By now several of the kitsune samurai had closed in and surrounded Toshi. Sharp-Ear kept the knife to his throat.
“Sister,” Sharp-Ear said, “can I kill him now?”
“No, brother. Bind him, and keep him under watch. We’ll have no more of his surprises today. Princess, I recommend-”
Temporarily forgotten, Michiko had gone back to the stone disk. She stood over it, her eyes vacant, and placed her palms over the smeared red kanji on the Taken One’s surface.
“Toshi is correct,” Michiko said. “This is my sister. And she must be free.” Michiko pressed her palms down.
The blast sent Toshi and Sharp-Ear hurtling back into the trunk of a thick century cedar. The fox’s knife bit slightly deeper than Toshi was comfortable with, but it was not a serious wound. On the positive side, Sharp-Ear was caught between Toshi and the tree, so the kitsune was crushed almost unconscious.
Toshi climbed off the stunned fox and dashed back to the ritual site. He hadn’t seen exactly what had happened, but whatever it was had flung Pearl-Ear, the elders, and even Michiko back from the Taken One. The disk itself had risen three feet off the ground, spinning on its axis and rotating end over end. It rattled furiously as smoke and light poured from its edges. A low hum started from within the stone, growing louder and more intense by the second.
Instinctively, Toshi dived behind the tree that had been holding the disk up. Seconds later, he heard another explosion and a terrible cracking sound. He pressed himself against the tree as a volley of hard, sharp objects embedded themselves in the opposite side.
The entire forest fell silent. Toshi exhaled, gathered his courage, and leaned out from behind his tree.
The stone disk was gone. In its place stood a tall figure shrouded in mist and smoke. It was tall, humanoid, and unrecognizable in the haze.
Good for me, he thought crazily. It had worked after all.
CHAPTER 22
Konda’s eyes had not wavered in over a day, so he felt sure he was closing in on his prize once and for all. The closer they got, the more he felt the Taken One’s presence and the stronger it called out to him. He kept his moth-riders low, barely touching the treetops as they flew. His handpicked squad of retainers kept pace less than half a day’s march behind, moving swiftly without banners or war cries. There was no way the thief could see or hear them coming.
He was still receiving flashes from his troops in eastern Jukai, images and sounds that told him the battle with the soratami was turning to his favor. Most of the orochi had moved on to other skirmishes, but with Konda occupying a healthy share of the soratami armada the snakes were mounting a significant effort to expel the moonfolk. When Eiganjo was restored, Konda would send envoys to the snakes, especially the Kashi-tribe orochi in the far east. His new kingdom would be larger, stronger, and more diverse than ever.
Suddenly, stabbing pain lanced through both Konda’s eyes, and he cried out. Had he been in control of his own forward motion, the daimyo would have stumbled and fallen. Though his moth-rider escorts were startled by their lord’s distress, they maintained their speed and direction.
His peculiar view of the world changed then, sliding from a series of panoramic glimpses in all directions to a single, focused image of the landscape before him. It took the daimyo a moment to adjust and another to realize what had happened.
Konda ran his hands over his face, confirming what he had feared. His eyes had become normal, fixed in their sockets. Quickly, the Daimyo tested the other gifts he had received from the stone disk. He still felt young and strong, and the skin on his hands still looked no older. He was still a seventy-year-old soldier in a fifty-year-old’s body.
Neither had he lost contact with his ghost army. He could still feel their presence and send mental commands that would be obeyed without questions. Indeed, the moth-riders above and the honor guard below continued on as if nothing had changed.
Whatever foul magic the ochimusha was using had somehow partially severed Konda’s connection with the Taken One. The daimyo still retained his command and his vigor, but he was no longer able to fix upon the disk.
Unfazed, Konda ignored the searing pain in his eyes and resolved himself. He knew he was close. He knew he was going in the right direction. If the ochimusha had blocked Konda’s access to the stone, he was likely to consider himself safe and stay in one place. Konda knew he could find him. When he did, he planned to punish Toshi as long and as painfully as the thief’s body could stand.
Grim and determined, Konda urged his moth-riders on.
The Taken One emerged from the smoke and debris with precise, deliberate steps. As the only one upright in the immediate area, Toshi was the first to see her newly chosen form.
Naked and unashamed, she appeared to be a full-grown human woman. Her skin was textured like a snake’s scales that formed a cascade of subtle colors that blended into one another. On that supple canvas she carried a band of moody and intense crimson across her shoulders that became a patch of mustard yellow toward the waist, which in turn leeched into a stretch of dusty sage green. Her black hair was also tinted with the barest hints of color, but the hue changed depending on which way the light hit it. Her tresses were cropped short and stood out straight, giving her head the appearance of a lion’s mane or a dragon’s crest. Her lips were dark, ominous green, and her eyes were vibrant yellow orbs with vertical orange pupils.
As with all spirits from the kakuriyo, this one was surrounded by a cluster of floating facets, minor aspects that attended her like servants. In this case, the Taken One was surrounded by a cloud of miniature stars that glittered as bright and distant as the sky on a clear winter’s night. Even in the soft light of the forest at midday, the new arrival’s stars sparkled and shone.
The woman fixed her vivid yellow eyes on Toshi as he came around the tree. For a moment Toshi looked the Taken One full in the face, taking in the details and waiting for her to act. As they stared curiously at each other, Toshi realized why the disk-woman seemed so familiar. The eyes and the hair and the skin had distracted him from the elegant cheekbones, the small, perfect nose, and the long, graceful curve of the neck. She was wilder, more imposing, and more alien, but the Taken One looked remarkably similar to Michiko-hime.
“Greetings,” Toshi said softly. “Do you remember me?”
The Taken One blinked. She craned her head away from Toshi and then fixed him once more with her hypnotic eyes.
“I am free,” she said. Her voice sounded like three voices, a shout, a song, and a whisper all at once.
“You are. We released you according to your wishes. My name is Toshi.”
The Taken One did not look interested at all in the concept of names. “Where is this?”
“You are in the utsushiyo, the physical world. Does that mean anything to you?”
The Taken One shook her head. Then she stopped and looked perplexed. “How do I now speak? Why do I now move?”
“Well, you’re a powerful spirit,” Toshi said. “You would know better than I. But I think it has something to do with her.” He pointed to the princess.
Michiko had partially recovered from the Taken One’s release. She had risen to her knees and was staring open-mouthed at the fierce reflection of herself.
“Sister,” the princess said.
The Taken One spun to face Michiko. She approached the princess like a stalking tiger and stared down into her eyes.
“Sister,” she said. The Taken One reached down and took Michiko’s hands. Tears welled up in Michiko’s eyes as she folded the Taken One in her arms. The two sisters embraced awkwardly at first but then clung to each other as the princess’s tears rolled down the Taken One’s back.
“Forgive me,” Michiko said. “I will never be able to restore what my father took from you.”