Page 45 of Shadow of the Fox

“The monk,” Yumeko repeated, gesturing back toward the village. “He was at the headman’s house when we first arrived, and then again on the path here. You didn’t see him?”

“No.” Not that I doubted her statement. Like the kodama and the kamaitachi, it seemed Yumeko was adept at seeing the spirit world. Better than me, it appeared. I knew how to spot demons and yokai, but that was usually due to Kamigoroshi’s influence, Hakaimono’s insatiable bloodlust rearing up, alerting me when they were close. Because the demon didn’t care much about yurei, I was less sensitive to the presence of ghosts unless they were very powerful or meant me harm.

“Therewasa monk,” Yumeko insisted. “He wore black robes, a straw hat and he carried a staff with metal rings that chimed as he walked.” She paused a moment, looking thoughtful, then asked, “Oh, do you thinkhecould be a yurei who haunts this village, and that’s why everyone is acting so strange?”

“Maybe.” Ghosts were harder to figure out than demons. Usually they were problems for a priest or onmyoji to take care of, to exorcise or placate the spirit into moving on. The clan never sent me after yurei; no one was certain what happened to the creatures that Kamigoroshi slew: if they were banished to be reborn, or erased from existence entirely. The thought that a human soul could be snuffed out without passing on, to simply cease to exist, was a horrifying and blasphemous idea that even the Kage would not risk. I could kill demons and yokai in waves, but I was forbidden from slaying a ghost unless it was a matter of life or death.

Yumeko sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight.”

We turned and walked back into the hut, loud snores greeting us as we stepped through the doorframe. The ronin had already fallen asleep on the rough planks by the fire, the jug of sake clasped loosely in one hand. Yumeko shook her head, stepped over his body and moved to one of the straw mattresses in the corner. I settled in the doorway, pulling my sword sheath from my belt and laying it across my lap. I could feel Yumeko’s eyes on me as she curled up on the mattress and drew a threadbare quilt over her head.

“Tatsumi-san?” she asked after a few minutes of listening to the ronin snore. Near the fire, the body on the floor coughed and shifted to his back, falling silent for the moment.

“Hn,” I grunted.

“I’m...glad you’re here.” Her eyes, dark and luminous, watched me from under the blanket. “I know the road is dangerous, but I feel safer knowing you’re close. I would never be able to sleep in a haunted village by myself. So, thank you...for staying.”

For some reason, that made my stomach contract a little, and I had no idea why. “We both made a promise,” I reminded her. “You would guide me to the Steel Feather temple, and I would protect you on the way. I’m here for the scroll, nothing else.”

“I know.” Her voice was very soft in the darkness of the room. “But I’m still happy that you chose to stay. I...” A yawn interrupted her, and she covered it with a hand. “I might even be able to fall asleep tonight. Because I know you’re there.” She wrinkled her nose as a snore came from the slumbering ronin near the fire pit. “If baka-Okame doesn’t keep me awake, that is. Good night, Tatsumi-san.”

I didn’t answer. After a while, her breaths became slow and deep as she drifted into unconsciousness.

For a moment, unseen by condemning human eyes, I gave in to my fascination and let myself look at her. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight slanting through the latticed windows, her hair an inky curtain across her back and shoulders. She breathed calmly, her face unguarded in sleep, as it was when she was awake. A jet-black strand of hair came loose to fall into her eyes, and I was filled with an incomprehensible urge to brush it back.

Disgust set in, and I turned away, clenching a fist on my leg. Why was I finding myself so distracted lately? I knew my mission—retrieve the scroll at any cost, and return to Lady Hanshou. But here I was, with this girl and now an uncouth ronin, having promised not to leave.

For just a moment, I wavered. For a heartbeat, my guard was down, and disgust flared into a burning, instant rage. I was suddenly filled with the overwhelming desire to leap up and slay my useless companions, to strike them down while they slept and watch their blood gush over the floor and sizzle in the fire pit.

Soundlessly, I rose and stepped into the room, my hand on the hilt of my sword. My shadow fell over the girl, slumbering peacefully on her mattress. It would be easy, I thought, gazing down at the back of her neck, so exposed and vulnerable in the moonlight. Neither of them would realize they were dead until they woke up as yurei, or in the next land, and then I would be free to seek the scroll on my own. I didn’t need the girl to find what I was looking for, nor did I need to keep my promises. I was the Kage demonslayer and the Shadow Clan’s best shinobi. Honor and human lives meant nothing to me.

My hand tightened on the hilt of the blade, and I began drawing it from its sheath.

No, Hakaimono! Enough!

Wrenching control from the demon, I shoved Kamigoroshi back in its sheath and lurched away from the sleeping girl. Staggering outside, I pressed a palm to my face, breathing hard as I struggled to clear the rage and bloodlust from my mind. Hakaimono fought me, unwilling to give up, fury and violence still singing through my veins. Closing my eyes, I recalled the mantra my sensei taught me, chanting it like a sutra in my head.

Be nothing. You are not a person; you are a weapon. A weapon does not feel. A weapon has no emotions to hinder or slow it down. Feel nothing. Regret nothing. You are but a shadow, empty and soulless. You are nothing.

“I am nothing,” I whispered, and sensed Hakaimono’s presence fading from my mind. “I am a weapon in the hands of the Kage. I will not betray them or fail my mission.”

When I opened my eyes, I was fully in control. The anger, confusion and doubt had been purged from my body, leaving me with a cold realization. I could not afford to lower my guard, to allow anything, or anyone, to distract me. Hakaimono had relinquished the fight for now, but this had been a chilling reminder of what was at stake. I’d stopped myself in time, but if the sword had tasted blood, I might have slaughtered the entire village before the demon was satisfied, starting with the very girl I was supposed to protect.

Yumeko. I narrowed my eyes. Yumeko was a distraction: intriguing, confusing and dangerous. I didn’t know why she affected me so much, but it couldn’t go on. Hakaimono had been biding its time, luring me into a false sense of security, before attempting to seize control. It had almost worked. I could not let that happen again.

A soft chime cut through the silence.

I looked up. A monk stood in the road that snaked past the house, his form hazy and blurred in the moonlight. He wore black robes, a wide-brimmed straw hat and carried a staff with four metal rings dangling from the top. Exactly as Yumeko had said. Without taking his eyes from me, he raised his staff, pointing it down the path...and disappeared.

Wary, but knowing omens from the dead could not be ignored, I crept around the house, peering down the slope into the graveyard.

It was no longer empty.

The entire cemetery glowed with a strange, sickly green light that illuminated the dozens of bodies shambling between graves. They were naked, emaciated creatures, with sticklike limbs and bloated, distended bellies. Vaguely human, they walked hunched over or crawled through the dirt like animals, their gaping mouths showing rows of jagged, broken teeth.

Gaki.

I crouched in the shadows of the hut, realizing my mistake. This villagewashaunted, but not by a single yurei. Gaki were the spirits of greedy or wicked humans who had died and returned cursed with eternal hunger. No matter how much they ate, they were always starving, and nothing could satisfy them. They were creatures to be pitied, and a single gaki wasn’t normally considered dangerous, but if no food could be found, they were known to turn violent, seeking anything, living or dead, to quell their agonizing hunger.

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