If the ward was weakening, could it be strengthened again? That question chewed at Ryōtora as he waited for Sekken to change into clothing not dirtied by digging in a collapsed shrine, then while the two of them descended once more into Seibo Mura, followed by the inugami. Rebuilding the shrine might help – but that would take a long time. And if the ward had somehow been bound up in the specific architecture of the building, Ryōtora had no idea how to recreate that. He would have to write to his superiors in the Agasha, and perhaps also to the Isawa and even the Asahina of the Crane. Or the Yogo, down in Scorpion lands; one of their schools trained renowned wardmasters.
You’d have to write to every shugenja school in the Empire. You have no way of knowing who might hold the key to this puzzle.
All of that would take months, even a year or more. Time the people in Seibo Mura didn’t have.
Sekken walked silently at his side, but the silence was no longer as fraught as it had been. He seemed deep in his own thoughts. Ryōtora knew he should still be angry at Sekken; if the man had just shared information about the inugami sooner, maybe they would have found the plaque in the shrine before now. But the regret in his eyes had been all too clear, and in the face of that, it was hard for Ryōtora to cling to his feelings of hurt.
It had been easier when he was angry. Then he hadn’t wished quite so intensely that he could be honest with Sekken himself.
Drawing in a deep breath, Ryōtora cast about for something they could discuss. Before he settled on anything, he saw a woman running across the trampled grass and dirt of the village towards them.
“Sir Ryōtora!” It was Fūyō, the mother of Aoi, the girl who’d lost her memories. She flung herself down onto the ground, breathless. “You must come, please.”
“What’s happened? Please, get up.”
Fūyō obeyed without hesitation, reversing direction into the village. “It’s my daughter. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she’s getting worse. Please…”
Ryōtora was already following, Sekken at his heels, the inugami lumbering along behind. Getting worse. Fubatsu had gotten worse, due to a confluence of effects from the yōkai he’d encountered. The dog spirit seemed to be getting more and more tired, though they didn’t know why. Now Aoi.
Fūyō led them to the house, but stopped outside and wrung her hands. “She’s been acting strangely for the last two days. Scratching at herself like there’s bugs all over her, wailing that she has to get out of here – but she won’t even leave the house to get water. I didn’t want to trouble you, when you’ve already done so much to try to help her–”
“You did right to tell me,” Ryōtora said. He wished she’d told him sooner. The last two days… What had happened in the last two days? It felt more like two years. He’d moved Saiun-nushi down into the village – no, that was three days ago. Finding out about the inugami had happened the day before. Two days ago, he’d healed Fubatsu.
And warded the village against yōkai.
Catching the edge of Sekken’s sleeve, Ryōtora drew a few steps back from Fūyō and spoke in a low voice. “When did the inugami start behaving this way?”
“Showing up in daylight? I noticed when I went for my walk the morning after the re-enshrinement.”
“Did it look tired then?”
Sekken frowned in thought. “It’s hard to say, because I was used to seeing it sitting on top of me at night, not walking around. Definitely not as tired as it is now… but perhaps a little? You’re thinking this has to do with your ward.”
Ryōtora was grateful for his quick mind. “Possibly. But the problem with that is–”
“The Night Parade has only been attacking at night, during the full moon. So how could Aoi be affected?”
“And she’s not possessed. I’m certain of that.”
“Not possessed in the ways we’re familiar with, at least. Let’s take another look.”
Fūyō slid open the door and bowed them inside. It took Ryōtora’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the farmhouse; at first all he could detect of Aoi was her rapid, strained breathing. Fūyō moved past him to go to her side, and then he spotted her: a dark huddle in the far corner, wedged into the gap between a barrel and the wall.
Behind Ryōtora, the inugami growled.
“Daughter?” Fūyō whispered. “It’s all right. The samurai are here. Sir Ryōtora and Lord Asako have come to help you.”
“Make him go away,” Aoi moaned, not uncurling from her huddle. “The Phoenix. He’s an outsider – I heard someone say he’s a witch. He has a dog spirit as his familiar. He’s cursed me; I’m sure of it.”
“I managed to curse you before I even arrived?” Sekken said, in the lazy drawl of an arrogant courtier. “How talented I am. Or is it just the latest development in your condition that you blame on me?”
Aoi hissed at him. “Don’t mock me, witch!” Then her demeanor softened as she turned to Ryōtora, her face a pale ghost in the shadows. “Please, you have to help me. Send the witch away, and take me to safety. I… I will do anything for you. I will be your servant. Your concubine–”
“Aoi!” Fūyō’s scandalized cry rang through the small house.
Gesturing at Sekken – and the inugami – to stay back, Ryōtora came forward and crouched next to Aoi. When he reached for her wrist to take her pulse, she clutched his hand. “Please,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “You know it isn’t safe here. They’re coming back, in just a few days. We should all leave, shouldn’t we? While we still can.”
It was the first time she’d spoken of him taking anyone but her out of Seibo Mura, and it had the air of someone fishing for an argument he might find more persuasive. She wasn’t worried about other people, her own family included. Granted, she didn’t remember Fūyō or anyone else; they were essentially strangers to her. But even for strangers, showing no concern except for their possible use as a bargaining chip was remarkably cold.
He pried her hand loose and took her pulse through his sleeve. Fast and thready – much weaker than it ought to be. Her eyes were wide, and in the dim light they looked black, the pupil consuming all the brown. The inugami growled again, and this close, Ryōtora felt Aoi flinch.
His mind was whirling. He had a suspicion… but to test it in front of Fūyō would be cruel. How to separate the two, though? He couldn’t lie, even if it would make things easier. Neither would it be kind to simply order Fūyō and Aoi to do as he said, with no explanation.
Where could they go? Not to the temporary shrine he’d constructed; ordinarily Ryōtora would consider that the ideal place, but it would be far too public. Back up to the old shrine? Ogano’s house? No, because he wanted Sekken there, and didn’t want to handle the arguments with Haru right now. Just away, then. Out of the village, someplace others weren’t likely to see.
Ryōtora stood up. “I will have Lord Asako leave. Not Seibo Mura, but this house – it’s clear that he’s causing you distress. Lord Asako, may I ask a favor of you?”
He took the precaution of stepping outside, and even then, he stood close enough that he could murmur directly into Sekken’s ear. “Can you obtain more rope? And more paper streamers for it?”
Tools for a new sacred enclosure. Sekken’s head moved in a tiny nod. In an equally quiet voice, he said, “Where should I bring them?”
“There’s an old hemlock near the boundary stone I told you about. Don’t go to the tree itself just yet; wait nearby with the rope.”
“Give me a little while,” Sekken said. He set off immediately, with the confident stride of a man with purpose. The inugami lingered, its gaze on the house, but eventually it followed the Phoenix.
Back inside, Ryōtora found Aoi had emerged from hiding and was trying to tidy up her appearance. Sweat had glued strands of hair to the sides of her face, and her sash had gotten turned partway around; she was in the middle of untying it. Fūyō hurried to stand between the young woman and Ryōtora. As he’d opened the door, Ryōtora had heard what Fūyō was saying: “Shoshi ni kie. Shoshi ni kie. Shoshi ni kie.”
So, she too sought the Perfect Land. No wonder she loathed the idea of her daughter leaving with Ryōtora, much less becoming his concubine.
He passed some of the time Sekken had asked for by questioning Aoi about her symptoms. She described them as a feeling of dread, the impending approach of the monsters weighing on her like it was trying to crush her breath out. Her appetite had dwindled, Fūyō added, and she’d been unable to do any work in the house. But her symptoms had definitely begun when he laid the ward around the village – not just the same day, but after the ward’s completion.
When he judged he’d given Sekken enough time, Ryōtora said, “I would like to try something, if I may. Fūyō, will you entrust Aoi to me? As before, you have my solemn word that I harbor no improper intentions toward her. Nor will I take your daughter away from Seibo Mura without giving you an opportunity to say goodbye.”
Fūyō looked deeply unhappy. But she was also worried for Aoi’s well-being; in the war between those two impulses, which would win out? Reluctantly, she said, “Of course you should do whatever you think best, my lord.”
“Thank you,” Ryōtora said. Silently he added, And I’m sorry.
Aoi was already heading for the door. Gritting his teeth, Ryōtora followed her out.
For someone who had been ill, Aoi walked fast. Ryōtora couldn’t help but compare her nervous energy against the inugami’s drooping head and heavy paws. Aoi behaved more as if she were standing on a hot stone and wanted to get off it as soon as possible, while the dog behaved as if it were dragging some weighty burden and couldn’t go much farther.
Perhaps her energy was simply due to enthusiasm. Ryōtora had told her they were going southward out of the village; the line of the ward lay well beyond the southernmost buildings, but even the prospect of heading in that direction seemed to fire her up. Ryōtora had to hurry along in her wake, and hope Sekken was waiting for them there.
When they got to the old hemlock, there was no sign of the Phoenix. Ryōtora called for Aoi to halt. “This is far enough.”
She didn’t hide her disappointment very well. One hand rose to rub at the opposite arm; then she switched sides, the nervous scratching Fūyō had mentioned. But then she forced herself to relax and smiled at Ryōtora, drifting closer to him. “I’m glad you brought me out here. Away from my mother.”
Ryōtora stepped back, out of reach. “I meant what I said to her. Among other things, I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of peasants.”
Aoi dipped her chin, looking up at him through her lashes. “Is it really taking advantage, if the woman offers herself to you?”
“Yes,” Ryōtora said firmly. “Because I am a samurai, and you are not. Even if a peasant voluntarily became involved with me, the imbalance of power between us would make it unfair. They wouldn’t be free to leave whenever they wanted. Any such relationship is inherently unequal, with the power resting in the samurai’s hands.”
This time when she crossed her arms, it was to pout. “Are you always so virtuous?”
“I strive to be. And that is a second reason why I would turn down any such offer: because it would be nothing more than me giving in to my own desires. If I had any, which I do not.”
Aoi sniffed in disbelief. “No desires at all? I don’t think any human alive can say that.”
“No desire for women,” Ryōtora said. “Which is the third reason I have no interest in you.”
She made a small, curious hum. “Is that so? Well… that explains a great deal.”
He hadn’t meant to say so much. If Sekken wasn’t here yet, he should keep Aoi talking, buying time for the Phoenix to arrive. If Sekken was here, this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having – not where the other man could listen in. Not anywhere, really. He could see the curiosity building in Aoi’s gaze, and knew she was going to ask questions he didn’t want to answer.
Questions he didn’t have to answer. He owed her nothing at all. And fortunately – or perhaps not; the blade cut both ways – Aoi’s head came up with a sudden hiss. Sekken, Ryōtora realized, was unused to creeping around in the forest. He didn’t think to take the direction of the wind into account.
“Liar!” she snarled at Ryōtora, and tried to bolt. But the inugami was there, appearing out of the underbrush, and if it was still tired it showed no sign of it now. The spirit bared its teeth at Aoi, and she bared hers back at it, shrinking away.
“I lied about nothing,” Ryōtora said, shifting to block another avenue of flight as Sekken appeared behind Aoi. The trap wasn’t a tight one; she might still escape. “I said I would have Lord Asako leave the house, and I did. I told you I wanted to try something, and I do. I want to confirm my suspicion. The fourth and final reason I have no interest in you is that I’m fairly certain you aren’t Aoi.”
She tried to bolt. The inugami leapt at her, jaws snapping, and she shrank back. The coil of straw rope over Sekken’s shoulder was more like twine, but that was all right; it meant he’d brought a substantial length of it. He swiftly tied one end around a tree trunk and unspooled the coil until he could wrap it around a second tree, then a third – forming a lopsided box around Aoi, while Ryōtora and the inugami herded her against the old hemlock, trapping her within the line of the rope.
When she saw what he was doing, she shrieked. All attempt to behave like an innocent peasant girl was gone; her hands were spread like claws, her posture feral. She made one last lunge for safety, but Ryōtora caught her with an arm across her waist, knocking her to the ground. She raked at him with both hands, drawing blood from his jaw, but he kept her down long enough for Sekken to close the square around them. A handful of paper streamers fluttered in the wind.
“You aren’t possessed,” Sekken said from outside the enclosure. Aoi scrambled to her feet and into the center of the space, as far as she could get from the sacred rope. “But I was right to suspect you. There are no yōkai that steal memories. The reason you don’t remember anyone in Seibo Mura is that you are a yōkai: a shapeshifter, taking on Aoi’s form to masquerade as her.”
Behind Aoi, Ryōtora laced his fingers in a mudra and began chanting under his breath.
Sekken shook his sleeves out, undoing the minor disarray of his exertions. “So I now have three questions. What are you? Did you kill Aoi? And why are you, of all the members of the Night Parade, able to stay in the village outside the full moon?”
At that last question, Aoi’s eyes went wide. She was still staring at Sekken in disbelief when Ryōtora called on the spirit of the old hemlock tree to lend him its strength. Then the creature masquerading as Aoi yowled, twisting in on herself – and abruptly changed.
Where the young woman had been, there stood an enormous black cat with a long, sweeping tail.
“First question answered,” Sekken said. “You’re a bakeneko.”