Rise (3 page)

Chapter Five

Izanami held the baby to her chest, unwilling to look at the horns spiraling through the little girl’s hair. Hiruko tugged at the end of Izanami’s robe, his misshapen body falling backward from the force of the pull. He began to wail and Izanami leaned over to scoop him into the crook of her other arm. The baby girl bared fangs at her older brother, swiping at him with her tiny clawed hand.

How had it turned out like this? Izanami sighed. She liked painting creatures that lurked in shadow as much as those in light, but how could something so unsettling come from her love for Izanagi? Hiruko had no bones, unable to sit up for more than a moment before his flesh pulled him down, and now Awashima, her daughter, days old, was passionate to destroy. It didn’t seem right, when Izanami had wanted to create such beauty in the world.

Izanagi had held his tongue at Hiruko’s birth, but now with Awashima, he wouldn’t be able to stay silent much longer. He loved the new
kami
as much as she did, but he knew the threat they posed—the first imperfect things in the new world, the first destroyers. Hiruko seemed harmless enough, but Awashima would only become fiercer and more capable. She would tear the world to shreds, and nothing would remain of the painting Izanami had been working so hard to build around her.

Awashima sliced her claws into Izanami’s arm, the blood trickling down her skin and oozing to the floor like ink. Izanami said nothing, only placing the child in her basket and returning Hiruko to the floor beside his sister. She stepped outside of the doorway, to where Izanagi sat on the shore, watching the dark waves of ink churn and froth against the sand.

“Have I done wrongly?” Izanami said, sitting beside her husband. Izanagi shook his head, staring into the foaming waves. “They are wild and unlike any
kami
I’ve known before.”

“They are not
kami
,” Izanagi said, “but
youkai
. Devils. Nothing is right with this.”

Izanami longed to reach out for his hand, but it had been so long. She hadn’t felt warmth there, the last time, his fingers cold as the ocean water. “We should ask Ameno and Kunitoko what to do.”

Izanagi laughed once. “They care no longer. They are idle on their bridge, fishing sometimes for gems in the sky. They don’t care what our painting is anymore.”

“What will we do?” Izanami said. The tears fell down her cheeks, dripping into the sand where they muddied against her fingertips.

“It is what we have done,” Izanagi said, and his tone was cold, colder than she’d ever felt from him before. He drained her of the warmth she’d felt, the warmth she’d thought was lodged permanently around her heart. “It’s what
you
have done.”

The words stung; her tears froze.

“You have led us into shadow,” he said. “You should never have spoken first and claimed me as another of your pets.”

“Pets?” Izanami could barely form the word. It felt as though the naginata’s blade had pierced her heart. How could he speak such words, like razor-sharp cuts to her soul? “You are not a pet to me. You are my companion.”

“We will walk around the pillar again,” Izanagi said, his cold eyes falling upon her. “I will speak first and claim you. You will be silent. And then all will be as it should.”

A new warmth spread in Izanami’s chest, unlike what was there before. It was hotter than the love she’d felt, darker red than the blood spilled by Awashima on her skin. Bitterness and anger scorched her insides, the flames licking her ribs with agonizing pain. This was not equal sides holding hands. This was imbalance, the world tilting before her. Surely this wasn’t the kind of warmth she had craved.

Izanagi’s eyes softened, and he took her hands. “It’s only for the best,” he said. “You are everything to me.”

“And you to me,” she said, but she could no longer feel the rawness inside of her of that first warmth. All she could see was his pride, his arrogance.

Izanagi rose to his feet and helped her to hers. “You’ll see,” he said quietly. “When I lead, all will be well. I was firstborn.”

Izanami said nothing, but stepped into the darkness of the pagoda, where the baby girl hissed at the monstrous form of her brother. The brother began to sing to her, oblivious to her hatred. He was only a child himself, barely three years old, but his voice was lulling and gentle. When he sang at the waters’ edge, fish would leap out of the ink and onto the beach, and Izanami would frantically push them back in. She didn’t know what would happen if they lay out in the sun, but she felt the panic at the unknown, the fear of a shadow she hadn’t fully understood.

Awashima quieted at the singing, too. Her eyelids drooped heavily, the horns in her hair tapping gently against the side of the basket. She didn’t seem so dangerous now, not with her brother to quiet her. Together, they might survive.

Hiruko tried to climb into the basket to be beside her, but his flesh gave way and he collapsed backward, rocking on the stone floor. Izanami stepped quietly toward him, lifting him upward and into the woven basket. He smiled up at her, his teeth sticking from every angle in his mouth.

“It is better for you to be away from Izanagi,” she said quietly, ruffling Awashima’s hair as she slept. “He sees you only as devils. You are
youkai
, yes. But there is room in this world for you. Hiruko, mind your sister. Don’t let her rip the world to shreds with her talons.” Izanami could feel her own world ripping to shreds as the fire burned in the pit of her stomach. She was more dangerous now than Awashima. She knew that. She had to get both of them away from this place, before it started. What, she couldn’t say. But a shadow thick as night was spreading from her wounds, pooling in midnight darkness around her.

The
kitsune
looked up from its quiet doze on the windowsill, its golden tails draped over the side of the ledge. It gave a gentle bark, but Izanami did not answer. She pulled the basket up to her chest and stepped out the door. The fox leaped down from the window and followed her, his tiny claws tapping against the tatami.

Izanagi was gone, no doubt waiting on the other side of the pure white pillar. How Izanami hated that square column, that monument that had destroyed everything. She barely had the desire to paint anymore, the
naginata
spear standing idly in the corner of the pagoda, the golden ink choking the blade like crystallized honey.

Izanami gently lowered the basket into the swirls of the ink ocean. Hiruko drooled as he grinned at the fish, whose tails already slapped against the woven sides of the makeshift boat. He reached into the waters, the slippery silver darting between his fingers, wrongly sized and stubby.

“Go to a safer place,” she said, her fingers resting gently on the side of the basket to steady it in the waves. She gave it a push, and then it was on the backs of the school of fish, leaping and diving as they rocked it upon the inky waters.

The bitterness bled her heart dry, until nothing was left inside her but kindling to the flame.

She stood and walked toward the pillar as the fire burned.

Chapter Six

Tanaka fumbled with the buttons on his school blazer, shaking his head to try and get his hair to stand up evenly. The motion sent his glasses tumbling down his nose, and he pushed them up with shaking fingers. Why was he so nervous? He spent every minute of every school day with Yuki, anyway. He was pretty sure she felt the same way. So why was his heart pounding against his chest?

Because this was everything, he thought. It was the moment his life had drawn him to, the warmth he’d been following when he hadn’t even realized where he was going.

He slid his school slippers on and headed up the stairs into the main hallway. The other students chatting and laughing on their way to class stifled him in a way he’d never felt before. He wanted to turn around, but he couldn’t. His sister was right—he was a total nutcase.

He stood at the entrance to the classroom. Yuki was already there, her hair pulled into a ponytail that fell gently against her back. Her eyes had that gentle warmth to them, that genuine kindness that Tanaka had always tried to protect. He swallowed and took a breath.

Two classmates pushed past him, mumbling good-mornings as they squeezed past. Tanaka stumbled, clutching his book bag handles so tight his knuckles paled.

“Tan-kun!” shouted Takeshi, one of his baseball teammates. “
Ohayo!
”

Yuki turned in her seat, smiling to see him there.

Oh god.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her. She was too good for him. He’d only ruin everything. “M-morning,” Tanaka stammered back.

“Did you get through the English homework okay?” Yuki asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, no problem,” he said, lowering himself into his seat.
Abort mission.
He couldn’t do this. “You?”

“Please.” Yuki rolled her eyes. She reached into her book bag for her textbook, the tiny
kitsune
charm on her bag jingling against the metal snap. “My English is better than yours.”

That and everything else
, Tanaka thought, staring at the fox charm.
There’s no way I could get a girl like you.
I’m lucky enough to be your best friend.

“Hey,” Yuki said when he didn’t reply. “I was only joking. Are you okay?”

His throat was dry. He could pretend. He’d done it before. “Fine.”

“
Ne
, did you guys hear the news?” Takeshi said.

“About the Yakuza?” Yuki chimed in. She was always the first to know any gossip. “Scary, huh?”

“Right in Sunpu Park.” Takeshi nodded. “My dad’s coworker saw it happen.”

“What?” Tanaka said. He’d been in his room all night rehearsing the hundreds of possible ways Yuki could reject him.

“Another gang member died,” Takeshi said. “This time the rival gang left a graffiti tag near him. A crow or something.”

“I heard it was a raven,” Yuki said. “And it said ‘Kami Arise.’”

Tanaka raised his eyebrows. “In Sunpu Park? And no one saw it?”

“I just told you, my dad’s coworker did,” Takeshi said. “He had to talk to the police and fill out forms and stuff. Kami is the new gang name, I think. Be careful out there,
ne
?”

“I will,” Yuki said.

Takeshi laughed. “I didn’t mean you. You can handle yourself. I meant Tan-kun.” He mussed up Tanaka’s hair.

“Hey!” Tanaka’s cheeks flushed red as he shook his friend off. “Watch it.”

The school bell chimed and Takeshi wandered back to his desk. Great. Even Tanaka’s friends thought he was only worth a laugh. And of all the people to say it in front of. He glanced at Yuki out of the corner of his eye.

“Watabe, could you come and solve this on the board?” Suzuki asked, and Yuki nodded, walking toward the front of the classroom. Tanaka watched her ponytail bob up and down as her hand carved the chalk into an answer. She dusted her hands together and sat down, rubbing her fingers against the hem of her skirt. The yellow chalk smoothed into the navy blue of the fabric. He wanted to take hold of her fingers, to rub the chalk from them and hold them tightly.

“Tanaka!” Suzuki barked.
Crap!
How many times had Suzuki called him? He’d been in another world, staring at Yuki, and everyone had seen it.

“
Hai!
” Tanaka jumped to his feet, jolting his knees against the top of his desk with a loud bang. The other students giggled as Tanaka did his best to laugh along, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Only Yuki didn’t laugh, looking down at her textbook with sudden fascination as her cheeks blazed.

“Focus, please,” Suzuki said. “Daydreaming is for lunchtime.”

“Yes, sir,” Tanaka said.

The teacher nodded. “Come and solve this equation, please.”

Tanaka stepped toward the board, taking the piece of chalk from its dusty metal tray. The chalk was still warm from Yuki’s fingers.

God, he was a walking wreck. He sketched the numbers in as the giggles continued behind his back. They weren’t mean, his classmates. He’d always encouraged them to laugh at his antics—he liked being the class clown, making his friends happy. It made it easier to get along in life, to be everyone’s buddy.

Wait. That was it. If they were going to laugh, he might as well use it. It was the only time he felt brave enough to act, like he mattered. And the way they’d caught him staring at Yuki, it was obvious, anyway.

He sketched out the numbers to the equation as Suzuki nodded. The teacher turned his back, running his finger down the page of his text to look up the next question.

Now was his chance.

Tanaka kept writing, as quickly as he could before Suzuki noticed anything was wrong.

Another curl of hiragana, another stroke of kanji. The words formed in wispy yellow chalk for everyone to see.

“Right, the next one is...” Suzuki said, his eyes on the page. The classroom started to titter with stifled laughter and gasping. Suzuki looked into the crowd, trying to pinpoint what was going on.

Tanaka slammed the chalk into the dusty metal tray and turned to Yuki, his eyes aflame. She stared back in disbelief at the words he’d scribbled onto the board.

Watabe Yuki
,
please go out with me.

He bowed for good measure as his classmates whooped, just as Suzuki turned to see what he’d written.

“Tanaka,” he said, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Sit down.”

Students laughed and snickered as Suzuki blotted out the words with the chalkboard eraser. Tanaka’s ears burned—his whole face blazed—and he sat at his desk, flicking his eyes over to Yuki’s desk.

She was mortified, staring down at her textbook. Oh god. He’d ruined everything. What an idiot!

But then he saw the tug of the smile escaping her lips, and the warmth of it kindled a fire through his whole body.

She nodded, and Tanaka knew that, at that moment, he could catch any number of mandarin oranges Keiko pelted at him.

He was a nutcase, but he was Yuki’s nutcase now.

Chapter Seven

“Father?” Izanagi looked up from his work, his eyes trailing the line of forest to the voice of his son. Yamato stood with his hands clasped at his collarbone, his jacket rippling in the gentle breeze. A small sword hung from his belt, fashioned by Izanagi himself. He’d taken to the hobby after the
naginata
had rusted under the stilled golden ink on the blade. Izanami had long ago lost the desire to paint, and Izanagi wilted under the weight of his guilt. He’d somehow extinguished the warmth that had once lived in her deep brown eyes. She never reached for his hand anymore. He’d never meant for her to send their firstborn away; perhaps he’d been wrong about leading her. The only place he’d led her was despair and unhappiness.

“Yamato,” Izanagi said. “Your eyes are heavy. Has Awaji troubled you again?”

The boy shook his head, stepping forward. “She’s busy painting her own island. My brothers and sisters aren’t the problem.” He glanced toward the pagoda, the silent shadow of it looming over both of them.

“She’ll be all right,” Izanagi said, looking back down at the binding he’d been tightening. This was his most elaborate sword yet. The blade ran so long it looked nearly ten times the handle. Izanagi had worried the weight of the metal would bend and separate from the handle, so he’d bound it with stronger leather and smeared golden ink along the hilt to fashion it as one piece. “She’s always closed herself away like this when it’s time.”

“This time is different,” Yamato said. “Aren’t you worried about the fever?”

Izanagi hesitated, his fingers resting on the cool metal of the blade. Over the past year, Izanami had woken screaming in the night, haunted by horrible visions she couldn’t explain. When he touched her once-cool skin, it burned with a fever he’d never felt before. He remembered the day they’d first touched, when they’d stirred the chaos together. Her skin had been soft, comfortingly warm. Now it burned like a furnace.

Yamato was right. Izanagi rested the blade against the sand, tracing his fingers gently up the cool metal. He had to tell her how sorry he was about Hiruko and Awashima, how he lay awake at night wondering where they were, if they were all right. The world had grown so large, and no matter how far their eight children searched, there was no trace of the two adrift in the ink. It was all his fault. He should never have envied her paintings. He should never have blamed her for speaking first.

Izanagi rose to his feet, resting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’ll look in and see if she’s all right,” he said. Yamato nodded.

A bitter smoke lifted on the air, smelling of embers and charcoal and sourness. Izanagi thought at first the chaos of the ink had returned, for it had the same shadowy curls.
The world is collapsing
, he thought. But then he heard Yamato shouting, and his eyes fell on the roof of the pagoda, the black tiles curling and dropping to the ground like singed feathers.

Fire. The pagoda burned with a fire that raged out of the windows, that melted the gold roof trim as it dripped down the walls.

“Mother!” Yamato shouted.

“Izanami!” Izanagi leaped forward, his sandals falling from his feet as he stumbled toward the building. The door swung off its hinges and clattered to the ground as it burned. A
kami
stepped out, his entire body licked by searing flames. They swirled on his skin like kindling, but he didn’t cry out. His eyes gleamed in pinpoints of blue as the fire engulfed the pagoda behind him, rising up each tier to the very top.

“Izanami!”

“She is no longer, Father,” said the
kami
made of fire.

Izanagi choked on the smoke flooding the air. “‘Father?’” he spat back at the
kami
.

“I am your son,” he said. “Kagutsuchi.”

“Where is Izanami?” Izanagi shouted, tears springing to his eyes as the smoke billowed from the doorway.

“She no longer moves,” Kagutsuchi said.

He knew then, as he stared at the fiery
kami
. This was all his fault. He and Izanami had produced
kami
and
youkai
together, gods and devils. The fire of her fever was because of his own arrogance and resentment; now it had burned her alive.

“You devil!” shouted Yamato. “What have you done?”

“What have
I
done?” moaned Izanagi. But then he saw Yamato’s glance was not on him, but on Kagutsuchi.
No.
This wasn’t Izanagi’s doing. It was this creature, this fever in the form of a man. He’d killed her; he’d destroyed her.

The tiles of the pagoda rained down around them in a thunder.

“Father!” Yamato cried, and Izanagi turned to see the blade he’d worked on sailing through the air toward him. The long blade pressed against his fingertips as he caught it, the hilt firm under the strong binding.

“Move aside,” shouted Izanagi. “I have to get Izanami out of there!”

Kagutsuchi shook his head, the sound of it roaring like a waving torch. “She is gone. Only I am here now. Greet me, Father.”

“You murderer!” Izanagi spat. He lunged forward as Kagutsuchi’s blue eyes widened to flames of white. The long blade struck its mark, cinders spewed in every direction as he cut down the fiery
kami
. Yamato cried out, but his shouts were lost against the rage of the fire that billowed through the pagoda. The sword’s blade ran dark and red against the grass as Izanagi tossed it aside, racing into the pagoda. “Izanami! Izanami?”

Her voice was weak, her body singed and crumpled on the floor. “Here.”

Alive. She was alive. Izanagi rushed to her, curling his arms around her. The embers on her burned robe dug fiery teeth into his skin as he cried out, her head bumping once again on the floor. “No,” she coughed. “Leave me. I’m...I’m dying.”

“Dying?” He’d never heard of such a thing. He knew there was a time before Izanami had existed. Would there now be a time after her?

“I know now why the fish Hiruko called from the ocean flailed so,” she said. “Things grow dark, Izanagi. The fire of bitterness raged too deeply. Love our child Kagutsuchi in my absence. Do not blame him for our mistake.” She reached her hand for Izanagi’s. “I loved you,” she said.

Izanagi grasped her hand desperately in his, tears and smoke blurring his vision. “I loved you, too,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

The blood on his hands was sticky against Izanami’s fingers. She stared at the redness of it. “Izanagi,” she said, her voice frail. “Where is my son?”

His haunted eyes told her everything. She saw the truth in him, his horrible last betrayal.

Her eyes went wide and pale, and then empty.

Izanagi wept over her as Yamato threw baskets of inky water on the pagoda’s crumpling tiles.

In the corner of the room, the golden ink on the
naginata
singed black as night.