Shadow Of The Fox. Julie Kagawa
run, you should catch them before they close.”
Suki gazed through an open screen at the storm clouds roiling above the palace. Thunder rumbled as silver-blue strands chased each other through the sky. “Yes, Lady Satomi.”
* * *
The passing days made Suki long for her father’s shop, for the quiet comfort of sweeping, stitching torn clothing and cooking meals three times a day. For the comforting smell of sawdust and wood shavings, and for the customers who barely gave her a second glance, concerned only with her father and his work. She’d thought it would be easy enough to be the maid to a great lady, to help her dress and run her errands and see to the mundane little tasks that were beneath the notice of the nobility. Perhaps that was how it should have been—certainly, the other maids did not seem to share her plight. Indeed, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid her, as if associating with Lady Satomi’s maid would attract the ire of her mistress. Suki couldn’t blame them.
Lady Satomi was a nightmare, a beautiful nightmare of silk, makeup and heady perfume. Nothing Suki did suited the woman. No matter how she scrubbed or cleaned, the laundry never met with Satomi’s satisfaction. The tea Suki brewed was too weak, too strong, too sweet, always too something. No amount of cleaning sufficed within Lady Satomi’s chambers—there was always a speck of dirt to be found, a tatami mat out of place, an origami creature in the wrong spot. And each failure brought a little smile from the lady and a shockingly powerful slap.
No one cared, of course. The other maids looked away from her bruises, and the guards did not look at her at all. Suki did not dare complain; not only was Lady Satomi a great and powerful lady, she was the favored concubine of the emperor himself. To speak poorly of her would be insulting Taiyo no Genjiro, the great Son of Heaven, and would result in a flogging, public humiliation, or worse.
The only thing that saved Suki from complete despair was the thought of running into Daisuke-sama again. He was a great noble, of course, far above her station, and would not care about the troubles of a lowly maid. But even catching a glimpse of him would be enough. She looked for him on the verandas and the paths to and from Lady Satomi’s chambers, but the beautiful noble was nowhere to be seen. Later, she learned through servant gossip that Taiyo Daisuke had left the Palace of the Sun not long after she arrived, heading off on one of his mysterious pilgrimages across the country. Perhaps, Suki thought, she would catch a glimpse of him when he returned. Perhaps she would hear her father’s flute again, and follow it until she found him on the verandas, his long white hair flowing behind him.
A ringing slap drew her from her daydream, knocking her to the floor. “Oh dear. You are such a clumsy girl.” Lady Satomi stood over her, resplendent in her stunning silk robes. “Get up, Suki-chan. I have a task for you.”
In her arms, the lady carried a coil of fine silken cord, bloodred in color. As Suki staggered to her feet, the rope was thrust into her arms. “You are such a feebleminded little thing, aren’t you? I despair of ever making a good maid out of you. But surely even you can take care of this one small task. Take this rope to the storehouse in the eastern gardens, the one past the lake. Surely you can do that much? And do stop crying, girl. What will people think of me, if my maid goes around weeping everywhere?”
* * *
Suki awoke to darkness with a throbbing in her skull. Her vision swam, and there was a weird coppery taste in the back of her throat. Overhead, thunder growled, and a sharp, ozone-scented wind blew into her face. The floor beneath her felt cold, and hard, stony edges were pressing uncomfortably into her stomach and cheek. Blinking, she tried pushing herself upright, but her arms would not respond. A moment later, she realized they were tied behind her back.
Ice flooded her veins. She rolled to her side and attempted to stand, but her knees and ankles were bound as well—with the same rope she’d brought to the storehouse, she realized—and a rag was stuffed into her mouth, tied with a strip of cloth. With a muffled shriek, she thrashed wildly, writhing on the stones. Pain shot up her arms as she scraped along the ground, cutting her skin on rock edges and leaving bits of flesh behind, but the ropes held firm. Panting, exhausted, she slumped against the stones in defeat, then raised her head to gaze at her surroundings.
She lay in the center of a courtyard, but not the pristine, elegant courtyard of the Sun Palace, with its swept white stones and trimmed bushes. This one was dark, rocky, ruined. The castle it was attached to was also dark and abandoned, looming over her like some great sullen beast, tattered banners flapping against the walls. Dead leaves and broken stones were scattered throughout the courtyard, and a samurai’s helmet, empty and rusting, lay a few feet from her. In the flickering light overhead, she could see the glint of eyes atop the walls—dozens of crows, watching her with their feathers spiked out against the wind.
“Hello, Suki-chan,” said an eerily cheerful voice somewhere behind her. “Did you finally wake up?”
Suki craned her head back. Lady Satomi stood a few paces away, her hair unbound and tossed by the wind, the sleeves of her red-and-black kimono fluttering like sails. Her eyes were hard, and her lips were curled in a tiny smile. Gasping, Suki flopped to a sitting position, wanting to cry for help, to ask what was happening. Was this some terrible punishment for disappointing her mistress, for not cleaning, fetching, or serving to her standards? She tried pleading with her eyes, hot tears leaking down her cheeks, but the woman only wrinkled her nose.
“Such a lazy girl, and so fragile. I cannot abide your constant weeping.” Lady Satomi sniffed and moved a few feet away, not looking at her anymore. “Well, be happy, Suki-chan. For today your misery will come to an end. Though it will mean I must acquire yet another maid—what is it with all these serving girls running away like mice? Ungrateful wretches. No sense of responsibility at all.” She gave a long-suffering sigh, then looked at the clouds as lightning flickered and the wind picked up. “Where is that oni?” she muttered. “After all the trouble I went through for suitable compensation, I shall be very cross if he does not arrive before the storm.”
Oni? Suki must’ve been hearing things. Oni were great and terrible demons that came from Jigoku, the realm of evil. There were countless stories of brave samurai slaying oni, sometimes armies of oni, but they were myths and legends. Oni were the creatures parents threatened wayward children with—don’t wander too close to the woods or an oni might get you. Listen to your elders, or an oni will reach up from beneath the floorboards and drag you down to Jigoku. Scary warnings for children and monstrous foes for legendary samurai, but not creatures that walked Ningen-kai, the mortal realm.
There was a blinding flash, a boom of thunder, and a great horned creature appeared at the edge of the courtyard.
Suki screamed. The gag muffled it, but she kept screaming until she was out of breath, gasping and choking into the cloth. She tried to flee and fell hard against the stones, striking her chin on the rock, but she barely felt the pain. Lady Satomi’s lips moved as she gave her a withering look, probably chastising her shrillness, but Suki’s mind couldn’t register anything but the huge demon, for it could only be a thing of nightmares, prowling forward into the torchlight. The monster that shouldn’t exist.
It was massive, standing a good fifteen feet overhead, and just as terrible and fearsome as the legends described. Its skin was a dark crimson, the color of blood, and a wild black mane tumbled down its back and shoulders. Sharp yellow tusks curled from its jaw, and its eyes glowed like hot coals as the demon lumbered forward, making the ground shake. The tiny part of Suki’s brain not frozen in terror recalled that, in the stories, oni dressed in loincloths made of great striped beasts, but this demon wore plates of lacquered armor; the red shoulder pads, thigh guards and bracers of the samurai when they rode into battle. True to the myths, however, it carried a giant, iron-studded club—a tetsubo—in one hand, swinging it to a shoulder as if it weighed no more than an ink stick.
“There you are, Yaburama.” Lady Satomi lifted her chin as the oni stopped in front of her. “I am aware that time in Jigoku doesn’t exist, and it is said that one day is akin to eight hundred years in the mortal realm, but punctuality is a wonderful attribute, something we can all aspire to.”
The oni