scroll would mean nothing to demons. Unless something else, or someone else, was commanding them...
This makes no sense. I have to find Master Isao. But first, I have to get past those demons.
After plucking a leaf from the juniper tree, I slipped around the trunk and placed the leaf on my head, drawing on my fox magic. For a moment, I found it horribly ironic that, just this afternoon, I’d been wishing to use my magic more often. My heart pounded, but I held the image of what I wanted in my mind, then released the magic over my body. There was a soundless explosion of smoke, and when I opened my eyes, my skin was a mottled red and my feet had hooked yellow claws on the ends of their toes.
With a deep breath, I stepped away from the tree, just as one of the demons at the pond looked up and spotted me.
It blinked for a moment, frowning, and I held my breath, hoping he saw what I wanted him to see: a fellow demon, red-skinned and hideous. I chanced a grin, baring crooked fangs, and the demon snorted, returning to its game of stabbing the carp. The once crystal clear water of the pond was now red with blood. Leaving the doomed fish to their fate, I hurried on.
The roar of the fire greeted me as I left the gardens, and clouds of swirling embers stung my skin as I passed the engulfed pagoda and ran toward the main hall, keeping to the bushes and shadows. An even bigger crowd of demons swarmed the building, waving torches and cavorting around the steps that led to the entrance. When I peeked through the leaves, my stomach gave a painful twist. A few yards away, a body lay sprawled on the stones of the courtyard, a pair of spears jutting from its chest, vacant eyes staring into nothing.
Jin. I clapped both hands over my mouth to keep the cry from escaping, feeling my eyes start to burn. Jin had always been kind to me, always patient and understanding, never growing irritated or raising his voice. And now he was gone. Behind the monk, I could see another pair of bodies lying in pools of blood, their faces turned away so I didn’t recognize them in the shadows. But I would. As soon as I saw them clearly, I would know them.
Shaking, I lowered my arms and wrenched my gaze from the bodies. I can’t mourn them now, I told myself, forcing back the blurriness in my eyes. I have to keep going. I wondered why none of the demons had gone into the building; the main entrance lay open and unguarded, since the hall had no doors to speak of. As I watched, a larger blue demon gave a raspy cry, lifted a wooden mallet above its head and rushed the door, scuttling toward the stairs. But as it reached the bottom step, there was a flash like a burst of lightning, and the demon bounced off like it had hit a stone wall, to the cackles and high-pitched laughter of the rest.
My eyes widened. A ki barrier? I had seen such a thing before; Master Isao had sometimes demonstrated the power of ki for the other monks, creating walls of force that
