Shadow Of The Fox: a must read mythical new Japanese adventure from New York Times bestseller Julie Kagawa

He didn’t give any explanation of what he meant. He didn’t ask me if I understood. Maybe he knew that half the time I could never untangle his riddles, and the other half I really wasn’t listening. But I nodded and smiled, like I knew what he was getting at, and said, “Yes, Master Isao. I understand.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You have no idea what I’m babbling on about, child,” he stated, making me wince. “But that is all right. It is not the reason I brought you here today.” He looked away, his gaze going distant, that shadow falling over his eyes once more. “You are nearly grown, and the world outside is changing. It is time you knew our true purpose, what the Silent Winds temple truly protects.”

I blinked and, in the mirror, the kitsune’s ears twitched forward. “What we...protect?” I asked. “I didn’t know we protected anything.”

“Of course not,” Master Isao agreed. “No one ever told you. It is our greatest secret. But it is one you must know. The Dragon is rising, and another age comes to an end.”

* * *

“A very long time ago,” Master Isao began in the lyrical tones of a master storyteller, “there was a mortal. A young lord who commanded a great army and had servants that outnumbered the grains of rice in the field. His name has been lost to legend, but it is said he was an arrogant, foolish human who wished to become an immortal kami—a god. To this end, he assembled his greatest warriors and ordered them to bring him the Fushi no Tama, a jewel that was said to grant immortality to any who possessed it. Unfortunately, the jewel of immortality resided in the forehead of the Great Dragon that lived under the sea. But the lord coveted immortality, and told his warriors to retrieve Fushi no Tama by whatever means possible.

“His retainers, a little more sensible then their master, pretended to set off on this quest at once, and so sure of their success was the lord that he adorned his rooms with gold and silver, and draped silken cloth over the roof of his house, as was befitting a god.

“Several months passed with no word, and the young lord, growing impatient, journeyed to the sacred cliffs of Ryugake, where it was said the Dragon lived beneath the waves. As it turned out, not one of his warriors had taken a boat to search for the Dragon but had fled the province at first opportunity. Angry at this news, the lord threw caution to the winds, hired a helmsman and a ship, and embarked on the quest himself.

“As soon as the unfortunate ship reached deep ocean, a fierce storm blew in and the sea turned on the lord and his crew like an enraged beast. To make matters worse, the lord was struck with a terrible sickness and lay close to death while the sea raged and howled around them. As the storm grew in ferocity, and the ship itself threatened to break apart, the helmsman cried out that surely the gods were angry with them, and that the lord should offer a prayer to pacify the Great Kami of the deep.

“The lord, finally realizing his mistake, was ashamed and horrified at what he had attempted to do. Falling to his face, he prayed no less than a thousand times, repenting of his folly to slay the Dragon, vowing that he would challenge the Ruler of the Tides no more.

“Afterward, some legends claim that the lord returned to his homeland, and that nothing happened except the crows stole the fine silk cloth from his roof to line their nests. However, one legend goes on to say that, after the lord finished his thousandth prayer, the seas boiled and a mighty Dragon rose from the ocean depths. He was thrice the length of the ship, his eyes burned like torches in the night and a shining pearl was embedded in the center of his forehead.

“The lord was very frightened, and rightly so, for the Dragon looked most displeased. He fell facedown and begged the mighty serpent to have mercy on him. The Dragon then presented the lord with a choice. He would grant the mortal one wish, anything he desired—riches, immortal life, power over death itself—or he would leave him his soul. The lord chose to keep his soul, and returned home a wiser man.

“Now, every thousand years—one year for each prayer the lord uttered—the Dragon will rise again to the mortal who summons him. If the mortal’s soul is pure, if his intentions are just and his heart is honorable, the Dragon will grant him his heart’s desire. However, if the soul is found wanting, the Dragon rips it from the body and takes it as forfeit for the arrogance of the mortal who sought to become a god, so long ago.”

* * *

Silence fell after Master Isao finished his tale. I sat there, thinking it was an intriguing story, but what it had to do with our temple and the thing we were supposed to protect, I hadn’t a clue. Master Isao watched me for a moment, then shook his head.

“You do not know why I told you that story, do you?”

“I do,” I protested, and Master Isao raised his bushy eyebrows. “It’s so that I can...um...well. No, I don’t.”

He said nothing, only waited patiently, silently insisting, as he often did, that I figure it out myself. I racked my brain, trying to understand. He mentioned a dragon, both in the story and earlier with the mirror, so it must be important. What had he said, exactly?

“The Dragon is rising,” I repeated, earning a nod of approval. “And, in the story, every thousand years, it can be summoned. To grant a mortal whatever they desire.” I paused, frowning slightly. “So...why does the Dragon grant wishes? It’s a god, isn’t it? Surely it has more important things to do than pop in every thousand years. Does it like granting wishes?”

“The Dragon is not a wish-granting puppet, Yumeko-chan,” Master Isao said. “It is a Great Kami—the God of Tides and the Harbinger of Change. Every time it appears, for good or ill, the world shifts and goes down a different path.”

“So, that must mean...is it time for the Dragon to rise again?”

“Very good, Yumeko-chan.” Master Isao gave another solemn nod. “You are correct. The time of the Dragon is nearly upon us. And there are many, even now, who are searching for a way to call on it. But the Dragon will rise only if it is properly summoned, and the only way to do that is to recite the young lord’s prayers, word for word. All one thousand of them.”

“A thousand prayers?” I cocked my head. I had trouble remembering what day of the week it was. I couldn’t imagine having to recite one thousand prayers from memory. “That sounds terribly difficult,” I remarked. “I don’t suppose it’s the same prayer, over and over again, either. Someone should have written them down...”

Oh.

And the pieces clicked into place. The mystery of the temple, the sacred duty of the monks. I glanced at the hanging scroll on the wall, the Dragon and the doomed ship, realizing its significance for the first time. “That’s what we protect,” I guessed. “The prayer to summon the Dragon. It’s...here.”

“A piece of it,” Master Isao said gravely. “You see, Yumeko-chan, long ago, someone used the power of the Dragon’s wish for a terrible thing. Darkness and chaos ruled, and the land was very nearly torn asunder because of it. It was decided that such power should never be used again, so the prayer was split into three parts and hidden throughout Iwagoto, so such darkness could not rise a second time.”

“But...I thought the Dragon only granted a wish to an honorable mortal,” I said. “One ‘whose heart is pure.’ How could the wish be used for evil?”

“The path to Jigoku is lined with honorable intentions,” Master Isao replied. “And absolute power can corrupt even the purest of hearts. Such is the folly of men. Regardless, now that you know what we protect, Yumeko-chan, we must be very careful. This is why we are so isolated, why the temple never receives visitors. With the coming of the Dragon, the balance will shift. Outside these walls, the land is in chaos. Men fight each other for power, unnatural things stir and rise, drawn by blood and violence, and the world grows dark with fear. It is our duty to ensure that the Dragon’s prayer never sees the outside world, that we guard this piece of the scroll from all who would call upon its power. This is our greatest responsibility, and now, it is yours, as well. Do you understand, young one?”

A spider of frost ran up my spine, even as I nodded. “I think so, Master Isao.”

“There is a shadow approaching this place, little fox.” Master Isao’s voice had gone soft, almost distant. He wasn’t looking at me, instead gazing at the wall over my head. “It draws ever closer, and some of us may not survive. But it will not catch you, if you can find the path between and hold on to the light.” Blinking, he glanced at me again, the distant expression fading as he smiled. “Ah, but I am rambling again, aren’t I?” he said brightly. “And I believe you had something to do today, didn’t you, Yumeko-chan? Oh...and if you want to avoid Denga and Nitoru this afternoon, I would sneak over the western wall.” One eye closed in a slow wink as he rose. “I will see you tonight at dinner. Give the monkeys my regards.”

He shuffled out, closing the door behind him, but for a few minutes I sat there, the story of the Dragon’s wish swirling through my head, taunting and ominous. I’d had no idea that this temple guarded something so powerful, that Master Isao and the others were not simple monks, but the protectors of a great and terrible artifact. A prayer that could summon a god.

The Dragon is rising.

A shiver ran up my spine. Was that the reason I was here, in this room? I’d always suspected Master Isao had been testing me for something, but could never figure out what. My own future was never clear, and I’d rarely wondered about it, too preoccupied with the present and what I could do today. Deep down I’d always assumed that, when I was old enough, or brave enough, someday I would leave the Silent Winds temple. Did Master Isao expect me to become a protector of the Dragon scroll? To stay here and guard it from those who wished to summon the power of the Dragon? Forever?

I shook myself. Stay in this temple for the rest of my life, sitting on a dusty old scroll? That can’t be what he meant. I thought back to my daily lessons with Jin, learning about the outside world and what life was like beyond the temple walls. I’d never actually seen a samurai, but I’d read all about them in books and scrolls. I knew the names of the clans, their customs and the history of Iwagoto going back three hundred years. Why bother to teach me if I was just going to stay in the temple protecting a scroll? Why would Master Isao have me learn so much about a world I would never get to see?

He wouldn’t. He’s not that cruel. Wrinkling my nose, I stood and dusted off my knees, already dismissing the notion. I’m not strong; I’m not a guardian or a warrior or a ki master. I’m a kitsune who can make a teapot dance around like a loon. Besides, Master Isao has Denga, Jin, Satoshi and everyone else to protect the Dragon’s prayer. They don’t need my help.

I stepped to the door, trying to dissolve the ominous weight in the pit of my stomach. The feeling that the world had changed. That something was out there, coming closer, and I was powerless to stop it.

Stop it, Yumeko. Just because you know about the scroll doesn’t mean something will instantly pop in, trying to steal it. I flattened my ears, trying to convince myself that this was foolish, that the cold creeping up my spine was because Master Isao was a brilliant storyteller. Not an omen of what was to come. I’m being paranoid. I’ve never liked scary stories. Maybe some time in the forest will clear my head.

Bolstered, I slid the door open a crack...and met a pair of stern, unamused eyes peering at me on the other side. Silently accepting the broom from Denga-san, I trudged out of the room. By the time I had swept the floors, the verandas, the steps, the pathways, the halls and every horizontal surface inside the temple and out, the story of the scroll and the Dragon’s wish had long faded from my mind.

3

The Warrior of Shadow

The night smelled of death. Both presently and to come.

Crouched in the branches of the gnarled wisteria tree, I scanned the grounds of Lord Hinotaka’s estate, taking note of every guardsman, sentry and patrol walking the perimeter. I had been here for nearly an hour, memorizing the layout of the grounds, and had timed the patrol’s rotations to within a few seconds. Now, with the moon fully risen and the hour of the Ox reaching its peak, the light in the topmost window of the castle finally winked out.

A warm wind stirred the branches of my perch, tugging at my hair and scarf, and the faint scent of blood brushed my senses.

There was a flicker at the back of my mind, an impatient stirring that was not my own. Kamigoroshi, or rather, the demon trapped within Kamigoroshi, was restless tonight, sensing the violence about to be unleashed. The sword whose name meant godslayer had been a constant fixture in my mind as far back as I could remember, from the day I had been chosen to carry the blade. It had taken over half of my seventeen years to master the volatile weapon, and without the training and guidance of my sensei, I would have succumbed to the rage and insatiable bloodlust of the demon trapped within. It pulled at me now, urging me to draw the sword, to leap down and paint the grounds of the estate in red.

Patience, Hakaimono, I told the demon, and felt it subside, though barely. You’ll get your wish soon enough.

I crept down the branch and dropped onto the outer wall, then ran along the parapets, the ragged edge of my crimson scarf floating behind me, until I reached a point where the corner of the blue-tiled castle roof swept close to the wall. Still a good fifteen feet overhead, but I took the rope and grapple from my belt, swung it twice and hurled it toward the roof above. The clawed hook clicked softly as it caught one of the fish gargoyles on the corner, and I shimmied up the rope and onto the tiles.

Just as I pulled up the rope, a single samurai came around the castle and passed below me, patrolling the inner wall. Immediately I froze, listening to the footsteps shuffle past, and breathed slowly to control myself and my emotions. There could be no fear, no doubt or anger or regret. Nothing to give Hakaimono a foothold into my mind. If I felt anything at all, if I allowed emotion to overcome me, the demon would take control, and I would lose myself to Hakaimono’s rage and bloodlust. I was an empty vessel, a weapon for the Shadow Clan, and my only requirement was to complete my mission.

The samurai walked on. Unmoving, a shadow against the tiles, I watched until he circled around the castle and vanished from view. Then, stalking silently over the rooftop, I made my way toward the top of the keep.

As I crept toward an open window, voices echoed beyond the frame, making me tense. My pulse jumped, and Hakaimono pounced on that moment of weakness, urging me to cut them down, to silence them before I was seen. Ignoring the demon, I pressed against the wall as two men—samurai, judging by their marching footsteps—strolled past, talking in furtive tones.

“This is madness,” one was saying. “Yoji missing, and now Kentaro disappears without a trace. It’s like the very walls are swallowing us whole. And Lord Hinotaka suddenly declares the top floors off-limits?” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Perhaps it’s the ghost of Lady Hinotaka. There are rumors that she was poisoned—”

“Shut your fool mouth,” hissed the other. “Lady Hinotaka died tragically of an illness, nothing more. Keep that dishonorable tongue behind your teeth before it gets you into real trouble.”

“Say what you will,” the first samurai returned, sounding defensive. “This castle feels darker every day. I, for one, am happy to be mobilizing tomorrow, even if it’s a fool’s mission. Why our lord requires a dozen men to fetch an ancient artifact somewhere in the Earth Clan mountains, I do not understand.”

The voices faded and the castle was silent again. I slipped through the window and found myself in a long narrow hallway, the walls and floors made of dark wood. It was very dark; the only light came from the glow of the moon outside, and shadows clung to everything. I crept farther into the castle, senses alert for voices or approaching footsteps, but except for the two patrolling guards, the floor appeared deserted. No servants wandered the halls, no samurai played go games in their rooms or sat together drinking sake. An aura of fear hung in the air, tainting everything it touched. The demon in Kamigoroshi sensed it as well and stirred excitedly against my mind, a living shadow coiling about like a snake, eagerly anticipating what was to come.

The staircase to the last floor of the keep sat unguarded in a darkened corner of the castle, at the end of the long, narrow hallway. The aura of evil was stronger here, and tendrils of purple-black miasma trickled down the stairs, invisible to the normal human eye. The railing and wooden steps were starting to rot, and the floor around the stairs seemed blighted and weak. A white moth fluttered in from the nearby latticed window and instantly spiraled to the floor, dead.

Setting my jaw, I started up the stairs, ignoring the taint that swirled around me, trying not to breathe it in. The top floor opened up, thick wooden walls with latticed windows showing open sky. A dark mist writhed along the floor, coming from a pair of thick wooden doors against the opposite wall.

I walked to the doors and put a hand against the wood, feeling the sickness that warped it from the inside, then pushed it open.

A fog of purple-black corruption billowed out of the room and writhed into the air. Pausing on the threshold, I stared into the darkness. The walls and floor of the large, square room were covered in sheets of white webbing that hung from the ceiling and stuck to the floor. They wrapped around pillars and dangled from the rafters, tattered curtains rippling in the breeze. Here and there, clusters of bleached bones dangled from the webs, clinking together like grotesque wind chimes, and a few large, man-size cocoons were plastered to the walls, held immobile in the strands.

I stepped through the frame and heard the door creak shut behind me. The webbing on the floor stuck to my tabi boots, but not enough to slow me down. It rustled as I walked forward, vibrating the strands around me and rattling the bone chimes. I made no attempt to be silent. My target was here; there was no reason for stealth any longer.

A low chuckle drifted out of the darkness, soft and feminine, and the hairs on the back of my arms stood up. “I hear the patter of little male feet,” crooned a voice, echoing all around me, though I couldn’t see anything through the webs and strands. “Has Lord Hinotaka sent me another plaything? Something young and handsome, who yearns to be loved? Come to me, sweet one,” it continued in a haunting whisper, as I gripped the hilt of Kamigoroshi, feeling the demon’s savage anticipation. “I will love you. I will wrap my love around you, and never let you go.”

The last few words echoed directly overhead, just as Hakaimono gave a warning pulse in my mind. I threw myself forward on instinct, not bothering to look up, and felt something catch my jacket sleeve as I dove away. As I rolled to my feet, I spun to face a huge and bulbous form dangling from the ceiling, eight chitinous legs curled around the spot where I had been standing a moment before.

“Sneaky little man bug.”

The huge creature uncoiled its legs and dropped to the floor, clicking as it turned to face me, revealing the head and torso of a beautiful woman fused to the body of a giant spider. An elegant black-and-red kimono covered her human half but looked ridiculously small where the spider’s thorax emerged from beneath it. Looming above me, the jorogumo cocked her head and smiled, tiny black fangs sliding between full red lips.

“What’s this?” she breathed, as I dropped into a crouch and gripped the hilt of my sword. Hakaimono roared through my head, eager and vicious, sharpening my senses and making the air taste of blood. “A boy? Have you come into my lair, looking for me?” She tilted her head the other way. “You are not like the others, the men Hinotaka sends up to my lair, so proud but then so terrified. They flail like frightened crickets at first. But you...are not afraid. How delightful.”

I didn’t answer. Fear was the first thing that had been purged from my body; the most dangerous emotion of all. Fear, my sensei had taught me, was simply the body’s aversion to pain and suffering. A samurai who encountered a starving bear wasn’t afraid of the bear itself, but what the bear could do to him. He feared the claws that could rip his flesh, the teeth that could crush the life from his bones. I had been trained to withstand what many could not, the weakness beaten, burned, cut and stripped from my body, until only a weapon remained. I did not fear pain, nor did I fear death, because my life was not my own. A giant, man-eating spider woman was no more concerning than a starving bear. The worst she could do was kill me.

The jorogumo giggled. “Come then, little man bug,” she crooned, holding out slender white arms. Her voice turned soothing, almost hypnotic. It droned through my head, coiling around my will and laying spiderwebs in my mind. “I can feel the lonely desire in your heart. Let me love you. Let me ease all the worry and grief weighing down your soul. You can taste the sweetness of my kiss, and feel the softness of my embrace, before I send you gently into ecstasy.”

The jorogumo drew closer, smiling, her face filling my vision until there was nothing left. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” she purred. “Like the petals of a nightshade flower. I want to pluck them out and hang them in my parlor.” She reached down, and curved black nails touched the side of my face. “Adorable little human...we should not be strangers tonight. What is your name, man bug? Tell me your name, that I might whisper it lovingly as I devour you whole.”

I felt the demon within smile and heard my voice speaking to the spider woman, though they weren’t my words. “You already know my name.”

I drew the sword, and Kamigoroshi flared to life, bathing the room in a baleful purple glow. The jorogumo shrieked and skittered backward, her serene expression twisting with hate.

“Kamigoroshi!” she hissed, baring her fangs. Her black eyes narrowed, appraising me. “Then you are the Kage demonslayer.”

Smiling coldly, I stepped forward, feeling the sword’s power expand, filling my veins with fury and bloodlust. The jorogumo retreated, multiple legs clicking over the floor, her face pale in the flickering purple light of Kamigoroshi. “Why?” she demanded, long fingers curled into claws as she stared at me. “I have everything I want here. All I have taken are the men not loyal to Hinotaka, those he has declared unworthy to serve him. What are the lives of a few samurai to you, demonslayer?”

I didn’t answer, continuing to stalk forward, the blade pulsing in my hand. It was not my place to question the orders of my clan, or why they wanted this yokai destroyed. Though, if I had to guess, the arrival of the jorogumo within Shadow Clan territory was reason enough to act. We, the Kage family, specialized in darkness; we knew the secrets of the shadows and the creatures that lurked within better than any other clan in the empire. I was the Kage demonslayer; this was my job.

The jorogumo swelled with hatred and fury. “Wretched human,” she spat as her jaw unhinged, curved black fangs sliding between her lips. “You will not slay me as you slaughtered Yaku Hundred Eyes, or the nezumi tribe of Hana village. I’ll bite off your head and savor your blood as you slide down my throat.”

She lunged, a scuttle of yellow and black across the floor, shockingly quick for her bulk, and my senses spiked, as well. I leaped aside as one of those legs stabbed down and smashed into the wood with enough force to snap a floorboard in two. Whirling, I lashed out with Kamigoroshi, cutting through another limb in a spray of black ichor, and the jorogumo shrieked in rage.