Before he could celebrate or taunt, however, the kami sprouted another stinger from the end of its ruined tail. In seconds it was whole and complete as if it had never been wounded.

  It also seemed to have picked up speed, now hovering and darting like a hummingbird. The new stinger dripped with fresh venom as the kami searched for an opening.

  “Kobo.” Toshi readied his jitte, just in case. “I’m not complaining, but do you think you could summon up something that could fly? We’re only targets here.”

  Kobo actually smirked. “Trust me, oath-brother. As I trust you.”

  The oni turned its head and sniffed the air. It tensed its scrawny hind legs, filled its broad chest with air, and then sprang straight up.

  The oni’s bulk slammed into the floating kami and the brute latched onto the bug with both its massive forepaws and its multi-layered jaws. The kami shrieked again and tore at the oni with its stinger and its scythed forelimbs. One of the blades lodged in the oni’s shoulder and broke off. The other carved long strips of flesh from the oni’s back and ribs. In return, the oni was cracking the kami’s exoskeleton and rending huge, ragged chunks from its soft innards. It let each new piece fall to the forest floor below, spattering the area with crimson gore.

  As they fought, the oni’s weight slowly dragged them back down to the ground. The kami’s struggles began to slow, but the oni continued to savage its foe with unabated ferocity. If it felt the damage the bug had inflicted, it did not care.

  By the time the oni’s legs touched the ashen ground, the kami was already dying. It had lost the scythe end of one arm, and the other was slowly being amputated by the oni’s crushing jaws. Its stinger had scored on the oni’s belly a dozen times or more, to no visible effect. The oni settled onto the ground, still hauling down on the bug kami. It pinned its prey with one of its heavy forelimbs and, with a powerful wrench of its huge shoulders, tore the spirit beast in half.

  Toshi nodded, impressed. He sheathed his weapons and slapped Kobo on the back.

  “Well done, oath-brother. I knew—” Toshi stopped there, for the sound of the slaughter rose again, louder than before. Kobo’s oni had won the fight, but it was not yet through with its opponent.

  The oni burrowed into the kami’s corpse like a badger in a beehive. Cloudy red blood and shards of exoskeleton flew as it tore the kami into pieces and then the pieces into scraps. For several long minutes, Toshi and Kobo watched silently as the oni dog spread the body of its enemy across half the clearing.

  “Well,” Toshi said at last, “you did tell it to make merry. Can you also make it stop?”

  Kobo nodded. He clapped his hands again, and the oni’s gore-flecked head rose out of the carnage.

  “You honor me,” Kobo said. “That honor will be repaid threefold. Your task is done. I did bid you rise, and now I do bid you: Depart.”

  The oni raised its head and howled. It held the note as its body began to fade. Toshi kept his eyes locked on the demon dog’s gore-streaked muzzle, his hand on his swords.

  The oni’s howl lingered long after it had gone.

  “I know you’d probably never presume to ask,” Toshi said, “but I feel like I should say something. I really don’t have any idea why all these kami know me by name and are out to get me.”

  Kobo shrugged. “Perhaps they see something we don’t. Something you have forgotten or haven’t yet done.”

  “That would make some sense,” Toshi said. “I’ve gotten away with so much over the years. I guess it’s only fair I take the blame for something I didn’t do.” He smiled. “At least the oni are on my side.”

  Kobo scowled. “Never believe that, oath-brother. Not for a second.”

  “All right, fine. Kami or oni alike confound me. And you religious, worshiping types have absolutely no sense of humor.” He thought for a moment. “Say, oni are spirits, too, like kami. Could one of your spirits tell me why the others are chasing me?”

  Kobo shook his head. “Too dangerous. I would not even try without my master here to supervise the ritual. And even if they did know, they would never tell you for free.”

  “Completely unlike the kami, of course.” Toshi sighed. “Ah, well. Hidetsugu did send us out to solve this mystery on our own, didn’t he?”

  “He did, oath-brother.”

  “Then let’s collect the gear we dropped back at the top of the hill. After that, we go deeper into the woods.”

  They scaled back up the heavily wooded hillside, and Toshi glanced back at the clearing. The remains of three kami and a handful of akki goblins were the only proof they had ever been there.

  Once more, he wondered about the kami and their growing interest in him. He didn’t understand why a powerful being of pure spirit would bother to cloak itself in flesh just for a shot at him … or anyone else, for that matter. The Kami War was a fact of life, but he feared he would never understand why. Toshi was far from humble, but he knew that the ways of kami and the people who prayed to them were almost completely opaque to him.

  Why, he thought, with no hope of an answer, didn’t everyone just leave everyone else alone?

  PART TWO

  SPIRIT GUIDES

  Princess Michiko rode confidently atop a huge white stallion, standing in the special stirrups as she had been taught. She carefully nocked an arrow onto her longbow, stretched the cord tight, and let fly, missing the target by a clear foot.

  Sharp-Ear of the kitsune-bito sighed. It was bad enough that Pearl-Ear had left him to mind the children while she went off on her secret mission of self-discovery, but she had also left him to do so under an assumed name.

  “Try again,” he called, as Michiko rode past in the other direction. She nodded and spurred her fine steed.

  Not that assumed names were a problem for the kitsune. They were a playful people, and that playfulness often concealed taciturn, even secretive personalities. Pearl-Ear herself was a good example—she had been keeping secrets from her people and the Daimyo’s alike. She hadn’t told any of the kitsune elders about her concerns regarding Michiko’s birth. She apparently hadn’t told anyone in the tower about her rare meetings with the Daimyo, though she was one of a small handful that still saw Konda face to face.

  The fox-man smiled. The residents of the tower didn’t even know that Pearl-Ear wasn’t her real name. Still, if she could spend years as Lady Pearl-Ear for the good of human-kitsune relations, he could be Sharp-Ear for a few days for the same good cause. He just wished the princess had someone else to mind her so that he would be free to explore.

  From his raised observation platform, Sharp-Ear watched as Princess Michiko exchanged a few words with the rest of her little class. Two members of the Minamo Academy stood at the far end of the courtyard, offering encouragement and advice between runs at the target. The girl, Riko, was a promising student, but she had been taught to shoot from her own two feet and would have to unlearn quite a bit before she was comfortable on horseback. The boy Choryu showed little aptitude for archery and less interest. He was quite keen on the girls, however.

  Sharp-Ear dropped his hand, and Michiko began her gallop. She maintained a good stance and balance as she thundered past Sharp-Ear and sank an arrow in the target’s second ring, a foot or so away from the center.

  “Good enough,” Sharp-Ear called. “Again.”

  Riko cheered and Choryu waved. Michiko treated him to one of her dazzling smiles, then reined her horse in and headed back to the starting area.

  Sharp-Ear followed Michiko with his eyes, keeping the young male wizard in his peripheral vision. Choryu was the white-haired youth from the assembly, the one beside the moonfolk before the kami attacked. Relations between the soratami and the kitsune-bito were cordial, but distant. Sharp-Ear hoped he could use the boy’s familiarity with the moonfolk to garner an introduction. They might have valuable information to share. Besides, he had never interacted with moonfolk personally, and he was curious.

  Michiko rode by his observation platform again and scored on the outer rim of the bull’s eye. Sharp-Ear nodded to himself, then waved Michiko in. He noticed that she was still standing tall in the stirrups to keep her eye and arms steady, even though she had no arrow nocked.

  “I think I’m improving, sensei.”

  “That’s because you are. How are your legs?”

  “Hmm? Oh, fine.” She eased herself down into the saddle, wincing slightly.

  “A little stiff, perhaps?”

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Well, hop down then and we’ll start the next exercise.”

  Michiko shouldered her bow and swung her legs over so that she was sitting sidesaddle. She dropped to the ground and stumbled, but she recovered her balance before she fell. She looked concerned for a moment, then she smiled up at Sharp-Ear.

  “So far, so good,” he said. He stepped off the platform and landed gracefully next to the princess. “Come,” he said. “Let’s collect the others.”

  Michiko took one step forward, and as Sharp-Ear expected, almost fell again. Her legs seemed half-stuck in the standing saddle position, her feet spread wide and her knees locked. She could only manage an awkward duck-like waddle, which Sharp-Ear found both amusing and endearing.

  Michiko noticed his smile and stopped. She crossed her arms and said primly, “Perhaps more than a little stiff, sensei.”

  Sharp-Ear laughed merrily. “Don’t worry, Princess. You’re still a novice. To master yabusame school archery, you have to train your legs as well as your eyes and arms. Another week or so and you’ll be as limber as… well, as this.”

  Sharp-Ear pressed his heels together with his toes pointed outward. He bent at the knee, lowering himself almost to the ground. He held the squat for a few moments, his arms spread wide, and then he sprang high into the air. Twisting as he went, Sharp-Ear turned a complete somersault and landed silently next to Michiko, raising little more than a puff of dust.

  Michiko clapped her hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever be that limber, sensei.”

  “Then I must train you harder, Michiko-hime.” He offered the princess his arm and she took it.

  “Now,” he said. “Let’s regroup.” Together, moving slowly to accommodate Michiko’s stiff legs, they walked to Riko and Choryu.

  Riko rushed forward to meet them. “You’re doing very well,” she said. “I didn’t come anywhere near the center until I had been practicing for months.”

  “You taught me how to draw and aim long ago,” Michiko said. “I’m still learning how to stand on top of a galloping horse, however.” She exaggerated her gait and made a great show of how stressful each step was. “Next time, I shall ride back to the tower.”

  As they approached Choryu, he bowed. “Well done, Princess.” The wizard straightened and fixed his ice-blue eyes on Sharp-Ear. “You are a gifted teacher, sensei.”

  “I have a gifted pupil,” Sharp-Ear said. “Three,” he added, with a nod to Riko. As he turned back to Choryu, Sharp-Ear’s smile widened. “Make that two.”

  Choryu winked. “It’s true, I am not here to learn. But don’t be offended. What use are arrows to a wizard?” He cupped his hands over his chest and chanted softly. Sharp-Ear heard the phrase “your power flows through me” twice, and then Choryu looked up and opened his hands.

  A stream of sapphire-blue water surged up from his palms, rising high over their heads. The stream maintained its shape and speed as it curved around and flowed back toward the ground. At eye-level, the stream bent again, orbiting Michiko’s head, then Riko’s, then Sharp-Ear’s. Both girls laughed, and Michiko slowly raised her index finger until it was touching the water.

  When all three wore halos of blue connected by sapphire streams, Choryu spread his hands, drawing the water back into his palms.

  Sharp-Ear clapped politely. “Impressive,” he said. “But is water a weapon?”

  Choryu dusted his hands on each other. “Absolutely. You’ve seen how a drop of water can cut through a rock?”

  “I have. With the help of gravity and several uninterrupted decades to do its work.”

  Michiko giggled. Choryu scowled.

  “Bad example,” he said. “How about, ‘you’ve seen how a wave can smash a ship?’”

  “I have seen that, as well. Point taken.” Sharp-Ear bowed to the princess. “That is the end of today’s lesson. I will be in my quarters if you have any questions. Otherwise, I shall see you all tomorrow morning, right here.”

  His students bid him farewell, and then Riko began an excited critique of Michiko’s archery. Choryu stood slightly apart, watching the princess intently.

  Sharp-Ear followed the narrow path out of the courtyard and around the corner of the tower’s external walls. He pressed himself against the wall and disappeared into the shadows, listening to his charges. Like all students, they seemed to forget the teacher once he was out of plain sight.

  As he had done for the past several days, Sharp-Ear planned to remain unnoticed as he kept close enough to hear what they were saying. If they held to their pattern, they would return to the tower, make their way to Michiko’s suite of rooms, and talk about things that were important to them. Michiko’s progress. Academy gossip. The state of the war. Lady Pearl-Ear at court.

  Sharp-Ear excused this intrusion on the princess’s privacy as part of his promise to his sister. Pearl-Ear had told him to protect Michiko as well as train her, so he had not strayed more than a stone’s throw from the princess since Pearl-Ear had left. He was learning all sorts of new things, and while most of them were only useful to other twenty-year old girls, some of what Michiko said or didn’t say was extremely valuable.

  And his sister was correct. Michiko’s aura was bright and considerate, but it had a terrible weight behind it. There was a vague inscrutability about her that loomed like a shadow and lingered like a sharp scent. It was neither benign nor malicious, but something else … something powerful.

  The fox man sat silently in the shadows as his students made their way to the tower. His sharp ears easily distinguished Michiko’s whisper from the wizards’ chatter.

  “It’s not safe to say more. Wait until we’re inside.”

  Choryu and Riko continued to banter, more loudly than was necessary. The trio mounted the steps to the tower entrance and went inside, their voices becoming vague and indistinct.

  Sharp-Ear’s ears twitched. Ah, to be a student again, he thought. Childish secrets and minor conspiracies, all to be kept from the nearest authority figure.

  A plume of smoke drifted over the battlement and Sharp-Ear caught the scent of fire and blood. The kami were restless today, and there had been several skirmishes out in the wastes.

  Sharp-Ear’s grin faded. Sticking close to the wall, crept up to the tower entrance and then stepped in.

  As he followed their progress up and ever up, Sharp-Ear felt his heart beat quicker. He had a dire burden to bear on behalf of his sister, his people, perhaps the entire world. And he very badly wanted to know what the princess wouldn’t risk discussing in public.

  * * * * *

  For the third time in as many days, Sharp-Ear worked his way into the rafters above the ceiling and navigated his way toward Michiko’s private reception hall. Below him, through a thin layer of plaster and stiff paper, lay a room full of comfortable couches and tasteful bolts of silk. The fox-man shimmied silently out to the center of the ceiling, balancing on a narrow beam.

  “We can at least agree on one thing.” Choryu’s voice came clearly through the plaster ceiling tiles. He sounded restless. “They’re never going to let you out, and you’re never going to learn anything here.”

  “I never agreed to that,” Riko answered. “I said that it’s crazy not to consult the Academy, because that’s where all the information is.”

  Michiko’s voice was hushed, troubled. “But I did agree,” she said. “It is as I have seen in my dreams. Towabara suffers, and I am sequestered in this tower. All Kamigawa suffers, and I have never even seen the borders of the kingdom I must one day rule.” Her voice became flinty, sharper and harder than Sharp-Ear had heard it. “I have a responsibility to my people. I cannot fulfill it here, where I am held ignorant and aloof from the world around me.”

  “The libraries and scholars at Minamo,” Choryu said, “have access to all the knowledge that has ever been. It’s there for the finding.”

  The fire in Michiko’s voice faded. “But my father and Lady Pearl-Ear both bid me stay and learn from Sharp-Ear. Perhaps we should wait until she returns and petition my father again.”

  “He’ll refuse again,” said Choryu. “Without explanation. Just like last time.”

  “He is my father, and lord of this kingdom. He does not have to explain.”

  “Of course not. Excuse my poorly chosen words. Long live the Daimyo.

  “But with respect, Princess, I think your father’s armies have proven that force of arms is not the answer. The kami attack, Towabara defends, and the battlefield grows ever wider and bloodier. We need more information before we can begin to settle the war, and we’re not getting it here.”

  “‘We,’ Choryu?” Riko’s words echoed Sharp-Ear’s own thoughts. “You and I have no standing here. We risk nothing, yet you ask Michiko to risk all.”

  “We,” Choryu repeated. “I have not been Michiko’s friend as long as you, Riko, but that doesn’t mean I am less loyal. This problem is not just hers, it is the entire world’s. The Academy has always been dedicated to the greater good. I know there is something in the archives that can help us.”

  “They could if we had access.” Riko’s voice was strong and even. “The largest and most extensive libraries are forbidden to all but the highest-ranking masters. Even if we reach the Academy, there is no guarantee that we will be allowed to find the answers we seek.”