Princess Michiko stood among the ancient cedars of the Jukai forest, staring patiently up through the thick canopy of leaves. Though the horrors and strife of the Kami War had spread to every corner of her nation, here at least was one place where the wind was soft and pale yellow light streamed placidly through the trees. The war would find her again, she was sure of that. The serenity of the forest’s edge would not last, but while it did she meant to come here often to appreciate this one tranquil place left in all the world.

Michiko continued to watch the canopy overhead, gracefully balanced atop a small grassy mound. Beside her stood her friend Riko, a slight young woman who wore a student’s robe and carried a short bow with all the confidence of a professional soldier. Riko’s eyes continuously scanned the surrounding area, but they also passed over Michiko herself as often as possible.

Four kitsune warriors also accompanied Michiko and Riko. The foxmen blended into their surroundings so well they were almost invisible, but Michiko always knew they were there. She had been a frequent target for attacks and abductions lately, and her kitsune hosts back in the village were not about to let her come to more harm while she was their guest.

Michiko was grateful for the escorts, but there had been no further attacks on her since they had escaped the massacre at Minamo Academy. She welcomed the kitsune’s protection, but it was maddening to sit idle while her nation and the entire world tore itself apart. The elders were keeping her safe, but they were also keeping her from doing any good.

Riko shifted her weight and flexed the fingers on her bow hand. “Any sign, Michiko-hime?”

The princess slowly closed her eyes. She shook her head. “Not yet.”

Riko’s voice betrayed the archer’s scowl. “He won’t answer. And I’m glad of it.”

Michiko opened her eyes. The kitsune were treating her as a gifted child, but a child nonetheless. They included her in their council meetings and they listened politely when she spoke, but her arguments rarely held sway.

So Michiko had called upon her allies outside the forest. After taking her mentors’ dire warnings into account, Michiko had sent a messenger to Toshi Umezawa in the Takenuma Swamp. She had retained the ochimusha’s services, and he had proven himself both reliable and effective. The kitsune who had met him didn’t object to his abilities, however, but his character. Indeed, when he and Michiko first met, Toshi had impulsively kidnapped her and held her against her will. Fortunately, he had seen working for the princess as more valuable than ransoming her. Toshi was an opportunist and a mercenary, but he was at least a competent one.

In her message, Michiko requested that Toshi provide some general information about the situation in the marsh lands and requested that he to come to her for a new assignment. It had been several weeks since she sent it, and so far Toshi had not replied.

Michiko was anxious to see him, but not for his report on the criminal goings-on in Takenuma. Toshi had laid his hands on the great prize her father had stolen from the spirit world, the Taken One, whose abduction sparked twenty years of Kami War. When she had seen Toshi with it in his arms, she had longed to reach out and touch it herself, to feel its power and perhaps finally understand the spell it had cast on her father.

But the Taken One was too powerful and too unpredictable. Her guardians and Toshi himself had cautioned her to keep away, and Michiko never came within arm’s reach of the prize. Since then her thoughts had often returned to the rough-hewn disk with the etched figure of a serpent across its face. She felt it was the key to ending the conflict that had erupted between the spirit world and the physical one. It was the key, and she herself was somehow tied to it.

So she waited for Toshi’s reply, or better still, Toshi himself. Only he could tell her what she needed to know, and she could feel their time running out. Toshi was cunning, so she expected he was still alive. She had also worked diligently to improve her skill with the messenger kanji, so she was sure that it had reached him.

He would have to reply soon. When she pictured the world, Michiko saw waves of violence and conflict all rolling toward her and her peaceful patch of forest. Not even the kitsune could keep her safe forever.

Something rustled in the trees, then a strange black symbol burst through the canopy. Michiko’s heart raced. She recognized the same messenger kanji she had sent to the swamp and felt a small rush of pride. It had returned just as she had intended. And if it had found Toshi, it might also bear his response.

The queer black bird fluttered through the beams of sunlight toward the princess. The kitsune warriors and Riko all tensed as they prepared for a fight. Two of the fox samurai stepped between Michiko and the symbol with their swords drawn.

Well clear of the kitsune blades, the messenger kanji stopped and hovered in place.

“Deliver your message,” Michiko called.

The thick, inky strokes of the kanji pulsated as purple light twinkled along their edges. A clear voice rang out, its words tinged with a touch of amusement.

“Princess,” Toshi’s voice said. “Nice work with the kanji. Unable to visit you at present, but I promise I’ll see you soon. As for general information … it’s a complete nightmare out here. But don’t worry. I’m working on it.”

The kanji deflated back to its original size and began to crumble. The light breeze blew ash and grit back into the thicker reaches of the forest, where they disappeared into the gloom.

“He’s working on it,” Riko sneered. “We can all relax. Toshi’s working on it.”

Michiko frowned. “Riko,” she said. “Toshi rescued all of us from Minamo, and from the forest myojin before that. Surely you appreciate just how much Toshi is capable of.”

Riko held Michiko’s stern eyes. “I do, Michiko-hime. I’m not scoffing at his abilities. I’m afraid of what he can do, not what he can’t.”

“I have paid for his services,” Michiko said. “So whatever he is or isn’t capable of, he will do as I ask him. That’s why I wanted him here.”

“And I’m sure he’ll come. You asked him for help … that’s like a delicious smell to Toshi. He’ll show up when we need him least and profit from it, like he always does.”

Michiko did not reply, but turned back toward the village. The kitsune samurai spread out before her, gliding through the forest without disturbing a single twig.

Riko was underestimating Toshi. Michiko had seen him confront the most powerful adversaries and win through guile instead of force. He was capable of great deeds, and not just in scope. If she could just talk to him, he could help her understand the Taken One, and she could help him understand the rewards of working for the common good. He was a criminal, but he was a learned and loyal criminal. He could yet be redeemed.

Michiko sighed as she headed back to the village. There were so many dangers on the road ahead that redemption was a remote possibility for any of them. Survival was a far more pressing concern.

Behind her, a great bank of clouds covered the sun, and the princess’s bright, quiet haven descended into shadow.

Toshi Umezawa stood facing the thundering waters of Kamitaki Falls. It was one of the most magnificent sights in all the world, where the mighty Yumegawa River plunged over five hundred feet to the lake below. It was a place of scintillating beauty and raw elemental force that drew pilgrims, seekers, and students alike to its mysteries.

Toshi was resting on the rail at the edge of a city-sized platform that served as the foundation for Minamo Academy’s main building. The massive hall was a grand and opulent structure of blue steel and glass spires that rested on a magical column of water hundreds of feet above the surface of the lake.

Overhead, the soratami capital Oboro peeked through the clouds. The city was not clearly visible from where Toshi stood, but he had been there once before so he knew that it was even more lavish and visually stunning than the academy grounds. Where Minamo was designed to mimic natural forms found in the rocks and water, Oboro was all sharp, clean edges and proud, almost arrogant towers that stood draped with gleaming, crystalline wire that glistened in the moonlight.

Toshi glanced up at Oboro one last time and then spit on the ground. He hated this place. Despite all the natural beauty and architectural splendor (and in some ways, because of it), Toshi resented the snobbery and elitism that dripped from both Oboro and Minamo like spray from the river.

Toshi’s vivid green eyes darted across the entrance to the academy, and he shook his long black hair from his face. When he left the academy, it had been under an all-out attack, but now it was as still and as quiet as a tomb. The somber mood around the academy clung to the place like thick fog. The school was supposed to be a place of learning and enlightenment, but it felt like one of the daimyo’s prisons after a plague wiped out all the inmates: empty, foreboding, and dead. There was bad magic here-raw emotions and violent death permeated the air like incense.

Still, if there were no one left alive inside the school, his job would be significantly easier. Toshi didn’t let his hopes rise too high; nothing he had done lately had been easy or gone according to plan. He placed one foot on the bottom step of the Minamo entrance and waited. When nothing happened, he climbed another step. Nothing.

On the fifth step, two lean, muscular people sprang from inside the open doors, tumbling and spinning as they came. The male was bald and dressed in bleached skins, the female in tight braids and a red wool wrap that covered her from breastbone to mid-thigh. Both were armed with swords and the man carried a staff. Each warrior wore a black phylactery strapped to their head and bore a circular symbol with a jagged line through it-the man carried the standard on the end of his staff with a series of metal rings looped through it and the woman wore the symbol as a necklace.

Though their leaps carried them twenty feet into the air, they both landed soundlessly a few paces from Toshi. He glanced at one, then the other, and shrugged.

“Well?” he said. “You either recognize me or you don’t. If you do, take me to see the ogre now. If not, draw your swords.”

Toshi smiled. The two warriors did not. They stared at him, vacant as sleepwalkers. They did not react to his words, his smile, or even his presence on the grounds.

The ochimusha sighed. He waved a hand in front of the glassy-eyed woman, and then snapped his fingers in front of the man.

“Hi-de-tsu-gu,” he said slowly. “Your boss. My partner. You helped him wreck this place awhile ago. Is he still here?”

The sound of the ogre’s name made the man flinch, but the woman remained expressionless. Toshi paused, winked at her, and then stepped up into the man’s face.

“Hidetsugu,” he said again, enjoying the ripple of fear that crossed those otherwise inscrutable features. He turned back to the woman and gestured at the man. “I can keep this up all day, you know.” He turned back to the man. “Hidetsugu.”

The man snarled. The woman’s blade appeared in her hand and Toshi yelped. Before he could backpedal, the man’s staff thumped solidly into Toshi’s back and he clamped on to the ochimusha’s sword arm.

Gingerly, with the tip of the woman’s blade inches from his nose, Toshi pushed the sword aside with one finger. He slid his left wrist free of his sleeve and showed them the triangle-shaped symbol there.

“Hyozan,” he said. “This symbol is the kanji for iceberg. Your master has a similar mark on his chest. It signifies membership, brotherhood. We’re members of the same group. You two should recognize me, we’ve met before.”

Toshi took a moment to study his fingernails. Casually, he added, “And if you don’t say something useful soon, we’re going to have to fight.” He put his hands on his hips. “And Hidetsugu won’t like that. He’ll probably bite your heads off just for making me explain this much. If you’re lucky.” He smiled a wicked smile and cocked his head. “Think about it. You know I’m not exaggerating.”

The man’s grip on his shoulder softened. The woman lowered her sword.

“Good,” Toshi said. “Now, you don’t have to announce me and you don’t have to escort me. Just let me pass and I’ll find him myself.”

The woman sheathed her sword. She stared at Toshi through her dead eyes, then pointed up the stairs into the academy interior. With a soft grunt, she sprang high into the air and landed on the lintel above the main doorway. Toshi heard feet scuffling the ground behind him, and then the man joined his fellow sentry on top of the door.

Toshi waved pleasantly as he strode up the staircase. These two were yamabushi, feared and powerful warrior-priests from the mountains. They were notoriously reclusive and highly trained in the art of killing, especially effective against opponents from the spirit world. Toshi almost chuckled. Getting past them was the easy part.

His gallows-humor mirth dissolved when he approached the door, as Toshi saw dried bloodstains and sword slashes carved deep into the marble stairs. He paused for a moment to wonder what would have happened had circumstances been different, and if he hadn’t shown the yamabushi his hyozan mark. Such thoughts were extremely unpleasant and unhelpful as he prepared to face Hidetsugu once again, so he shoved them to the back of his mind. Outwardly confident, Toshi slipped inside the building.

Inside, the academy was just as still and lifeless as the outside. Toshi could see high water marks on some of the walls as if a flash flood had swept through the halls, but there were no people, no bodies, and no signs of a struggle. He knew what Hidetsugu was capable of and he had seen the aftermath of the o-bakemono’s rage many times, but the academy was not at all like Toshi expected.

That made him nervous. Hidetsugu was at his most dangerous when he was deliberate, and the conspicuous lack of trophy corpses meant he was being especially precise. If there weren’t heads decorating the academy gates, Hidetsugu must have found another use for them. Toshi shuddered at the thought.

The layout of the school was unfamiliar, but Toshi knew that Hidetsugu would be in the largest centrally located chamber. He followed the entrance hallway into the center of the building and then climbed a set of stairs to a mezzanine-style reception area. Opposite the stairs on this level, he saw two yamabushi standing guard outside a wide doorway.

The yamabushi barely noticed him as he approached. After pausing to make sure they did not intend to prevent him from passing, Toshi swept into the great hall. Without looking for Hidetsugu, Toshi bowed deeply and said, “Greetings, oath-brother,” as jauntily as he could.

Toshi stood staring at the floor for a few moments. He heard a deep, stentorian growl and the clatter of falling stones. The ochimusha waited until the first drop of sweat fell from his forehead to the stone floor, and then he raised his head.

Hidetsugu the ogre sat on a mound of white, polished bones piled higher than Toshi’s chest. The massive figure was smiling slightly as he stared down at Toshi, his eyes glowing dull red like embers in a blacksmith’s forge.

“Hello, old friend.” Hidetsugu’s grin widened and he cocked his broad flat head in a disturbing parody of Toshi’s own quizzical expression. Each of his gnarled, twisted teeth was as big as Toshi’s hand.

Toshi felt a familiar chill. An ogre’s smile was never something to be taken lightly. A cunning, learned, and patient ogre was still an ogre, and while Hidetsugu was always scrupulous in observing the terms of their shared hyozan oath, he also seemed amused by the dread vow they had sworn.

Toshi kept his tone respectful but looked the ogre unflinchingly in the eye. “We were supposed to meet here and take down the school together, oath-brother,” he said. “Remember?” Toshi opened his arms, indicating the vast empty space around them. “You didn’t wait, so now I’m not sure if the plan is still intact.” He smiled. “Or if I’m even welcome. I know how much you hate guests.”

The o-bakemono stood, sending a cascade of bones rattling down the mound. “Nonsense, Toshi. You are always welcome to visit me.” Hidetsugu tilted his head back and drew a long stream of air into his nostrils.

The uneasiness in Toshi’s stomach hardened into a cold, hard ball. It was said that o-bakemono can smell powerful magic, and Toshi knew it was true. If Hidetsugu guessed Toshi’s latest secret, this little errand would be over before it began. Everything hinged on the next few moments, in a contest between Hidetsugu’s instinct and Toshi’s preparations to deflect that instinct.

Hidetsugu finished his breath and smiled down at Toshi once more. “You stink of your myojin and the dead of winter,” he said.

Relief swept through Toshi and he almost smiled. Calmly, he said, “Why shouldn’t I? I am an acolyte of Night’s Reach. In her name I took on the blessing of lethal cold, of frigid darkness.”

The ogre nodded. “And the longer you contain that cold, the more it consumes you. Like your newfound religion. I wonder if you realize how much they are taking from you, old friend.”

“I’m getting the best of the bargain so far.” Toshi grinned wickedly, hoping to disarm Hidetsugu’s suspicion with an open display of greed and ego. The ogre would expect that of Toshi.

But Hidetsugu’s expression grew sharp. The bulging muscles in his arms and legs twitched, launching the ogre high into the air over the throne of bones. Toshi held very still as Hidetsugu landed heavily beside him, sending a web of cracks across the thick stone floor.

Toshi waited as the ogre inspected him. When Hidetsugu had stalked a complete circle around him, Toshi said, “If you’re done appraising me, oath-brother, I’d like to discuss business. This reckoning,” he gestured at the academy around them, “seems complete. Our next step should be-”

“Our work here,” Hidetsugu interrupted, “is far from complete. The wizards and the soratami crossed us, the hyozan reckoners. Their suffering has only begun.” The ogre’s great nostrils flared as he snorted angrily. “We are sworn to it.”

Hidetsugu was wearing a mantle of black silk across his shoulders, so Toshi could clearly see the hyozan mark branded into the ogre’s chest. In the shadows behind the mound of bone, Toshi also saw more yamabushi lurking in the darkness, edging closer to their master and his guest.

“Well, I hate to argue,” Toshi said. “But there’s no one left to reckon with, is there?” He pointed to the white mound. “I mean, their suffering is over, right? What’s left to accomplish?”

Hidetsugu smiled, his tongue lolling grotesquely across his lips. Toshi swallowed hard.

“No, my friend,” the ogre said. “Their lives have ended and their bones have been picked clean, but their souls are still being savored and digested. According to the terms of our oath, which you created, the reckoning is not complete until tenfold vengeance has been taken.”

He crouched, bringing his wild eyes and carrion breath directly into Toshi’s face. “The ones who ordered our brother Kobo’s death are here. My apprentice’s reckoning is already upon the wizards and the moonfolk, but it will not end until it reaches their patron kami. I swore I would feed every one of them, everything they owned, and everything they loved to the All-Consuming Oni of Chaos. For him, this,” he pointed to the mound, “is barely a mouthful.”

Toshi felt his eyes go glassy. “I see.” He smiled weakly and, fearing the answer, asked, “And where is your oni now?”

Hidetsugu rose. Laughing, he spread his arms. “Here. Everywhere. He gorges himself on all Minamo has to offer. The wizards had amassed a remarkable collection of powerful artifacts and spells. When I last saw my god, he was devouring the central library one scroll at a time.”

Toshi swore inwardly. If the oni was consuming inanimate objects of great power, it was unlikely to overlook Daimyo Konda’s prize, which Toshi had left in the depths of the academy’s maze of offices and passageways, hundreds of feet below where he now stood.

Hidetsugu’s manic mirth subsided. He strode past Toshi toward his makeshift throne. “And you, ochimusha?” he called over his shoulder. “If you have not come to honor our oath to Kobo, why have you come?”

Toshi abandoned the truth-it had never served him that well anyway. He had hoped that Hidetsugu and his demonic spirit would be too caught up in the ongoing carnage to care about the disk. If they didn’t know what it was, or how powerful, they might have let him have it for the asking … after all, he was the one who brought it here.

He swore again. Now he would have to find a way to convince the o-bakemono to relinquish the prize instead of feeding it to his oni. Toshi didn’t relish the task. He was a newcomer to the idea of spirit worship, but Hidetsugu had been a true believer for a long time. If his oni had any interest in the disk, the ogre would never let it leave here.

“I have come,” Toshi said, “On behalf of the Myojin of Night’s Reach. I am her acolyte and her interests are mine. Currently, she wishes to protect the Takenuma Swamp. Now that Konda’s tower has fallen and the daimyo himself has gone missing, she sees a chance to confront her enemies and expand her influence.”

Hidetsugu cocked his head again. “And this affects me how?”

“Look,” Toshi said, exasperation overwhelming fear, “you’ve managed to combine our oath with spirit worship. Why can’t I?”

The ogre chuckled. “Oni and myojin are both spirits in the same way butterflies and hornets are both insects. You should never confuse the two while picnicking.”

“Point taken. But you’re not listening to me. What if I say I’ll help you finish here then you come with me to the swamp. You can even bring your team of mind-raped yamabushi killers. Slaughtering things in the bog will seem like a vacation from slaughtering things on the water or in the air.

“Look around, oath-brother. The wizards are all dead or gone, and your oni is eating whatever they left behind. Kobo’s reckoning will continue. The next step was always going to be the soratami, correct? Well, the soratami are in the swamp, and if we kill them there, we’ll be honoring the oath and my myojin.”

Hidetsugu’s smile evaporated. His eyes flared. His voice was low and husky. “The soratami are next. And we don’t need to travel to kill them, my friend. They are close by.” The ogre glanced upward and his yamabushi let out a hollow, mournful moan.

Toshi smelled an opening. “I’ve heard that the soratami only left a small force to defend their city. Most of them are in the swamps, trying to muscle in.”

“Most are in the forest of Jukai,” Hidetsugu corrected. “But the hyozan will find them and deal with them all, in time.”

“So why haven’t you?” Toshi said. “Oboro is protected by a token force, and surely the taste of moonfolk flesh is more exotic to an oni than old books or human meat. Don’t tell me a great and powerful o-bakemono and a half-dozen yamabushi are stymied by some skinny aristos with swords.”

The ogre grinned again, raising a cold sweat on Toshi’s neck. He had seen Hidetsugu rampant in battle, swinging a spiked club in one hand and a dead foe in the other as he roared with laughter and spat sparks. Compared to his current expression, that wild mask of malevolence and bloodlust seemed like the warmth in a doting mother’s eyes.

“I won’t tell you that, Toshi,” Hidetsugu said. “But I will tell you that I have visited Oboro. Recently, in fact. Things there are currently quite to my liking. Care to see?”

“No,” Toshi said quickly. “I was just-”

But Hidetsugu scooped him up and tucked Toshi under his arm like a log for the fire. The ogre raised his other hand and snapped his fingers.

“Take us to Oboro,” he boomed. “I want Toshi to see how fares the city in the clouds.”

Toshi was unable to protest with his lungs compressed in Hidetsugu’s grip. Five yamabushi emerged from the darkness, including the two that had greeted Toshi at the gate. They linked hands and formed a circle around their master and his burden, and then the warrior-priests began to chant.

A series of circular platforms made of dull amber light formed between the floor and the highest exterior window. Toshi craned his eyes to follow the series of steps as it extended out the window and up into the evening sky.

The female yamabushi from the front gate bounded onto the first platform. She hopped like nimble spider from step to step, pausing after each landing to cushion the impact and gather her strength for the next jump. As soon as she cleared the window, another yamabushi started from the bottom.

When he went outside, Hidetsugu leaped. Toshi tried to yelp as the world twisted around him, but his lungs were still too shallow. The ogre’s grip tightened as he hit the first platform. Toshi gritted his teeth and concentrated on not being crushed.

Outside, the sky had cleared and the soratami city Oboro glowed gold in the setting sun. Through tear-clouded eyes, Toshi could see the amber platforms of light reaching up to the edge of the city itself. The first yamabushi was almost there; Toshi and Hidetsugu would soon catch up.

Toshi closed his eyes and said a quick prayer to his myojin. O Night, he thought. I am still your faithful servant, and true. But it may be awhile before I can complete the task you’ve set for me.

After a moment, he mentally added, You too, Michiko.

Helpless in the grip of his former oath-brother, Toshi wondered what he would find at the top of this peculiar staircase.

High over the gemstone streets of Oboro, Hidetsugu and his yamabushi ended their journey. The ogre still held Toshi tucked under his arm while his warriors formed and occupied platforms of light arranged in a wide semicircle. The streets below them converged into a wide public quadrangle, half of which lay draped in shadows from the towering spires and gleaming domes of the soratami capital.

“Oath-brother,” Toshi spat through clenched teeth, “if we have arrived, I prefer to stand on my own.”

Hidetsugu did not reply, but turned to inspect the arc of yamabushi curling around to his left. With a shrug, he loosened his grip so that Toshi fell to the platform.

Toshi paused while down on all fours to inspect his perch. The amber light felt as solid as stone, rough and cool to the touch, but it also pushed back against his hands as if surrounded by a layer of invisible springs. It was clearly sturdy, though he couldn’t actually touch it.

Toshi glanced down at the quadrangle as he rose. They were far too high for him to simply jump and hope for the best unless he landed among the shadows. One of the blessings he had taken from Night’s Reach was the ability to travel from shadow to shadow, so all he had to do was make contact with the silhouettes of the soratami buildings and he’d be free to go where he pleased.

Eyeing the distance he’d have to cover, Toshi decided to wait. Things would have to grow far more desperate before he pursued that particular option.

“So.” Toshi straightened his sword belt. “You’ve dragged me all the way up here to show me … this? I’ll say it again, oath-brother. It looks to me like the show’s long over and the crowd’s gone home.”

Indeed, there were no signs of people at all in Oboro. The streets were silent and still, and the buildings seemed empty, forgotten, and almost lonely in the gathering dusk.

“Wait for it.” Hidetsugu’s voice was low and calm. He did not take his eyes off the quadrangle. “You know how to wait, don’t you? It’s a skill worth practicing.”

The ochimusha crossed his arms and huffed. The longer this took, the more likely something horrible would happen. There was no way he could compel Hidetsugu to hurry, however, so he forced himself to relax and let the o-bakemono have his demonstration. One of the first lessons Toshi had learned about dealing with ogres was not to rush into things.

Outside Shinka, Toshi still stood where he had started. He had not moved at all while the battle raged behind him, and he didn’t move now as Hidetsugu began to heap mangled and headless corpses in front of the ochimusha. He was barely willing to adjust his eyes, but Toshi did see the parchment with the paralysis kanji hanging from the back of Hidetsugu’s clothing. He had slipped it onto the ogre’s wrap just as Hidetsugu leaped away from him. Now the parchment fluttered as the ogre went about his grisly work, its symbol whole, complete, and utterly without effect.

If he dared to move at all, Toshi would have shrugged. He had warned One-Eye it wouldn’t work.

Judging from the remains, One-Eye and the rest of the magic-using reckoners had all been burned to death in the ambush’s opening seconds. The heavyset assassin’s eye patch was still in place, but the thick wooden square was smoking and seared into his blackened flesh, the cursed eye forever closed behind it.

Much later, Hidetsugu ambled up to Toshi and sat facing the last of Uramon’s reckoners. He seemed calmer but still dangerous, like a bear after a huge meal. He inspected Toshi standing there with something quite like amusement, and then Hidetsugu gestured at the mark on Toshi’s face.

“Little kanji mage,” he said, “why did you put that symbol on your face where I could see it? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize it and attack you anyway?”

Toshi fought to keep his voice calm and his body from trembling. “It was a calculated risk. I don’t really feel the need to die for Uramon, but I wasn’t in a position to refuse her, either. I figured this was the safest way to make you understand: I can’t hurt you, I don’t even want to hurt you … but I will if you hurt me. I just hoped that you’d recognize the reflection kanji and leave me be. It’s not as if there weren’t plenty of other targets, plenty of other reckoners who were actually out to get you.”

“And if I didn’t recognize it,” Hidetsugu said, “whatever I tried to do to you would come straight back to me. Either way, you win.” The ogre grinned, displaying bloodstained teeth. “In the short term.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshi said uncomfortably. “I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t crossed my mind.”

Hidetsugu reached around and plucked the parchment from his wrap. “And this?”

“That … was his idea.” He gestured to One-Eye near the bottom of the corpse pile. “I advised against it.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“I did. You see, I’m nothing if not loyal.”

The o-bakemono laughed loudly. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve told me yet,” he said. “And yet somehow, I believe it.” The light in Hidetsugu’s eyes darkened, becoming more ominous. “But what am I to do with you now, little reckoner?”

“Well, I’ve given that some thought, too. I can’t go back home-Uramon will demand to know what happened, and why I was the only survivor. I’m still indentured to her, so technically she owns me.”

The ogre nodded as he considered Toshi’s position. “Might as well let me devour you now,” he offered.

“Or,” Toshi said smoothly, “we could come to an arrangement. I’m bound to Uramon, but I don’t want to be. You’re going to keep getting visits from the boss until she’s satisfied, and I bet you don’t want that. I don’t think you’re in any danger,” he nodded toward the corpse pile, “but it could become quite a nuisance.”

Hidetsugu perched his chin on his clenched fist, hanging on Toshi’s every word. He seemed honestly and thoroughly amused.

“I’ve been looking into forming my own gang of reckoners,” Toshi said. “The idea came to me when I realized that there’s no way to break a reckoner oath, but you can swear a new one. I figure, why should I put my life on the line for someone just because they own me? If I could get some … serious fellows like yourself to join me, we could get out from under the bosses altogether.”

“A reckoner gang,” Hidetsugu mused. “Without a boss? That’s almost novel.”

“Thank you. I figure we’d look out for each other rather than some crimelord’s reputation. And if we were demonstrably … serious, all of the bosses would soon see the value of leaving us alone. They’re all businessmen in the end, and they don’t do things without some form of profit. If it were ruinously expensive to cross us, eventually they wouldn’t bother.”

“This is an admirable idea you’ve had. What is your name?”

“Toshi Umezawa,” he said.

“An admirable idea, Toshi Umezawa. But I see several flaws.”

The ochimusha swallowed. “Fatal flaws?”

“Perhaps. First, you are not … serious enough on your own to make the kind of impression a new reckoner gang needs. And more, I doubt someone so young has learned the fine art of a truly binding blood oath.”

Toshi smiled his most winning smile. “That’s where you come in, noble o-bakemono.”

Hidetsugu’s nostrils flared. “That’s another flaw. You interest me, ochimusha, but as soon as I no longer feel full, I’m going to bite off your head and swallow it whole.” The ogre’s eyes sparkled and cast out tiny sparks.

“Oh.” Toshi sagged where he stood. “That’s not good for me.”

“No. It is not.” Hidetsugu rocked back and placed his hands palm-up on his knees. He closed his eyes and fell totally still as if meditating.

Toshi decided to stake everything on one last throw of the dice. “All right,” he said. “What if you take me on as your pupil? I know the o-bakemono train apprentices to maintain their influence. Ogre magic is some of the strongest and most feared in all Kamigawa, but it’s worthless if no one practices it. Teach me, and your name will still be spoken in fearful whispers for generations after you’re dead.”

Hidetsugu’s eyes remained closed, but he smiled. “You are not as well-informed as you think, my friend. That would also kill you, only it would be much more protracted and painful. None of my last four would-be apprentices survived more than a month.”

Toshi decided to risk a bit of bravado, hoping it would impress the ogre. “Give me a try. You won’t be disappointed.”

The o-bakemono’s lids snapped open and he fixed Toshi with a withering stare. “No, ochimusha,” he said. “You are too clever, too independent to be a proper student. And I already have my next two apprentices selected. No, I can save myself a lot of time by killing you now.”

He extended his hand as if to grab Toshi, but the ochimusha yelled, “Wait! Make me an offer. There must be something that you need or want. Put me to work and we’ll both profit.”

The ogre’s hand stopped just a few feet from Toshi. He could not see Hidetsugu behind the rough palm and thick, clawed fingers, but he heard the ogre’s voice clearly.

“You seem remarkably dedicated to striking a bargain with me. Do you appreciate how dangerous that is?”

“Maybe I don’t,” Toshi said. “But I don’t have many options, do I?”

Hidetsugu lowered his hand. “All right, ochimusha. I will set a task for you, something to prove yourself useful. In ten days I go collect my next student. It will take me years to train him.”

“If he survives.”

“If he survives. I would prefer not to be disturbed by any more of Uramon’s lackeys while I test him. It only draws the process out.

“Convince Uramon to leave me be until next spring. I will know by then if I have a new apprentice or another failure. In return, I will join your gang of freelance reckoners.” The ogre’s eyes flared bright red. “I may even help you craft the spell that binds us.”

“Deal,” Toshi said instantly. “Though I would be stunned if you simply let me walk away with only my word to bring me back.”

“That is because you are a quick thinker. No, Toshi Umezawa, I am not willing to trust your good nature. But I do trust blood magic.”

Hidetsugu lashed out and lifted Toshi into the air. Before he could scream, Toshi felt his arm disappear into the ogre’s mouth up past the elbow. Hidetsugu simultaneously bit down and squeezed with his hand, crushing the air from Toshi’s lungs as the ochimusha’s blood dripped from the ogre’s jaw.

Hidetsugu dropped Toshi and licked his chops. Toshi quickly touch-inspected his wound, which was shallow but bleeding freely.

“Blood,” Hidetsugu said through crimson-stained lips. “Blood is the key to all ogre rituals. Now I have tasted yours, ochimusha. I can find you anywhere. And if more of Uramon’s reckoners come here before spring to interrupt my student’s training, I will blame you. After I mount their heads on stakes I will come and find you in your bed. I will drag you back here and take sublime joy in your suffering for as long as I care to before feeding you to the All-Consuming Oni of Chaos.”

Toshi tore off the bottom of his sleeve and wrapped it tightly around his wounded arm. The pain felt far away, and he almost swooned as his stomach knotted and unknotted.

“Done,” Toshi said again, though he could barely hear his own voice.

“Good,” Hidetsugu replied. He stood and turned his back on his guest.

“I am becoming hungry again. Go now, ochimusha, before I change my mind.”

Still dazed, Toshi turned and woodenly began to run. The last thing he saw was Hidetsugu bending over the pile of corpses, sinking his arms into the mound to gather as many as possible in his broad, powerful arms.

Home again for the first time in weeks, Toshi stood in the Numai district of Takenuma Swamp. No matter what the old ones said, he would never believe the fen had ever been anything but a greasy, bubbling cauldron of muck and rotten bamboo. If you wanted to build a house or a business in the swamp, you had to do it on twenty-foot stilts, high above the surface of the bog. Everything rested on sturdy bamboo legs: every building, every walkway, every structure that might conceivably be used by nontoxic, non-amphibious life forms.

Toshi hated the swamp. If the quicksand-like filth didn’t drag you down and the swamp insects didn’t infect you with bleeding fever, there were larger, crueler dangers waiting for the unwary who braved the bog. Numai’s entire human population, for one. Here, the only things more malevolent than the cursed ground were the people who thrived on it. For as long as Toshi could remember his district had been the crossroads where the criminal-minded and the bloodthirsty met and mingled. Those with shady work could sit down with those who didn’t mind doing it for cash.

There was precious little foot traffic now, which Toshi suspected was due to more than the swamp’s bad reputation. There was a heaviness in the air, the kind of damp, oppressive stillness that usually precedes a major storm. It was similar to the dread he had felt hovering over Kamitaki Falls, but the swamp’s mood was even darker, wetter, and more oppressive. After two decades of the Kami War, Toshi was all too familiar with the signs of a spirit crossing into the physical world, but that sensation was usually limited to a small area. Now, the pressure and sense of impending attack was everywhere.

He hadn’t actually seen any spirits yet, but he had seen their wake. Mangled and partially consumed corpses left hanging in trees, temples smashed and painted over in blood, and charred, smoking ruins where great manors once stood.

Toshi heard a distant scream that echoed across the surface of the swamp. He waited for a moment to listen for the sequel, but no further sound came. He resumed walking. Just as well, he thought. He had no time for new adventures. He had already mortgaged too much of his future to powerful beings and made enemies of still more, so there was simply no chance for anyone else to make demands on him. The screamer would have to save himself.

Ahead, the end of the walkway materialized through the haze. From there he had a short climb and a long wade through the swamp until he reached his goal.

Toshi smiled thinly as he strode on. His patrons and foes were all lined up to greet him. He would face them as soon as he mustered his allies.

Toshi’s smile faded. He decided not to think too far ahead with this plan for the time being. He couldn’t worry about what happened after he recruited his partners until he had actually recruited them. Just because they considered themselves oath-bound to avenge his death didn’t mean they were willing to prevent it beforehand.

He emerged onto solid ground less than an hour later. The small hill rose up out of the fen, and as he climbed it Toshi stamped mud and leeches from his feet. He was now on the outskirts of Numai district, along the western edge of Takenuma. Apart from the odd fugitive or hermit, the only humans who lived this far out were the Numai jushi, a close-knit clan of mahotsukai, or dark wizards. The mahotsukai delved more deeply into the black arts than was safe or sane, but they were powerful casters and exerted significant influence over the swamp’s criminal society.

He had never met any of the mahotsukai elders but he had heard the rumors: they drank the blood of their apprentices, they took them as wives and forced them to bear monstrous children, and they were not living men at all but vampiric spirits who corrupted human souls with black magic then consumed them like some exquisite delicacy.

None of this truly mattered to Toshi. Residents of the swamp liked to exaggerate their power and their dark reputations as much as they liked to spread pointless gossip. Whatever those twisted old men did to their charges, they also taught them powerful magic. Kiku, one of the most dangerous people he had ever met, was a mahotsukai from the Numai jushi. All Toshi had to do was find her and convince her that helping him was in her own best interest.

He broke through the hedgerow of thorn bushes and stinging nettles to a clearing at the top of the rise. The ground was dry here, almost sandy, and the hilltop was dotted with clumps of gray-green grass that swayed hypnotically in the fetid air. In the center of this field of swamp grass stood a large, one-room building made of mud bricks and straw. It was round with a circular chimney in the center of the mud-thatch roof. No smoke rose from the hardened clay pipe, and no sound came from the building’s interior.

Toshi’s gut shifted and he knew something was wrong. The mahotsukai were not gregarious folk, but they always sent someone to meet visitors. If no one had come out to greet him by now, that meant either no one was here to do so … or no one was alive to do so.

He went closer, and a clearer view of the building confirmed his fears. The front door was hanging off one hinge, the thick clay of the doorway cracked and crumbling. There was a rough hole punched through the ceiling on the south end. A pale and lifeless hand dangled from one of the front windows, a thin stream of blood dripping slowly from its index finger.

Toshi drew his jitte in one hand and his long sword in the other. As he ran to the mahotsukai dwelling, he turned over the possibilities in his mind. Kami attack? Clan warfare? Had the daimyo’s troops begun cracking down on black magicians while their lord and master was away?

He stepped up to the ruined front door and peered inside. A foul, stale odor hung in the air. Two small fires burned inside the building, one in the fireplace at the center of the room and one on a pile of debris nearer the door.

Toshi stopped when he saw the scene inside, and then he grimaced. Unlike the post-massacre scene at Minamo, the floor of the mahotsukai hut was nearly covered with broken and twisted bodies.

A young man was lying facedown just inside the doorway. From the huge slick of blood beneath him, Toshi guessed his throat had been cut. More students littered the rest of the residence, young and old alike, their torsos displaying neat, precise holes surrounded by crimson blooms. The pale hand that extended out through the window belonged to a girl, but she was too small and too slight to be Kiku.

Toshi sheathed his long sword but held onto his jitte. Whatever had happened here was long over, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t still danger. He quietly moved across the crowded floor and opened the large ornamental door at the far end of the room.

It was much worse inside. The bodies were crammed together and piled two-deep between Toshi and the altar at the center of the room. Toshi recognized sword wounds and dagger thrusts on every body he saw, the terrible evidence of a sharp blade and a skilled hand at work. Whoever did this did so with weapons of steel, not tooth and claw. Armed warriors had attacked the mahotsukai in their home and slaughtered them to a man.

Near the altar, Toshi stopped. This was more than a simple massacre-it was a message. Some of the older students had been killed and then hung from the walls. Toshi peered closer at the mangled body of a bearded man with one long, dangling earring and a tattoo that covered most of his face. His eyes were still wide-open in shock.

Correction, Toshi thought. Some had been hung from the walls and then killed. That ruled out the daimyo’s troops. He had seen Konda’s soldiers on punitive missions first-hand, and they would never have displayed such cruelty or taken the time to stage the corpses-they would have simply lined the mahotsukai up and decapitated them with swords, one by one and with great ceremony. Toshi grimaced and went on to the door that led deeper into the building.

The next room was the smallest, so it was fortunate that it held the fewest corpses. Toshi did not enter the room at first, but stood outside, gazing down at the half-dozen humanoid bodies scattered around the chamber.

These were different from the other victims. These bodies were all tall, thin, and elegantly dressed. Most wore black silk with their heads and faces concealed beneath scarves. The others wore cobalt-blue chain mail and carried katanas. What flesh Toshi could see was pale, gleaming white, like the reflection of moonlight on bleached bone. These new corpses were those of soratami, and their presence proved the battle was not one-sided.

Toshi was impressed. He allowed himself a moment of pure, cruel joy at the soratami’s expense. Most of Toshi’s current problems could be laid squarely at the feet of the soratami and their patron kami. Since Konda had vanished, the soratami had been openly working to take control of the entire swamp region. They killed those they couldn’t intimidate or bribe, and he had to assume the mahotsukai were targeted because they would not knuckle under. It hadn’t saved them and it wouldn’t bring them back, but Toshi was glad the Numai jushi made the moonfolk pay for this night’s work.

Toshi blinked. The soratami warriors were exceptional and their shinobi were as silent and invisible as leaves falling on a moonless night. They were far too proud to leave proof that mere ground-dwellers had defeated some of their tribe. Why then, had they left these bodies behind?

He looked again, noting that the soratami corpses were all equidistant from a central spot at the far side of the room. He puzzled for a moment, then nodded to himself. They had attempted to gang up on someone and been brutally killed and hurled backwards by their intended victim. Did this small victory take place away from the main body of invaders, so that they didn’t realize their loss? Or, more incredibly, did the last surviving mahotsukai defeat or scare off all of the attacking soratami so that none were left to carry off their dead?

Toshi hoped that was the case. He also hoped whoever it was could still shake hands-he wanted to congratulate him.

A woman sighed from the other side of the wall at the far end of the room. Toshi crept forward, peering past the altar, until he saw a loose seam in the wall itself. If the secret door hadn’t been slightly sprung open, he would never have found it. Now, he nudged it open with his toe and crouched as he carefully picked his way through.

The secret door fell shut behind him, but the inner chamber was lit by a pair of black candles atop another, smaller altar. In the soft sphere of yellow light, Toshi saw the back of a woman’s head rustling rhythmically back and forth. He tightened his grip on his jitte, but relaxed when the woman started singing softly. Her voice was soft, sweet, and clear.

“Kiku,” Toshi called. He couldn’t see clearly in the dim light, but he recognized the voice and the silky head of purple-black hair. “It’s Toshi. I’ve come to help.”

“Toshi.” Kiku’s voice was dreamy and somehow sad. “No work for you here, oath-brother. Nothing for the hyozan to avenge. I’m the only one they didn’t kill.”

Toshi stood rooted in place. He was not about to approach Kiku until he was sure of her mind. She might be wounded, or dying, or …

Kiku stood, rising into the flickering candlelight. Her head was tilted forward so that her exotic hair hung down past her chin, hiding her features. She steadied herself on the altar with one hand as she carelessly clutched the neck of a ceramic jug in the other.

“Join me in a drink, oath-brother?” She did not lift her face, but did wave the jug. “The masters were saving this for a special occasion. I think this qualifies. The mahotsukai have survived another night.”

Toshi swallowed. “Sure, Kiku.” He stepped forward with one hand extended for the jug and the other ready with his jitte. Kiku was mercurial on her best days, and she was devastating with her short-handled throwing hatchet. If she were intoxicated, she might remember she hated Toshi for binding her to the hyozan.

But Kiku simply stood, singing softly with her head tilted down while Toshi carefully approached. She was not dressed in her traditional outfit of lavish purple silk and leather armor, but in a sheer white linen shift that left her arms and shoulders bare. The fabric was so delicate it was nearly transparent in the soft light, and though Kiku was a beautiful woman, Toshi kept his attention firmly focused on her hands, where the threat would come from.

Toshi reached out and took hold of the jug. Kiku held on for a moment, resisting him, and then released it. From its heft Toshi guessed Kiku had consumed half of its contents. From its smell Toshi guessed that if you lit a match after taking a sip, your breath would catch fire.

He raised the jug to his lips, keeping his eyes on Kiku. After he was through wincing, Toshi handed the bottle back, but pulled it away when Kiku reached for it.

“Mahotsukai,” he said. “What happened here?”

Kiku let her free hand fall to the altar so that she was leaning on both arms. “Soratami,” she said. “Sent word. We were a threat, unsanctioned magic. We were to vacate, or else.” She lifted her face and smiled wickedly at Toshi. “The elders chose ‘or else.’”

Toshi almost coughed as he met Kiku’s eyes, but his face remained calm. The flesh on Kiku’s forehead, cheeks, and nose was covered in a dark, shifting stain that crawled across her face like oil on the surface of steaming hot tea. Rounded blobs and thin, spiky tendrils oozed and fluttered across her features, forming currents and eddies that alternately encircled and engulfed the topography of her fine-boned face.

It was horrifying to see such a strong person so fractured, to behold such beauty marred by magic. Worse was the undeniable sense of familiarity Toshi got from Kiku’s new appearance. He was not a mahotsukai, so he did not practice their craft, but as an acolyte of Night’s Reach he recognized shadow magic when he saw it.

Still jarred by Kiku’s wild eyes and transformed face, Toshi said evenly, “Listen, Kiku. Tell me what happened.”

Kiku motioned for the jug and Toshi handed it over. She tossed back a long draught and shuddered. Then, blinking her eyes rapidly, she focused on Toshi, and the dreamy, singsong quality to her voice disappeared.

“The masters did this.” She made as if caressing her own face, but her palm never made contact. “Just as the soratami arrived.” Kiku shook her head clear and went on. “You were right about them, oath-brother. The soratami. They are not to be taken lightly. Most of us were dead before the masters finished the ritual.”

“What ritual? What did it do?”

Kiku steadied herself on the altar and then stood up straight. She swayed for a moment. Then she straightened her shift and brushed it clean in two long strokes. She focused on Toshi again, and her eyes glittered like hard, sharp gems behind narrowed lids.

“You use kanji magic,” she said. “Characters, symbols as your weapon. The masters,” she waved aimlessly behind Toshi, where the old men lay dead, “didn’t use symbols. They used me.” She set her jaw, suddenly serious and sober. “I was the tool of my masters’ vengeance. I am their weapon. When they saw they would die, they turned to me. Cursed me, made me more dangerous.”

Toshi took the bottle and sipped. “Did it work?”

“Killed the raiders all at once, in a single heartbeat.” The mahotsukai’s cruel mouth twisted into a sharp smile, then sagged. “But not fast enough. Couldn’t control the power when I needed it. Self-preservation only. You should understand that.” She croaked a hag’s laugh and her eyelids fluttered. Kiku almost swooned, but Toshi caught her shoulder and she clutched the altar before she toppled.

“They’ll be back,” she continued. “And I’ll be ready. All I have to do is sit here and keep killing them. The more they send, the more I’ll get, and the more efficient the masters’ tool shall become.”

“How, Kiku?” Toshi came around the altar and stood beside the mahotsukai. He took her by the shoulders and guided her toward the altar. “How did you kill the soratami?”

Kiku allowed Toshi to turn her around and help her up onto the altar. She sat with her feet swinging freely for a moment and then crossed one leg over the other, the very picture of an elegant lady at a prominent social function. She even tossed her head.

“Solid shadows,” she said. “Something else you understand. You may have direct contact with your myojin, but she’s not the only one who commands the darkness.” Her eyes lost focus as her thoughts turned inward. “Just as ochimusha and ogres aren’t the only ones who knows how to craft revenge magic. Here, I’ll show you-”

Toshi quickly grabbed Kiku’s chin and turned her face to his. “Please don’t,” he said.

The oily shadow on Kiku’s face had begun to churn. Tiny crested ridges of liquid darkness had started to form around her features, like waves made choppy by driving winds.

Kiku held Toshi’s gaze for a moment, then looked away and exhaled. The motion on her face slowed, but it did not stop.

“Kiku,” he said. “We are both bound by the oath. I have work for us to do.” After all she had been through tonight, he didn’t think he could hold Kiku to any promises she had made before, but he had to get her out of this abattoir. As long as there were corpses and mahotsukai liquor to sustain her melancholy, she would probably just sit here going madder and madder until the next group of soratami sneaked in and killed her.

“Can’t go,” she said firmly. “I am an instrument of vengeance. My entire clan is gone. I am the only bearer of the mahotsukai’s wisdom. The last of the Numai jushi. If I do not avenge them-”

“We can avenge them together,” Toshi said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Kiku blinked, her eyes suddenly clouded once more. “You can help me?”

“I can. The soratami and their kami have been on my list for months now. I was just talking with Hidetsugu about finishing things with them once and for all. But I’d go out of my way to hurt them for the sheer fun of it. If getting them helps you, well, that’s just a bonus.”

Kiku’s eyes opened wider. She turned to Toshi and said, “You can do it, too, can’t you? You’re crafty.” She held up her hand, showing Toshi the triangular hyozan symbol on her palm. “You tricked me into joining your gang. If you can trick the moonfolk and get me close enough, I can release the full power of the masters’ ritual and wipe them all out.” She smiled dreamily. “Again.”

Toshi nodded. This was going to be easier than he thought. “And do right by the memory of your clan. Your masters-”

“My masters can starve in the cold gray hell,” Kiku flared, and for a second she was very much like her old self. “This.” She circled her own face with her hands. “I need to be free of this. I can’t think with this. I’m not me with this.” She sagged, sad and defeated. “Take this from me, Toshi. I don’t want it. Please, oath-brother. Help me.”

Kiku’s eyes closed and she lurched forward. Toshi caught her in his arms, her face pressed against his neck.

“I’ll help you, Kiku. We’ll help each other.”

Kiku did not withdraw from Toshi’s chest. “Thank you, oath-brother.”

“We … uh, Kiku? What are you doing?”

The mahotsukai’s lips were leaving delicate trails along Toshi’s throat. Was she kissing him? He felt the hard, straight edges of her teeth as she seized his flesh between them, and squawked as she bit down.

Kiku lifted her head, fixing the ochimusha with a fierce glare. “Shut up, stupid Toshi.” She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and pressed his face into her, mashing their lips together. She leaned back as she kissed him, pulling him partially up onto the altar beside her.

“Ah, Kiku, I-”

She pulled back, her eyes wild. “As you said, oath-brother, we can help each other.” She pushed Toshi back and slid off the altar. In the blink of an eye she tossed the thin shift over her head and let it flutter forgotten to the floor. Kiku wore a silver chain around her waist and a golden one around her left ankle. There was a brilliant purple flower tattooed on her right hip.

She kept her eyes on Toshi and extended a delicate hand, beckoning him. “Now,” she said. “Come here.”

Toshi stared goggle-eyed. Kiku was in shock. She must be in shock, or drunk, or overwhelmed by grief and the power of her masters’ spell. At the very least she was doing this to bind Toshi to her cause, using him to achieve her own goals.

Kiku stood, watching him, waiting for him. “Well?”

Toshi took her hand, drew her to him, and kissed her. They stood embracing for an endless moment before Toshi remembered something and pushed her away.

“Two things, mahotsukai.”

Kiku stepped back, demurely crossing her arms. “I’m not used to accepting conditions at this stage.”

“Two simple things, easily addressed. One, we agree to talk more in the morning.”

“Of course. And the second?”

Toshi grimaced. “Stop calling me ‘oath-brother.’ It’s making me queasy.”

Kiku laughed lightly, a short crystalline sound that carried beauty and sharp edges alike. Once more, Toshi was given a glimpse of Kiku the way he knew her, confident, beautiful, strong, and more than a little bit frightening.

“Done,” she said. She opened her arms once more, and Toshi leaned forward, bearing her back up onto the altar.

The moon shone down on the fortress of Eiganjo. For the first time in over a decade, the glowing half-orb hung from a clear and cloudless sky, surrounded by pinpoints of clean, white starlight. Fat, lazy clouds drifted across the night sky, but even they curved around the moon as if unwilling to spoil the view from below.

Far beneath the waxing moon stood the tower-fortress of Eiganjo, a massive white-stone edifice that stretched proud and strong up to the very clouds themselves. Moonlight cast the tower’s shadow far across the lowlands to the south, with only its ragged tip to spoil the smooth and solid wall of black. The tower’s uppermost level was an irregular line of broken rock, and its shadow passed through a similar jagged gap in the mighty walls around Eiganjo. There were no signs of life from the tower or the courtyard within the fortress walls. From a distance, Eiganjo appeared as silent as a tomb, as pale as a spirit, and as lonely as a headstone.

The hooded figure of Toshi Umezawa stepped from the shadows at the northwest corner of the walls. He adjusted his finest acolyte’s robe (or, at least, the finest robe he could steal that looked like an acolyte’s robe) and stole a quick glance around the deserted parade grounds. With his head bowed, he began to shuffle across the courtyard toward a two-story outbuilding on the west side of the tower.

His journey continued in complete silence until he approached the door to the outbuilding. From just outside the wide double doors, he heard a strange burbling sound. It was a clean, flowing sound like the tone from some fabulously exquisite musical instrument. The hooded figure tilted his head up to the second floor, the source of the sound.

The lush, soothing song was interrupted by a ferocious barking from inside the building. Toshi stepped back as a huge pale dog erupted from the double doors, its gruff voice both alarm and threat.

Oh, good, the ochimusha thought. He drew a hook-shaped weapon from beneath his robes and held it point-first toward the dog. The hook had been hammered from dull, gray metal and shaped so that the shorter, blunt tine stood below the thicker tapering spike above. The dog stopped just outside the double doors, still barking at top volume.

Toshi peered from beneath his cowl. “I know you,” he said to the dog. “Why are you always so loud when you see me?”

“You may know Isamaru,” a thin but steady voice said. “However, he does not know you. Stand very still, sir. I would regret it if you were bitten accidentally.”

“Isamaru,” Toshi said, memorizing the name. The next time he saw this dog he wanted to be able to order it around by name. He nodded to Isamaru and dropped his jitte to his side but did not sheathe it. He called out over the dog’s barking, “This is Princess Michiko’s dog.”

“Sir. That dog belongs to Daimyo Konda himself.” An elderly man in a rumpled white uniform stepped out of the building. His skin was like translucent paper stretched tight over his bones. Wisps of silver hair peeked out from under his helmet and his left hand trembled. In his right he carried a long pole with a paper lantern strung to the end. Shuddering slightly, the old man lit the lantern and extended it out over the newcomer’s head.

“I am Acting Constable Aoyama,” the old man said. He peered at the robed man, scanning him from head to toe. Isamaru stopped barking but stood alert and ready within springing distance of the new arrival.

Constable Aoyama’s lamp shook as he spoke. “What are you doing near the stables, priest?”

Toshi shook his head, more amused than he expected to be. “I’m no priest.”

The constable grunted. “You wear the robes of a seeker. Are you a monk?”

“I am a seeker, but not a monk. I’m more of an acolyte, a follower. I aspire to spiritual greatness, but aspiration is a long way from achievement.”

The old man lowered the lantern. “Well, whatever you are, don’t try to preach strange religious beliefs in Eiganjo. The spirits have brought great hardship upon us lately.”

Toshi tilted his head toward the broken walls and the damaged tower. “So I see,” he said. “But rest easy, constable. I’m not one for preaching, though I do feel much safer knowing you’re on the job.”

Aoyama laughed. “Don’t be too confident,” he said. “All of our able-bodied men are dead or fighting on the frontier. That leaves patrols and other mundane duties to old men like me. I’m really just a groomsman with a uniform.” He lowered the pole to the ground to steady the lantern and drew his own weapon, a metal truncheon similar to Toshi’s.

“They told me the jitte was a constable’s tool,” Aoyama said. He absently turned the hooked truncheon over in his hand, letting the moonlight play across its surface. “But you wield one too.”

Toshi slowly lifted his jitte, extended his index finger, and let the hook dangle from it. “I didn’t realize the Daimyo was so specific about who can carry what weapons.”

Aoyama straightened. “In Eiganjo,” he said sternly, “the constable’s hook is like the samurai’s sword. It is a badge of office as well as an essential tool for performing the duties of that office.”

“Of course, Acting Constable. Please know that I respect that office and those duties.” Toshi twirled his own jitte around his finger and then caught it by the handle. “But I mainly use mine to keep people from stabbing me.”

Aoyama laughed. “It’s good for that, too.” He sheathed his jitte and relaxed. Isamaru also sat, but his eyes were wide and he panted, showing the hooded figure his large white teeth.

The constable gestured with the pole. “Why aren’t you fighting with the other young men?”

“I am not a citizen of Eiganjo. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been fighting the Kami War elsewhere, in my own way.”

“Forgive me, acolyte. I meant no disrespect,” Aoyama said. “But you should know there is danger here. An akki horde not half a day’s march to the north. They have been trying to mount an offensive against the fortress since … since …”

The old man faltered. Isamaru whined.

The visitor spoke up. “Since the walls were breached?”

“Yes.”

The hooded head cocked to one side. “A terrible day. But still … goblins on the plains of Towabara?”

“Unbelievable, I know. But true. They were led here by sanzoku bandits and they breed like maggots. Isamaru here accompanies the soldiers to and from the battle. Captain Okazawa himself made him an honorary soldier for the duration.” He leaned forward and ruffled the fur on the dog’s head with a palsied hand. “Without Isamaru here, and Yosei, the fortress would have been overwhelmed in a matter of hours.”

“Yosei?”

“The spirit dragon who protects Eiganjo. He could not stop the destruction of the tower and he suffered terrible wounds, but he still kept the goblins from our door.” Aoyama moved the lantern aside and looked up into the night sky. “There,” he said. “That streak of light to the north. Can you see it?”

Toshi followed Aoyama’s gaze. “I see it.” Indeed, a thin stream of light etched a glowing spear to the left the moon. It could have been a large comet or shooting star, but it was uniformly bright along the length of its streamlined body. As it streaked over the broken tower, its serpentine features stood out clearly against the dark sky. This was Yosei, the Morning Star, guardian beast from the spirit world who served Eiganjo when most of his fellow spirits turned against the world of flesh and substance.

As majestic and awe-inspiring as Yosei was, he was clearly diminished from his full glory. His proud, whiskered head indicated he should be a long, sinuous creature, but his body seemed to be only half of what it should be. Yosei shone with a bright white light, but the mangled end of his body left a trail of glittering purple haze and thick pink vapor.

“He is awesome indeed, Constable. But is he well?”

Aoyama’s chest swelled. “He has borne that terrible wound you see for many days now. Any lesser creature would have died on the spot, but Yosei continues to fight. The soldiers say he will not die until the last goblin has been scoured from the plains.”

“Magnificent. Between the great spirit dragon and the daimyo’s glorious battle-moths, Eiganjo rules the sky. The akki cannot hope to prevail.”

Aoyama’s face soured. “Forgive me, acolyte. I never did get your name.”

The green-eyed man turned to the constable. “Toshi,” he said. “You can call me Toshi.”

“I am the keeper of the moth stables, Toshi. It is my sworn duty to care for these great beasts and to protect them from harm.” Aoyama drew his jitte. “What is your interest in them?”

Toshi smiled. “You may be old, Acting Constable Aoyama, but you are still keen. I had heard that the moths were all but wiped out in the recent battle here. I wanted to see them with my own eyes before they are gone for good.”

Aoyama lowered his weapon. “I see. You’re almost too late, Acolyte Toshi. There are barely a dozen of the great moths left, and even that is too many for us to feed.”

“How tragic,” Toshi said. “Will you let them starve, or will you release them to fend for themselves?”

Aoyama shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I am a loyal servant of the daimyo,” he said stiffly.

“But also the moth’s only caretaker. I’m told they are magnificent creatures. Surely you wouldn’t just let them wither? Gossip around the fortress says Konda and the bulk of his army were slain, but survive as spirits to fight for your freedom. If the moths die, will they go on fighting? Will they join Konda’s spirit army? Or will they simply be dead?”

“Konda was not slain,” Aoyama said angrily. “And as for what happens to these moths when they die, I have no intention of finding out.”

“Ah, but you already have, constable. Because there are less than a dozen moths now, but a week ago there were more. As the food stocks dwindle, you’ve been letting some of them go.” Toshi’s eyes twinkled. “Haven’t you?”

Aoyama thumped his lantern pole on the ground. “I think you should move along, acolyte.” Isamaru stood, his eyes on Toshi, waiting for a command.

Toshi clasped his hands together and bowed lightly. “I understand your concerns, Aoyama, and you should not feel ashamed. I must be honest with you now: I have ridden the daimyo’s moths before. I hold them in the highest esteem, and I support your efforts to save them, no matter what Daimyo Konda or anyone else may think. You are a hero, sir, a kind friend to these noble creatures.”

Aoyama stared at Toshi, his paper lantern swaying on the end of its string.

“Please,” the constable said. “I’m old, not feeble. Every warlord and minor daimyo across Kamigawa would do anything to acquire one of Konda’s battle-moths. I may have … relocated some of my charges, but I would burn them all alive in their stables before I would turn them over to Eiganjo’s enemies. A priest’s robe and a flowery speech will not convince me otherwise.”

His growls rising with the new tension between the two men, Isamaru barked.

Toshi’s open, guileless face did not change. Through bright eyes and a slight smile, he said, “So, there’s no chance of convincing you to turn away for a few moments and overlook the loss of one more moth?”

Aoyama pointed his jitte at Toshi. “None.” Keeping his eyes on Toshi, Aoyama said, “Isamaru!”

In response, the dog’s eyes narrowed and his claws dug into the ground.

“I ask you to reconsider, Constable.” Still smiling slightly, Toshi tossed his head back. The cowl fell back and settled around his neck and shoulders.

The symbol inscribed across the flesh of Toshi’s forehead glowed softly, casting a light purple sheen over the rest of his face. A cold wind whipped up around him, swirling his robe around his body.

He turned to the dog. “Isamaru,” he said, “stay back.”

The dog’s growling trailed into an uncertain whine. As Toshi spoke, his breath came in great clouds of white fog. The mist from his lungs hardened into crystals before him and fell like snowflakes to the dusty ground.

Aoyama gasped, his lantern making the shadows dance crazily across the ground. The old man held his jitte out in front of him, backing away and praying furiously under his breath.

Toshi pointed to the symbol on his brow. “I bear the mark of the yuki-onna. Just as the akki goblins from the frozen wastes have come to Eiganjo, so does this, the curse of lethal cold, the primordial fury of winter. Stand aside, old man, or feel the icy touch of death.”

Aoyama blinked. “Hang on. The yuki-onna is a female spirit. Snow-woman. How did you …”

Toshi frowned. “Don’t dodder, Constable.” He gestured at the symbol again. “This is the kanji for yuki-onna. I bear her power as well as her symbol.”

Aoyama simply stared, his jitte trembling in his hand. Isamaru advanced a pace and began growling again.

Toshi sighed. “What does it take to frighten you and that damned dog away for ten seconds?”

“More than you possess, false acolyte. You’re no seeker, you’re just a lowlife.”

Toshi shrugged. “I mean well.”

Aoyama steadied his lantern. “Go on now, Toshi. You’ve had your jest.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Constable. I really am an acolyte, even if you can’t believe it. My myojin has given me a very clear mission in life, and I can’t accomplish it without one of Konda’s moths.”

“You’re lucky your patron spirit just gives orders instead of tearing you to pieces. It’s not even safe to worship most spirits anymore.”

“My point exactly. We don’t want to make the spirits any angrier than they already are, right? Give me what my myojin demands and you’ll never see me again.”

“Never. Leave this place, now. I won’t give you another chance.”

“You don’t have any chances to give, my friend. It’s not up to you.”

The old man trembled. “I have but to raise my voice-”

“-to cause a great echo. Come on, Constable. Now who’s blowing smoke?” Toshi smiled and then puffed another cloud of snow through pursed lips. “There’s no one here to answer your call. And even if there were, Isamaru here is the only real fighter left in the fortress.”

“That may be true,” Aoyama said. “But at least he is already here.”

“Not for long.”

“Longer than you. Isamaru! Attack!”

The big dog was well trained. He snarled as he leaped for Toshi’s arm, his powerful jaws capable of crushing bone to powder in a single bite.

As he stepped back, Toshi wondered why he seemed to be having so much trouble with dogs lately. Isamaru did not allow him time to find the answer, so the ochimusha waved his arm in a circle as Isamaru hit him, tangling the dog’s teeth in the folds of his sleeve. He wrapped the loose-fitting fabric around the top of Isamaru’s nose as he caught the heavy dog against his chest and shoulder. Quick as a mousetrap, Toshi slammed the dog’s jaws shut and kept them closed by pulling the fabric tight around Isamaru’s face like a muzzle.

Toshi’s foot plunged into a shadow cast by Aoyama’s lantern, and the foot plunged into it. Isamaru’s weight seemed to bear Toshi down into the shadow more quickly than normal, and in less than a second they were both gone.

Aoyama stood blinking in the lantern light. He moved the paper globe closer to the spot where Toshi and Isamaru had vanished, but the pale light revealed only cold, hard ground. The old man hesitated.

“Isamaru?” he said.

“Safe and happy,” Toshi’s voice replied. Aoyama spun in place, swinging the lantern as he went, but there was no sign of the intruder. In the cold glow of the paper globe there were no shadows to conceal him, either.

“He’s probably confused right now,” Toshi continued, still unseen. “But once he stops to sniff around, he’ll find a friendly scent or two. He’ll be fine. Is there anywhere you’d like to go, Constable? I can freeze you like an icicle and leave you here, but I’d be willing to deposit you somewhere comfortable and warm to sit out the rest of the war. It’s up to you.”

“You have taken Eiganjo’s hope,” Aoyama said miserably. “Yosei is like a god, but Isamaru was our own defender, born and bred in the fortress. Return him at once!”

“Trust me,” Toshi’s voice said. “He’s much happier where he is now.”

Aoyama dropped his lantern and drew a short sword. The lantern light flickered, then expired, leaving only the moon’s silver-blue tint. With his jitte in one hand and a blade in the other, the old man said, “I will not abandon my duty to the daimyo.”

Toshi’s voice was unperturbed. “Fair enough.” He materialized like a ghost one step behind Aoyama, strode forward, and then tapped the handle of his jitte behind the constable’s left ear. The old man groaned softly, and as he crumpled to the ground his eyes rolled back in his head.

Toshi stood silently for a moment, listening for any other sentries and spinning his jitte. Finally, he turned to face the constable.

“You’re a brave man,” he said to Aoyama’s supine form, “but a dismal constable.”

Then Toshi turned and went quickly into the building. The first floor was some kind of warehouse. It was built for storage, but these days there was barely a cartload of grain in heavy sacks and a small supply of fresh water in clay jars. Toshi searched until he found a stack of small wooden boxes piled neatly at the foot of the stairway. Each box was filled with what appeared to be soft grayish bricks. He pulled one of the bricks out, inspected it, and nodded. With a grunt, Toshi hauled a box onto his shoulder and climbed the staircase in the center of the room.

The strange musical sound was louder and clearer on the second floor. Toshi put the wooden box down as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight streaming in between the ceiling slats overhead.

Roughly a dozen gigantic moths were here, housed in individual stalls twenty feet wide. Their broad, flat wings sparkled eerily in the gloom, leaving faint trails of iridescent powder in the air. Each was large enough to carry three grown men and strong enough to bear a month’s worth of rations for each. As they raised and lowered their wings, a glittering breeze swirled around the stable and the air echoed with their burbling song.

Toshi walked along the row of stables, appraising each moth in turn. He had ridden such great beasts before and knew how to spot the strong ones. In the second to last stall, he found one to his liking.

It was one of the largest, and its wings were covered in a colorful collage of pale yellow, brilliant orange, and gleaming white. Its body was thick and sturdy, its movements solid and strong. Here was a steed that could carry the burden Toshi had in mind.

He went back to the wooden box and brought it into the moth’s stall. Toshi tore off a piece from one of the gray bricks, thinking once again of how the soft and spongy material reminded him of moist bread. The moths were intelligent creatures, as much as dogs and horses, but they still responded best to food.

Toshi held the gray mass in front of the moth’s head. It inspected the stuff for a moment before plunging its sharp proboscis in. Within a few seconds, it had sucked all the moisture out of the material, leaving only a thin membrane in Toshi’s hand.

Toshi patted the great moth and it trilled happily. He unlatched the stall door and opened it, revealing the clear, calm courtyard below. Then he retrieved a bridle and reins from a hook on the wall and slipped them over the moth’s head. He lashed a saddle to the moth’s back and tied the wooden box full of moth food into a leather harness that fit behind the saddle.

“Steady, now,” Toshi said. He climbed onto the moth and eased into the saddle. Without being prodded, the moth rose on its legs and began to beat its wings more forcefully. It skittered forward and hopped out of its stall. Toshi’s stomach dropped.

Before they could fall, the moth’s great wings caught the air, and it swooped, skimming the ground. Toshi pulled up on the reins, and the moth burbled again, picking up speed and height as it soared silently through the huge hole in Eiganjo’s stone walls.

For a moment, Toshi watched the moth’s shadow on the ground far below. To someone down there, he and his steed would be silhouetted against the gleaming half-moon. He wondered if the daimyo’s people would be heartened by such a majestic sight or frightened by the strangeness of it.

Toshi glanced up at the great half-circle glowing so brightly in the skies over Eiganjo.

“Soon,” he whispered. “Your turn will come soon.”

Toshi kneeled outside the mahotsukai stronghold in the early-morning sun. He was dressed once more in his standard outfit of nondescript black cloth and leather armor, and he meditated as he traced simple kanji characters in the sandy soil, sorting through the next stages of his plan. He had left the moth securely tethered with three days’ supply of the gray bricks. He would be back to collect the great beast long before it ran out of food or grew bored enough to wriggle free of its harness. Kiku was with him, so he just needed to collect Marrow-Gnawer to complete the current roster of hyozan reckoners and get this grand enterprise underway.

“Toshi!” Kiku’s voice was furious from within the building.

Quickly, Toshi stood and faced the door. Kiku came storming out, her hard eyes blazing with rage and her soft mouth twisted into a grimace. She was fully dressed once more, decked out in fine purple satin and silk and bearing her colorful tessen fan that was as much a weapon as it was an accessory. She also wore two fuetsu throwing axes on her belt and a vivid purple camellia flower on her high-collared blouse.

“Good morning,” Toshi said. “How did you-?”

Kiku grabbed Toshi by the shirtfront and slammed her forearm into his chest. Toshi grunted as the air left his lungs. Kiku continued to push him backward.

“What happened to my face?” she seethed. “Where is the masters’ spell?”

Indeed, the shadowy black sheen that had been crawling across her face was gone. Toshi had hoped it would take Kiku longer to notice its absence.

He gagged as Kiku tightened his shirt around his throat. “You asked me to get rid of it,” he choked. “Remember? ‘I’m not me with this’? Last night, you asked me last night …”

“I said and did a lot of things last night that I’m regretting right now,” Kiku said. She shoved Toshi back, releasing him to stumble and fall on his backside. “In fact, I’m seeing things quite clearly.” Smoothly, her hand slid up to the flower on her blouse and picked it off.

“Stop,” Toshi said urgently. “We are both hyozan. We can’t turn on each other.”

Kiku held the camellia gingerly between two fingers. This was Kiku’s chosen form of killing magic. Her blooms could poison an entire village’s water supply or devour a man from the inside out. Once the flower touched its intended target, it grew and lashed out according to its nature, its roots digging into flesh and its perfume overwhelming anything it touched.

“Funny,” she said. “But I recall you telling me not to invoke the oath last night.”

“That’s not how it works,” Toshi said curtly. “We’re meant to protect each other, and, if that’s not possible, avenge. If we harm each other, the oath itself will destroy us.” Toshi cursed inwardly. He had abandoned the hyozan oath when Night’s Reach demanded it, so Kiku could in fact kill him with impunity right now. The only reason she hadn’t that was she didn’t know she could.

So instead Kiku stood, flower at the ready, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Give me back the masters’ curse. It was their will and is my duty.”

“I didn’t take it,” Toshi said. “At least, I didn’t take it for myself. I only did what you asked. After you fell asleep. Look.” He pointed.

Kiku did not take her eyes from Toshi. “No,” she said. “Show me.”

Toshi marched slowly to edge of the kanji he had drawn in the dirt. He bent and retrieved a small clay tablet and showed the dull brown plate’s face to Kiku. Etched into the surface of the hardened clay was a kanji, a magical symbol formed from the combined characters for “solid” and “shadow.”

“It’s here,” Toshi said. “Ready when you want it. The masters’ spell was hasty and rough, Kiku. The power it gave you would have consumed you inside of a week. Now you can hold it in your hands, keep it in check until you decide to use it. You know I can contain power this way. You’ve seen me do it with the yuki-onna. You have to trust me.” He spread his arms out wide, exposing his chest and throat.

“I did what you asked me to do. I did it because we’re partners. If you still think I’m playing you, then strike. Kill me, crack the tablet, and reclaim the power. If you survive breaking our oath … which you won’t … I guarantee you’ll be cackling and drooling and singing to yourself in a matter of days.”

Kiku’s eyes were clear. Toshi watched her jaw work as she considered his explanation.

“We’re still headed for the waterfall? Where the soratami are?”

“Absolutely. As soon as we collect Marrow-Gnawer, we can be there in no time.”

Kiku sniffed, turned away, and then reattached the flower to her collar. “I don’t see why we need the nezumi.”

“Because he’s part of the hyozan as well. Because he’s tougher, smarter, and braver than any other ratfolk in Takenuma.”

Kiku turned. Her face was beautiful but brittle, like a china doll cast in a perpetual sneer. “Forget it, ochimusha. The deal’s off.” She scooped up the clay tablet and tucked it into her belt. “I suppose I should thank you. I am thinking far more clearly without the masters’ curse.”

Toshi cocked his head. “If you’re thanking me, why are you-?”

“Because I no longer need you, now that I have this.” She patted the plate on her hip. “I can pursue my own path to vengeance. When I get the soratami where I want them, I’ll invoke it and kill them all.”

“But you’ll never-”

“Maybe not,” Kiku interrupted. “But now I might never have to. I will deal with this in my own way, in my own time. Thank you, oath-brother. Now piss off.”

Kiku turned away, and Toshi’s brain fairly whirred as the thoughts assembled themselves. He had to act quickly and speak carefully. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but he absolutely needed Kiku and Marrow to make his plans work.

“I will release you from the hyozan oath,” he said.

Kiku stopped. Slowly, she turned, a sly grin forming at the corners of her mouth.

“Say that again.”

“I’ll let you go,” Toshi said. “Do this one last thing with me. One last go-round for the hyozan reckoners. Work with me and Marrow to take down the soratami. You’ll be entirely free. No gang, no masters, no shadow curse, nothing to stop you from doing exactly as you like, whenever you like.”

Kiku stepped up to Toshi. She looked him full in the face, her maddening, enticing scent wafting up to his nostrils.

“Say it again,” she said. “Once more, and plainly. Toy with me and I’ll plant a bloom in your throat before you can breathe.”

“Once last job,” Toshi said. “Be a reckoner with Marrow and me one last time, and then the hyozan will cease to exist.”

Kiku shook her head, still smiling. “I knew you were lying. What about the ogre?”

“He’s still around, still a central pillar that supports the oath,” Toshi said. “And that’s how you know you can trust me.”

The gorgeous mahotsukai’s eyebrows raised, but she said nothing.

“Our first stop,” he said, “is Minamo Academy. That’s where the soratami are. And that is where Hidetsugu is, actively and enthusiastically pursuing his own grudge against the moonfolk and their patron kami. With our help, he will very likely succeed.”

Kiku toyed with her flower. “And if he can’t?”

Toshi held her eyes. “If he can’t or won’t, we go on without him. If he tries to stop us, we destroy him.”

Realization flashed across Kiku’s face. “Which you cannot do if the oath is still in place. But as long as he thinks it’s in place, he won’t attack us.” She grinned mirthlessly. “I like it.”

“Told you I was crafty.”

“No, I told you you were crafty. And I was drunk when I said it.” She paused. “All right, ochimusha, you win. But let me out of your little gang now, before we take another step.”

“Bad idea,” Toshi said. “Without the oath, Hidetsugu can hurt you. He hasn’t been the most rational being lately, and I wouldn’t trust him to restrain himself. He might suffer for killing us, but we’d still be dead.”

Kiku looked at him icily.

“Also,” Toshi added, “if I let you off the hook now, there’s no guarantee that you’ll come with me … or leave me alive, for that matter. I need your help and I want to stay alive, so I’m going to wait a little while longer.”

Kiku stood and stared for a while. Slowly, she started to nod, and the gesture grew stronger until she was shaking her purple-black hair vigorously up and down.

“All right. I know there’s a lot you’re not telling me, but that’s just you. Even so, you make a compelling case. It will be nice to be free of certain … entanglements for a change.” Kiku pressed her palms together and bowed slightly. “You win, Toshi. Let’s go.”

“You won’t regret it.” Toshi was careful not to let the relief show on his face. He needed Kiku’s power, even without her masters’ curse enhancing it. He hoped convincing Marrow-Gnawer would be easier, because even though the ratman was far less useful in a fight, he was ultimately as important to the job as Kiku or even Toshi himself.

Kiku straightened up and took a step closer to Toshi. She trailed a finger up his throat and touched his lips.

“Do you remember last night?” she cooed. “Every thing we did, every sound we made, every sensation we felt?”

Toshi nodded, enthusiastically earnest for the first time in a long time. “Every second, Kiku.”

She chucked him gently under the chin. “Good,” she said. “Because it’s never going to happen again.”

The mahotsukai turned and wafted into the dwelling. Toshi waited until she was completely out of sight, then blew a long, thin stream of relief between his pursed lips.

So far, so good, he thought.

Outside Minamo Academy once more, Toshi stood with his allies. Behind him, the borrowed battle-moth still burbled happily, securely lashed to its tree. Kiku and Marrow both faced Toshi, listening closely as he spoke.

“And that’s it,” he said. “If we can get in and get out quietly, we don’t have to worry about Hidetsugu and his yamabushi. Once we’ve got the disk, we can leave. I can dissolve the hyozan oath from anywhere once we’re done here. But we need it in place until we’re done, in case Hidetsugu finds us.”

Marrow looked in annoyance at the glorious moth. “I still don’t see why you don’t just go in there and carry the thing off yourself. You brought it here alone, didn’t you?”

Toshi nodded. “I did. But that particular avenue is closed. My myojin doesn’t want this thing in her domain.”

“Then why doesn’t she leave it here?” Kiku had been especially sharp and penetrating with her questions during Toshi’s little briefing. She was also supporting Marrow whenever possible, which Toshi guessed was a way to force more information out of him.

“Because she wants it to exist. She just doesn’t want it to exist in her territory. If we leave it here, something bad will happen to it. Someone will eat it or break it or try to use it, and that’s not what Night’s Reach wants. She likes things as they are right now, and she’s tasked me with keeping them that way.”

Buoyed by Kiku’s support, Marrow was still skeptical. “And you expect us to fight off the ogre and his yamabushi if things don’t go according to plan?”

“I expect the hyozan oath to keep Hidetsugu in check. He can’t attack us without endangering himself. As for the yamabushi … yes, I do expect you to fight if it comes to that. There may also be the odd oni to contend with, but I don’t think-”

Marrow’s fur stood up straight. “Oni?”

“One in particular. Hidetsugu sort of put his dog on my trail, so it’s possible it’ll come running as soon as I show up.” He turned to Kiku. “That’s your main job, by the way. If anything with four legs and horns shows up, I expect to see a bouquet of flowers in its eye sockets before it comes anywhere near me.”

“But I still don’t-”

“Hush, vermin.” Kiku strode forward past Marrow, her eyes hard. “The more Toshi tells us about this job, the more I’m convinced he’s not telling it all. The job is to grab the disk, get away, and break up the gang. If we have to fight along the way, we fight.” She beckoned the ratman closer, and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder facing Toshi.

“Let’s do it,” Kiku said.

“Okay,” Toshi said. “But there’s one more detail I haven’t mentioned yet ….”

Hidetsugu sat glowering upon his throne of bones, thick black smoke rising from the corners of his eyes. He had felt the attack on his oni. He knew only one being audacious enough to attempt such an attack and powerful enough to accomplish it.

“Hunters,” he barked. “Stand ready.” Three yamabushi instantly bounded from the sides of the room to the throne. Once they’d landed, each dropped to one knee and planted a fist on the floor.

Hidetsugu was completely satisfied with his little raiding party. They fought well and obeyed without hesitation. Together they had bested Keiga the Tide Star, guardian spirit of the falls, and visited bloody vengeance on the academy students and staff. It had not been an easy campaign for them-only five of the original eight had survived. One had been slain as they stormed Minamo, one had been accidentally devoured by the All-Consuming, and one had simply dissolved his sky platform and allowed himself to fall five hundred feet onto the rocks below. Hidetsugu considered this last the only failure in the entire group.

The great o-bakemono stood, sending a fresh cascade of skulls and thigh bones rattling to the floor. Rib cages crunched under his feet as he made his way to the floor. Once there, he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

The oni dog appeared in a puff of charnel-house smoke. Even the yamabushi cringed as it stalked past them.

“Your playmate has returned,” Hidetsugu told the dog. “Go find him and do as you were summoned to do. Indulge yourself. Make merry with his body and soul.”

The dread creature snorted a jet of ashes from its armored muzzle. It reared up on its spindly hind legs, pivoted, and bounded from the chamber.

With machinelike precision, Hidetsugu attached a pair of armored plates to his shoulders and lashed a third across his chest. He stretched and flexed his powerful muscles, testing his range of movement. After readjusting the shoulder plates, Hidetsugu hoisted his spiked tetsubo club and swung it through the air like a willow switch.

He inspected the tip of the club, then fixed his eyes on one of the three yamabushi. “Come here,” he said. The mountain warrior instantly sprang to his feet and approached his master.

“Stop there,” Hidetsugu said. The priest halted with one foot still in the air.

“Good,” said the ogre, and then he crushed the yamabushi to the floor with his tetsubo. The thin, solid weapon fairly ripped the yamabushi’s body in half lengthwise and blood spattered over his fellows and Hidetsugu alike.

Moving quickly but confidently, Hidetsugu clamped his tetsubo between his teeth and scooped up the crushed yamabushi’s remains. He spit coarse, painful-sounding syllables around the bloody club in his mouth. The victim’s blood hissed and boiled where it touched the ogre’s face. Hidetsugu spat out the club, swallowed some of the crimson drops that had collected in his mouth, and began to chant.

In the old language of the o-bakemono, he converted the blood of a trusted retainer into a barrier against those who might likewise betray and murder him. When the last of the victim’s vital fluid had been squeezed from his corpse, Hidetsugu crammed meat and bone alike into his maw. In seconds, there was nothing left of the murdered yamabushi but a slick of red on the floor and similar droplets on the faces of the others.

Hidetsugu bent to retrieve his club. “Now,” he said to the remaining hunters, “we …” The ogre’s voice trailed off and his eyes locked on a spot somewhere beyond the south-facing exterior wall. His nostrils twitched, and then he tilted his head back and drew a long, deep breath through his nose.

“We have other guests,” he said. “Follow.”

Hidetsugu had days to explore the Academy while his oni feasted, so he led his hunters up one flight to take advantage of the huge windows there. The view here was even better than from the roof of the academy, which was almost perpetually wreathed in thick clouds. From here, one could see the falls, almost all of the lake, and out onto the plains of Towabara far to the south.

The ogre grumbled as he peered down toward Konda’s territory. There was something moving down there, something coming toward the falls. Hidetsugu could scarcely credit what he was seeing, but he had lived in Kamigawa long enough to recognize an army on the march.

Konda’s army, in fact. There were scores of battle-moths and thousands of men and horses all advancing on Minamo. They were moving quickly, too: When Hidetsugu had first seen them, he could barely discern them as men. Now he could see the daimyo’s symbol on their battle standard and the awful, unearthly glow that surrounded the entire force.

Hidetsugu’s eyes narrowed. So Toshi had been telling the truth, at least about this. Konda had raised a spirit army to reclaim the stone disk. And if Konda had traced it here, the great old serpent O-Kagachi could not be long in joining them.

The ogre’s eyes crackled and he barked out, “Hah!” He turned to the pair of dead-eyed yamabushi and said, “Find the others. Go down and meet Konda before he reaches the shores of the lake. Harry him, harass him, do whatever it takes to halt their advance. The oni will be joining you shortly. Keep the fight away from here until I come for you.”

The yamabushi bowed and bounded off. Hidetsugu nodded to himself. They were excellent minions, and he regretted the need to harvest one of them for the ritual.

The ogre drew his club and whipped it through the air again just to hear the sound it made. It would be worth the loss of one hunter, worth it to see the look on Toshi’s face when whatever spell he had planned for Hidetsugu failed, rebounded, and consumed its caster instead.

Hidetsugu smacked his lips. He sank to his knees and began chanting in the old tongue once more, calling out to the oni in Oboro as well as to the All-Consuming busily gorging itself nearby.

Bloodshed and brutality beckoned. If Chaos held sway here, nothing could stop it from devouring all Kamigawa.

His message sent, the o-bakemono sat patiently until he felt his patron spirit’s dire attention shift from its current meal to the approaching army. The All-Consuming started the long process of disengaging its horde of mouths from the academy library, while above, the lesser oni charged over the edge of the soratami capital and fell howling to the waters below, eager for slaughter and hungry for fresh human meat.

When all was in motion, Hidetsugu rose, sheathed his club across his back, and headed down to witness the end of Toshi Umezawa.

Marrow-Gnawer enjoyed ascending to the academy’s roof, but staying put once he got there was another matter.

The top of Minamo was like a small city of worthless buildings to the nezumi clan leader. There were patches of open space, like the one Toshi had tethered the moth to, but mostly there were peaked alcoves, scaffolding, and arcane equipment stations. It was cold and damp, and the roar from the falls made his ears throb. To further foul his mood, a thick mist filled the air from the nose up so he had to crouch if he wanted to see or smell clearly.

It didn’t help that the moth was completely docile and required almost no attention. Toshi had told him to keep the moth from being discovered or getting loose until he or Kiku returned, but Marrow could tell the moth wasn’t going anywhere, and no one would come up here exploring any time soon.

Worst of all, there was an entire building full of belongings left behind by important wizards and the scions of wealthy families. In his boredom, Marrow imagined an increasingly dazzling and powerful hoard of treasure that was just waiting for an enterprising nezumi to come along. As the hours wore on he convinced himself all he needed to fund his sudden early retirement was ten minutes alone in the teacher’s dormitory and a heavy sack. No more burglary for the bosses, no more backbiting clan politics, and no more reckoners. They couldn’t force him to avenge anything if they couldn’t find him.

Once he’d made up his mind, it didn’t take Marrow long to sniff out a way to the academy. A little muscle, a little tooth-work, and soon he had a hole big enough to squeeze through. He poked his face into the hole, saw that it led to some sort of attic storage space, and then pulled back onto the roof in a shower of masonry dust.

Something was happening. He couldn’t see anything above or beyond the academy roof, but the nezumi tilted his head and listened carefully. He could hear snarls, roars, and terrible cries, but they all sounded far away, fading as if they were falling from the sky to the lake below.

Marrow shrugged. It was probably just another kami manifestation. Certainly nothing that should distract him from his retirement fund.

As he pondered his wealthy future, Marrow’s hand exploded into a fiery ball of agony. It felt as if his bones were being crushed by a millstone and burned in a furnace. He hissed and cradled his hand against his chest. When he glanced down, the hyozan symbol scratched into his flesh was glowing white-hot.

The ratman struggled to his feet and skittered back to Toshi’s moth. He checked the tether and made sure the food bricks were in easy reach. He stood and watched the great insect gently move its wings while burbling happily. If they needed to flee in a hurry, the moth was ready and waiting. Meanwhile, the pain in Marrow’s hand was proving to be a summons he could not ignore. Hyozan business was happening somewhere nearby, and the oath was demanding he get involved.

Wincing from the pain, Marrow loped back to the hole he had made and disappeared inside.

Konda had never felt so alive.

The greater oni descended on the battlefield like a storm cloud, large and savage enough to engage all of the Daimyo’s ghost army. His retainers threw themselves against the enemy’s snapping jaws while the battle-moths hurled bolts of righteous fire at its eyes.

Both sides seemed inexhaustible. The greater oni grew darker and thicker, its multiple mouths larger and sharper no matter how much damage Konda’s army inflicted. Likewise, his soldiers reformed and rejoined the battle seconds after being rent by those terrible jaws. If not for the fact that he was slowly and surely pushing toward the academy, Konda would have considered this situation a stalemate.

Konda felt a renewed rush of pride for his army and the justness of their cause. The beast was fearsome in battle, but Konda’s army was beyond fear. They were the demon’s equal in ferocity, stamina, and determination, and with Konda leading them it was only a matter of time before the prize would be his once more.

The oni’s buzzing hive-body rumbled like the beginnings of an avalanche. The ground shook and the moth-riders were buffeted as the air itself pounded them. The great demon’s form expanded briefly, then contracted down to half its original size.

Before Konda could shout an order, the oni’s body exploded, sending hard, sharp teeth and a crushing wave of concussive force radiating outward across the battlefield. The daimyo himself was able to remain upright only by tucking his head behind his horse’s and tightly gripping the animal’s saddle.

Konda’s spectral retainers were less fortunate. Those closest to the oni were torn to shreds by the shrapnel and the sheer power of the blast, which scoured a circular crater deep into the ground. Battle-moths were sundered from their grafted-on riders and hurled violently from the field, their broad wings useless in the gale. The oni’s eyes and horns remained constant, mute witnesses to the bedlam and bloodshed below.

Konda glared at the oni, impressed but undeterred. It was an excellent blow, well struck, but it would not be enough to stop him.

The field was now covered in a thin layer of smoke and dust. It had grown deathly quiet. Then, as Konda’s soldiers regained their feet and resumed their charge, their war cries sounded again, mingling with the feral snarls of the lesser oni. Yes, Konda thought, this battle is far from over.

He kicked to prod his steed forward but pulled back on the reins when something in the southern sky caught his attention. As he wheeled the horse around, Konda’s eyes remained fixed on the academy, but the daimyo could still see the awesome and terribly familiar sight that was forming on the horizon.

Six new suns had flared to life, burning away the heavy banks of afternoon clouds. These fiery orbs moved in pairs, scanning the ground below as they increased in both size and brilliance. They drew closer to Konda, and he saw three reptilian faces forming around each pair of eyes. The serpent heads became sharper, more defined, and more terrible with each passing moment, perched atop huge, writhing necks covered in dazzling golden scales.

This was O-Kagachi, the ultimate guardian of the spirit world, the physical world, and the boundary between. Its rage had spurred the lesser kami to action when Konda brazenly raided their realm, and its ire launched twenty years of conflict. The multiheaded serpent had personally battered Eiganjo’s walls to pieces and crushed the Daimyo’s army in its rush to recover the Taken One. Konda took some small satisfaction from the fact that while he no longer possessed the prize, neither did the Great Old Serpent.

As a rival for the Taken One, O-Kagachi was Konda’s mortal enemy. As the embodiment of the barrier preventing direct contact between kakuriyo and utsushiyo, O-Kagachi was his nemesis. The great serpent’s arrival was a threat, but it was also an opportunity, for an abstract concept made flesh can be dangerous, but it can also be overcome.

Konda quickly weighed his choices. He could continue to battle the oni-the more timely his victory, the more likely he’d get to the prize first. Or he could turn and try to engage O-Kagachi, which would give his army the chance to avenge their own deaths but would also expose them to the oni’s treachery from behind.

Neither of these options appealed to Konda, so he chose a third course. He concentrated, calling his best horsemen and five battle-moths to him. Together they would form a phalanx that would punch through the oni and enter Minamo while the main force continued to fight the demonic horde. O-Kagachi moved slowly while it fully manifested, so the daimyo was confident his retainers could win the day while he acquired the prize, all long before the old serpent joined the battle.

Konda waved his sword in a wide arc, drawing cheers from his personal phalanx. The daimyo spurred his horse, and the noble beast charged. By the time it reached the edge of the oni’s crater, it had built up enough momentum to leap clear over the smoking hole created by the oni’s blast.

Airborne, between the moths overhead and his soldiers on the ground, Konda felt the force of his true destiny pulling him forward. The prize, victory over the oni, revenge on O-Kagachi … eternal life, and ultimate power to wield for the glory of Eiganjo. Before this day was done, Daimyo Konda would have them all.

Toshi struggled to breathe, to roll away, to move at all. He failed.

Hidetsugu drew ever closer, unhurried, precise, and deliberate. Unable even to wipe the blood from his lips, Toshi scanned the chamber for some alternative to violent death. Kiku was out cold; Marrow was probably dead or would be shortly. And Toshi himself was no longer protected by the hyozan curse.

O Night, he prayed, your acolyte needs your blessings.

The voice that replied was cold, and distant, but not uncaring.

Nonsense, Toshi Umezawa. You already have all the power you need.

Desperate, Toshi thought, Please, great myojin. I do not have my full wits about me. What must I do?

What you did at the beginning. What you did when you first accepted my gifts.

Hidetsugu was almost close enough to reach down and grab Toshi. The ochimusha searched his memory … what had he done at first with Night’s blessings? Called for silence? That wouldn’t stop Hidetsugu’s nose from locating him. Fade into nothingness? He didn’t have the strength.

Toshi looked out through the massive hole in the exterior wall. Far below, he saw armies of twisted spirits and demonic oni. He saw the All-Consuming Oni of Chaos, looming as large as a small mountain. And across the southern sky, he saw the Great Old Serpent, O-Kagachi. Three of the most powerful entities in all Kamigawa, the rulers of humankind, oni, and spirit alike were all assembled to fight for the prize that lay all but forgotten just a few rooms away.

He had been beset by powerful forces the first time he’d called on Night’s Reach. Then, he’d used her power to subdue the powerful patron of Jukai Forest, the Myojin of Life’s Web. He’d struck at the great spirit through its worshippers, robbing her of strength by silencing her followers in mid-chant. Perhaps he could do the same thing in reverse now, attacking Hidetsugu through the oni he worshiped?

The idea crystallized quickly in Toshi’s head. He scanned the field below to confirm. Yes … while Konda and O-Kagachi were fixed and oriented on the towers of Minamo, the All-Consuming was facing south, its eyes pinned to the great serpent’s approach. The ochimusha spared one last look at Hidetsugu, who was sightlessly searching for him with wide sweeps of his massive arms.

Do you understand?

At last, Toshi realized he did. The three-way struggle developing on the shores of the lake provided information that Hidetsugu didn’t have, information that would wound the ogre more viciously than any spell or blade.

Thank you, O Night.

Fare well, my acolyte.

Toshi ignored the pain in his chest and rolled onto his knees. The ogre’s probing hands were only inches away.

“Hidetsugu,” Toshi said, “listen.”

At the sound of the ochimusha’s voice, Hidetsugu lashed out and snared the front of Toshi’s shirt. He lifted Toshi up and said, “No, my friend. Every time I listen to you, I lose. It would be more fitting … more dignified if you simply accepted your death in silence. Nothing you say will save you.”

Swaying in the ogre’s grip, Toshi said, “All right, don’t listen. Smell. Point your ugly face south and tell me what you find.”

Hidetsugu shook his head, but in doing so turned his face to the open air. The scent of battle reached him, familiar odors that could not help but fire his ogre blood.

“The All-Consuming,” he said. “And an army of souls who fight even though they don’t have proper bodies.” Forgetting himself, Hidetsugu tilted his head back and drank deeply of the evening air.

“And an elemental force of amazing power. That has to be the fabled O-Kagachi.” Hidetsugu sniffed again, momentarily forgetting his rage. “There are hundreds of powerful scents out there in the world, Toshi, but this one smells like all of them. It is the world itself.”

Hidetsugu lowered his head. “And now I have listened, old friend. Good-bye.” The ogre raised his powerful fist, preparing to crush Toshi against his own open palm.

“Before you kill me,” Toshi said, “let me tell you the one scent you missed.”

“Oh? Tell, ochimusha, tell.”

“Fear,” Toshi said evenly. “Fear of O-Kagachi. Whatever that thing is, it’s more powerful than Konda, and it’s more powerful than the All-Consuming. If it arrives here …”

“Nothing is more powerful than my oni,” Hidetsugu said. “Chaos is the fate of all things, living, spiritual, and in between. All that lives will someday die, all that is ordered will someday unravel. And when they do, Chaos reigns.”

“Oh?” Toshi said, and he could see how his mocking tone annoyed Hidetsugu. “You seem certain. But is your oni?”

Hidetsugu huffed, but he did not strike. Instead, he turned once more to the opening in the wall and waited, drawing a steady stream of air into his nostrils.

The great Jukai Forest was almost as large as all the surrounding territories combined. A vast tangle of massive cedars and tall, grassy hills, Jukai was so large it could experience five different types of weather at once. The eastern edge of the woods had never been mapped, as no survey team had ever found it and returned.

This remote corner of Konda’s domain was some of the wildest and most dangerous country in all Kamigawa. There were very few human tribes, and those that did dwell in the east were extremely religious and intensely private. The orochi-bito snakefolk held sway in these deepest recesses of the forest, and while over thirty tribes had been identified, no one was truly sure how many snakes there were.

It was upon this remote wooded expanse and against these fabled creatures that the soratami descended. Their warriors came down from the sky in huge cloud chariots, raining ice-blue magic and silver arrows upon any orochi they saw. As the crescent moon smiled sharply on the horizon, wave after wave of silver-white war machines stooped down to the treetops, unleashing a grim tide of armored soratami clad in shimmering mail armor.

To any observer it would have seemed as if the pale, slender warriors were lashing out at the forest itself, blasting thick stands of trees with their crystalline magic and piercing great hedgerows with volleys of spears and arrows. The moonfolk left little more than shattered trunks and broken boughs as the lifeless bodies of camouflaged orochi fell from their hiding spots.

Mochi, the Smiling Kami of the Crescent Moon grinned, and the actual moon turned so that its points were facing up. As was his custom when manifesting in the utsushiyo, he now took the unthreatening form of a small, chubby, blue-skinned cherub with bright eyes and a dazzling smile. As Mochi became solid, the moon overhead returned to its normal position.

So far, the campaign was going splendidly. There were hundreds of soratami warriors already in the forest, with thousands more arriving or on the way. Almost the entire Oboro garrison had been mustered and sent into the woods. They had not found the homes of the largest orochi tribes yet, but he was certain they would. When they did, the dominant snakes would fall as easily as the small pocket of resistance his army was devastating right now.

The soratami were spectacular in all-out warfare, a study in grace blended with power wrapped in a shroud of stealth. It was something everyone should be able to see and appreciate, even if it meant they had to be on the wrong end of the moonfolk’s swords.

First came the shinobi, scouts and spies who could walk through walls and dance on dust motes without drawing attention. The orochi had to breed for generations before they could blend into the deep woods as effectively as Mochi’s agents did with just a few weeks’ preparation, and the soratami were not limited to the forest. They could disappear just as easily on the plains of Towabara or the marshes of Takenuma.

This invisible advance team had located all of the orochi dens and gathering places, even mapping the most likely shelters they would be driven to when attacked. When the fighting started, the soratami warriors knew exactly where to look for their prey.

The warriors themselves were a special point of pride for Mochi, as they wore his crescent moon standard, and their enchanted mail perfectly mimicked the shine of moonlight on pure silver. They were armed with traditional katana and they floated like ethereal dancers through the moss and cedar, blades flashing and spinning through the trees. Mochi could easily imagine there were no orochi at all and that his army was simply performing an intricate military exercise … if not for the vile hissing of the snakes and the stench of their watery green blood.

Overhead, scores of cloud chariots waited for the chance to deposit more warriors on the field. Mochi folded his chubby fingers over his bulging belly and sighed happily. Things were working out so well.

His agents in Eiganjo had told him of Konda’s plan to raid the spirit world as soon as the daimyo consulted them about it. Instead of seeing this as an outrageous blasphemy like any decent kami, Mochi saw only opportunity. Like many spirits who have frequent interaction with the physical world, Mochi had been exposed to his worshippers’ way of thinking. He had experienced enough of their worldview to understand and even share it.

Konda was intending to disrupt the natural order of things, the balance between physical and spiritual. Such an act would have dangerous, unpredictable repercussions, and so Mochi decided that he would not only allow it, but also facilitate it.

In the twenty years of strife since Konda made his raid, Mochi had time to reflect on the wisdom of his actions and their true motivations. His introspection revealed three important things: One, he did not know what to expect as a result of Konda’s crime, but he was sure he could capitalize on it for his own benefit; two, if Konda succeeded it meant the oldest and most sacred laws could be broken by someone with enough will and power, which he could capitalize on for his own benefit in the long term; and three, it was a waste of time second-guessing his own genius because he made good decisions even when he didn’t have all the facts.

A trio of orochi turned on a pursuing soratami and enveloped him in their strong, flexible bodies. Too late to save the warrior, Mochi directed a nearby squad of soratami to avenge their fallen comrade. It pained him to lose his noble followers, but this war was for a great cause, and sacrifices had to be made.

When the kami attacks started, Mochi knew that Konda’s reign would not survive. The daimyo had done a remarkable job uniting the different peoples behind him, but once he was gone they would undoubtedly fall back into petty skirmishing and tribal warfare. Mochi knew the soratami would be largely unaffected, safe in their cloud cities, but he also thought the soratami destiny was to be more than elite survivors. They were exalted beings who worshiped him, after all. If anyone was fit to rule Kamigawa, it was the moonfolk.

If he had conceived the plan on his own beforehand, Mochi might have tried to bring Konda down or perhaps even challenge him on the field of battle. The soratami had a far smaller army than the daimyo, but Mochi would put a single one of his warriors against a whole platoon of Konda’s in any situation.

Once Konda had decided his course, however, it became unnecessary to take action in order to topple him-he had doomed himself by his rash act. It might take decades, even centuries, but eventually the spirit world would come to claim what the Daimyo had stolen. When it did, Mochi intended for the soratami to rise in Konda’s place as the dominant culture in Kamigawa. The soratami armada had stayed primed and ready for years, and could wait another century if necessary.

Thus, when O-Kagachi manifested and attacked the tower at Eiganjo, Mochi knew his time had come. His moonfolk had been carefully building their base of power in the Takenuma underworld for years, but he had always intended to openly attack the orochi. Of all the tribes in the world, the snakes were the ones with the purest and closest connection to their patron kami. It galled Mochi, but he knew it was true because the snakes and other wild tribes of Jukai were mere beasts. They didn’t have the capacity to examine their choices; they simply saw a powerful spirit that made the trees green and the grass grow and that was enough for them.

Further, the forest myojin was one of the most violently aggrieved by Konda’s crime. Except for O-Kagachi himself, Life’s Web was the spirit most closely tied to the natural order. Like all beasts she was aggressive, hostile, and fierce when it came to protecting her territory. She would have punished Konda for his actions and undone the damage before Mochi had a chance to make use of it. He had arranged for Life’s Web to be diminished so that O-Kagachi would have time to manifest, and now Mochi was determined to wipe out her followers so that she would never rise to challenge him again.

A flicker of regret marred Mochi’s celebratory mood. Dealing with Life’s Web had been a tricky business and required his personal intervention, but it had been effective. The price he paid for removing the most dangerous obstacle to his plans was the introduction of an even more troubling player: Toshi Umezawa.

The ochimusha had snatched the Taken One from under O-Kagachi’s nose just as the great serpent was about to level Eiganjo with Konda inside. Worse, Toshi brought the prize to Oboro’s doorstep and even had the temerity to attack Mochi himself. If he weren’t protected by the Myojin of Night’s Reach, Toshi would never have been able to cause so much trouble, but with such a powerful patron, he was a dangerous provocateur.

Night’s Reach, now there was a spirit that had traffic with the physical world. Even the dumbest forest brute understands the power of darkness and either curses or blesses it, depending on its position in the predator-prey relationship. She was old and vast, more so even than Mochi himself, and she was a puzzle to him even now. She had supported Mochi against Life’s Web, but now Night’s acolyte actively worked directly against Crescent Moon.

The little blue kami smiled, bathing the surrounding forest in pure moonlight. Toshi had been a problem, but even with the support of his patron he had not been able to stop the soratami’s ascension. There were thousands of dead orochi who could provide mute but unshakeable testimony to Mochi’s success. There had been setbacks, of course, but Minamo, Oboro, and virtually all of Kamigawa was a small price to pay if he and his could rebuild the world to their liking and rule it as they saw fit.

Smiling, Mochi rose up into the sky. In the trees below, the advancing soratami were setting mystical fire to a large pile of brush and dead snakes. It had been a dry winter, and without magical help the fire would consume uncountable acres of living forest, along with every living thing therein.

The moon kami spun slowly, drinking in the full panoramic view of the slaughter. Every life lost, every snake cut down and every tree burned diminished his enemy and empowered him. When the snakes were all dead or routed, Mochi would construct a new capital in the clouds right above this very spot. It would commemorate this moment when he, the Smiling Kami of the Crescent Moon, had seen the shape of soratami victory. Let fire and carnage and the ultimate spirit beast raze the world down to the bare soil. The moon would go on shining, and the soratami would remain above it all.

Sparkling as he rotated, Mochi flashed another blinding smile and disappeared.

Toshi slipped into the wilds of East Jukai unnoticed. He was intent on staying unseen and undisturbed until he had time to recover after his ordeal in Minamo and his flight from Konda. The journey from the waterfall to the woods took all night and most of the morning, but in the breaking dawn he was able to find a hidden glen that could conceal him and the moth.

After landing and tethering the moth, Toshi carved a series of protective kanji on the trees leading to his bivouac. His ribs burned with every breath and he had trouble raising his stiff arms, so the symbols were rough. They would alert him if anyone came too close, however, and that was all he really needed right now.

When he felt safe, Toshi dined on borrowed soldier’s rations and sat with his back against a century cedar. Fatigue forced his eyelids down, but he struggled to stay alert. He found it difficult to take his eyes off the stone disk for fear of missing it move again. Part of him wanted to hear more of what the Taken One had to say, and the rest of him was just plain scared of it. It had finally stopped glowing and steaming after it called out to him, but that did nothing to boost his spirits. For all he knew, that just meant it was saving its strength to break free. No wonder the daimyo went mad after spending twenty years with it.

He imagined Konda sitting in his tower alone with the stone disk, endlessly staring as he waited for it to speak or move again. How long, Toshi thought, before my eyes start drifting out of my head like the daimyo’s? There were times when it seemed about to come to life, but they only came when the Taken One was in the corner of Toshi’s eye. If he looked at it directly, it remained inanimate, a lifeless chunk of shaped stone.

Gingerly, Toshi tested his ribs. His kanji magic was extremely limited when it came to healing, but he carried enough medicinal herbs and magical charms to speed his recovery. He couldn’t cure himself in a single stroke as he had with the oni dog’s venom, but he could encourage the bones to knit more quickly.

His eyelids fluttered and his head fell back. Though he hit hard enough to crack the bark, he barely noticed the blow. The major downside of his healing treatment was that it demanded long, uninterrupted hours of sleep to be effective. As his face lolled forward and consciousness faded, Toshi still fought to stay alert. He had too many enemies and too important a burden to let his guard down.

I will stay awake, Toshi thought, even as his eyelids closed and he proved himself a liar.

Toshi had been in parts of the eastern woods and he had seen vast stretches of Jukai from the saddle of a battle-moth. As the orochi led him through the thick growth and massive trees of their territory, he realized he hadn’t the slightest inkling of how big, vast, and crowded the forest was. From above, the canopy concealed worlds.

It took them the better part of an hour to reach the Kashi-tribe orochi stronghold, though they only traveled a few hundred yards. Toshi tried to pay attention as they walked so that he could find his way back if he had to run, but the trees were too similar and the hills too numerous to keep them all straight. Also, the orochi led him through underground tunnels and through titanic deadfalls that so turned and twisted his sense of direction he was no longer sure which way they were going.

He didn’t know he was among the local snakes until they broke cover-their natural camouflage was perfect so long as they didn’t move. A native of the swamps, Toshi had an innate distrust of creatures who lived in the clean green. The orochi’s suspicious behavior and slender, flexible bodies made him feel especially isolated and vulnerable. There were no forest monks this far east, and Toshi reckoned he was the only human being in the entire region.

Still, his ribs were healing well despite the forced march. The soratami attacks had given the snakes a reason to capture and interrogate strangers instead of killing them on sight, as the orochi farther west were prone to do. If Sosuke was sharp, Toshi might even be able to get some good information from him regarding the soratami. In exchange, he could tell Sosuke a very interesting tale based on his own experience with the moonfolk.

Toshi began to spot more snakes hidden among the brush. It helped to have so many in plain sight where he could determine their usual sizes, shapes, and colors. He saw fierce snake maidens glaring over their weapons and tiny orochi children slithering silently among the cedar leaves and juniper bushes. Each had four long arms and spindly stork legs that made their movements unsettling and comical no matter whether they walked or slithered.

There didn’t seem to be enough orochi to stand against the soratami armada, but the snakes were experts at concealing their true numbers. Could venom and wooden spears stand up against silver blades and soratami magic? Toshi didn’t intend to linger long enough to find out for himself, but he still wondered.

To his mild surprise, the scout party led him through this heavy concentration of orochi and onward into the thick woods on the other side. Another hour’s hard slog took them to the crest of a stony ridge that was covered in bright green moss. Toshi stepped up to the edge and peered over, gauging the fall to be about twenty feet. Not lethal, but also not a drop he’d take voluntarily.

“How much-” Toshi stopped when he realized all his escorts were gone. They had melted into the forest and left him alone on the ridge.

“So this is the hero who wants to save us all.” The voice came from underneath the lip of the crest. Toshi looked closely at the mossy rock and started when a huge green head separated from the larger mass.

“If you are Sosuke and chief of this tribe, then I am the hero you mention. I have come to talk with you.”

Sosuke rose like a long stream of smoke, sliding up the rock until he was standing upright beside Toshi. He was taller and broader than most of the other snakes, which meant he was only half as wide as Toshi. His body was lean and powerful, and his muscles rippled under his green-brown scales. He held weapons in three of his hands-a sword, a dagger, and a staff-while the fourth toyed with a carved green amulet around his neck. Sosuke wore a glittering headband that marked him as a tribal chief, but it was much simpler than the other ceremonial gear Toshi had seen important orochi wear.

“I am Sosuke, war-chief of the Kashi-tribe orochi.” He pointed at Toshi with his free hand. “What are you doing in Jukai?”

“Passing through,” Toshi said. Since he’d had trouble with orochi and their myojin in the past, he decided not to mention his name. “I am no friend to the soratami and I wish you well in your struggle against them. But I carry a terrible cursed totem that has poisoned my homeland and I do not want to see its bad luck take root here. All I ask is to be left alone to rest and feed my steed before I go on my way. One day is all I need.”

Sosuke shook his head. “We are at war, stranger. I will not let random humans wander freely through our land.”

“Not through,” Toshi said. “Over. My steed is a moth, and we have flown all the way from Kamitaki Falls without ever touching the forest floor.”

“Until now.”

“Until now. And by your leave, once I get back in the saddle, we won’t come down again until we’re beyond the eastern border of the forest.”

Sosuke laughed a cruel, hissing snort. “You say that with such certainty, but even I don’t know where the forest ends.”

“Nevertheless, I intend to find it. If you like, I will return someday and tell you what I saw there.”

“You presume too much. You won’t leave this ridge alive, much less reach the eastern edge of the woods.”

“That is your choice, war-chief. I am alone and woefully overmatched. But please believe me: I am the only one who can dispose of that terrible stone disk I carry.”

“This curse,” Sosuke said, “can it be directed?”

“Against the soratami? Perhaps. But it brings danger to anyone nearby. You could direct it, but not precisely enough to harm them without harming yourselves.”

“Then you have nothing of interest to me.” The orochi bared his fangs in a hard smile. “But you have my thanks for attempting to save us all from this terrible curse. Perhaps I will strap your body to the disk before I launch it at the soratami.”

“Sosuke,” Toshi said sternly, “I do not take my duty lightly. Kill me if you must, but do so with respect.” He thought that might appeal to the pragmatic warrior without overtly fawning. Anything that turned the discussion away from Toshi’s dead body was a good thing.

The war-chief measured Toshi with his hypnotic red eyes. Unmoved by Toshi’s false righteous anger, he simply said, “Done.” Sosuke turned his long neck and hissed over the edge of the crest. In response, a half-dozen orochi warriors crawled over the lip of rock and moved to surround Toshi.

The ochimusha smiled confidently. “Well done, war-chief. I would have been disappointed if your favor could be had for the asking.”

Sosuke held up his free hand, stopping the orochi closing in on Toshi. “You have something else to offer?”

“I do. The soratami have invaded your territory by now, have they not? If you name the spot, I can help you destroy them in large numbers. Your warriors won’t even have to fight.”

“But we want to fight. I was born to lead my brothers into battle, and we all want to feel their pale skin pop under our fangs and taste their blood.”

“Who doesn’t? But you have not seen the full strength of the invading armada. I have. Unless you want soratami warriors on your doorstep for the next ten years, you need to do something drastic. Something that will wipe out a large portion of their army and discourage the rest from ever coming this far east again.”

Sosuke thumped his staff into the mossy rock and spread all four of his arms wide. “You make sense, stranger. But if I have not seen the full might of the soratami, you have not seen the full might of the Kashi-tribe orochi. We have the power of Life’s Web behind us, the most powerful myojin of all. Even now my sister gathers and focuses the power of the forest against the invaders.”

Toshi could have mentioned that he himself had bested Life’s Web with the help of his own myojin, so the forest spirit wasn’t as powerful as Sosuke claimed. Instead, he decided it was time for him to leave. He cleared his mind and prepared to fade away, but a signal cry from the north caused him to pause.

More precisely, Sosuke’s reaction to the signal cry caused Toshi to pause. The war-chief’s color changed from mottled green to bold, almost angry emerald. His red eyes widened and his flickering tongue tripled its pace. “You will see now, stranger, one way or the other. The soratami have come.” He stretched his neck as high as it would go and tasted the air to the north. “Bring him,” he said to the snakes surrounding Toshi. “Let him see how we fight. If he tries to run or warn the enemy, kill him where he stands.”

Strong, sinewy hands clamped around Toshi’s arms and hands. They propelled him along the ridge past Sosuke. Toshi did not resist, but he twisted his neck and called, “Listen to me, war-chief of the Kashi-tribe orochi. In a matter of days, a new threat will come from the sky. If you want to cripple the moonfolk armada, launch the stone disk as you said you would. Drop it into the heart of the soratami command. Then run for your life and don’t look back.”

Sosuke did not reply, but he nodded grimly as Toshi was manhandled away. Apparently he had meant it when he agreed to treat Toshi with respect. Then the war-chief turned and slithered over the edge of the crest.

The orochi half-shoved, half-carried Toshi along the ridge, their twisting path confusing him and disorienting him once more. The ache in his chest was almost completely gone now, so he could fade away or travel by shadow whenever he took the notion. He let them carry him because they were going farther from the Taken One, and while he could return to the glen in a matter of seconds, they would have to spend an hour or more retracing their steps. He knew he needed time to subdue the sentries they had left behind before taking to the air again.

Without resistance or complaint, Toshi let the orochi lead him to another tall ridge overlooking a wide green valley. Bright sunlight shone through an opening in the canopy to illuminate the valley. Through this opening Toshi saw the first soratami cloud vessels. They descended with clear purpose, aiming right for the space and the valley below.

The orochi struck as the first cloud broke through the canopy. There must have been something solid beneath all that thick white mist, because half a dozen snakes sprang from the cedars and latched on. The cloud vessel tilted crazily as it came to the ground and landed with an ear-bruising crash.

Scores of orochi swarmed from their hiding places and covered the cloud chariot. The dozen or so soratami struggled to get their swords clear of their scabbards and grappled with the long-armed snakes, but the sheer weight of their numbers crushed them beneath a squirming mass of scaled bodies.

Two more cloud chariots burst through the canopy, widening the hole. The soratami in these vessels were ready for the snakes, and as the orochi once more attempted to board and upset the cloud in flight, blue-steel swords flashed in the dazzling sun. The orochi boarders fell in pieces to the forest floor. The second wave of soratami landed safely and streamed out across the valley.

It some ways, this battle was the opposite of the one Toshi had seen in Oboro. Here, the snakes outnumbered the soratami, but it was the moonfolk who quickly gained the upper hand. The two sides seemed evenly matched in terms of strength and fighting spirit, but the soratami were far more lethal with their exquisite weapons than the snakes were with fang and claw. For every soratami that fell to caustic venom or a crushing embrace, an orochi lost an arm, a leg, or even a head. In these close quarters, the soratami worked more effectively as a unit instead of a collection of individuals-Toshi counted over a dozen pairs of moonfolk fighting back-to-back, as they cut orochi to pieces with weapons in both hands. All the while, more soratami kept coming down into the valley to further tilt the odds in their favor.

If this was what Sosuke had dragged him to see, Toshi would have to reconsider his good opinion of the Kashi war-chief. His warriors fought bravely, but they were up against a foe that was as strong, determined, and fierce as they were, but much better trained and equipped for this sort of conflict.

Then Toshi saw Sosuke halfway up the trunk of a massive cedar tree. The war-chief was accompanied by a smaller female orochi who had the similar features and coloring. Was this the sister he’d mentioned?

The female orochi folded two of her arms in meditative prayer, clinging to the tree with the rest of her limbs. Other snakes perched in the trees echoed her rasping hiss, and a swirling tendril of green fog formed between them, linking the trees fifty feet up.

The bark on the tree occupied by Sosuke and his sister shifted and rolled, reforming into a smooth brown mask of a human face. Toshi recognized the Myojin of Life’s Web before the powerful spirit completely manifested, and he faded away before she could in turn spot him. The last time he’d seen that wooden mask he had laughed merrily as he drove the myojin back to the spirit world. She was sure to remember something like that and still probably held a grudge.

The orochi guards hissed angrily as their charge slipped through their grasp. They shouted at each other, each demanding to know what the others had seen. Still standing in the same spot, Toshi watched unnoticed as they spread out and began searching the surrounding woods with their heads stretched low and their tongues flicking the ground.

There were plenty of shadows for Toshi to use on the ridge, but he stayed just to see the orochi’s gambit play out. He expected a wall of brambles or poisonous thorns to erupt beneath the soratami’s feet, or for Sosuke and other key warriors to acquire the strength of giants.

Instead, the line of green fog thickened and became solid. It glowed faintly as it twisted itself into a burly braid of thick, green, woodlike material. A ripple of energy traveled along the braid’s surface and it tightened, drawing the giant cedars closer together. As the green, swirling band solidified, it took on the appearance of a huge, burly green dragon. The snakes all hissed the same name, “Jugan,” and Toshi dimly recalled it as the name of Jukai’s other powerful guardian spirit.

Sosuke lunged, plucking his sister from the tree trunk and folding her up in two powerful arms. He slithered headfirst down the tree, traveling far faster than if he’d simply jumped. When his tongue touched the soil he sprang off the tree and cut through the underbrush, away from the valley.

The dragon Jugan continued to swirl around the trees, encircling them in a green ring of energy and force. The linked cedars groaned again as the magical bond tightened. Trapped in the ring of trees, soratami and orochi both stopped fighting and cast worried eyes upward. On the largest and thickest trunk, the face of Life’s Web mouthed a series of silent words. In response, Jugan roared and began to move faster. The massive ring of cedars shuddered, and Toshi heard a deafening crack.

Bending at the center as if jointed, the trees all seemed to bow toward the center of the ring. Together, they formed an organic enclosure, a huge drum-shaped cell with dirt floors, cedar-trunk walls, and a solid ceiling of leafy green boughs. Muted hissing and screams came from within the closed drum, but nothing else escaped from the unbroken wall of living lumber.

All the bark on the exterior of the drum shifted and reshaped itself, forming a gargantuan mask for Life’s Web. The myojin’s face did not move, but her hollow eyes and mouth were wide open as she stared through the canopy into the sunlit sky. Then, the great enclosure contracted, sending shock waves rippling across the valley floor and almost shaking Toshi’s ridge to pieces. Safe in his phantom form, Toshi stepped back from the edge but still kept his eyes locked on the spectacle below.

With Jugan circling ever faster around it, the enclosure collapsed in on itself like some great clenching fist. The noise of breaking wood drowned out any sounds from within the drum, which Toshi took as something of a blessing. His dreams had been troubling enough without more dying wails to haunt them. When it was half its original size, the cedar cell started to sink into the hard-packed forest floor. The ground broke and tumbled into an ever-deepening pit forming beneath the cell. Trees on the edge of the valley toppled into the pit as well, their roots robbed of their foundations.

Toshi watched the incredible display until the top of the cell was only a few feet higher than the rim of the pit. He didn’t know if anyone was still alive inside, or how far down they’d burrow, but it was safe to say that these soratami would not make war on Jukai again.

Toshi shook his head. He was no soldier and he had never gone to war, but even he knew you didn’t defeat an army by killing half your own in the process. If the snakes could harness the power of Jukai and make the land itself fight for them, they had a chance. Otherwise, the soratami would surely scour them away in a matter of weeks.

Without looking back, Toshi stepped forward into the shadow of a cedar sapling as the green dragon roared and the valley continued to swallow itself.

Toshi emerged from a dark patch beneath an overhanging rock. He arrived at the edge of the glen near the moth, who was still securely tethered and happily slurping its food bricks. There was no sign of the orochi sentries who had stayed behind. Toshi didn’t wonder too deeply about their disappearance-it was enough for him that they were gone.

He circled the largest tree to where he had left the Taken One. The stone disk hadn’t moved, but something about the scene made Toshi uneasy. The image on the disk was static, and he didn’t feel the gathering pressure of an impending kami attack, but the air around the Taken One felt different. All of Toshi’s exposed skin tingled.

The ochimusha crouched beside the tree and peered at the clearing around the stone disk. All looked normal, except for three piles of what appeared to be white sand. Maybe salt, Toshi thought.

Fine white dust swirled off each pile as a soft wind blew through the clearing. Toshi stood to his full height and paced around the stone disk. Three piles, three orochi sentries. The mounds of white grit were positioned fairly evenly around the Taken One. If three able-bodied warriors were attempting to lift something of this size, they could easily have taken these positions.

“Hey,” Toshi said carefully to the disk. “They touched you, didn’t they?”

The fetal serpent remained motionless and the only sound was of wind playing in the dust.

“Look,” Toshi said. “I’ve got to move you, and I’ve got to do it quickly. With …” He paused, almost overwhelmed by the absurdity of what he was about to say. “… with your permission, I will carry you to the moth so he can carry us away.”

Toshi felt even more foolish when the disk didn’t respond in any meaningful way. Had he dreamed that, too?

He screwed up his courage and placed his hands on the Taken One. It felt just like ordinary stone. Pushing his questions aside, Toshi willed himself insubstantial and took the stone disk with him. Less than a minute later he had maneuvered it onto the moth’s back. The great insect sagged as the stone disk regained its mass, but it held the burden long enough for Toshi to lash it into the harness.

They wouldn’t have to go far. The orochi would have their plates full with invading soratami, so he only needed to leave the immediate area. Between the invaders, the myojin, and the guardian dragon, there were far more important things to do than hunt down a mysterious stranger.

Toshi figured he needed only a few more hours of rest before his ribs would be fully healed. He had slept more than enough the previous night. Right now he just wanted one medium-long period of not running for his life, if the spirits would allow such a thing. Then he’d be ready to look into the visions and voices he’d been experiencing.

The great moth beat its wings and carried Toshi into the midday sky. Jukai was indeed impressive, but there were far too many plants for his liking. Too much dirt and not enough taverns. His mind began to wander as the cedar canopy rolled by beneath him, and he wondered why he had come this far east in the first place. The chances of finding Mochi were slim, and luring O-Kagachi and Mochi to the same place was even more unlikely. The best he could hope for was to re-create the confusion at Minamo and hope that either O-Kagachi or the daimyo took their toll on the moonfolk raiders.

A surge of fatigue ran through him, and Toshi’s shoulders sagged. Everything had changed when the Taken One spoke. Toting the inert disk around was one thing, but if it were going to make demands and desiccate orochi all willy-nilly he’d have to make a new plan. He didn’t have what it took to deal with matters of this magnitude on a regular basis. The sooner he could consult someone with a better brain and a nobler heart than his, the better.

Suddenly morose and sullen, Toshi urged the moth lower and redoubled his efforts to find a suitable spot.

The Heart of Frost stood among the dramatic Tendo Peaks, a day’s hike from where Toshi met Godo. Like all the Sokenzan Range, the Tendo’s most infamous mountain was a tall, narrow spire of rock that connected the drab soil with the clouds above. None of the locals would go more than a few hundred paces up the ragged trail, for the Heart of Frost was cursed by the yuki-onna. No people meant no victims, and in a few decades she became little more than a potent folk tale told on a snowy night.

That was before Toshi came. As he had several weeks before, the ochimusha ascended the base of the Heart of Frost, bound for the clearing the yuki-onna called home. It was there he had performed his ritual, bound the winter spirit, and taken her power for his own. It was there he intended to return, to restore the snow-woman and surrender what he stole.

The morning air was frigid and the trail narrow, but Toshi did not waver. He felt a hollowness in his stomach and a great weight on his back that had nothing to do with the cold or fatigue, but he took some pleasure in the monotony of the hike. Walking in a straight line was about as much as his dulled senses and distracted thoughts could handle.

He made steady progress until about a third of the way up the mountain. There, he found the first of a series of kanji he’d carved along the path several weeks ago. The character was meant to draw the yuki-onna in and keep her away from Toshi long enough for him to complete his preparations farther up the trail.

It had worked spectacularly well-somewhere, the spirits of dead kanji masters were toasting him. No one had ever managed to do what he had done. It was the equivalent of catching a lightning bolt and tying it into a bow. Even in his maudlin state of mind, Toshi took a small shred of pride from the novelty of his achievement. People would talk about it forever if they knew. They might not say nice things about him personally, but they would talk about the grand, terrible thing he’d done.

Pride evaporated when he came within reach of a trail marker carved into the bark of an evergreen. Toshi stared at the symbol for a moment. Then he pulled his jitte and set to excavating all the bark around the symbol, changing a series of lines and curves into a square blank patch of naked wood. When he was through, Toshi scooped up the shavings from the base of the tree and scattered them into the wind.

He repeated the process on the next kanji he found. This second one had been drawn on a smooth rock in his own blood, so Toshi poured some of his water on the rock and scrubbed it with the edge of his hand until the flesh was raw. With the kanji washed away, Toshi washed embedded bits of rock from his flesh and went on up the trail.

He had been very careful about making the marks so it was easy for him to remember where they were. He spent the better part of the day hiking, finding kanji, and obliterating them. Each time he erased a trail marker, he felt some the fog in his brain lift and the heaviness of his limbs ease. He didn’t feel right … none of this felt right … but he did feel better.

It occurred to him that he could have skipped the hiking and just gone directly from kanji to kanji by travelling through shadow. He barely considered the idea before continuing on foot. Something about the effort of walking soothed him almost as much as removing the symbols.

Overhead, the sun had set, and darkness colored the sky. Last time, it had taken him days to reach his destination. Today, he had covered almost all the ground he needed to in a few hours. This was another unexpected benefit of his fuzzy-mindedness: he had no sensation of time passing, no other weariness than what he’d started with. The entire day had blurred into one long, slow moment, from meeting Godo to scratching out the kanji in front of him now.

Toshi shivered under the blanket Godo had given him. It got much colder on the Heart of Frost at night, even without the yuki-onna prowling for victims. Cold enough to kill anyone who didn’t take shelter.

Toshi went on to the next kanji. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to settle in for the night, either. The idea of falling asleep filled him with dread. Better to press on and finish the job while he still had the wits to focus.

Toshi wiped clean another kanji, and then another. The moon rose, peaked, and started to set before he stumbled and fell heavily to the cold, hard ground. Something cracked on his face, and at first he thought he had ice in his hair. A touch-inspection of his face revealed that it was the skin on his forehead that had dried and split. Blood trickled from the split flesh on his face, staining his fingers.

The sight of his own blood brought Toshi closer to consciousness. He hated to see it go to waste. The stuff was even more precious to kanji mages than it was to everyone else, for characters drawn in blood were always the most powerful.

Though his fingers were thick and clumsy, Toshi dragged them across his forehead again until they were smeared with crimson. He forced himself to stand and lumbered toward a rocky overhang that would blunt the cutting wind. For a moment he stood swaying in the quiet alcove. Then, he leaned forward and drew a ragged pair of symbols on the rock face.

The alcove quickly warmed as if he had lit a fire. The sensation returned to his face and hands, stinging as his nerves registered the damage done by the cold. Barely able to stand upright, Toshi wrapped the heavy blanket around him and leaned against the rock. He was asleep before his body finished sliding to the ground.

Dawn had not quite broken on the Heart of Frost, but the sky was growing lighter by the moment. Hidden in the shadows of the clearing’s high walls, Toshi continued to work. He had erased a select set of kanji from the circle, wiping out almost half of the total before the yuki-onna appeared.

The real thing was a far more formidable presence than the illusion Night’s Reach employed. The actual snow-woman carried the cold around her like a voluminous robe. Toshi could feel her drawing heat to her from the entire clearing.

“Greetings,” Toshi called. He was still on his knees, hacking at the symbols with the tip of his jitte. “I don’t know if you have the sort of mind that recognizes people or holds grudges, but we’ve met before. And I think you have a good reason to hate me.”

The yuki-onna stood silently just outside the half-circle of symbols. Slowly, she lifted her head so that the wind carried her long black hair away from her face. There were the features Toshi had seen before, familiar but unknown to him. The bottomless black eyes, the sharp, square chin, the porcelain cheekbones were all as they had been when he had first performed his ritual. Like Godo, he was slightly put off by not recognizing a loved one, but he was especially aggrieved and somewhat relieved that he wasn’t again face-to-face with Kiku.

The snow-woman gave no sign of recognition, but she took a menacing step toward Toshi nonetheless. He mouth hung open, but instead of words only the cold, rising wail of the wind passed her lips.

Seemingly unconcerned, Toshi moved on to the next symbol. “I borrowed your power,” he said. “But now I’d like to give it back. Not that you missed it. You managed to stay quite busy even without what I took. I think on some level you ought to be grateful. I’ll bet you haven’t hunted that well in almost a century.”

The yuki-onna showed no more signs of gratitude than she had anger. She simply continued to stalk toward Toshi with her arm outstretched, though she had not yet reached the line of kanji.

Toshi paused. “No,” he said. “I didn’t expect you’d agree.” He went back to his labor. “You don’t owe me and you don’t hate me. You’re not much like us at all, are you? All you care about is your role, your job on this mountain. I must say, you do it very well.”

He finished breaking one final kanji and sighed. “All done,” he said. “You can come get me any time now.”

The snow-woman had stopped just shy of the remaining kanji on the ground.

“If you were the kind of creature that recognized faces and held grudges,” Toshi said, “you’d be right to be cautious. That’s strong magic there. Even with half the words erased, the sentence is powerful enough to affect you.”

The woman in white lowered her arm. She took a step back and her wind-wail changed pitch.

“Bother,” Toshi said. Well, he thought. There’s no value in half-measures.

He stood as quickly as he could and lunged toward the yuki-onna. He imagined that very few of her victims charged her, at least not after she had shown them her true face. Whether through shock or simply because she didn’t fear Toshi, the snow-woman made no effort to avoid him.

His hand crossed the line of kanji and clamped onto hers. She felt solid to him, and he hauled her toward him as hard as he could. Pale purple light flashed where their hands met and they both threw their heads back, their mouths open in twin silent screams. The same light glowed from Toshi’s forehead, inscribing the character that had given him access to the snow-woman’s power. At their feet, the broken line of kanji also shone brightly in the quickening dawn.

Toshi’s voice caught up to his mouth and his screams echoed off the clearing walls. With a wrench, he jerked his hand free of the yuki-onna and staggered backward, falling on his seat in the dusty snow.

His arm burned from the intense cold. He cradled it against his chest and massaged it with his free hand. Nearby, the yuki-onna stood with her hand outstretched and one foot planted firmly on a glowing purple kanji in the rock below. She was motionless, her head still tossed back and her mouth open wide.

Toshi glanced up at the rising sun. He didn’t have much time. He scrambled to his feet and went as far as he could go from the snow-woman without leaving the kanji circle. Then he settled onto the ground with his legs crossed, placed his tingling hands on his knees, and closed his eyes.

Despite his pounding heart and the danger, Toshi felt relaxed and comfortable as he allowed himself to drift off. After fighting sleep for so long, it came quickly when he called it, like an old and faithful dog.

Konda’s moth-riders soared over the wilds of Jukai in perfect formation. The Daimyo himself rode at the front of the wedge suspended between two beams of magical force. He had left his horse on the ground long ago, unwilling to abandon the noble beast in the thickest and most dangerous part of the forest.

The daimyo’s vision had led him unerringly east, though sometimes it seemed as if his prize had simply ceased to exist. His eyes would shudder and spin, unable to fix on a single position. When this happened he would call for a halt, land the moth-riders, and wait. It was agonizing, but even with the extra days it took to regain the trail he was heartened by their progress. When his army did move, it moved quickly.

The landscape below fascinated Konda. Neither he nor his armies had ever pressed this far east before. After he reclaimed the Taken One and restored the tower at Eiganjo, he would consider sending a proper expedition to finally map eastern Jukai and beyond. If there were nations at the far side of the woods, they must also come under Konda’s protection. Someday, he expected, even the orochi will be brought under his banner.

The rolling sea of green stretched on as he flew, the hours blending into each other. Lost in memories of his prize, Konda didn’t notice the changes in Jukai until he crossed over a great smoking hole in the canopy. The daimyo waved his hand, and the moth formation slowed, gently beating their wings just enough to keep themselves stationary over the rising warm air from the fire.

Though his pupils remained fixed on a location even farther east, Konda looked down at the obscene bloodbath directly below. The vivid greens and rich browns of the forest were charred black by fire and splattered with gore. Hundreds of dead orochi had been heaped in the center of the killing ground, and more were pinned to their beloved trees.

The Daimyo felt a monarch’s rage swell up in his breast. The orochi were prone to intertribal conflict, but they would never desecrate enemy dead in such a barbaric fashion. Neither would they use fire as a weapon-Jukai was damp all year round, but its trees still burned.

Konda signaled the moths to descend. No, the orochi fought wars in small groups, sometimes even settling disputes by single combat between champions. Some other tribe must have done this. Some foreign power must be conducting large-scale military actions on Konda’s own doorstep.

His moths circled the site, and Konda grimly impressed the details on his mind. This must not stand, would not stand. As soon as he recovered the Taken One, he would turn his ghost army east and root out the invaders. He would slaughter them to a man for their brinkmanship, and in the process he would build a bridge between Eiganjo and the orochi for the first time ever. He had often admired their fighting skill and wondered about the wild mysteries they were said to explore in their isolated green home. Uniting against a common foe could not help but foster closer ties.

Konda waved again and his moths rose back into the sky. He reoriented on the Taken One and pressed on, but as he went Konda kept a close watch on the landscape below. If he saw any armed conflict of any size, he intended to investigate and identify the aggressors.

First he would reclaim his prize. Then he would punish these bold invaders. These were the first steps he would take to rebuild his kingdom.

Toshi saw the moths bearing down on them and cursed the double burden of his duty and his stubborn insistence on avoiding that duty. It would be so easy to run now if Night’s Reach hadn’t just gone out of her way to save his life. Would it make such a difference if he were to escape into the nearest shadow and let Konda have his prize? The daimyo could contend with O-Kagachi; let those two determine how important it was that the Taken One was showing signs of life and self-interest. All Toshi would have to do would be to keep his head down for a year or so and these truly important entities could all kill each other off without his help.

Toshi scrambled to his feet and rushed to the stone disk. Abandoning the disk was not an option he could pursue … at least not yet. Better to load it up on the moth and take to the sky. He had outrun Konda and his ghost-moths before, and with Night’s help he was sure he could do it again. In fact, he was eager to do it again, just to imagine the look on Konda’s face.

The Taken One still floated just above his head, so Toshi placed his hands on the lowest edge and pushed. Whatever was keeping the disk afloat also allowed Toshi to move it easily without turning it insubstantial. In fact, it was faster and easier to move it this way, as he could really dig his heels into the turf and use his body weight to hurry things along.

He reached the moth in short order and guided the disk into the harness. This would be a narrow escape, but it would still be an escape.

father

Toshi paused as the Taken One’s voice echoed in his head. When the lingering sound faded, so did the shining white tower. Toshi continued to squint, dazzle-blinded. The half of his body closest to the Taken One’s beacon felt seared and tender.

His eyesight returned to normal just as he completed tightening the last strap. He started to swing his leg up over the moth’s back, but something heavy seemed to be pressing in on all sides. He glanced up to check on Konda’s approach and noticed the ominous purple sky glowering from the east. Had it grown much darker all of a sudden? Or was the storm casting a shadow over all of Jukai?

Twelve flaming suns suddenly ignited around the spot where the tower of light pierced the sky. Toshi stood frozen and agape as O-Kagachi materialized behind the six sets of sun-eyes, appearing whole and solid in one fell swoop. Six square, horned heads roared from massive, swaying necks. Its coils formed an impossibly large and complicated tangle of muscle wreathed in jagged scales, and their bulk filled fully half the sky from here to the horizon.

Toshi still stood motionless, awestruck by the titanic beast hovering so close. O-Kagachi opened all six of his mouths and roared. Back to the east, Konda’s moths had begun their descent, silent but no less threatening than the old serpent.

Toshi’s eyes darted back and forth across the sky. Konda himself was streaking toward them and he was surrounded by an unsettling glow. O-Kagachi opened one set of jaws wide and likewise drove down at Toshi and the stone disk. There were only seconds in which to decide. One way or the other, the chase for the Taken One was going to end here.

Or, Toshi thought suddenly, I can do things my way. He took hold of the moth’s tether and made himself insubstantial. The leather strap separated from the tree and fell to the forest floor. Then Toshi became solid, unbuckled the harness, and slipped it off the moth so that the leather straps were still fastened to the stone disk. He slapped one hand onto the surface of the Taken One and pulled, guiding the prize over to the closest tree.

“You’re free,” Toshi told the moth. “You lucky bastard.” He slapped the moth lightly on the rump. It burbled one last time and rose into the air.

Toshi locked all ten fingers around the Taken One’s harness and swung himself like a child on a rope swing. His weight pulled the Taken One down so that when he slipped into the shadow at the base of the tree, the stone disk was pulled along with him. The last things he saw were Konda’s furious face and a wide-open mouth that could have swallowed a mountain.

Then he and his cargo/passenger floated safe and alone through an endless black ocean of silent darkness.

Lady Pearl-Ear of the kitsune had been at Princess Michiko’s side since the very moment the princess was born. At first the fox-woman served because of her great love for Yoshino, Michiko’s mother, who died shortly after the birth, but as the child grew Pearl-Ear saw what a remarkable person the princess could become and swore to be the mentor and friend Lady Yoshino never had the chance to be.

Pearl-Ear did not think of herself as a second mother-she would not wish to dishonor Yoshino’s memory, and also their species were too fundamentally different. Pearl-Ear did consider herself as family, but as a caring and perhaps overly concerned aunt rather than a parent. She would teach Michiko what she could about the world, but the princess herself would have to make her way in it.

Here in a village of kitsune made refugees by the Kami War, Pearl-Ear realized her guardianship of Michiko was nearly complete. Despite the horrors of the Kami War and the knowledge that her father’s crimes had caused them, Michiko-hime was blooming in her self-imposed exile on the western edge of Jukai. Pearl-Ear had never seen the princess Michiko so confident and determined, or so focused. She attended every meeting of the kitsune council and made frequent (and sometimes heated) contributions to the discussion. Pearl-Ear took secret pride in the way Michiko presented her concerns, for it was the kitsune who taught her to reason, to argue, and to address an august assembly. As a representative of the people of Eiganjo, Michiko was a passionate and welcome voice at the table.

Pearl-Ear’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Some of the council members had openly mentioned Michiko’s only shortcoming as a diplomat: her all-too-human impatience for action. During one discussion, Elder Silk-Eyes explained that the kitsune were always more inclined to observe the situation and meditate on a solution. For all creatures, especially humans, the world revealed itself only to those who took the time to consider it.

Michiko had bowed politely, but her words had been sharp. “Venerable elder,” she said, “the kitsune live for hundreds of years. You can afford to meditate. Humans have to act more quickly, else we’d never accomplish anything.”

Silk-Eyes spoke kindly. “Well said, Michiko-hime. You have the floor. What would you have us do?”

So once more Michiko had reddened and fallen silent in frustration. There was no answer. The dire situation around them had not changed, and they were still unable to affect it. Simply surviving was a major victory.

Now Pearl-Ear watched the princess from a broad, flat cedar stump as Michiko trained. The princess had thrown herself back into her magical and martial studies, working harder than she ever had in Eiganjo. Pearl-Ear encouraged this to further Michiko’s ability to protect herself, but also to give her frustration a constructive outlet. Life was almost idyllic for Michiko in Jukai, surrounded by her closest friends and most revered elders, but Pearl-Ear knew her student was on the cusp of an explosive outburst. The isolation and guilt she bore on behalf of her father were weighing on her, and she was responding to a primal urge to simply move.

Below, Michiko galloped down a long lane the villagers had cleared on the far side of the encampment. War steeds were scarce among the refugees, but there were a few of Konda’s cavalrymen eager to contribute to his daughter’s training. She was tall and beautiful, though she looked considerably rougher and wilder in the woven linens of the kitsune than in her flowing palace robes. With smooth, practiced motions Michiko nocked and fired six times at six targets as she galloped along the lane. She scored three hits in the center, two in the inner ring, and one on the outer.

“Excellent,” said Sharp-Ear, the princess’s yabusame archery coach and Pearl-Ear’s brother. He stood on top of a huge fallen log that marked the outer edge of the horse run. He was small, lithe, and quick even for a fox, and his short-muzzled face was always on the verge of a wink or a playful shrug. Like many of the kitsune, Sharp-Ear was crafty and prone to playing tricks and games on friend and foe alike. In Pearl-Ear’s opinion, he was an irksome scamp who should have been named “Sharp-Tongue” for his cutting wit and his quick grasp of any situation … but he was a loyal friend and a valuable ally even if he was an exasperating brother.

Sharp-Ear was something of a journeyman, expert in a number of different disciplines. He could harness the magic of field and forest, he was formidable on the back of a horse, and he was devastatingly accurate with the bow. He worked the princess hard during her yabusame training and his combination of good cheer and frequent drills helped Michiko progress far more quickly than she ever had with Pearl-Ear. If Pearl-Ear was a stern but caring aunt to the princess, Pearl-Ear was her boyish, indulgent uncle.

The refugees had been abuzz lately from a series of sudden arrivals. First, Isamaru, Konda’s dog and Michiko’s companion, had inexplicably turned up. The great pale akita bounded into the village unannounced and unexpected, barking happily at anyone and everyone until Michiko came calling his name. Isamaru had been trained to hunt, but his age had begun to catch up with him. This meant he couldn’t catch the rabbits of Jukai, but he was more than happy to join the chase. Some of the refugees were soldiers from Konda’s army, and they regarded the dog as a combination lucky charm and good omen. As long as he was there, they allowed themselves to hope.

The second round of visitors was even more remarkable. The honor guard of Eiganjo cavalry and kitsune samurai that escorted Pearl-Ear and Michiko to the academy was thought to have been killed in the massacre. Days after the main party had escaped Minamo, the soldiers joined them, bringing tales of terrifying brutality and the curious, taciturn ochimusha who brought them to safety.

Pearl-Ear recognized the soldier’s description of Toshi Umezawa, and she added his heroic actions to the growing list of inexplicable things he had done. In a matter of weeks he had kidnapped the princess, battled the orochi and a major myojin to a standstill on her behalf, murdered one of Michiko’s closest peers, freed her from house arrest, and rescued her when ogre and oni came to Minamo. Now for some reason he had returned to the school, and Pearl-Ear had a strong idea what that reason was.

Except for Konda himself, Toshi was one of the only people in Kamigawa to lay hands on the Taken One, and he had left it behind when he rescued Michiko and Pearl-Ear from the school. He must have returned there to take it back, or to exploit its mysterious power for his own use.

Pearl-Ear could not bring herself to trust or respect the man, but Toshi had done them great service as well as great harm. He was a mercenary and an opportunist and he always seemed to be one step away from catastrophe … the kind that claimed him and everyone around him. Pearl-Ear looked for the best in everyone she encountered, but she feared Toshi’s ambition and fecklessness would destroy him long before he matured enough to rise above them.

Sharp-Ear clapped his hands. “Again,” he said. “One more pass and we’ll call it a day.” Michiko nodded and spurred her horse back up the lane as Riko and a young kitsune replaced the wooden targets.

Michiko reached the starting point, wheeled her horse into place, and waited for Sharp-Ear’s signal. It never came.

Instead, a long-haired figure dressed in black emerged from the edge of the woods bordering the horse run. He had bright green eyes and one arm raised, waving to catch the princess’ attention. His other arm was extended back into the cedar shadows behind him, but the kitsune’s eyes were sharp enough to see what lay beyond. The man’s hand was resting atop a large stone disk he had propped against a tree.

Pearl-Ear shot to her feet, but cries of alarm were already echoing through the trees. The soldiers who guarded Michiko closed ranks around her an instant after the visitor appeared. Sharp-Ear sprang from atop the fallen log and nocked an arrow into his bow as he somersaulted to the ground. He trained the bolt on the intruder as his feet dug into the turf.

“Wait,” Pearl-Ear called, for she had recognized both the man and his burden. Her brother and the other warriors did not lower their weapons as they advanced, and Pearl-Ear wondered if that was because they didn’t recognize Toshi and the Taken One or if it was because they did.

The ochimusha held both empty hands up to show he was unarmed. Pearl-Ear noted that he still had his jitte strapped to his hip but both swords were gone. She would have felt more confident if he’d had the blades and lost the tool he used to inscribe kanji-Toshi’s symbol-magic was as dangerous and unpredictable as the fellow himself.

“Stand easy.” Toshi quickly scanned the approaching warriors. Pearl-Ear saw a flicker of recognition when the kanji mage saw Sharp-Ear, but Toshi’s face visibly brightened when he saw her atop her stump.

“Lady,” he called, waving to Pearl-Ear, “I need your help.”

Toshi lowered one arm and gestured at the Taken One, its edge barely peeking past the trunk of the tree. “And if you don’t want to help me, help yourselves. Look. See what has become of Konda’s prize.”

Pearl-Ear focused her keen eyes on the stone disk. She watched it for a moment, then gasped when she saw part of the etched serpent move along the disk’s edge.

release me

Toshi stayed in his awkward position, grandly presenting the Taken One with one hand and surrendering with the other. “See?” he said.

“Do as he says. Stand down.” Michiko’s voice rang out from the center of the phalanx of human soldiers and kitsune samurai.

The warriors parted, and Michiko cantered forward on her horse. “That man,” she pointed to Toshi, “works for me. I sent for him. And that item,” she nodded at the stone disk, “is my responsibility. Sensei.” She turned toward Pearl-Ear. “May we present ourselves to the elders for an audience?”

Pearl-Ear nodded. “As you wish, Princess. Wait here and I will convene the council.” Before she turned, Pearl-Ear made sure to make eye contact with her brother. Kitsune were subtle creatures and could read a person’s body language as easily as a schoolboy’s primer. She and Sharp-Ear had also been siblings for almost one hundred years and so could speak volumes with the slightest nod or facial tic.

Don’t let Toshi out of your sight and don’t let the warriors drop their guard, Pearl-Ear’s knowing look said.

Sharp-Ear’s scornful expression clearly and succinctly replied, I need you to tell me that.

Lady Pearl-Ear left Toshi surrounded by a half-dozen swords and at least as many arrows as she hurried to gather the elders.

An hour later Toshi caught up with Michiko by the training lane as the princess moved away from the village.

“Michiko-hime,” he called. As the statuesque beauty turned, Toshi noticed the princess’s companion Riko attending. Damn. The student girl would just complicate things.

The princess bowed. “Hello, Toshi. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk.” She presented Riko. “You remember my friend Riko from Minamo Academy?”

“Yes.” Toshi met the smaller girl’s angry eyes. Riko was attractive, in a petite, academic sort of way, but she looked like an akki whelp next to Michiko. Plus, she also clearly hadn’t forgiven Toshi for kidnapping Michiko, or punishing Choryu, or one of the myriad other terrible things she’d seen him do.

Toshi bowed to Riko. “A pleasure, as always.” Which was the complete opposite of the truth-Riko had been grateful to Toshi when he’d pulled them all out of Minamo, but that was the only time he could recall her not glaring at him with hate in her eyes.

“Would you excuse us, Riko?” Toshi bowed again. “I would like to talk to Michiko-hime in private.”

“No,” Riko said. She folded her arms, the fingers on her right hand tickling the bow slung over her left shoulder.

“Riko,” Michiko said. “As a favor to me.”

The student archer looked anxious and Michiko said, “We will stand in the clearing over there. If anything happens or you lose sight of us, you may come running.”

Visibly unconvinced, Riko said, “I will be watching you both.” She pushed past Toshi and then turned around, folding her arms. Michiko beckoned Toshi to join her and they strolled amiably toward the clearing.

“I appreciate what you tried to do today,” she said. “The elders are cautious, perhaps overly so, but they will not let anything bad happen.”

“They can’t stop this bad thing.”

“No. But I agree that they have to try reaching the entity before we decide what to do next.”

They approached the clearing. Toshi stopped walking and said, “Do you? Because during the trial back there I could have sworn you agreed with me.”

“It wasn’t a trial,” Michiko said.

“Forgive me. I misspoke. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you agree with me? That we have a responsibility to set the Taken One free.”

The princess hesitated. “Yes. I wish to help atone for my father’s crime. It will take years, perhaps decades of hard work, but the first step must be to return what was stolen.”

“Can you make them listen to you? What kind of sway to you have around here?”

She laughed a sad, musical laugh. “Not much, I’m afraid. In Eiganjo, I was a prisoner. In Towabara, I am a princess. But here, I am treated no better than a student, and not a very advanced one at that.”

Toshi frowned. “You matter more than that. You are connected to that stone disk somehow. I was just telling Sharp-Ear how you two are sisters, in a way. The entity … she kept trying to reach out to me, but I was afraid and didn’t know what to do. If you reached out to her, I think she’d respond.”

Michiko nodded, her eyes far away. “I did sense something between the entity and me. But I assumed it was just my imagination, a feeling of … what we were shown about the night of my birth.”

“Also the night of her birth,” Toshi said. “There is something between you two. I think if anyone should be trying to reach the Taken One, it should be you.”

“I would like to be more involved. I feel a great sense of personal-”

“Then be more involved. Pearl-Ear can deny you nothing. Sharp-Ear would crawl over hot coals to bring you a bowl of rice. And Riko … I think she’d do anything twice to see you smile.”

Michiko shook her head angrily. “This flattery does nothing to-”

“It’s not flattery.” Toshi leaned in close, nose-to-nose with the princess. “It’s strategy. If you want to do things you know need to be done, you do them. If your room is on fire, you put it out or you leave. You don’t ask for permission. You don’t wait for approval. You just go.

“I say this village is your room and the Taken One is a very big fire waiting for a spark. Don’t let the elders stop you from doing what’s right, what needs to be done. All you need is one chance and you can make a difference. Ask Pearl-Ear and Sharp-Ear to ask the elders. The Taken One has reached out to us, but only you can reach out to her.

“Go,” Toshi said. “Go to her and listen. Talk. I’ve spent more time with her than anyone … except your father. I know she wants someone to stand by her. Someone who isn’t me, or the daimyo, or anyone else she’s met so far. I wasn’t good enough.” He shrugged. “You might be.”

For a moment Michiko seemed younger, more vulnerable, as she had when Toshi had first met her. She opened her mouth to speak.

“For a lowlife, lying thug,” Sharp-Ear’s voice rang out, cutting off the princess and echoing across the clearing, “you’re almost eloquent.”

Toshi closed his eyes wearily.

The little foxman tumbled out of the leafy branches high overhead, landing solidly on the tips of his clawed toes. Sharp-Ear leaned under Toshi’s chin and peered up into the ochimusha’s face, waiting for him to open his eyes. When he did, the kitsune said, “Told you I’d be listening.”

“Sensei,” Michiko said, “Toshi and I were having a private conversation.”

“Business,” Toshi corrected. “We were talking business.”

“You were talking her into doing something you want her to do.”

“No. I was trying to find out what she wants to do.”

“And if either of you asked me,” Michiko flared, “I would answer, because I am in fact standing here with you.”

Sharp-Ear bowed. “Forgive, Michiko-hime.”

“If you had asked, Sharp-Ear, or waited for me to answer when Toshi asked, you would know. I do think I should help communicate with the Taken One. Everything Toshi says makes sense.”

“I agree.” Sharp-Ear bobbed a quick bow. “You are tied to the entity, princess. I do not dispute that. But it could very dangerous to interact with it. You could be like the opposing poles of a magnet and naturally repel each other.”

“I am willing to face the danger. For my people, for all Kamigawa, and to expiate my father’s sins, I would gladly give my life.”

“That is truly noble, Michiko, but rash. You must do as you see fit, but also trust the elders. They are wise beyond human understanding.”

“That is very patronizing, Sharp-Ear. It is the quality and the content of a life that creates wisdom, not the duration.”

“Again, my apologies. I know you do not need a chaperone or a nursemaid or even a tutor any longer. But you do need good advice. It’s something all leaders need. And before you respond to this almost-eloquent fellow, my advice as an actually eloquent fellow is to seek other counsel.”

“Like who?” Toshi scoffed. “You?”

“Me,” Sharp-Ear said. “And Riko. And above all, Lady Pearl-Ear.”

Toshi cocked his head. He could hold his own in an argument against Sharp-Ear, but he could never convince the princess if both brother and sister opposed him. He needed to act quickly.

“The dour frump?” Toshi said. “What do we need her for?”

Sharp-Ear growled darkly. “The dour frump is my sister.”

“Oh.” Toshi shrugged. “What do we need her for?”

“When people like us are certain we’re in the right,” Sharp-Ear said, “we need people like her to verify. She’s better than us, you see. If she agrees with us, we might actually be in the right. Also, if she agrees, she’ll help. And she’ll make sure the fewest possible number of people suffer in the process.”

Toshi narrowed his eyes, appraising the sly little fox with new respect. “You’re on our side, aren’t you? You think she should talk to the Taken One now.”

“I do. But I also think that everything that comes out of your mouth is suspect. Even when what you say is true, it’s not reliable.”

Toshi blinked. “Now that’s eloquence. But if we agree, why are we arguing?” He turned to Michiko. “In the end, it’s ultimately up to you, Princess.”

“We are arguing,” Sharp-Ear said, “because you seem to be encouraging Michiko to behave like a lowlife ochimusha thief and somehow sneak herself in or the entity out for this attempt at communication. I, on the other hand, am encouraging her to consult with her lifelong friend and mentor, my sister, who is often dour but has never been a frump. If Pearl-Ear agrees, we will petition the elders again. They may yet allow Michiko her chance.”

“If Pearl-Ear agrees,” Toshi echoed. “She didn’t agree back on the big log when we were discussing it. What makes you think she’ll agree now?”

“My sister is overawed by the elders, especially in person. But she is far more reasonable and pragmatic on her own. I have convinced her to go along with far more frivolous plans in the past. And, as you said earlier, Pearl-Ear can deny Michiko nothing.”

“You’re both doing it again,” Michiko said coldly. “Talking as if I weren’t here.”

Toshi said, “Speak up then. What are you waiting for?”

Sharp-Ear bowed. “We are both talkers, the ochimusha and I. But now we will listen. What do you wish to do?”

Michiko looked from Toshi to Sharp-Ear and then back. “I will attempt to communicate with the Taken One,” she said. “But I will do so only with Pearl-Ear’s support and the elders’ full knowledge.”

Sharp-Ear grinned triumphantly at Toshi. “Good. Then we’re all agreed.”

Toshi nodded. “It suits me.”

“Splendid.” Sharp-Ear clapped his hands and rubbed them vigorously. “Princess, shall we collect Riko and return to the training ground?”

“With all due speed,” Michiko said. “I am eager to hear what Pearl-Ear thinks of all this.”

Konda’s eyes had not wavered in over a day, so he felt sure he was closing in on his prize once and for all. The closer they got, the more he felt the Taken One’s presence and the stronger it called out to him. He kept his moth-riders low, barely touching the treetops as they flew. His handpicked squad of retainers kept pace less than half a day’s march behind, moving swiftly without banners or war cries. There was no way the thief could see or hear them coming.

He was still receiving flashes from his troops in eastern Jukai, images and sounds that told him the battle with the soratami was turning to his favor. Most of the orochi had moved on to other skirmishes, but with Konda occupying a healthy share of the soratami armada the snakes were mounting a significant effort to expel the moonfolk. When Eiganjo was restored, Konda would send envoys to the snakes, especially the Kashi-tribe orochi in the far east. His new kingdom would be larger, stronger, and more diverse than ever.

Suddenly, stabbing pain lanced through both Konda’s eyes, and he cried out. Had he been in control of his own forward motion, the daimyo would have stumbled and fallen. Though his moth-rider escorts were startled by their lord’s distress, they maintained their speed and direction.

His peculiar view of the world changed then, sliding from a series of panoramic glimpses in all directions to a single, focused image of the landscape before him. It took the daimyo a moment to adjust and another to realize what had happened.

Konda ran his hands over his face, confirming what he had feared. His eyes had become normal, fixed in their sockets. Quickly, the Daimyo tested the other gifts he had received from the stone disk. He still felt young and strong, and the skin on his hands still looked no older. He was still a seventy-year-old soldier in a fifty-year-old’s body.

Neither had he lost contact with his ghost army. He could still feel their presence and send mental commands that would be obeyed without questions. Indeed, the moth-riders above and the honor guard below continued on as if nothing had changed.

Whatever foul magic the ochimusha was using had somehow partially severed Konda’s connection with the Taken One. The daimyo still retained his command and his vigor, but he was no longer able to fix upon the disk.

Unfazed, Konda ignored the searing pain in his eyes and resolved himself. He knew he was close. He knew he was going in the right direction. If the ochimusha had blocked Konda’s access to the stone, he was likely to consider himself safe and stay in one place. Konda knew he could find him. When he did, he planned to punish Toshi as long and as painfully as the thief’s body could stand.

Grim and determined, Konda urged his moth-riders on.

Michiko felt herself disappear into the world, becoming a part of everything while remaining separate and distinct from it. It was intoxicating but also smothering and constraining. She felt like a fish in a bowl that was exactly as big as she was: the entire world was hers to explore, but her world started and ended with her own body.

See, sister, how I have lived. Kyodai’s voice rang in Michiko’s head though the princess could not see her. Before I was taken to your world, I was woven throughout the fabric of both realms like the threads in your clothing. The old serpent embodies everything in the kakuriyo and the utsushiyo. Many of the kami you know seceded from O-Kagachi after they’d been given an identity by the denizens of your world. Your prayers can give the spirits purpose, and that purpose gave them power, identity.

Michiko’s vision darkened. When it cleared, she found herself suspended in a huge, cloudlike void of darkness and unstable shapes. She saw a vast expanse of flickering energy and drifting dust … by now a very familiar scene to her. Twice before, powerful spirits had shown her the spirit world, its unfathomable ebb and flow churning in a complex rhythm she would never apprehend.

But the kakuriyo seemed somehow different with Kyodai as her guide. Her sister’s presence comforted Michiko, making the strange space more real, more alive, and less overwhelming.

Here, Kyodai said, there was no “I.” There was no Kyodai to separate from the fabric of O-Kagachi. All things in both worlds are part of the old serpent, but none more so than me. For I was forcibly removed from his essence not by the prayers of many but by the arrogance of one. I was never meant to be distinct, never intended to be an individual. Then, I had no motion of my own and no will. I had not even the thoughts required to recognize these essential aspects of existence. I was subordinate, wholly contained.

“I am so sorry, my sister. That sounds like a hellish existence.”

It was not hellish or divine. It simply was. I did not know anything other than what was, so I could not love or hate it. How could I long for the touch of your hand when I did not know you existed? When I did not know I had a hand to touch?

The void shuddered and began to spin. Michiko had seen this vortex form before-the visual effect of Konda’s crime.

And then he came. Kyodai’s voice grew low and malevolent.

The scene before Michiko shifted, taking her from the mysteries of the kakuriyo to a small stone chamber in her father’s tower. Konda was there with General Takeno and the daimyo’s advisors from Oboro and Minamo. They stood around a flaming brazier that cast eerie blue light across the room. Above the brazier hung a stone disk with a fetal serpent etched across its face.

He stole me from my home, ripped me away from everything I knew and was. He gave me individuality without freedom, that I might recognize my sorry state but remain unable to change it. Here is where the hellishness begins, my sister. Hadyour father let me be, I would never have known regret, anger, or loneliness. Had he brought me here as a true kami, one to be worshiped with respect and admiration, I would have been another willing participant in the great dramas of the physical plane. I would have showered him with as many blessings as he could conceive, as many as I could bestow. For I would have been alive.

But he did neither of these things. He cast me in stone and left me aware. He made me powerful but denied me choice and action. He created me as an individual entity but used me as a means to his ends.

Michiko found herself constrained again, frozen and immobile. She was looking through a distorting window at her father’s face. Awash in blue light, Konda’s mad grin and wild eyes were the most frightening things she had ever seen.

This is the face of my enemy. The face of your father. This is what I saw for the twenty long years of my physical existence. I will never allow myself to be imprisoned like this again. Do you understand me, sister?

“I do, Kyodai. He is a great man, but great men do not always make good fathers.”

The view from inside the stone disk shimmered. When it cleared, Michiko was once more looking out into the void of the spirit world. Slowly, Kyodai faded into view alongside the princess.

“What of your father?” Michiko asked. “We are agreed Daimyo Konda wishes to imprison you again, to use you for the glory of his nation. We will not let that happen.

“But what of O-Kagachi? What will the old serpent do when he finds you?”

Kyodai looked away, her jaw working nervously in an unconscious imitation of Michiko’s own nervous habit. I fear the worst.

“Then, like me, you fear he will do more than imprison you,” Michiko said. “He will devour you. He will consume and digest your personality until it is once more a mere extension of his. He will take you back into himself to restore the injury done to this realm regardless of your wishes. Regardless of the multitude of injuries he will inflict in the process.”

Kyodai’s voice was soft, almost melancholy. I called out for him when I was afraid. But I am also afraid of him. There is none of this, she motioned back and forth between Michiko’s mouth and her own. No language, none of the sharing of ideas or ourselves. He is everything and therefore needs nothing. His guardianship is all that matters, the imposition of boundaries between the realms of physical and spiritual. Only that drives him. I see now how terrible he is.

Michiko looked past Kyodai and took in the whole of the kakuriyo. From her vantage point she could see the very edges of the spirit realm, the limits of it scope, the very shape of it. Though its depths were still immeasurable she felt she could reach out and take it in her hands like some rare and exotic treasure. Was this how her father felt? Did he also see the true shape of the spirit world and dream of holding it, protecting it, shaping it to his design?

Kyodai was truly her sister, she thought. Their lives shared so many parallels. Yet they were also strangers, unknown and perhaps unknowable to each other. Kyodai had taken a body of flesh and Michiko had seen the cosmos as an ephemeral spirit, but this was not true understanding. They were only visitors in each other’s worlds, observers of each other’s lives. Michiko could never grasp the perfect nightmare of gaining an identity only to spend twenty years discovering it was that of a helpless, motionless prisoner. Kyodai would never see how Konda’s indifference to Michiko was as cruel and painful as his devotion to the stone disk, and how his actions had forever altered the course of her own life. They were two sides of the same mirror, linked, identical, but forever distinct and separate.

Their respective fathers had brought them to this. O-Kagachi existed to embody and enforce the barrier between utsushiyo and kakuriyo. Konda dedicated his life to expanding his realm to include as much space and as many tribes as he could. Each wanted sole authority over the whole of both realms. The only difference was that O-Kagachi wanted to preserve existing boundaries as they were and Konda wanted them to change in his favor.

“We must stop them,” Michiko said.

Kyodai turned to face the princess. I agree. But how?

“O-Kagachi contains both realms and keeps them separate. My father the daimyo is the same with Eiganjo, ruling it and the surrounding nations alike. They both control the traffic to and from their domains as well as within their own borders. We have all been constrained by those borders, yet we know no alternative. Without the structure our fathers provide, both worlds would be different … more chaotic and dangerous, less formal and organized. Without clear lines and borders, spirit and flesh alike would be lost.”

Kyodai’s fierce eyes became haunted, hopeless. Then what can we do?

“We cannot simply escape the guardians who seek us. Nor can we simply destroy the boundaries they exist to enforce. Even if it were possible, the result would be cataclysmic upheaval.

“But we can rewrite those boundaries. Our fathers have defined our worlds for our entire lives, but we can redefine them. This is the way of mortal beings, for the aged to give way to the young. The old must stand aside for the new.”

Sharpness crept back into Kyodai’s expression. A sly, feral look flickered across her eyes. Then, my sister, you are saying …

“We can fight,” Michiko said. “My father stole and imprisoned you before you truly existed. Your father’s outrage gave rise to the Kami War, which took my mother’s life and my father’s love before I could know either. I will resist both daimyo and serpent to the death before I allow them to cause any more harm.”

Kyodai smiled, baring her sharp teeth. Well said. You know I feel the same. But how will you resist? How can we fight them?

“I am not wise or strong,” Michiko said evenly. “But I am determined. I can handle a bow and arrow. I can strike at my enemies accurately from a great distance. I may not have great power, but I have a strong will.”

Kyodai nodded savagely. I, in turn, do have power, she said. Untapped and untested. But with your guidance, with your will … The serpentine woman opened her arms. Come, my sister. Together we will end this. No matter if we live or die, the world will not go on as it has before.

Without hesitation, Michiko opened her arms and flowed into Kyodai. Here in the spirit realm, their bodies mingled like a river flowing into the sea, swirling currents of Michiko’s will mixing with the rising tide of Kyodai’s power. For a moment they were wholly combined yet still discrete, a fusion being with four eyes, two mouths, two fathers, two lives … but they shared the same spirit and sought the same goal.

Then the sisters flowed completely together, mingling mind, body, and spirit into one transcendent whole. Tossed on a crashing wave of memories and sensations that were not and could not have been her own, Michiko abandoned herself to the experience. The last full thought she had before her old mind was swept away was, “I was wrong. We can know what it means to be the other.”

For the first time in either of their lives, Michiko and Kyodai were at last complete.

O-Kagachi was barely a hundred feet above the forest floor when the sisters soared up to meet him. With this, Toshi had reached the limit of his astonishment. Anything else he saw today would necessarily fail to amaze him, as he simply had no more surprise left.

The stars around them flashed. Surrounded by individual nimbuses of harsh white light, Michiko and Kyodai spiraled up and around each other in a fluid double spiral, circling mirror images of each other. Despite their speed, ferocity, and confidence, the women seemed small and insignificant against the mighty serpent’s coils. It was like they were rising to battle the sky itself after the sky had sprouted teeth and claws to receive them.

Toshi noted that Kyodai’s transformation seemed to have baffled O-Kagachi’s unerring sense of the Taken One’s location. Either that or he simply did not recognize the fierce warrior-maiden who now confronted him. If he did, he continued on to meet her as he would any other foe. Toshi had hoped there would be some sign, some form of acknowledgment between the two powerful spirits, but his hopes were quickly dashed. This did not truly surprise him; family relationships were often difficult.

Michiko broke formation first, soaring wide under O-Kagachi’s lowest head. As she’d intended, the head oriented on her and snapped its massive jaws. Michiko was too quick, however, easily zipping out of range of those gargantuan fangs.

As the rest of his coils pressed ever downward, O-Kagachi’s head roared after the princess. Powered by the great roiling muscles in his neck, the serpent’s jaws overtook Michiko in a heartbeat. She disappeared behind the massive, square head, but dropped below the serpent’s strike by letting herself fall rather than trying to fly out of danger. The moment she had cleared O-Kagachi’s bottom jaw, Michiko swooped back along its neck, aiming her bow at another head over the edge of the forest.

Kyodai rose like a rocket, following one of the serpent’s necks to the uppermost head. Two other heads harried her as she climbed, snapping with their jaws and trying to batter her from the sky with teeth clenched tight. She weaved and dodged around the central neck, narrowly avoiding her attackers. They could not catch her, could not harm her, could not stop her. She was a beautiful song of battle come to life in the skies over Jukai.

Suddenly, O-Kagachi flexed the great sinews in the neck Kyodai was ascending. It was barely a nudge from where Toshi was sitting, but from a giant even a nudge is devastating. Kyodai was hurled violently away, glowing as she soared back to the ground like a shooting star.

Michiko was just stretching her bow when Kyodai was struck from the sky. The princess let fly with her arrow and changed course so that she streaked to intercept her sister before Kyodai hit the ground. Judging by her speed, Toshi knew she’d make it in time.

The arrow was just as strange as the warrior who’d fired it. The bolt started normally as it sped straight and true toward a thick rope of O-Kagachi’s coils. Halfway to its mark, the arrow burst into brilliant, sparkling light that cast a red tint over the serpent’s mammoth scales. The wooden shaft and white feathers were no longer visible-Michiko’s arrow had become a flashing bolt of pure scarlet power.

The red missile tore through O-Kagachi’s hide and disappeared below the serpent’s scales. A single gout of thick, black liquid jetted out. What flowed through O-Kagachi’s veins was not blood, but a strange miasma of dark humors. To Toshi, the muck seemed like jagged shards of the void suspended in a torrent of shadow. The thick cloud dispersed quickly as it flowed away from the serpent, but the splinters of void lingered in the sky.

The wound then swelled and burst as the magical bolt that caused it exploded.

O-Kagachi howled and thrashed, but Toshi could see that it was not gravely hurt. Michiko’s attack had blown a man-sized hole in the serpent’s neck, but it was barely a pinprick to such a massive beast.

Toshi looked back to the sisters and saw that Michiko had indeed stopped Kyodai’s fall. The two warrior-maidens clasped hands and streaked toward the closest head. They left a brilliant line of white in their wake that slowly crumbled to powder and fell like snow. They changed course once the other heads began to close on them, rolled, and then punched through the tough scales on the serpentine neck below them.

Time seemed to slow as the sisters disappeared into O-Kagachi’s body. It was one thing to see a bolt of magic sink under the great brute’s hide, but this was the sisters themselves. Toshi stared at the entry wound Michiko and Kyodai had made going in, willing them to come back out. Any second now, he told himself. Any second now.

Toshi discovered a new vein of surprise when the sisters burst free from the opposite side of O-Kagachi’s thick neck. Huge chunks of muscle and meat blew out with them, along with a great wash of the nauseating mist of darkness and void. Though the muck came Michiko and Kyodai, still unmarred, pristine, and on the offensive.

This time O-Kagachi did roar, and the dragon made a much more terrible sound when it was pained than it did when angry. At last the old serpent broke off his descent and turned his full attention on the fast-moving insects that continued to sting and annoy him.

All eight of the serpent’s heads now turned and joined against the sisters. Driven and pursued from all directions, Michiko and Kyodai were forced to separate. It seemed impossible that they would be able to stay away from so many fast-moving threats-O-Kagachi was so large there was hardly anywhere else to be but in his way.

But the sisters moved in flawless unison to use the serpent’s size against him. They were both small and fast enough to dodge his strikes out in the open, but they were even more effective in close quarters. Together they circled around his necks and zipped between his coils so that he could not strike at them without hitting himself. O-Kagachi was too old to do himself serious injury this way, but Toshi did see heads slamming solidly into coils and other heads as the serpent tried to crush these annoyances against his own body.

From the confusion of scales and coils, two of O-Kagachi’s heads struggled free. They both extended toward the central mass of the serpent, where Michiko and Kyodai buzzed around his body like bees around a hive. Michiko was managing her bow well as she flew, sending bolt after bolt of red fire into O-Kagachi’s hide. Kyodai was likewise attacking whenever her path took her close to the serpent’s skin, though Toshi could not see the method she was using. It was most likely her bare hands, or perhaps her teeth, for each time she skimmed the surface of O-Kagachi’s scales she left a wake of scintillating stars and long, ragged rents in his flesh.

While the sisters continued to nettle him, the wily old serpent struck. He lashed out at both women with the heads he had worked free, one lagging a second behind the other. Each sister dodged, but O-Kagachi changed the lagging head’s course and intercepted Michiko as the princess safely avoided the first strike.

It was a glancing blow but enough to shatter Michiko’s bow and send the princess soaring straight up. In a second she was gone from sight, hurled so high that Toshi wondered if she’d ever come down.

Michiko’s injury had an effect on Kyodai, though Toshi couldn’t tell if she felt the same blow as the princess or if she was simply shocked by brutality of it. Whatever the reason, Kyodai paused for a split second too long as she tried to follow Michiko’s upward flight. O-Kagachi hooked one of his necks below Kyodai and rose up with his jaws spread wide. Kyodai disappeared behind those terrible teeth and vanished into the serpent’s snapping maw.

Toshi stood completely stunned as the last, thinnest thread of hope snapped. The sisters had never posed a serious threat to O-Kagachi, but they had stood against him longer than anything else could have. While they were alive and active, Toshi could contemplate seeing another day. Now that Kyodai was being digested and Michiko was halfway to the moon, there was nothing to stop O-Kagachi from razing all of Kamigawa, starting with the patch Toshi currently occupied.

His worst fears were realized almost instantly. The head that swallowed Kyodai straightened, leveled, and then plunged down toward the forest. The rest of the serpent’s heads sorted themselves out from each other and the larger mass of coils, spreading out to surround the kitsune village once more. The battle must have quickened O-Kagachi’s blood, for he was descending disturbingly fast.

But the lead head that had swallowed Kyodai shuddered and stopped on its way to the forest. It jerked spasmodically, rolling from side to side, even shaking vigorously like a wet dog. Close as it was, Toshi could see the broad, winglike fins behind the serpent’s skull and the terrible vacant glare of its star-sized eyes.

The head twitched one last time and then burst open at the jaw. Kyodai fought her way clear, surrounded by more stars than ever. Toshi could hear her feral screams echoing across the sky. She left the serpent’s jaw hanging loose from one side of his mouth as his tongue lolled grotesquely across his throat.

A shiver of rage and pain flowed across O-Kagachi’s entire body. The maimed head danced and thrashed upon its long neck as the others all opened wide and roared. Even as he bellowed his injury to the world, O-Kagachi was recovering, orienting on Kyodai and beginning to stalk.

Kyodai did not wait. She flashed upward, shooting into the sky after Michiko. Toshi almost called after her, but he needn’t have worried. Now that he’d been wounded, O-Kagachi was focusing exclusively on his daughter. The old serpent wouldn’t spare the forest a glance until he had avenged that injury and prevented any chance of a sequel.

Ponderously he rose to give chase, but a moment later Kyodai returned with Michiko in her arms. The princess seemed limp and unconscious, but Kyodai hovered with her burden, defiantly staring into the eyes of O-Kagachi. For a splendid, terrible moment the combatants held this pose, a single one of O-Kagachi’s heads glaring fixedly at the sisters as Kyodai glared back. What exchanged between these two incredible beings was beyond Toshi, but it was clear that if O-Kagachi did not recognize his daughter before, he did now-as his mortal enemy.

Kyodai let out an inhuman scream and hurled Michiko skyward, clear of the coming charge. She rushed forward to meet O-Kagachi’s wide-open jaws, borne forward on a powerful storm of muscle and malice.

Toshi wanted to see the impact, but his eyes were drawn to the tumbling figure of Michiko-hime. He was enough of a faker and a trickster to recognize a ploy when he saw it. Kyodai had just abandoned the battle to recover her sister, so tossing her away in a fit of anger either meant Kyodai had lost her temper and her wits … or that she was up to something.

He was rewarded when Michiko snapped back to full consciousness at precisely the moment when Kyodai and O-Kagachi plowed into each other. The former Taken One punched into O-Kagachi’s face like it was made of soft dough, and the serpent’s neck was compressed back on itself behind the head. The fierce woman took the worst of it, as O-Kagachi’s mass was unfathomably larger than hers. She broke two of his teeth and drew blood from his nose, but Kyodai herself was propelled backward at tremendous speed.

Toshi saw that everywhere the sisters had struck was covered in stars. O-Kagachi’s broken jaw, the slashes on his necks, and the gaping holes in his hide were all wreathed pieces of light and void alike, but the stars were prevailing. Like the scab that forms over a healing wound, the stars seemed to patch and protect the damage done by the sisters. Was this part of their plan?

Half-mesmerized, Toshi shook his gaze free and quickly looked back to Michiko. The princess hung suspended by her nimbus of white with her bow arm extended. The gauzy star-fire around her flowed into her open hand, thickened, then solidified. The mist sparkled, and then Michiko was holding a new bow made of white wood. She wasted no time in putting the new weapon to use, drawing an arrow and firing it in one smooth motion.

This time the arrow converted into a gleaming bolt of white energy. The glowing missile slammed into the top of the head Kyodai had just immobilized. Instead of tearing the serpent’s skin or burrowing into the meat below, the bolt seemed to spread out along the surface of O-Kagachi’s scales. The growing white stain stiffened and calcified the serpent’s body as it went-Toshi could hear the scales creaking and hardening even from where he stood.

In seconds the entire head and most of the surrounding neck had been covered in a sheath of stone. Toshi saw the muscles below the petrifying mass straining to keep the head aloft before they were engulfed by the shroud of white. Undaunted by the fate of their fellow, the serpent’s other heads now surged forward to attack Michiko.

Kyodai returned before they could strike, flashing like a lightning bolt into the calcified head. She was a screeching bird of prey as she flew once more into the face of the serpent.

The impact sounded like an entire mountain shattering. Great plumes of white dust shot out from a cloud of force-driven debris. Within the cloud of grit and dust, millions of distant stars flickered. Every one of the serpent’s other heads shot straight out and howled, filling the air with an indescribable wail of pain and fury.

Toshi picked himself up off the ground. For some deep, instinctual reason he felt he was unworthy to look at the aftermath of the sisters’ attack. It was like a kind of blasphemy, seeing something mortal eyes were not meant to see. Then he looked anyway.

The sky above the battle was filling with fading pieces of void and an ever-brighter field of stars. Below this curtain of darkness and light, O-Kagachi was now a seven-headed serpent, the eighth now little more than a ragged stump at the end of a long, flailing neck. Michiko’s arrow hadn’t just immobilized the serpent’s head in stone, it had wholly converted it to stone. As Konda had done to Kyodai, Michiko did to O-Kagachi. The sisters had no intention of putting their stone idol on a pedestal and worshipping it, however.

Livid with rage and pain, O-Kagachi flailed at the sisters, throwing his heads at them like a barroom drunk throws punches. Michiko and Kyodai easily avoided these enraged, clumsy attacks. They drew one head away from the rest, and when it was isolated, Michiko rose over it while Kyodai drew back. Michiko fired another white arrow, which O-Kagachi almost dodged, but the bolt still caught him behind the ear.

The process was even quicker this time. The calcifying stain spread across the serpent’s face and across his skull, working its way down the massive neck. O-Kagachi struggled to move the stricken head and to bring his other coils up to block Kyodai’s killing stroke. The yellow-eyed maiden was too fast and too fierce, dipping down and shattering this head from below.

The sisters established their perfect rhythm on the next head: isolate, immobilize, and shatter. The headless necks all hung lifeless, weighing O-Kagachi down and disrupting the movements of the survivors. The longer he struggled with his injuries, the wilder and less focused he became.

The serpent truly panicked after they destroyed his fourth head. Effectively halved, O-Kagachi was still a formidable threat-he had battered down the walls of Eiganjo with only three heads, after all. But Eiganjo had only men, moths, and magic to send against him. Michiko and Kyodai were unlike anything he had encountered before, a brand-new fusion of flesh and spirit. If O-Kagachi hadn’t been frothing with pain and rage, Toshi expected he would have been raging over the sisters’ very existence. He was the great spirit of all things-how could something unknown to him exist, much less cripple him?

The fifth head fell to the sisters, and then the sixth. The sky above the serpent was now covered in an unbroken sheet of glittering starlight. A cheer went up among the kitsune around him, but Toshi was not yet ready to celebrate.

Almost on cue, the sisters stopped their attack and streaked toward the ground. They regrouped between O-Kagachi and the observers in the forest. Toshi saw them talking and nodding, pointing to the last two heads.

Don’t get fancy, he thought. Do your thing on these last two before O-Kagachi surprises you.

But the sisters did not hear or heed his heartfelt advice. Instead, they split and each went straight to one of the remaining heads. O-Kagachi hadn’t been able to catch them when he was whole, and now it seemed all he could do was snap, roar, and hate.

The sisters landed simultaneously. Each stood proud and strong on top of a flat, boxlike skull. They faced each other and nodded, and Michiko drew her bow. She fired an arrow at Kyodai, allowing for the vigorous thrashing of the serpent’s coils. Halfway to its mark the arrow changed into a streak of vivid blue. The azure line raced back toward Michiko at precisely the same speed as it hurtled toward Kyodai so that it touched both sisters at the same time.

At that precise instant, Michiko and Kyodai both turned and caught the incoming blue bolt with both hands. The sky, the air, everything in Toshi’s field of vision was swallowed by a sapphire wave of light and force. Blind, he staggered and stumbled against a cedar tree. He turned toward the last place he had seen the sisters and waited for his vision to clear.

Spots danced before his eyes and the blue sheen blurred details, but Toshi saw. As light flickered in the sky and behind his eyelids, Toshi watched, the sisters, now gigantic, grappling on even terms with O-Kagachi’s two remaining heads. Kyodai had her quarry clamped under her arm like some great, playful dog. Michiko was keeping the serpent’s other jaws closed with both hands, straddling the neck like a powerful horse.

Then, faster than he could register, the sisters and O-Kagachi all shrank from the size of giants who filled the sky to that of average, full-grown humans. It happened as fast as snow melting on a hot griddle, a smooth but dramatic change. One moment they were grappling in the sky like gods and the next they were back on the ground, no larger than they had been before the old serpent came.

O-Kagachi had been reduced far more than the sisters. The great old serpent was still in their clutches, struggling with all his might as his hardened and shattered necks flopped appallingly on the ground. Each of his final two heads was now only a square foot in size, easily controlled by the vivacious warriors who had bested him.

Pearl-Ear stepped forward, Michiko’s name on her lips, but the princess called, “No, sensei. We are not yet finished.”

Michiko and Kyodai looked at each other. They nodded and lifted the serpent’s struggling heads up to eye level.

“This is the way of mortal beings,” Michiko intoned. “The aged give way to the young.”

“The old must stand aside for the new,” Kyodai replied.

The air between them blurred, and when it cleared, O-Kagachi was no larger than a soldier’s pack, each wriggling head as long and as broad as a garden snake.

The sisters exchanged one final glance, then as one opened their mouths and bit the final heads off O-Kagachi. With foul black mist and blood streaming from their mouths, they simultaneously chewed, swallowed, and tossed the headless stumps aside.

Michiko turned to Pearl-Ear, wiping her face on the back of her leather gauntlet. “Now,” she said grimly, “it’s finished.”

Kyodai’s serpentine eyes glittered as they reflected the starlight around her. “Not quite,” she said.

Daimyo Konda redoubled his efforts when he saw the great serpent appear suddenly in the sky. It was troubling, as O-Kagachi had never manifested so quickly or completely, but Konda was confident in his eventual success. Anything less than victory was beneath him, unworthy of his destiny. But just to be safe, he summoned the rest of his ghost army to him, ordering them to break off their attack on the soratami and come west with all due speed.

There was no reply from his soldiers in east Jukai. Cold, painful doubt spread throughout Konda’s body-had his connection to his army been severed, or had the army itself been destroyed? O-Kagachi’s arrival in the utsushiyo always came with unexpected consequences. It pained him to turn away from his loyal retainers, but he could not afford any more distractions at this crucial juncture.

One benefit of the serpent’s arrival was that it verified the Taken One’s location. Konda urged his escorts to fly faster and lower, his hand trembling on his sword. Soon he would prove that his was the dominant force in Kamigawa.

As he closed in on the serpent’s position, something strange happened. There was a storm of arcane blue light, and then Konda saw two women in the sky alongside the old serpent. After that, O-Kagachi vanished from sight.

The daimyo’s heart fell. The only possible reasons he could think of for the great serpent’s departure were that the thief had slipped away with the Taken One once more, or that O-Kagachi had finally claimed the prize. Nothing else could explain it.

Though his confidence faltered, Konda continued on. He had to know one way or the other. If O-Kagachi had won the race, Konda must return to Eiganjo and develop the means to storm the kakuriyo once more. If the chase was still on, Konda wanted to be sure he reached the prize before the great spirit guardian.

At last, Konda guided his escorts down through the canopy. His spectral moths wove easily through the thick forest until they came upon a long, narrow alley that had been cleared of trees. Konda briefly wondered what tribe had been so industrious. As far as he knew no one inhabited this stretch of Jukai.

Just off the artificial clearing sat two kitsune and a human. They did not seem frightened of Konda’s strange and otherworldly escorts, so the daimyo directed them to set him down near the trio. As the moths rose back into the sky, they seemed to fade away into the strange-colored sky. Is it finally over? Konda wondered. Have I finally achieved my goal? For he knew that his army would never abandon him unless the day was already won.

One of the seated kitsune rose to greet him, but the other and the human remained seated with their backs to Konda. It was difficult to expect everyone to recognize him on sight, especially this far from Eiganjo, but the daimyo was still annoyed. He prepared to introduce himself. They would fall over themselves to bow at his feet once they knew who he was.

“Greetings, Daimyo Konda. We have been expecting you.”

Konda squinted in the late-afternoon sun. “Lady Pearl-Ear?” he said.

Pearl-Ear bowed. “At your service. Or rather, formerly at your service. I was more recently your prisoner than a member of your court.”

“You endangered my daughter,” Konda snapped. “What is going on here, Lady? Where is the Taken One?”

“Were it up to you, Daimyo, I would not even know what you were talking about. But I do. And you will not like the answer.”

“Already I do not like your tone,” Konda observed. “And I suggest you demonstrate an appropriate level of respect before I restore your status as prisoner.”

“She is showing you appropriate respect, old man.” The human rose to his feet with his back still to Konda. “How you feel about it is your problem.”

“Turn, sir,” Konda said angrily. “I would see the face of folly before I chop it off at the neck.”

The man turned. Konda immediately recognized the thief Toshi Umezawa and drew his sword. “Finally. You will tell me what you have done with my property or I will have you cut to death by inches.”

Now the other kitsune rose. His face was unknown to Konda, but he spoke with breathtaking familiarity.

“Get in line,” the little foxman said. “And for the record, she’s nobody’s property any more.”

Konda looked at Pearl-Ear. “Are you and this fellow in league with the ochimusha?”

“Not precisely, Daimyo. But we are his allies for the moment.”

“Actually,” the little fox said, “we hate him almost as much as you do.”

The thief shrugged and smiled … actually smiled in the face of the daimyo’s sword. “I don’t make a very good first impression,” he admitted. “But ask around. I’ll grow on you.”

Konda continued to glare. Magic was at work here. A woodland spell or a cursed spring: something had obviously deranged their senses. “You will surrender to my soldiers and come quietly with me to the tower,” Konda said. “Or I will crush you all where you stand.”

The ochimusha cocked his head. “All of us? Are you sure?”

“Father.”

Konda spun at the sound of Michiko-hime’s voice. What was she doing here? Why was she dressed in warrior’s armor? What were those twinkling lights surrounding her?

“Michiko,” he said. “Where have you been? Why are you here?” He turned to Pearl-Ear and the others and shouted, “Where is my prize?”

“Your prize is here, Father.” Michiko spoke softly, almost sadly. “Though for the twenty years you clung to it, you never once understood its true value. Was it worth the price you paid? Was it worth two decades of war? Was it worth offending the entire spirit world and endangering the physical one? Was it worth the life of my mother and thousands more?”

Konda glowered. “You may not speak to me this way, Michiko.”

“I may do however I like, Father. I am no longer your princess. Your prize is here. You may claim it any time. I believe she is as eager to see you as you are to reclaim her. Perhaps more so.

“I never understood the magnitude of your crime, Father, and when I did I despaired. You were never worthy of the prize you stole, Daimyo Konda. But I see now that in the end, you do deserve it.” Michiko turned and began to walk away.

“Come back here, child. How dare you!”

“Daimyo Konda.” The strange triple voice brought a chill to Konda’s chest. Slowly, he turned and faced the speaker.

She was so like his daughter that he was momentarily confused. The hair, the eyes, the lips, and the clothes were all too strange and wanton for Michiko, but the new arrival could have been the princess’s sister. She was unsettling however, with her serpent’s eyes and a shroud of stars.

“Who are you?” There was something else familiar about her as well. Not just the resemblance to Michiko, but the sensation he got from looking at her. It felt comfortable, as if he’d seen her a thousand times.

“I have chosen the name Kyodai. But you knew me by the name you gave me.”

The chill in Konda’s chest expanded. “Then you are … are you ….”

“I am she who you took from the kakuriyo twenty years ago. You brought me to this world to make you immortal, to make you invincible. To make sure the name ‘Konda’ would never fade from the memory of Kamigawa. Rejoice, Daimyo. Your goals are all about to be realized.”

Kyodai opened her mouth and bared her sharp serpent’s fangs. Konda had time to utter one final word, one last plea before the Taken One struck.

“Please,” he said.

Kyodai’s tongue lashed out, stretching across the distance separating her from Konda. The daimyo barely saw the sharpened tips as they shot toward his face and punctured both eyes.

Konda screamed and staggered back. He clapped his hands over his face and stumbled to one knee. He tried to speak, but his tongue had become like a block of ice. His throat closed and he felt his joints stiffening. His hands grew rough and hard against the skin of his face, and it took all of his strength to pull them down to his sides. He lost all feeling in his legs, though he could still twist and jerk from the waist up. Slowly, he lost this last iota of mobility, and his body became frozen and inert.

Strangely, Konda found he could still see. He was completely immobile, paralyzed and speechless, but he could see and hear perfectly well. Apart from a strange, fish bowl distortion across his field of vision, his view of the clearing had not changed.

Kyodai strolled toward him, her face filling his view. “Behold,” she said, “the enduring legacy of Daimyo Konda. His name and his face will never be forgotten, for they shall be preserved here for all time.”

The fierce woman’s face turned away. Konda heard her say, “Of course, they’ll have to be very, very patient to see all of him.” When she turned back around, Kyodai’s black, vertical pupils almost eclipsed her yellow eyes. Her lips were drawn back in a feral snarl, and she was hissing in pure hatred.

Kyodai lunged forward and drove her fist through Konda’s petrified face, shattering his head and the upper half of his chest. There was a momentary pause, and then she struck again, crushing the rest of his body to gravel and dust.

Konda did not die. Instead, the countless pieces of his eyes continued to relay visual images to his shattered brain. He saw not a single picture of the forest and the woman who destroyed him, but a million bits of color and texture, all overlapping and disjointed so that there was no way to clarify the image.

“I know you can hear me,” Kyodai said. She was correct, though now her unsettling triple voice was a nightmarish chorus of disorganized and painful noise. “Your daughter has asked me to return in twenty years to see if I feel the scales have been balanced. For her sake, I have agreed.”

The kaleidoscope images of Kyodai all leaned down over the debris that had been Konda. The mass of echoing voices whispered savagely, almost spitting the words. “They will never be balanced. I will return, Daimyo Konda. But I will never forgive you.”

Kyodai rose and turned away. Konda tried to scream, to release the rage and horror building up within him.

Instead, the pieces of the daimyo’s broken body remained as silent as stone.

Toshi regained consciousness on a high cliff overlooking the sea. He groaned and rolled onto his back, checking his chest with his fingers. The wound was gone, but some of the pain remained. It would be a while before he got his full wind back.

Gingerly, he crawled to his knees and then stood. He didn’t recognize the coastline. In fact, he didn’t recognize the ocean. He was used to dark, brackish water that barely crested above three feet. These waves were a light blue-green and huge-the smallest swell was taller than Toshi himself.

Out to sea, he saw two huge spires of rock. They looked too perfect to be natural, but who could have constructed them? And what purpose did they serve so far away?

He was ravenously hungry, but the only edible thing he saw was a twig-sized sapling that might someday be a fruit tree. He carefully approached the edge of the rocky cliff. It was a sheer drop of over one hundred feet to the pebbled beach below. If he wanted fish, he’d have to navigate down the treacherous cliff face, and his ribs were in no shape to do that.

Toshi inhaled and then coughed. The air here didn’t smell or taste right. He began to have serious concerns about where Night had deposited him.

Toshi. Then the myojin’s voice came to him, soft and muted as if she were far, far away. You’re awake. Excellent. Let me ask you … did you ever wonder why I wanted you to protect the Taken One?

“Where am I, O Night?”

It’s rude to answer a question with a question, Toshi.

Toshi sighed. “No. I didn’t give it much thought, actually. I supposed it was because you liked the way things were, and if Konda or O-Kagachi got it back, things would change.”

You were partially correct, but there was another, far more interesting reason.

“It sounds interesting. I am interested. But must I guess this other reason, or will you tell me?”

When Konda acquired the Taken One, he changed the fundamental balance in Kamigawa. He broke through the barrier that separates the real world from the spirit world. O-Kagachi embodied that barrier. Konda’s act was a direct attack upon him.

“I understand.”

In fact, Konda’s crime allowed me to see the barrier from a whole new perspective. When the serpent turned his attention to finding and reclaiming what was stolen, the barrier between worlds was further weakened. And without his being wholly dedicated to protecting it, I found I could traverse not only the boundary between physical and spiritual, but the boundary between Kamigawa and other worlds. Strange, new worlds with different rules, different paths to power. While O-Kagachi was not watching, I was able to visit these worlds. What do you think I found there?

Toshi did not like where this was going. “Uhh,” he said.

“Treasure? Enlightenment? New purpose?”

All of those things and more. I found that just as I am worshiped on Kamigawa, so I am on other worlds. They call me by different names and they practice different rites, but every new world I saw ascribed some deeper significance to the darkness that fills half their lives. This knowledge was very … stimulating to me.

Toshi nodded. “So you wanted me to keep O-Kagachi running so you’d have more time to get to know your new followers.”

In a sense, yes. I even harbored notions of making you my chief acolyte on Kamigawa so that I could explore other realms on my own. That was of course before you brought the Taken One to my honden and she treated me so roughly.

“I tried to explain-”

Hush, my acolyte. That is all in the past. What matters now is the future of Kamigawa, a future for which you helped lay the foundation. The sisters mean to change the way magic functions. They will succeed, in time.

“But that isn’t my-”

And when they succeed, I will have to relearn the blessings I can bestow. I will have to grow and adapt and change.

“Change is good,” Toshi said. “Change is life.”

In this case, change is an inconvenience. I preferred Kamigawa as it was, Toshi. And I can never have that again. So, for your part in all this, I am rewarding you thusly: you are no longer in Kamigawa, but in a new world that I recently discovered.

“New … as in empty?”

Not at all. There are billions of people here.

“Billions?”

And billions of other sentient creatures. Magic here is quite different from what you’re used to. I thought it appropriate thatyou should be in the same position you put me in. There is great power here, Toshi, amazing reserves of magical energy. But you cannot access them by prayer or by kanji. Just as I will have to learn a new way, so must you.

“So,” Toshi said, “I’m banished.”

Not banished. Planted. You are a seed, Toshi, and it is my sincere hope that you flower. Every nation should cultivate an Umezawa to keep things from becoming static. To keep those in power from taking it for granted. The landmass you are currently standing on is ruled by a powerful queen who styles herself a goddess. You are my gift to her, to this entire world. A bold and clever man like you will go far … or, he will be killed by someone more powerful and treacherous in the first year. I can’t imagine someone more powerful and treacherous than you on Kamigawa. But this is not Kamigawa.

“I’m starting to appreciate that.”

Before I leave you to your new life, I have one final gift. It would be unfair of me deposit you here with nothing but your natural advantages. I hope you can use this to define yourself, to set yourself apart from the common man.

Goodbye, Toshi Umezawa. Perhaps I shall return to check on your progress someday. When I do, I am sure you will have justified my faith in you.

Toshi decided to say nothing as Night’s presence left him alone on the alien shore. There was no point in antagonizing her. If he left the impression, of being a good little acolyte who took his punishment like a man, she might even remember him fondly. She might find a use for him back on Kamigawa.

No sooner had Night departed than Toshi’s vision began to fade. The image of the sea, and the spires, and the fledgling fruit tree were the last things he saw before darkness obscured all. He turned his face toward the sun and felt its warmth, but he saw nothing but a curtain of unending black.

“Blind,” Toshi said. “Great.” But he felt surprisingly calm. He turned in place until he felt the sea breeze on his back, and then he walked carefully away from the cliff.

He scratched a few kanji into the sandy soil with his finger, but nothing happened. Blind, abandoned, and powerless. He might as well just turn about and run off the cliff at top speed.

The wind shifted then, and the inland breeze caried the rich, loamy scent of a swamp. Not a rotten, toxic cesspool like Numai, but a sweet scent. It was the scent of swamp grass and thick moss, of ferns and clean mulch. In Numai, things rotted without ever rotting away. This new swamp smelled of decay, but it was the decay that broke down dead things into the raw materials living things needed. This swamp was alive, vibrant, part of a larger cycle that fed the entire landscape.

Toshi smiled. This was clearly the new power Night’s Reach had talked about. All he had to do was find his way there and figure out how to tap into it. He might fall in a hole or get bitten by a rabid wolf on the way, but it was a far better plan than running blind off a cliff.

Toshi tilted his head back and sniffed deeply, fixing the healthy swamp smell in his mind so he could stay oriented on it. This wasn’t so daunting a task. First, find the swamp. Then, find a way to use the power there. Then, settle in and build a life that doesn’t revolve around rats, looting, and reckoner gangs.

Toshi took one step toward the swamp. He didn’t stumble, didn’t fall, and didn’t plunge his foot into a hornet’s nest.

So far, he thought, so good.