Shadow Of The Fox: a must read mythical new Japanese adventure from New York Times bestseller Julie Kagawa. Julie KagawaЧитать онлайн книгу.
Tears were running down my cheeks; my stomach was curling around itself in both terror and anguish. “I can’t. I can’t do it alone.”
“You can,” Master Isao said firmly, and held up the scroll once more. “You must. This is my last request. Take the scroll to the Steel Feather temple. Warn them of what transpired here, that someone wishes to bring the pieces of the Dragon scroll together once more. Do not let our deaths be in vain.” Another crash sounded outside, and he closed his eyes. “Promise me, Yumeko-chan. You must protect the scroll. The fate of this land depends on it.”
With shaking hands, I reached out and took the scroll, wrapping trembling fingers around the case. It was surprisingly light in my palm. “I promise,” I whispered. “I swear I’ll find the Steel Feather temple, warn the other monks and protect the scroll. I won’t fail you.”
He smiled. “Take this as well,” he said, and pressed a tanto, a short, straight dagger, into my palm. “It will come in handy, when defending yourself with words and cunning is not enough. And this.” He draped a simple furoshiki—a wrapping cloth used for transporting clothes, gifts, or other possessions—around my shoulders. “To hide your burden from the rest of the world. Now, go.” He nodded toward the statue. “Don’t worry about us, and don’t cry. We will meet again, Yumeko-chan, in the Pure Lands or in another life.”
With a mighty crash that shook the entire hall, the barrier shattered. Monks gasped or cried out, hands going to their heads, and the floor trembled as the huge oni stepped into the room, a flood of demons behind him.
“Go, Yumeko-chan,” Master Isao said, and his voice was icy. Stone-faced, he rose and stepped toward the hulking thing in the doorway. Feeling like a coward, I skittered half-behind the Jade Prophet, knowing I had to leave, but unable to tear my eyes away. Master Isao and the others waited calmly as the shadow of the demon grew larger, its eyes glowing like red coals against the dark.
The oni smiled as he entered the hall, ducking his massive head as he stepped into the room, looming to a terrifying height. He was so large that his horns nearly scraped the ceiling. “Monks of the Silent Winds temple,” he rumbled, his terrible voice making the air shiver, “my name is Yaburama, fourth demon general of Jigoku, and I have come for the Dragon scroll.” He raised his tetsubo and swung it into his palm with a meaty thump, as the small demons hissed and chortled gleefully behind him, waiting for the signal to attack. “Give me what I have come for, and perhaps I will make your deaths painless.”
“Abomination!” Denga’s voice rang over the snarls and cackles of the demon horde. Fearlessly, he strode forward, until he was only a few yards away from the mountain of an oni. “We will never relinquish the scroll to such evil. You are not welcome here. By the Jade Prophet, begone, and take your minions with you!”
The oni cocked his head. Abruptly, he swung his club, shockingly fast, striking Denga in the side and smashing him into a pillar. The monk hit the beam with a sickening crack and crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, eyes staring sightlessly ahead. I bit my lip to stifle a shriek, and the oni curled a lip.
“Your Jade Prophet means nothing to me,” he commented, as the demons shrieked with laughter and swarmed into the room.
With cries of fury and outrage, the monks surged forward, meeting the demons in the center of the hall. They were unarmed, and their opponents wielded blades and spears as well as claws and teeth. But the monks were far from defenseless. Ki energy pulsed, turning fists into hammers and feet into weapons of destruction. A demon’s skull imploded after Nitoru kicked it in the head, spraying demon blood everywhere before it writhed into crimson-black smoke and disappeared. A trio of demons swarmed Satoshi, who caught a spear thrust at him, wrenched it out of the demon’s grasp and plunged it through its gaping mouth. But he didn’t see the danger behind him until a second demon sank a kama sickle deep into his leg. Satoshi staggered and dropped to a knee, and the monsters piled on him, dragging him to the floor.
Yumeko! Master Isao’s voice rang in my head, though the master of the Silent Winds temple strode right for the center of the room, ki energy crackling around him, where the terrible oni waited. Go, now!
I turned toward the hole in the floor and prepared to shift into fox form. But a bulbous blue head poked up between the boards, and a demon clawed itself out of the hole, followed by two friends. When they saw me, they hissed and raised their spears, and I hastily backed up.
Jinkei help me, I was trapped. I couldn’t go forward with the trio blocking the hole, and I couldn’t go back into the room, where the battle between monks and demons raged. The din was deafening, screams and howls mingling with flashes of ki, flying bodies and blood. As the trio of demons grinned evilly and tensed, I raised my arm, and a ball of blue-white foxfire flared to life in my palm. The blue demon glanced at the ghostly flames and sneered, making my heart sink; apparently a ball of kitsune-bi to the face wasn’t going to work a second time.
With a roar, the massive bulk of the oni flew backward and crashed into the statue of the Jade Prophet, knocking her off her base. The statue teetered for a moment, giving me just enough time to scramble away, before toppling through the wall with a deafening crash of wood and stone. The three amanjaku were buried under the rubble, and a warm, smoke-scented breeze rushed into the hall from the hole it left behind.
I cringed, ducking behind one of the pillars lining the room, as the oni shook its head and looked up at Master Isao, who stood in the center of the room. The monk was breathing hard, blood running down his face from beneath his hat, both palms raised.
A deep growl came from the oni, sitting against the ruined statue. “You hit hard, for a mortal,” the monster rumbled, getting to its feet. “Well done, but it will not save you. The amanjaku are tearing your brothers apart as we speak. No one is left.” He craned his neck from side to side, rolled his shoulders forward and raised his club. “It is time to end these games. Let us see if you have the ki to do that again!”
The oni lunged with a roar. As he barreled forward, raising his club high overhead, Master Isao’s calm gaze flicked to me. In the moment our gazes met, he smiled.
Go, Yumeko-chan, whispered his voice in my head, gentle and serene. Run.
This time I didn’t wait to see what happened, if the terrible crash from the oni’s club struck home or not. I whirled and sprinted through the hole left from the fallen Prophet, scrambling over splintered beams and broken jade, whispering an apology as I stepped over a shattered green arm. Then I was outside, and the air was hot and choking. Blinded by tears, I tripped over a plank and skinned my hands when I fell, and the lacquered scroll case rolled away from me, gleaming in the firelight.
My blood chilled. Snatching it up, I half ran, half stumbled into the gardens, past the pond full of dead, floating carp, to the old maple tree leaning against the wall. After quickly tucking the scroll into the furoshiki and the tanto into my obi, I pulled myself up by the gnarled branches, wondering how the once familiar act could feel so strange and surreal. I wouldn’t be doing this ever again.
At the top of the wall, I spared one final look back at my home, the temple I’d lived in all my life, and felt a lump rise to my throat. The pagoda was now a skeletal ruin engulfed by flames, and the fire had spread to the other buildings, including the main hall. I could make out only the roof over the tops of the trees, but a stray ember on one corner had turned into a flame, which would quickly spread and consume the wooden building until there was nothing left. I didn’t dare imagine what was happening inside, the lives that were lost, the monks who stood bravely against a horde of demons. Everyone I’d ever known—Jin, Satoshi, Nitoru, Denga, Master Isao and all the rest—they were gone. They’d gone willingly to their deaths, all to protect the scroll.
A tiny globe of light, pale against the smoke and darkness, rose from the roof of the burning hall. It was joined by another, and then another, until there were more than a dozen glowing orbs rising slowly into the air and leaving trails of light behind them. My throat closed up, and fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. Not one of the spheres of light hesitated or stayed near the temple; all rose steadily toward the stars. They had no regrets,