Page 21 of Night of the Dragon

I followed his hand, seeing the dark edges of a forest beyond the temple gate. Shadows cloaked the trees and undergrowth, and it seemed that where the temple grounds ended and the forest began, the sunlight simply stopped, as if it couldn’t penetrate any farther.

At Master Isao’s unspoken urging, I rose and walked halfway across the yard, peering into the darkness looming at the edge of the grounds. As I got closer, I could see a faint curtain of mist separating the temple from the forest, and for some reason, it caused goose bumps to scurry up my arms.

There was a figure sitting beneath a tree in the shadows of the forest, shoulders hunched, head bowed. He cradled a body in his lap, her skin as pale as rice paper, a bushy fox tail lying motionless on the ground.

The world seemed to pause, the air around me growing misty and surreal. In a daze, I turned back and found Master Isao sitting on the steps as before, his body hazy and transparent in the sunlight. He gave me a sad, gentle smile and shook his head.

“It is not time for you to cross the veil, Yumeko-chan,” Master Isao told me, his voice softer than the breeze overhead. “Soon, perhaps, we will see each other again. But not now. The fate of the world is balanced on the thinnest of threads, and the Dragon casts the whole kingdom in his shadow. Your part in the story is not yet finished. You must see it through to the end.” Master Isao gazed down at the wood in his hands and began carving again, splinters falling away into the dirt. “He is calling for you, Yumeko-chan,” he murmured. “Can’t you hear him? You don’t want to keep him waiting too long, or his soul might fall into darkness again. He needs your light to guide him to the other side.” Once more, his gaze rose to me, that faint, gentle smile crossing his face as he nodded. “Go now, little fox. You have people who need you in the living world. It is not your time.”

And before my eyes, Master Isao shivered into a glowing sphere of light, drifted up the steps of the temple and vanished through the doors. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I glanced back at the forest and felt a shiver run all the way to my toes.

A magnificent creature stood at the edge of the fog, watching me. It had the body of a deer, the face of a dragon, and a beautiful, terrible horn arching back from its forehead. I remembered the stories of such a creature, how it would appear to wise and benevolent rulers, how its arrival was seen as a sign of great change. As it seemed to be waiting for me, I walked across the temple yard until I stood before the sacred Kirin.

It cocked its head, regarding me with a thoughtful, almost puzzled look on its ageless face. It wasn’t much taller than me; we stood almost at eye level, but I felt I was gazing into the eyes of an ancient giant.

Daughter of the forest.There were no words, but I could feel the voice resonating inside me like the chime of a bell.You return at last.

I blinked, feeling that strange, surreal familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time we had met. Though I thought I would certainly remember if I had ever glimpsed the great Kirin of legend. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, and it twitched its ears forward. “I don’t understand.”

No.The Kirin’s “voice” was gentle.You wouldn’t. Not yet.Its ox tail swished across its flanks, sending coils of mist writhing through the air.Evil comes to these islands, it went on, making me shiver.The night of the Wish is almost upon us, and your allies are few. Go to Shinsei Yaju, the City of Sacred Beasts. Seek out Tsuki Kiyomi; you will need her aid in the days to come.

“Tsuki Kiyomi,” I repeated. “Will she help us?”

The Kirin didn’t answer right away. It watched me a moment longer, then raised its head, ears swiveled, as if to catch a sound on the wind.Can you feel it?it whispered.Below this forest, a curse holds the land hostage with sadness and fear. It has affected everything it touches, including the hearts of those who rule. Tread carefully, little fox. The faces here are not as they seem, and the one who appears the most familiar could be the origin of all that is corrupt.

A chill traced my spine. I didn’t understand completely, but I knew what the Kirin spoke of—the terrible sadness that had seeped into the ground and hung in the air. Like a shadow that hovered over everything, or a wound that could never heal. “What happened here?” I asked. “Why does the forest feel so sad and angry? What is this curse?”

The Kirin did not answer. Turning, it raised its head and blew out a breath that filled the air with the sound of whispers. The veil of mist before us parted and rolled away before the sacred creature, and I could see the other side clearly.

The path is open.Follow me back to the living world, little soul. You are still needed here.

I looked back at the temple, but could no longer see it. Only a landscape of drifting fog, with ghostly balls of light floating in and out of the haze. Chilled, I turned away from the land of mist and followed the Kirin into the looming forest, the fog curling around me.

I opened my eyes, and the world was dark. I lay on my side on a bed of soft grass, the tips brushing my cheek as I stirred. Wincing, I sat up slowly, gazing around to see where I was.

A moonlit grove, silver and black, greeted me, and whispers tickled my ears as I looked around in wonder. I caught glimpses of kodama in the surrounding branches, their tiny bodies glowing an ethereal green in the darkness, and blips of light flickered in and out of the trees. It was an odd sensation, like I was perhaps still caught in a dream. My body felt strange and light, as if not completely real.

I gazed down, and my heart skipped a beat.

Tatsumi lay on his side next to me, one arm curled beneath his head, his eyes closed. He breathed slowly, his expression unguarded and peaceful, and my stomach gave a weird little twist. It was the first time I’d ever seen him asleep, truly asleep, not dozing with his back against a wall and a sword in his lap. Without even realizing it, I reached down and softly touched his forehead, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

At that tiny bit of contact, his eyes snapped open and he surged upright, making me jump. His eyes, glowing and terrible, fixed on me, before he blinked and they were normal again.

“Yumeko.”

“Gomen, Tatsumi,” I said quickly, as the demonslayer stared at me, eyes wide and a little glassy. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Well, I did, but not like this. Are you—”

I got no further. Tatsumi leaned forward, pressed a hand to the side of my face and kissed me. It was a hard, almost desperate kiss, filled with emotion and relief. I went rigid in shock, even as my entire soul leaped to meet him, bursting into blue-white flames that roared through every part of me.

Tatsumi pulled back, almost in surprise. Glancing at my face, his eyes clouded over, and he dropped his gaze. “Gomen,” he muttered, starting to draw away. “I shouldn’t have... Forgive me. I won’t...”

I reached out and touched his cheek, stopping him and bringing his attention back. Our gazes met, and though crimson flames flickered in the depths of his eyes, his expression was dark with passion. This time, the kiss was gentle; Tatsumi let out a soft breath and pulled me close, sitting up and wrapping his arms around my waist. I closed my eyes and pressed myself into him, daring to slide my fingers through his thick hair, feeling the fires within settle into a bright, constant flame.

Tatsumi drew back, though only a breath separated us as he gazed up at me, his eyes shifting purple and red in turns. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “When the Kirin walked away, I thought...” A shiver went through him, and his thumb brushed gently against my cheek. “You are here, aren’t you, Yumeko?” he murmured, a faint shadow of uncertainty crossing his face. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

I covered his hand with my own. “If it is, then we’re both dreaming.”

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss me again, but there was a shimmer from the corner of my eye, and when I turned, I saw a red fox sitting on a log a few yards away, watching us with glowing amber eyes. An exceptionally bushy tail was curled around its legs, and when it saw that I’d noticed, it rose, still staring at us, and hopped off the log. As it did, its tail seemed to split apart, becoming two bushy, white-tipped tails brushing its hindquarters, and my heart leaped. The kitsune took three steps toward the trees, then turned back to gaze at us again, twitching its tails impatiently. Obviously waiting for us.

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