today, didn’t you, Yumeko-chan? Oh...and if you want to avoid Denga and Nitoru this afternoon, I would sneak over the western wall.” One eye closed in a slow wink as he rose. “I will see you tonight at dinner. Give the monkeys my regards.”
He shuffled out, closing the door behind him, but for a few minutes I sat there, the story of the Dragon’s wish swirling through my head, taunting and ominous. I’d had no idea that this temple guarded something so powerful, that Master Isao and the others were not simple monks, but the protectors of a great and terrible artifact. A prayer that could summon a god.
The Dragon is rising.
A shiver ran up my spine. Was that the reason I was here, in this room? I’d always suspected Master Isao had been testing me for something, but could never figure out what. My own future was never clear, and I’d rarely wondered about it, too preoccupied with the present and what I could do today. Deep down I’d always assumed that, when I was old enough, or brave enough, someday I would leave the Silent Winds temple. Did Master Isao expect me to become a protector of the Dragon scroll? To stay here and guard it from those who wished to summon the power of the Dragon? Forever?
I shook myself. Stay in this temple for the rest of my life, sitting on a dusty old scroll? That can’t be what he meant. I thought back to my daily lessons with Jin, learning about the outside world and what life was like beyond the temple walls. I’d never actually seen a samurai, but I’d read all about them in books and scrolls. I knew the names of the clans, their customs and the history of Iwagoto going back three hundred years. Why bother to teach me if I was just going to stay in the temple protecting a scroll? Why would Master Isao have me learn so much about a world I would never get to see?
He wouldn’t. He’s not that cruel. Wrinkling my nose, I stood and dusted off my knees, already dismissing the notion. I’m not strong; I’m not a guardian or a warrior or a ki master. I’m a kitsune who can make a teapot dance around like a loon. Besides, Master Isao has Denga, Jin, Satoshi and everyone else to protect the Dragon’s prayer. They don’t need my help.
I stepped to the door, trying to dissolve the ominous weight in the pit of my stomach. The feeling that the world had changed. That something was out there, coming closer, and I was powerless to stop it.
Stop it, Yumeko. Just because you know about the scroll doesn’t mean something will instantly pop in, trying to steal it. I flattened my ears, trying to convince myself that this was foolish, that the cold creeping up my spine was because Master Isao was a brilliant storyteller. Not an omen of what was to come. I’m being paranoid. I’ve never liked scary stories. Maybe some time in the forest will clear my head.
Bolstered, I slid the door open a crack...and met a pair of stern, unamused eyes peering at me on the other side. Silently accepting the broom from Denga-san, I trudged out of the room. By the time I had swept the floors, the verandas, the steps, the pathways, the halls and every horizontal surface inside the temple and out, the story of the scroll and the Dragon’s wish had long faded from my mind.
The Warrior of Shadow
The night smelled of death. Both presently and to come.
Crouched in the branches of the gnarled wisteria tree, I scanned the grounds of Lord Hinotaka’s estate, taking note of every guardsman, sentry and patrol walking the perimeter. I had been here for nearly an hour, memorizing the layout of the grounds, and had timed the patrol’s rotations to within a few seconds. Now, with the moon fully risen and the hour of the Ox reaching its peak, the light in the topmost window of the castle finally winked out.
A warm wind stirred the branches of my perch, tugging at my hair and scarf, and the faint scent of blood brushed my senses.
There was a flicker at the back of my mind, an impatient stirring that was not my own. Kamigoroshi, or rather, the demon trapped within Kamigoroshi, was restless tonight, sensing the violence about to be unleashed. The sword whose name meant godslayer had been a constant fixture in my mind as far back as I could remember, from the day I had been chosen to carry the blade. It had taken over half of my seventeen years to master the volatile weapon, and without the training and guidance of my sensei, I would have succumbed to the rage and insatiable bloodlust of the demon trapped within. It pulled at me now, urging me to draw the sword, to leap down and paint the grounds of the estate in red.
Patience, Hakaimono, I told the demon, and felt it subside, though barely. You’ll get your wish soon enough.
I crept down the branch and dropped onto the outer wall, then ran along the parapets, the ragged edge of my crimson scarf floating behind me, until I reached a point where the corner of the blue-tiled castle roof swept close to the wall. Still a good fifteen feet overhead, but I took the rope and grapple from my belt, swung it twice and hurled it toward the roof above. The clawed hook clicked softly as it caught one of the fish gargoyles on the corner, and I shimmied up the rope and onto the tiles.
Just as I pulled up the rope, a single samurai came around the castle and passed below me, patrolling the inner wall. Immediately I froze, listening to the footsteps shuffle past, and breathed slowly to control myself and my emotions. There could be no fear, no doubt or anger or regret. Nothing to give Hakaimono a foothold into my mind. If I felt anything at all, if I allowed emotion to overcome me, the demon would take control, and I would lose myself to Hakaimono’s rage and bloodlust. I was an empty vessel, a weapon for the Shadow Clan, and my only requirement was to complete my mission.
The samurai walked on. Unmoving, a shadow against the tiles, I watched until he circled around the castle and vanished from view. Then, stalking silently over the rooftop, I made my way toward the top of the keep.
As I crept toward an open window, voices echoed beyond the frame, making me tense. My pulse jumped, and Hakaimono pounced on that moment of weakness, urging me to cut them down, to silence them before I was seen. Ignoring the demon, I pressed against the wall as two men—samurai, judging by their marching footsteps—strolled past, talking in furtive tones.
“This is madness,” one was saying. “Yoji missing, and now Kentaro disappears without a trace. It’s like the very walls are swallowing us whole. And Lord Hinotaka suddenly declares the top floors off-limits?” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Perhaps it’s the ghost of Lady Hinotaka. There are rumors that she was poisoned—”
“Shut your fool mouth,” hissed the other. “Lady Hinotaka died tragically of an illness, nothing more. Keep that dishonorable tongue behind your teeth before it gets you into real trouble.”
“Say what you will,” the first samurai returned, sounding defensive. “This castle feels darker every day. I, for one, am happy to be mobilizing tomorrow, even if it’s a fool’s mission. Why our lord requires a dozen men to fetch an ancient artifact somewhere in the Earth Clan mountains, I do not understand.”
The voices faded and the castle was silent again. I slipped through the window and found myself in a long narrow hallway, the walls and floors made of dark wood. It was very dark; the only light came from the glow of the moon outside, and shadows clung to everything. I crept farther into the castle, senses alert for voices or approaching footsteps, but except for the two patrolling guards, the floor appeared deserted. No servants wandered the halls, no samurai played go games in their rooms or sat together drinking sake. An aura of fear hung in the air, tainting everything it touched. The demon in Kamigoroshi sensed it as well and stirred excitedly against my mind, a living shadow coiling about like a snake, eagerly anticipating what was to come.
