Red Winter (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 1) by Annette Marie
“So little faith. We’re stronger when you believe in us, you know.”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion and she cautiously stepped away from the door. “You’re … what?”
He waved a hand. “Are you ready to go? The evening wanes, little miko.”
“My name is Emi,” she said flatly. “Ready to go where? You can’t possibly have found—”
“I will happily answer your every query once we’re on the move.” He drew his extended leg in and rolled forward onto the balls of his feet, ready to stand. “I recommend warm clothing. It will be a bit of a walk.”
“Wait. You found an Amatsukami already?”
“Are you complaining?” He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Shall we go, or would you rather meet again in the spring so we can enjoy more pleasant weather?”
She didn’t have until spring. Butterflies danced in her middle; she hadn’t expected him to complete his mission at all, let alone so quickly. So much for it being such a dangerous and difficult task. She hadn’t even decided what she would do if she actually got the chance to speak with an Amatsukami. Should she go, or just accept her fate? If she went, what should she say or ask?
She didn’t have the leisure to think about it anymore. Stay or go?
Sorrow not for the kamigakari, whose mind and soul will be consumed in the ultimate glory of Her Holy Kami’s spirit. The words from the kannushi manual bloomed in her vision until she could no longer see the room. She had to know the truth, had to know for sure. And only an Amatsukami could confirm it for her beyond any doubt.
Without another word, she hurried to her closet and pulled on her warmest haori. From the bottom of the closet, she lifted out a pair of ankle-high boots. Even though they were rather dainty for winter footwear, she hated their clunky weight and bulky shape; she was too used to lightweight sandals. She shoved her feet in and laced them up, even though it was unconscionably rude to wear outdoor footwear in the house.
Shiro rose. “Ready?”
“One more thing.”
She pulled her folded futon out of the closet. Laying it out, she bunched up the pillows and some extra blankets, making them look like a sleeping figure, and laid the final blanket on top, arranging it to look as realistic as possible. It wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, but if someone came by her room to check on her, with any luck, they would assume she was sleeping. So much for her assurances to Fujimoto, just minutes before, that she wouldn’t leave the grounds again.
She straightened and turned—and almost crashed into Shiro, who was standing directly behind her. She craned her neck back to see his face, her heart in her throat. He was taller than she’d realized. She was on the petite side, but still. He was a full head taller than her, plus the fox ears.
“I’ll wait for you at the torii beyond the stable,” he said. “Don’t waste any time.”
“I—yes, I know the spot.”
Light shimmered over him. In a flash, he returned to his fox form. With a swish of his tail and a flicker of multihued flame, he hopped through the wall. She shuddered at the sight of him vanishing through solid wood; it hurt her brain.
Before she could second-guess herself, she slipped out of her room and headed down the hall. Outside, night had fallen across the mountains since she’d watched the ayakashi with Katsuo, and the cold air was pleasantly crisp. Stars shimmered above and a near full moon glowed in the sky, casting silvery light across the snow-covered garden.
As she hurried down the front steps, the quiet murmur of conversation carried through the trees from the direction of the guest house. Katsuo’s smooth voice, interspersed with Minoru’s slow, deep tones, grew louder as the two sohei neared the house. Sucking in a breath, she rushed around the corner of the building and sped past the garden. She glanced back as she started up the path toward the stable but the sohei hadn’t followed her. Hopefully they wouldn’t check on her now empty bedroom.
Shiro was nowhere in sight and no tracks in the faint dusting of snow on the path betrayed his passing. The trail was clear all the way up to the stable, but beyond it, six inches of snow covered the ground. She stepped into the snow, her crunching footsteps the only sound in the silent pasture. The three horses were clustered near the stable, ears pricked as they watched her.
Snow worked its way into the tops of her boots, chilling her ankles. She gritted her teeth and bore it. The air was still beneath the clear sky, the tranquility a stark contrast to the violent storm of the night before. Bright moonlight reflected off the white fields, clearly illuminating the pasture.
As she neared the torii beyond the end of the pasture, she frowned, her gaze skimming the path for Shiro. If he wasn’t waiting for her like he’d said he would be, she would give him a piece of her mind the next time she saw him. She was just starting to get angry when she spotted a gleam of red—a pair of ruby eyes watching her. He was sitting in the snow just in front of the torii, his white fur camouflaging him perfectly. She wondered how he’d managed to get the bloodstains out.
She stopped in front of him. He cocked his head, ears twitching back then forward again.
“I’m here,” she said unnecessarily. “Now what?”
He stood and trotted through the torii. She swallowed down her pounding heart and bowed at the torii before following him. The inner pockets of her sleeves were stocked with ofuda, but she wasn’t comforted. Going into the woods with a dangerous and unpredictable yokai was not the smartest idea she’d ever had. Even knowing that, she wasn’t willing to turn back. This was her only chance.
She trailed after the fox as he half trotted, half hopped through the snow. Watching him, she wondered where his clothes and the bandages she’d put on him went when he changed forms. Yokai, like kami, were true magic—beings not of the mortal and mundane realm. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with awe to be in the company of a shape-shifting kitsune, a creature of legend.
Then he hopped onto a smooth patch of snow, and in a burst of white, he vanished in a deep drift. His head popped out, covered in white fluff. He blinked and shook his head violently to dislodge the snow.
Covering her mouth with one hand, she fought back a laugh and carefully skirted the deceptive drift. He grumbled and sprang out of the snow. After shaking himself off, he trotted ahead, leading her along the path. She paced her breathing as the terrain grew steeper. The trail wound upward along the side of the mountain and the safety of the shrine receded with each step.
Half an hour later, they rounded a bend and a fallen tree blocked the path. She cringed, recognizing it as the spot where she’d fallen off Tornado after her wild ride up the mountain. Shiro trotted up to the spruce and ducked into a gap beneath the branches, vanishing beneath the trunk. Emi stopped in front of the obstacle, staring at it in dismay. The enormous tree had caught on its fellows on its way down and blocked the trail with the trunk at waist height. Beneath it was a tangle of boughs and long needles so dense that anything larger than a fox wasn’t getting through. Jagged, broken branches covered the rest.
After a quick examination, she approached a small gap that offered the only possible passage. Gingerly grabbing a branch, she scrambled up, trying to climb on top of the trunk as her clothes snagged on boughs and the rough bark scraped her hands. Her haori tangled on a jagged branch. Wobbling, she yanked at it ineffectually.
Hands clamped down on her waist, and she squealed as she was pulled forcefully off the tree trunk. Her haori came free with a loud tearing sound. She fell backward, arms flailing. Her feet landed lightly in the snow on the other side of the fallen tree.
Shiro stood behind her, back in his almost-human form, his hands on her waist. She froze, her brain trying to catch up. Stepping away from him, she spun around. He raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t need any help,” she snapped. She’d been managing on her own—and she wouldn’t have ripped her haori.
“This will take longer than I anticipated.” He sighed. “I wasn’t expecting to have to carry you o
“I don’t need carrying. Besides, I wasn’t the one who went swimming in a snow drift, was I?”
He snorted and started walking. She immediately regretted his change of form; his longer stride left her scrambling to keep up. Rushing forward, she fell into step beside him.
“How much farther to the Amatsukami?” she asked, a little breathlessly. She jogged a couple steps to stay at his side.
“I have no idea.”
“You—you don’t? Where are we going then? How can you take me to the Amatsukami if you don’t …” She trailed off. The air suddenly felt much colder and the night much darker. Fear coursed through her and she stopped on the path. “We aren’t going to see an Amatsukami, are we?”
What would an Amatsukami be doing in the middle of these mountains? Of course there was no kami out here; this was yokai territory. Why hadn’t she realized that before she let him lead her so far from safety?
He walked a few more steps before turning to face her. The moon lit his hair in shades of silver and white but cast shifting shadows across his face. A pointed canine glinted in his crooked grin.
“I never said we were going to see an Amatsukami.” His deep, purring voice seemed to harmonize with the forest and shivered over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
“You tricked me,” she whispered. She slid her hands into her sleeves, grasping the ofuda. The thin paper felt pathetically flimsy. “Why did you bring me out here, then?”
He raised his hands in a shrug. “You casually ask for the impossible, little miko. I am but one yokai with an entire world to search. Since I cannot reasonably fulfill your request myself, I will take you to one who can.”
“Who, exactly, are we talking about?”
“Let’s simply say an ally with far more resources than you or I possess.”
She tightened her hands around her ofuda. “Why do you need me for this? You should go ask this ally for help yourself.”
“If you want results, your presence will be necessary. Are you coming?” His smile widened, taunting her. “Or do you wish to give up already?”
Without waiting for her response, he turned and resumed walking. Trembling in the cold and wishing she were back in her room, she stared after him. She wished she’d never met the kitsune or spoken to him. Wished she’d never opened the kannushi manual. If not for that book, she would have been blissfully ignorant of her fate, enjoying every moment up to the solstice with anticipation and excitement, and then it would have been over before she knew what had happened. Wouldn’t that have been better?
With a glance back at the tree blocking the path, she ran after him until she was once again walking at his side. “How far is this ally then?”
“I’m not entirely sure. Deeper into the mountains, I imagine.”
“You don’t know where we’re going at all?”
“We only have to approach within a certain vicinity. This yokai is the type that will come to us.” He cast her an amused sideways glance. “Not all in the world follow strict rules and regimens, little miko. We yokai are a casual bunch. We rarely stand on ceremony.”
She clenched her teeth. This ally was another yokai. Of course. What else was there in these mountains? She had to trust that Shiro wasn’t leading her into a trap, if only because that would be a wasted effort on his part. She was already as good as defenseless against him. But that was as far as she would trust him.
“We aren’t attempting to meet with that oni, are we? Because I don’t think he’d be interested in helping us.”
“The oni? No, definitely not the oni.”
“Why was he so intent on killing you?”
His gaze flicked toward hers. “Concerned for me, little miko?”
“Concerned for me. I don’t want to get tangled up in whatever grudge the oni has against you.”
“I wouldn’t call it a grudge.” He gestured grandly at the forest, the ends of the red ties on his arms swinging from his elbows. “The oni decided these mountains belong to them, and they figure it’s well and smart to eliminate anyone who might cause them any trouble over it.”
“So they’re killing all the other yokai here?” she asked, appalled.
“Not all of them.”
“Why you then? Is it because you’re Inari’s messenger and they don’t want you telling Inari about their behavior?”
“Messenger,” he mused. “What would that entail, exactly? What messages might Inari want to send? I have no idea.”
She frowned, annoyed that she couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. “So you’re not one of Inari’s kitsune?”
“So curious, little miko. Why is a miko interested in yokai affairs?”
“I was just asking. Keep your secrets if you want, I don’t care.”
“You should.” He cast his eyes toward the mountains before turning a smirk on her. “Unless you enjoyed your encounter with the oni the other day. You’ll be having many more if you continue to venture outside your shrine.”
“Why is that?”
“The mountain oni want to rule this land. It’s only a matter of time before they attack the shrine.”
“They’d attack the shrine?”
“Of course. An enemy shrine in the middle of their territory? Why wouldn’t they destroy it?”
“Yokai don’t normally go around attacking kami shrines, do they?” she demanded.
“Not normally, no.”
“Why aren’t the Kunitsukami doing anything about this? Don’t they rule all the yokai?”
“The Kunitsukami don’t rule, little miko. That’s a kami fixation. The Kunitsukami are content to encourage civilized behavior among the yokai, nothing more.” He paused. “Well, they used to.”
“Used to?”
“Personally, I prefer less civilized behavior in these wild lands. It’s easier to kill your enemies than appease them, you know?”
She hoped he didn’t notice her shudder but his sly grin said otherwise. “You don’t sound any better than the oni.”
“I said enemies, not minor inconveniences.”
“If you don’t like what the oni are doing, why don’t you tell Inari then? Surely Inari would listen to a kitsune, even if you aren’t a vassal or anything.”
“That would be even more irritating of a task than the one you’ve given me. At least the Amatsukami can be found.”
She waited for him to explain but he said nothing.
“What do you mean?” she prompted.
He walked a few steps, shadows sliding across his face.
“Inari is missing.” The words were flat, toneless, almost like the sentence brought forth so much emotion that he couldn’t express any of it.
“Missing? Since when?”
“For a long time.” His smirk reappeared, but it seemed forced. “If it was just Inari, well, whatever. Inari doesn’t have a reputation for being particularly useful. It’s more the other Kunitsukami that are the problem. At least Sarutahiko knew how to get things done.”
“What about the other Kunitsukami?” she asked, a tingle of dread running down her spine.
“Missing too. Inari has been gone for decades, but the others vanished one by one over the last few years.”
Emi couldn’t think of what to say. Hadn’t Katsuo mentioned how yokai all over were becoming bolder and more violent lately? Was that because no one was controlling them?
She didn’t like yokai, and as a kamigakari, the Kunitsukami were as good as her personal enemies, but she still didn’t enjoy the thought of them being gone; they controlled the yokai and offset the power of the Amatsukami. All of existence—the heavens and earth—was a careful balance of swirling onmyo that ebbed and flowed between darkness and light. The Kunitsukami were as essential to that balance as their heavenly counterparts.
Shiro stopped on the path, one arm snapping up in front of her to block her way. His clear tension silenced her questions. His ears swiveled backward and he turned his head to l
“We have company,” he murmured.
“Your ally?” she whispered.
Before he could answer, she felt it—fear drifting along the ground, brushing over her senses and leaving her shivering. The mountain oni. Not again.
“I think maybe we should run,” he remarked.
“Run?”
“Yes. Shall we?”
His hand closed around hers, taking her by surprise. He yanked her forward as he sprang off the trail and into the woods. She ran after him, pulled helplessly along, hardly able to keep up. The snow wasn’t quite as deep under the trees, but the mess of underbrush and rocks made the footing treacherous. She stumbled and staggered every few strides, reliant on Shiro’s steady grip to keep her upright. He ran with the light-footed grace of the fox, unhampered by the terrain.
As her lungs burned and she wished they could stop, a roar burst through the forest, coming from behind them.
Between one step and the next, Shiro released her hand—and scooped her under his arm, lifting her right off her feet without breaking stride. She barely had time to let out a shocked squeak when he sprang forward, his gait switching from a run to a deer-like bound no human could duplicate. She hung from his grip around her middle, pressed against his side. Trees flashed by, branches whipping them, but he didn’t slow.
The oni bellowed again, closer.
Shiro glanced back between bounds, then swerved right. A dozen yards ahead, the ground dropped away, plunging down the side of the mountain. Emi couldn’t even scream as he sprang off the cliff edge.
His feet hit the snow-covered slope and slid. He skidded a couple yards, snow spraying everywhere, then sprang again. Another hard landing on the near vertical slope, another wild slide. He jumped again right before he would have lost control. He hop-slid down the side of the mountain, somehow dodging trees and rocks, while Emi clutched his arm around her middle, too terrified to make a sound.
He landed on level ground at the bottom and launched forward again. His bounding run carried them through another stretch of forest before he eventually slowed to a stop, his chest heaving for air. Still holding her with one arm, he drew in a breath and held it, head cocked as he listened.