Stormdancer (15 page)

Oni are the demon spawn of the Yomi underworld. Servants of the dark beyond darkness, children of the great black mother, Lady Izanami, born and beholden to the shadow.

Perhaps that’s why Yukiko and the arashitora didn’t see them coming. Wind scrabbled through the trees, tearing blossoms and leaves from the branches and whipping them into blinding flurries, thunder and rain drumming in their ears until the entire world seemed one endless drone. The pair stumbled on through the deep of night, looking for a cave, a hollowed tree, anything to shield them from the elements. The demons fell on them as they entered a copse of oak, downwind and silent as vapor. Like spiders dropping from the trees, all long limbs and wicked teeth, studded tetsubos and ten-span swords clutched in clawed hands. In the split second before the war club landed on the thunder tiger’s skull, Yukiko glanced up and screamed a warning. The arashitora moved quick as lightning, knocking her sideways and into a tangle of battered pink hydrangeas.
The war club smashed the ground like an anvil, the ten-span sword whistling over the thunder tiger’s head. And then there was only motion, a kind of brutal poetry, lashing out with beak and talon and spraying the leaves with hissing, black blood. The first demon fell with its throat torn out, the arashitora spitting chunks of dark flesh onto the leaves. He hurled himself skyward, furiously thrashing his wings, landing atop the second’s shoulders and raking the creature’s gut with the hooked sabers on his hind legs. Coils of thick black intestine unfurled with a stench of funeral pyres, and Yukiko clapped her hands over her mouth to hold back the vomit.
A third demon dropped from the shadows above them and landed behind the thunder tiger, raising its iron club high above its head. Yukiko moved without thinking, pushing a warning into the beast’s mind and darting forth from the hydrangeas. She hacked at the demon’s Achilles tendon with her tantō. She felt a moment’s resis tance, as if cleaving through old, salted rope. But the blade was of the finest crafting, folded one hundred and one times by the venerable Phoenix swordsage, Fushicho Otomo, and blue flesh soon gave way in a mist of hissing ichor.
The oni screeched, clutching its ankle and tumbling to the ground. The arashitora was on it in a second, cutting like a whirlwind, a jagged scythe of blades and feathers that left little more than a blue-black smear in its wake.
When he was done, the thunder tiger shook himself as a dog might, spraying black gore in all directions. His flanks heaved, great gusts of breath hissing from his open beak and scattering the dead leaves. Steam rose off his fur in warm drifts, eyes glittering with the joy of the kill. He stared at her, gaze flickering to the tiny blade in her hand.
SMALL KNIFE.
Yukiko pushed her sweat-slick hair out of her eyes, nodding at the demon’s severed ankle. Her arm was painted to the elbow in rancid black.
Big enough.
She felt a grudging respect rising in him despite his efforts to push it away. Though he didn’t acknowledge it, she could sense his gratitude, the knowledge that the oni would probably have staved in his skull had she failed to call out in time.
BRAVE.
He wiped his claws on the dead leaves, and with a swish of his tail, turned to leave. Pausing, he looked over his shoulder, eyes fixed on her.
COME.
He moved off into the darkness.
Trying to stifle her smile, Yukiko followed.

The night stretched on, dark and soaking, and dawn seemed a thousand miles away. A chill settled over the forest, altitude and the howling storm slowly leaching the heat from the earth and her own tired bones. Yukiko’s clothes were drenched, wind cutting through her like a nagamaki’s blade through snow-white feathers, and she wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled along in the dark, almost too exhausted to keep her eyes open. The rain was a constant, a deluge pressing her toward the sodden ground, her mood sinking into the mud along with her feet. She tried to keep the misery at bay, thinking of the bamboo valley, the warm stretches of green grass and crystal-clear water, shimmering with heat. But thoughts of the valley brought her back to her father, the bitter words they had shared before the Thunder Child fell from the skies.

The slap on her cheek.
The hiss through gritted teeth.
“I hate you.”
She had meant it. Every word. And yet the thought of him lying bleeding in

the wreckage of the lifeboat, of never seeing him again . . . it was almost more than she could bear. Her muscles burned, lungs aching with each breath, and she stumbled and fell into the muck, too tired to plant one foot in front of the other. The arashitora watched her trying to stand, her fingers curled into claws, chest heaving.

YOU ARE WELL?
No, I’m not well. It’s pouring with rain and I’m so tired I can barely walk. He eyed her up and down with disdain.
WEAK.
We need to find shelter. Somewhere I can start a fire. We’re far enough away

from the dark temple now.
WOOD WET. WILL NOT BURN.
Somewhere out of the wind, at least.
The beast snorted, flexed his wings. He stared for a long moment, wide pupils reflecting the arcs of lightning stretching overhead. She could feel the heat inside him, the warmth of the blood in his veins, pulsing beneath a layer of thick, soggy fur.

He nodded up the rise, pawing at the ground.
THERE.
Yukiko looked up, saw the dark shadow of a cave mouth set in the mountainside.

They scrambled up the slope, loose stones and mud, clawing branches and thorns. The cave entrance was a black pit in the stone, perhaps eight feet across, opening out into a deep circular depression in the mountain’s flank. The thunder tiger sniffed the air, sensed no predator save small furry things too feeble to bother them. And so he squeezed inside and stretched out along one wall, facing outward and watching the lightning dance among the treetops.

Yukiko curled up against the opposite wall, damp clothes clinging to her skin like a rime of morning frost. Clawing the wet hair from her eyes, she hugged herself and sank down to embrace her misery. She felt the cold more keenly once she stopped moving, and the shakes soon grew so fierce that she was forced to lie on the floor, back pressed against the stone, every muscle a knot of pain. Dry twigs and leaves were scattered around the cave, but her hands were trembling so badly that she couldn’t have started a fire even if she had the flint.

The arashitora stared out at the storm for almost an hour, motionless and unblinking. Occasionally, he would glance over at her and watch her curled in her miserable little knot, shivering uncontrollably. Then his wings would twitch, and he would scrape his talons across the stone and turn his gaze back to the clouds. Yukiko closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to stop them chattering.

At last, he drew one great, deep breath and sighed; a bellows that sent the dry leaves skittering across the cave floor. Yukiko watched as he wordlessly lifted his wing, inviting her closer. She blinked and stared for a long moment, meeting the even gaze of those bottomless eyes. Crawling across the stone, she snuggled down beside him, wrapped in the tremendous heat radiating from his body. He folded his wing about her, a blanket of down and sweet warmth tinged with the scent of lightning, the smell of blood. She could hear his heartbeat beneath inches of pale, velvet fur.

Thank you, Buruu.
QUIET NOW, MONKEY-CHILD. DREAM.
Sleep came at last, as deep and complete as any she had known. She lay motionless, a soft smile on her face, and dreamed of a little bamboo valley, sweating beneath a summer sun.

The rabbits were plump and juicy, Buruu’s gorge swelling as he threw his head back and swallowed them whole: fur, bones and all. Yukiko poked at the fire and watched the small haunch sizzle, fat spitting among the embers. Her stomach growled; the mushrooms she’d lived on for the past few days were nourishing, but hardly enough.

Buruu was stretched out beside the flames along the rock wall, firelight gleaming in his eyes. Woodsmoke drifted out into the eve ning chill, up into the pouring rain. The rabbits had been hard won; a day’s patience in the downpour, hovering above the snares until her muscles ached. But the smell of the roasting meat made it all worthwhile.

Buruu had slept while she caught their dinner, the beast stretched out above one of the snares in a maidenhead tree. He had woken twice during the day, once to tell her to hurry up, the second to pounce unsuccessfully on a small hare nosing about the trap below him. After his failure, he’d mustered a little more patience, and when she returned with half a dozen fat rabbits slung over her shoulder, he’d discovered his civility.

Now, she looked at Buruu across the roasting meat, flames sparkling in her pupils. During the drama on the Thunder Child, the shock of the last few days, she’d not really had the opportunity to study him as well as she would have liked. But at last, here in the flickering warmth, with dry skin and the promise of a full belly, she found herself transfixed. Simply amazed to be in the presence of a creature so beautiful.

The flames lent the pale, sleek feathers on his head and chest a strange sheen; a luminosity that was almost metallic. His shoulders were broad, thick with muscle, and the feathers there rose like hackles on a hound when he grew angry. The patterns of black in the snow-white fur on his hindquarters were like words, written in some savage tongue she couldn’t quite comprehend. Strangely enough, it was his tail, not his face that was the most expressive part of his body. It moved in long, lazy arcs when he was content, lashed from side to side like a bullwhip when he was enraged, hung poised and slightly curled when he was stalking through the dark. Though he was half eagle, she’d noticed he moved mostly like a big cat: lithe and sinuous, an undercurrent of cunning in every fluid motion.

“We have enough food to start moving.” Her voice skipped across rough stone walls. “We can strike out for the cliff tomorrow. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to see where we are once we get to the top.”

He blinked at her, saying nothing. She realized that he couldn’t understand her when she spoke aloud; her voice was a series of squeals and barks in his ears. She repeated the sentence into his mind, the liquidity of thought overcoming the barrier of flesh and bone between them.

When we climb the cliff tomorrow, we should be able to see where we are. WE ARE HERE. WHAT ELSE MATTERS?
Yukiko took a few moments to answer.
I need to get home.
He snorted, preening his crippled wings with the elegant hook of his beak.

Its tip was white like his fur, running through gray into a deep black encircling his eyes. The cool breeze rustled the feathers of his brow.
DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOU MONKEYS.
Meaning what?
THIS IS GOOD PLACE. FOOD HERE. WARM. DRY. SAFE. WHY DO YOU RUSH BACK TO YOUR SCAB?
My father. My friends. They could be dead for all I know. If they got away, they’d head back to Kigen. I need to find out if they’re all right.
YOUR PACK.
The beast nodded, the gesture all too human.
PACK I UNDERSTAND.
Where is yours?
. . . NORTH. AMONG THE STORMS.
His eyes gleamed, honey shot through with shards of molten silver. Why did you come here?
TO SEE WHAT YOU HAD DONE. THE OLD ONES WARNED ME. SAID THERE WAS NO LIFE LEFT IN SHIMA. DID NOT LISTEN. FOOLISH.
I don’t listen to my father either.
Yukiko smiled.
THE ONE WHO MAIMED ME.
Her smile died, and she was surprised to find herself leaping to Masaru’s defense.
He’s a good man. He was only doing what he was commanded.
COMMANDED BY WHO?
The Shōgun. The leader of Shima.
DESPOILER LORD COMMANDED YOU HUNT ME. WHY?
He wanted you for himself. To ride you, like the Stormdancers in the old tales.
NO MAN WILL RIDE ME. THAT GIFT IS EARNED. YOUR RACE IS NO LONGER WORTHY. ARASHITORA DESPISE YOU.
Not all of us are evil.
LOOK AROUND. GAME DEAD, RIVERS BLACK, LAND CHOKED WITH WEED. SKIES BLEEDING, RED AS BLOOD. FOR WHAT?
I don’t—
YOUR KIND ARE BLIND. YOU SEE ONLY THE NOW, NEVER THE WILL BE.
Buruu glared, the embers setting his eyes aglow.
BUT SOON YOU WILL. WHEN ALL IS GONE, WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY MONKEY-CHILDREN THAT YOU MURDER FOR A SCRAP OF LAND, A DROP OF CLEAN WATER, THEN YOU WILL SEE.
Yukiko pictured the recruitment posters slapped over the walls of Kigen city, the factories churning out weapons for the war machine, the constant updates about the gaijin conflict streaming across the wireless.
It’s already happening, she realized.
AFTER THE LAST FISH IS CAUGHT. AFTER THE LAST RIVER POISONED. THEN YOU WILL KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. AND BY THEN IT WILL BE TOO LATE.
The arashitora shook his head, began sharpening his claws against the stone floor; iron-hard curves against sparkling granite. Yukiko found it hard to argue with him. Her mind had swum with uneasy questions for years, born in the gaudy opulence of the Shōgun’s court, festering in the crowded streets beneath Kigen’s poisoned sky. But even if Buruu was right, what could one person do about it? The world was so big. How could one girl make a difference? She could spend her whole life shouting from the rooftops, and nobody would listen. A common man doesn’t care about dying birds or changing weather. He cares only for the food on his family’s table, the clothes on his children’s backs.
Are we any different? These rabbits died to feed our hunger. We killed them because we think our lives are more important than theirs.
She thought of her father, the blood of a hundred beasts on his hands. For all his faults, she knew if Masaru had to pollute a thousand rivers, exterminate a thousand species to keep her safe, he would. Realization struck, a grubby bulb turning on in her head and shining light in a dusty corner she’d always ignored.
She was all he had left.
Everything he had done, he’d done for her. The months away from home. The move to Kigen. The hunt. Clipping Buruu’s wings.
“One day you will understand, Yukiko. One day you will see that we must sometimes sacrifice for the sake of something greater.”
She frowned, pushing the tears down into the tips of her toes.
He hadn’t been talking about the Empire, or his honor.
He was talking about me.
Buruu stared, saying nothing. He stretched out along the floor, lifted his wing to offer shelter, but she remained motionless. With something approaching a shrug, he nestled his head beneath his shoulder, closed his eyes and sighed.
She stayed awake and watched the fire burn.