Red Winter (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 1) by Annette Marie
“Emi?” he whispered.
She flinched, her gaze darting to his face and away. He took a step forward and waited. Reluctantly, she stepped to join him. He continued forward, steps slow, and she moved with him, taking deep breaths. The clack of her sandals on stone changed to the thud of wood on wood. Focused on the wooden boards of the bridge, she didn’t look up, staying as close to the center as possible as she paced off small, careful steps. She would not rush with graceless strides and flapping hakama. That would not be fitting at all.
When they reached the far side of the bridge, Katsuo casually shifted away. She tried to put her mask of composure back into place but it wouldn’t quite come.
“My room?” she asked hoarsely.
Neither Minoru nor Katsuo commented on her dramatics over crossing a harmless little footbridge. Katsuo knew why bridges gave her panic attacks, but Minoru probably thought she was high-strung and unstable. Unless Katsuo had told him. Maybe they’d talked about her before her arrival.
The two men led her away from the pond and the cursed bridge. She barely took in the graceful, single-story house in the shape of a shallow U or its beautiful garden of trees and flowering shrubs in the center. A raised and covered wooden walkway, open to the garden, ran along the side of the house.
Around the south corner, Katsuo opened the front door and stood aside for her. In the entryway, she slipped off her sandals and stepped onto the smooth hardwood of a short hallway that connected with the open walkway. On her left, the corridor led to the rest of the house, which hugged the central garden on three sides.
“Your room is right here, my lady,” Minoru said, gesturing for her to turn onto the short right branch of the walkway, where a single sliding door faced the garden.
“It’s nothing like Shion,” Katsuo added apologetically. “I know you’re used to better …”
He knew perfectly well it had been three years since she’d had rooms in Shion. Did he really think she had yet to adjust to humbler accommodations in that time?
She didn’t want to hear his voice anymore. No matter how calm he sounded, all she could hear was the panicked fury that had roughened his voice as he shouted her name, or worse, the cracking grief that had followed.
“It’s too late. I’m sorry … we were too late.”
No, she wasn’t going back to those memories—not while awake. She couldn’t stop the nightmares, but she didn’t need to revisit them during the day.
With a wordless bow of thanks, she slid the door open, stepped inside, and shut it before Katsuo could say anything else. Her bedroom for the next two months was a simple rectangle. The east wall faced the pond and the shrine. Situated at one end of the U-shaped house, her room shared one wall with the hallway but no other bedrooms. More privacy than she was used to.
As she padded into the center of the room, her socked feet were silent on the straw tatami mats that covered the floor. Her luggage was tucked beside a simple wooden desk and chair. Several cushions sat beneath the east window. The south wall was half closet, where her bedding would be stored, while the other half was a small nook with a lovely hanging scroll for decoration and a low, narrow table where she could set up a personal shrine for prayer.
It was simple, but clean and private. Good enough.
She drifted toward the cushions and sank onto them. Good enough for the next two months, and then everything would change. All these human fears and worries would become meaningless. Her future had been written by the kami, and her destiny awaited her.
Her gaze drifted toward the unseen footbridge. She just had to endure two more months of mundane, vulnerable mortality first.
Chapter 2
No one came to fetch her for dinner.
Emi fidgeted where she sat on the cushions by the window. Someone would come get her, wouldn’t they? Wandering around the house in search of food would be terribly rude. She tapped her fingers on her knee. What if they weren’t making dinner at all?
Pulling her suitcase closer, she frowned at its contents. At the other shrines she’d lived at, the miko had unpacked her clothing before she even saw her room, but Nanako had dumped her bags without opening them. That had been fine though. Emi had folded her clothes herself and placed them in the drawers in the closet. It hadn’t been that hard. She rummaged inside the bag. All that was left to unpack was a plain wooden box with a metal clasp.
The clasp wouldn’t stop anyone from opening it, but it indicated the contents were personal. She lifted the box out and popped the lid open. A leather journal, the edges worn and cracked, sat on top of her collection. Material possessions were … not encouraged for someone like her. The contents of the box were the only things she owned that weren’t directly related to the miko arts.
Taking the journal out, she smiled at her collection. To anyone else, the assortment of rocks, feathers, and dried leaves and flowers would be entirely worthless. But each item represented a memory—something special only to her. A pebble from the garden of the shrine in Tsutsuji where she’d completed her first solo kagura dance in front of an audience. A shiny white and black feather she’d found in the park in Shion after a luncheon with other miko; the day had been filled with laughter and sunshine. A single seashell from her trip to a great shrine on the shore that, at low tide, looked upon an endless beach, and at high tide, had gentle ocean waves lapping at the wooden walkways that encircled it.
The journal, though, was her most precious possession. She caressed the brown leather, each bump and crack familiar to her fingers. She’d recorded each day within it since she was eight years old, even if the entry was merely a thought or two. Soon, her life would change completely, become something wholly new and different. She didn’t want to forget where she’d come from, the silly mortal thoughts that had once filled her days. It was important to remember one’s roots.
She flipped the journal open to the very first entry, marked December 21st.
Last night was the winter solstice. I had a dream about a snowy glen in the forest. There was a beautiful woman with dark brown hair all the way down to the ground and the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. She smiled and put her hand on top of my head. In my dream, I felt happier than I’ve ever felt before.
This morning, when I woke up, I found her mark on my chest, right over my heart. She chose me. She chose ME.
The happiest day of her life. The most important, most defining moment she’d ever experienced.
That day would be trumped in two months, on the winter solstice exactly ten years later. At the thought, a rush of excited nerves made her stomach summersault. An empty growl followed the sensation. She snapped the journal shut, tucked it in the box, and set the whole thing back into her suitcase. She’d find a safe place for it later.
Rising to her feet, she crossed to her bedroom door and slid it open. Snow swirled beyond the covered walkway, lit by the warm glow of light from the house. Hesitantly, she started down it. The living area was probably in the center of the house, facing the garden and shrine for the best view. Why hadn’t anyone fetched her? The sun had set an hour ago. Where were Minoru and Katsuo? Had they abandoned their guard duties so soon?
She glanced across the garden toward the pond before swiftly returning her attention to the house. She shouldn’t worry about danger while on sacred ground. She wasn’t that paranoid, was she? The brisk air chilled her skin and she tucked her hands inside her sleeves.
Light spilled from a nearby doorway, the sliding doors left open a few inches. Voices reached her—Fujimoto’s slow, crackling speech and Nanako’s sharper tones. The smell of miso soup filled her nose and her mouth watered. She hastened toward the room.
The stench of burnt oil hit her just as she reached the door. She jerked back, uncertain.
“… you hadn’t left the stove unattended, we wouldn’t have to worry about offending the lady.”
At close proximity, Nanako’s cutting words were all too clear. Flinching, Emi retreated another step.
&
“I only asked you to watch it for a minute,” Nanako snapped. “If you wanted to impress the little princess with a gourmet meal, you should have stayed put for thirty seconds.”
Fujimoto spluttered incoherently.
“Why did you agree to this?” Dishes clanked and the burnt smell intensified. “We have two festivals to plan and major repairs to the shrine roof to complete before winter. The last thing we need is to babysit Shion’s darling miko for seven weeks. Are they too sick of her to house her for two measly months?”
“Shion is too dangerous for her. You know what happened three years ago.” He coughed awkwardly. “It’s only two months, and since we’ll be busier than usual with her care, the Shion Shrine has generously offered to help with our repairs, as well as several other upgrades and renovations, as recompense for our hospitality and—”
“So you let them bribe you,” Nanako interrupted with a bang like a frying pan slammed on a stovetop. “We don’t need their money.”
“It’s not just money,” Fujimoto said, almost whining. He cleared his throat. “It’s an honor to host the kamigakari. The first one in a hundred years, Nanako. The kamigakari at our shrine. It really is an honor.”
Nanako snorted. “She’s not the first one in a hundred years. She’s just the first one who’s lived this long.”
Emi flinched again and inched backward.
“Miko Nanako.” Fujimoto’s voice hardened, the fluttery croak to his words vanishing. “You will not embarrass us. You will show all respect and honor to the kamigakari while she’s with us so we may earn the kami’s blessings.”
The woman made a sound that was almost a growl. “I will serve her royally spoiled highness to the best of my abilities, and that will go more smoothly if you don’t ruin her dinner. Get out of my kitchen so I can start again.”
Fujimoto grunted and footsteps sounded inside the room. Emi spun around, her socked feet slipping on the hardwood, and rushed back down the walkway. The hall leading to the entryway was closer than her room, so she wheeled around the corner and pressed her back to the wall. With her bedroom door facing the open garden, she couldn’t return to it without the high risk that someone would see her. She twisted the end of her long sleeve in her hands, feeling foolish just standing there. Even if she returned to her room, she would be risking a visit from Fujimoto that would no doubt include awkward apologies for her late dinner. Deciding to spare herself that interaction, she continued down the hall to the entrance and poked her feet into her sandals before slipping out the door.
Outside, the cold breeze refreshed her lungs. Humiliation wormed its way up her limbs to her center but she pushed it away. It wasn’t her fault Shion had been too unsafe. It wasn’t her fault they’d shipped her from shrine to tiny, obscure shrine every six months for the last three years. It wasn’t her fault Shion had to bribe the shrines to take her in as though she were some grimy beggar in need of shelter. Like Fujimoto had said, it was an honor to have her. But there was a certain amount of hassle involved, which included the two sohei who inevitably came with her. It was only natural for Shion to compensate the shrines for their trouble. Right?
It also wasn’t her fault that Nanako didn’t like her. Many miko disliked her. Before her, they’d all had a chance. Maybe Nanako had prayed every night to be chosen, just as Emi had. But the kami had chosen Emi, and Nanako would never be more than a miko at the rundown, forgotten shrine of a small mountain town.
With a sigh, she aimlessly followed the stone path. It wound around the corner of the house, past the garden, and joined the main pathway, which led to … the footbridge.
So, of course, she ended up stopping a long step away from the bridge, shivering in the snow and wishing she’d donned a few more layers before venturing outside. Not that she’d intended to go wandering. Nervously smoothing her hair, she stared at the innocent little bridge. It was a dozen feet across, if that. It would take mere moments to cross. The pond couldn’t be more than a couple feet deep.
The bridge three years ago hadn’t been much longer. The creek hadn’t been very deep either.
She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, each exhalation creating a cloud of white frost in front of her. On the eighth breath, she strode forward with deliberate, precise assurance. Thump, thump, thump, her sandals on the wooden planks.
Her heart hammered in her chest, her fear spinning faster with each step. She jumped the last two feet, arms flailing, and landed awkwardly on the path beyond. Behind her, the placid pond silently mocked her.
Well, she’d almost crossed the bridge without making a fool of herself. Progress. Straightening her hakama and shaking out the sleeves of her kimono, she folded her cold hands together and headed toward the courtyard. Like most of its kind, the shrine was composed of several buildings: a covered water fountain to purify oneself before prayer, a stage for performances and festivals, the hall of worship where one could pray to the kami, and the sanctuary, a small structure where the kami’s power and presence was enshrined. Only the kannushi of the shrine could approach and tend to that sacred building.
Though she couldn’t see them, the grounds would also have offices and a storeroom or two where artifacts, tools of worship, and books were kept. Larger shrines had lodgings for miko and miko trainees, multiple kannushi, or even sohei training facilities. The shrine in Shion had all that and more.
She was halfway to the water fountain to wash when she realized she wasn’t alone. Two girls stood in front of the main hall, bathed in the light of the paper lanterns hanging from the eaves. They stared up at the building, unmoving except to shiver in the chilly air, their bare legs pale below the edges of their identical pleated gray skirts—a school uniform.
One of the girls leaned toward the other.
“What do we do now?” she whispered. Her voice was quiet but carried across the dead-silent courtyard as clearly as if she’d shouted.
Emi quashed a smile and changed directions, heading toward the girls, who turned when she approached. They were fourteen or fifteen, both with short, modern bobs and brown highlights.
Emi bowed. “May I offer guidance?”
“Um.” The girls exchanged a look. “Yes, please?”
“Have you cleansed your hands and mouth at the fountain?”
They nodded earnestly.
Emi turned to the shrine. Half a dozen steps led up to a wide platform where a wooden donation box waited for worshippers. A thick, woven rope, decorated with folded paper ties, was strung between the pillars supporting the overhanging roof. Behind the box were the doors to the hall, closed to the outside world.
Before the steps on either side was a koma-inu statue—the twin guardians of the shrine. The lion-like dogs were carved as perfect mirror images of each other, except the right one had its mouth closed, while the left one’s mouth was open. Emi had always been fond of the koma-inu, thinking of them as loyal protectors against evil.
Smiling at the girls, Emi led them between the statues and up the steps to the donation box. A second, narrow rope swayed just above the box, dangling from the round bell attached to the crossbeam of the roof above.
“Washing your hands and rinsing your mouth symbolizes the cleansing of your spirit,” she told them. “Now that you are pure in mind and body, you may approach the shrine to offer your prayers to the kami. If you can, make your offering to the kami, then pull the cord to ring the bell and summon the kami’s attention.”
One of the girls fumbled in her pocket. Pulling out a coin, she dropped it on the box, where it fell through the slatted top, and gave the rope a halfhearted tug. The bell clanked, unpleasantly off-key. Maybe Fujimoto’s renovations would include a better bell.
“Face the shrine and bow twice.” Emi demonstrated, then waited for the girls to bow. “Now clap twice. This helps to ensure the kami is listening, as they have many prayers to hear.”
Since Emi hadn’t washed, she didn’t clap, waiting instead for the girls to signal their intent to pray.
“Now, close your eyes and fill your mind with your wish for the kami. When you are finished, bow one more time to thank the kami for hearing your request.”
The two girls bent their heads and squeezed their eyes shut, concentration crinkling their foreheads. Whatever had motivated them to come to a shrine and pray—likely their first visit outside a festival—was very serious to them.
They bowed almost in unison.
“Thank you,” the taller girl said. “Do … do you really think the kami will listen?”
“The kami always listens,” Emi replied gravely. “She doesn’t always answer, but she always listens.”
“She?”
Emi pointed to the painted wood plaque hanging above the doors into the hall. The bold brush strokes illustrated a woman with flowing brown hair and layers of lavish kimono sailing on spiraling gusts of wind.
“This is a shrine of Amaterasu, one of the four Amatsukami—the great heavenly kami. She is one of the gentlest and most caring kami. If your wish comes from a pure heart, I am sure she will consider it.”
“A gentle kami?” the other girl muttered. “Maybe we should pray at the shrine of a warrior kami instead.”
Emi smiled. “Kami are like the moon: they possess both a light side and a dark. With Amaterasu, you are more likely to win her favor than incur her wrath, but she is not weak.”
“Maybe some wrath would be good,” the shorter girl said savagely. “How about Susano? My grandpa told me he prayed to Susano, the kami of thunder and storms. He sounds tougher.”
“Susano is a Kunitsukami,” Emi explained. “An earthly yokai rather than a heavenly kami. You can pray to him as well, but …”
The taller girl raised her eyebrows. “But what?”
“Well …” Emi didn’t want to lie. Yokai were technically kami too; all beings of the spirit worlds were kami, whether they originated from the heavens or from the earthly realm. Both were considered equally capable of nurturing or destroying, cursing or blessing. However, prejudice against the yokai was common, and her experiences supported those judgments.