The sudden arrival of a new enemy shattered the soratami’s precise formation and made their battle plan useless. They had come to fight wild snakes in the woods, not unkillable crack troops with decades of experience in large-scale engagements. The soratami warriors lived up to their reputation, fighting bravely and fiercely against the new arrivals, but the outcome of the battle was never in doubt. The ghost army’s warped and twisted retainers cut them down like stalks of wheat.

  Konda himself took his moth-riders back across the burned-out clearing and circled over the blue cloud chariot. He could see the small crew of moonfolk and the blue-robed wizard inside. They were scrambling to steer their vessel away from the circling array of ghostly moths.

  Konda pointed his sword. “You too, must be punished,” he said.

  Clouds of glittering yellow force formed around the moths’ antennae, similar to the force that held Konda suspended between his escorts. The force continued to collect and gather until each glowing cloud touched its neighbor. Then, a dozen streams lanced from the moths down to the cloud chariot, rivers of sparkling gold that swam with naked, glaring eyeballs. The orbs rolled and jostled against each other at first, but as they bore down on the blue chariot they locked onto the moonfolk inside.

  The eye-beams struck, and the chariot exploded. Glittering gold snow fluttered down to the killing floor, and a mournful wail rose from the beleaguered soratami.

  Higher up among the clouds themselves, Konda saw many more of the soratami chariots. They would be dealt with in similar fashion, harshly, and soon. Below him on the ground, his army had completely surrounded the soratami samurai and were in the process of grinding them to bits. There was no sign of any orochi whatsoever, but Konda considered this to be tactical prudence instead of cowardice: if the ghost army won the day here, there was still plenty of Jukai left to defend.

  Konda had his escorts and one other moth veer off to the west. The others he sent up to dismantle the soratami armada and demonstrate once and for all who ruled Kamigawa.

  On the ground, a small force of about twenty split off from the fighting and raced after Konda’s trio of moth-riders. While the bulk of his ghost army would continue to drive the soratami out of Jukai, these retainers would be his honor guard, the smaller, less obvious force that he would take to surprise the thief Toshi.

  The daimyo soared on, eager enough to open a wide lead between the aerial elements of his honor guard and the ground forces. He refused to wait one second longer than he had to. Konda swore the next time he laid eyes on the Taken One it would not leave his sight until he reclaimed it, preferably over the dead body of that cursed lowlife.

  The voice of Night’s Reach boomed through Toshi’s head scant seconds after he entered the realm of shadow.

  TOSHI, she thundered, YOU HAVE DISOBEYED ME.

  “I had no other choice, O Night. I had to weigh your wishes against each other. You did not want the Taken One retaken, yet you also didn’t want it in your domain. I could not accomplish both, so I picked this.”

  The myojin’s voice grew softer, but she was no less sharp. You have chosen unwisely, my soon-to-be ex-acolyte. Rectify this situation immediately. Begone, and never return.

  The void around them boiled and churned. Toshi felt a rush of motion and a painful jolt before he tumbled painfully to the cold, hard ground. Behind him, he heard the Taken One make a similar rough landing.

  Toshi quickly got to his feet. They were still in the forest, surrounded by cedars and ferns, but the landscape was different from eastern Jukai. This was more like the western edge of the forest, closer to the civilized regions of Eiganjo and the kitsune nation.

  Before Toshi could fully get his bearings, Night’s Reach sprang up before him on a curtain of black.

  “You’ll never see it here again,” Toshi said quickly. “On my honor, I swear it was unavoidable.”

  Be silent. I have seen what your honor entails. My blessings count for nothing, my patronage counts for nothing unless it suits you.

  “You wound me, O Night. I tried to ask for your guidance and you did not reply.”

  And that justifies doing precisely what I instructed you not to do? Have I not made you powerful? Have I not intervened and saved you when you were at the mercy of your enemies? And this is how you repay me.

  Toshi shrugged. “I was desperate. Mistakes were made. Forgive me, O Night, but I don’t see the harm.”

  And that is why you have failed me so completely, Toshi. The myojin’s expression was static and unchanged, but rage and frustration both seeped from its porcelain surface. My interests hinge on not drawing O-Kagachi’s attention. Bringing that to my domain is like lighting a candle that he will always see. In seconds, days, or years, he will come. It might take centuries, but he will remember that I was the one who concealed his missing progeny. If he comes here, if he even fixes his gaze upon this place, I will suffer. And it will take far longer than your life span for me to recover.

  Toshi tried to think of a graceful way to excuse his actions or deflect Night’s anger, but before he spoke another disembodied voice joined the discussion.

  release me

  Real panic crept into the myojin’s voice. What was that?

  The ochimusha paused. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to ask you about. It’s alive,” Toshi shouted. “What do I do with it?”

  What have you done? It is connected to O-Kagachi; it has tasted the old serpent’s power. If it has awakened, we are all in terrible danger.

  Toshi looked into the face of the stone disk. The image of the serpent was facing outward, both its etched eyes fixed on the Myojin of Night’s Reach. Its tail waved in angry slashes.

  His vision doubled and for a moment Toshi saw two stone disks and two angry serpents. Something heavy pushed against his entire body as a small white spark flashed on the surface of the Taken One.

  A sharp, sleek needle of force shot out from the stone disk. It lanced directly into the myojin’s face and punctured the mask, sending a spiderweb of cracks radiating outward from the center.

  Night’s Reach wailed, but the sound faded as quickly as the pieces of the shattered mask. Toshi continued to stare at the space where his myojin had been until a flicker of motion drew his eye back to the Taken One.

  On the surface of the stone disk, the fetal serpent drew its long, forked tongue back into its mouth. It disappeared into the etched mouth with a curious popping sound, and then the serpent resumed her profile position.

  release me now

  “I’m working on it,” Toshi said. He paused, scanning the area for familiar signs. There was only one course left to him now, only one group he could turn to. And if they didn’t kill him on sight, they might actually listen to him and try to help.

  Lady Pearl-Ear of the kitsune had been at Princess Michiko’s side since the very moment the princess was born. At first the fox-woman served because of her great love for Yoshino, Michiko’s mother, who died shortly after the birth, but as the child grew Pearl-Ear saw what a remarkable person the princess could become and swore to be the mentor and friend Lady Yoshino never had the chance to be.

  Pearl-Ear did not think of herself as a second mother—she would not wish to dishonor Yoshino’s memory, and also their species were too fundamentally different. Pearl-Ear did consider herself as family, but as a caring and perhaps overly concerned aunt rather than a parent. She would teach Michiko what she could about the world, but the princess herself would have to make her way in it.

  Here in a village of kitsune made refugees by the Kami War, Pearl-Ear realized her guardianship of Michiko was nearly complete. Despite the horrors of the Kami War and the knowledge that her father’s crimes had caused them, Michiko-hime was blooming in her self-imposed exile on the western edge of Jukai. Pearl-Ear had never seen the princess Michiko so confident and determined, or so focused. She attended every meeting of the kitsune council and made frequent (and sometimes heated) contributions to the discussion. Pearl-Ear took secret pride in the way Michiko presented her concerns, for it was the kitsune who taught her to reason, to argue, and to address an august assembly. As a representative of the people of Eiganjo, Michiko was a passionate and welcome voice at the table.

  Pearl-Ear’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Some of the council members had openly mentioned Michiko’s only shortcoming as a diplomat: her all-too-human impatience for action. During one discussion, Elder Silk-Eyes explained that the kitsune were always more inclined to observe the situation and meditate on a solution. For all creatures, especially humans, the world revealed itself only to those who took the time to consider it.

  Michiko had bowed politely, but her words had been sharp. “Venerable elder,” she said, “the kitsune live for hundreds of years. You can afford to meditate. Humans have to act more quickly, else we’d never accomplish anything.”

  Silk-Eyes spoke kindly. “Well said, Michiko-hime. You have the floor. What would you have us do?”

  So once more Michiko had reddened and fallen silent in frustration. There was no answer. The dire situation around them had not changed, and they were still unable to affect it. Simply surviving was a major victory.

  Now Pearl-Ear watched the princess from a broad, flat cedar stump as Michiko trained. The princess had thrown herself back into her magical and martial studies, working harder than she ever had in Eiganjo. Pearl-Ear encouraged this to further Michiko’s ability to protect herself, but also to give her frustration a constructive outlet. Life was almost idyllic for Michiko in Jukai, surrounded by her closest friends and most revered elders, but Pearl-Ear knew her student was on the cusp of an explosive outburst. The isolation and guilt she bore on behalf of her father were weighing on her, and she was responding to a primal urge to simply move.

  Below, Michiko galloped down a long lane the villagers had cleared on the far side of the encampment. War steeds were scarce among the refugees, but there were a few of Konda’s cavalrymen eager to contribute to his daughter’s training. She was tall and beautiful, though she looked considerably rougher and wilder in the woven linens of the kitsune than in her flowing palace robes. With smooth, practiced motions Michiko nocked and fired six times at six targets as she galloped along the lane. She scored three hits in the center, two in the inner ring, and one on the outer.

  “Excellent,” said Sharp-Ear, the princess’s yabusame archery coach and Pearl-Ear’s brother. He stood on top of a huge fallen log that marked the outer edge of the horse run. He was small, lithe, and quick even for a fox, and his short-muzzled face was always on the verge of a wink or a playful shrug. Like many of the kitsune, Sharp-Ear was crafty and prone to playing tricks and games on friend and foe alike. In Pearl-Ear’s opinion, he was an irksome scamp who should have been named “Sharp-Tongue” for his cutting wit and his quick grasp of any situation … but he was a loyal friend and a valuable ally even if he was an exasperating brother.

  Sharp-Ear was something of a journeyman, expert in a number of different disciplines. He could harness the magic of field and forest, he was formidable on the back of a horse, and he was devastatingly accurate with the bow. He worked the princess hard during her yabusame training and his combination of good cheer and frequent drills helped Michiko progress far more quickly than she ever had with Pearl-Ear. If Pearl-Ear was a stern but caring aunt to the princess, Pearl-Ear was her boyish, indulgent uncle.

  The refugees had been abuzz lately from a series of sudden arrivals. First, Isamaru, Konda’s dog and Michiko’s companion, had inexplicably turned up. The great pale akita bounded into the village unannounced and unexpected, barking happily at anyone and everyone until Michiko came calling his name. Isamaru had been trained to hunt, but his age had begun to catch up with him. This meant he couldn’t catch the rabbits of Jukai, but he was more than happy to join the chase. Some of the refugees were soldiers from Konda’s army, and they regarded the dog as a combination lucky charm and good omen. As long as he was there, they allowed themselves to hope.

  The second round of visitors was even more remarkable. The honor guard of Eiganjo cavalry and kitsune samurai that escorted Pearl-Ear and Michiko to the academy was thought to have been killed in the massacre. Days after the main party had escaped Minamo, the soldiers joined them, bringing tales of terrifying brutality and the curious, taciturn ochimusha who brought them to safety.

  Pearl-Ear recognized the soldier’s description of Toshi Umezawa, and she added his heroic actions to the growing list of inexplicable things he had done. In a matter of weeks he had kidnapped the princess, battled the orochi and a major myojin to a standstill on her behalf, murdered one of Michiko’s closest peers, freed her from house arrest, and rescued her when ogre and oni came to Minamo. Now for some reason he had returned to the school, and Pearl-Ear had a strong idea what that reason was.

  Except for Konda himself, Toshi was one of the only people in Kamigawa to lay hands on the Taken One, and he had left it behind when he rescued Michiko and Pearl-Ear from the school. He must have returned there to take it back, or to exploit its mysterious power for his own use.

  Pearl-Ear could not bring herself to trust or respect the man, but Toshi had done them great service as well as great harm. He was a mercenary and an opportunist and he always seemed to be one step away from catastrophe … the kind that claimed him and everyone around him. Pearl-Ear looked for the best in everyone she encountered, but she feared Toshi’s ambition and fecklessness would destroy him long before he matured enough to rise above them.

  Sharp-Ear clapped his hands. “Again,” he said. “One more pass and we’ll call it a day.” Michiko nodded and spurred her horse back up the lane as Riko and a young kitsune replaced the wooden targets.

  Michiko reached the starting point, wheeled her horse into place, and waited for Sharp-Ear’s signal. It never came.

  Instead, a long-haired figure dressed in black emerged from the edge of the woods bordering the horse run. He had bright green eyes and one arm raised, waving to catch the princess’ attention. His other arm was extended back into the cedar shadows behind him, but the kitsune’s eyes were sharp enough to see what lay beyond. The man’s hand was resting atop a large stone disk he had propped against a tree.

  Pearl-Ear shot to her feet, but cries of alarm were already echoing through the trees. The soldiers who guarded Michiko closed ranks around her an instant after the visitor appeared. Sharp-Ear sprang from atop the fallen log and nocked an arrow into his bow as he somersaulted to the ground. He trained the bolt on the intruder as his feet dug into the turf.

  “Wait,” Pearl-Ear called, for she had recognized both the man and his burden. Her brother and the other warriors did not lower their weapons as they advanced, and Pearl-Ear wondered if that was because they didn’t recognize Toshi and the Taken One or if it was because they did.

  The ochimusha held both empty hands up to show he was unarmed. Pearl-Ear noted that he still had his jitte strapped to his hip but both swords were gone. She would have felt more confident if he’d had the blades and lost the tool he used to inscribe kanji—Toshi’s symbol-magic was as dangerous and unpredictable as the fellow himself.

  “Stand easy.” Toshi quickly scanned the approaching warriors. Pearl-Ear saw a flicker of recognition when the kanji mage saw Sharp-Ear, but Toshi’s face visibly brightened when he saw her atop her stump.

  “Lady,” he called, waving to Pearl-Ear, “I need your help.”

  Toshi lowered one arm and gestured at the Taken One, its edge barely peeking past the trunk of the tree. “And if you don’t want to help me, help yourselves. Look. See what has become of Konda’s prize.”

  Pearl-Ear focused her keen eyes on the stone disk. She watched it for a moment, then gasped when she saw part of the etched serpent move along the disk’s edge.

  release me

  Toshi stayed in his awkward position, grandly presenting the Taken One with one hand and surrendering with the other. “See?” he said.

  “Do as he says. Stand down.” Michiko’s voice rang out from the center of the phalanx of human soldiers and kitsune samurai.

  The warriors parted, and Michiko cantered forward on her horse. “That man,” she pointed to Toshi, “works for me. I sent for him. And that item,” she nodded at the stone disk, “is my responsibility. Sensei.” She turned toward Pearl-Ear. “May we present ourselves to the elders for an audience?”

  Pearl-Ear nodded. “As you wish, Princess. Wait here and I will convene the council.” Before she turned, Pearl-Ear made sure to make eye contact with her brother. Kitsune were subtle creatures and could read a person’s body language as easily as a schoolboy’s primer. She and Sharp-Ear had also been siblings for almost one hundred years and so could speak volumes with the slightest nod or facial tic.

  Don’t let Toshi out of your sight and don’t let the warriors drop their guard, Pearl-Ear’s knowing look said.

  Sharp-Ear’s scornful expression clearly and succinctly replied, I need you to tell me that.

  Lady Pearl-Ear left Toshi surrounded by a half-dozen swords and at least as many arrows as she hurried to gather the elders.

  Toshi somehow expected more from the wise council of kitsune shamans. Three wizened and scrawny old foxes just didn’t justify the reverential treatment they received. Toshi knew next to nothing about the kitsune and he hated the woods, but even he knew that proper fox-elders had more than one tail. Maybe all the really important elders were engaged elsewhere.

  The soldiers kept him under close watch but they left his hands free. The littlest kitsune male, Sharp-Ear, had made sure to relieve Toshi of his jitte.

  Since offending Night’s Reach, Toshi found he could no longer become immaterial or travel by shadows. The kanji that bestowed these powers were still visible on his arms but they no longer functioned. The kitsune still monitored him as if he could come and go at will, and he was determined to keep them misinformed for as long as possible. If they were guarding him as if he were a phantom, they might leave some other avenue of escape open to a more normal prisoner.