Guardian Saviors of Kamigawa: Kamigawa Cycle Book III Read online

  To end a war, he must free a spirit.

  Ronin Toshi Umezawa has captured the Taken One: the prize over which humans and kami have fought for decades. But now, as moonfolk, foxfolk, Princess Michiko, and the daimyo all converge on him, he must make a fateful decision: Should he release the imprisoned spirit and risk her wrath?

  Scott McGough concludes the epic story of a ronin and a princess and their battle to save a kingdom from war and destruction.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my grandmothers: Katherine

  Teeny Schiro and Kitty McGough.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without

  contributions from the following exceptional individuals:

  Elena K. McGough, who makes the real world worth living

  in Tim Kreider, for his excellent internet comic The Pain—

  When Will It End?; The Venture Brothers Hank and Dean;

  plus Brock, Rusty, the Monarch, and even H.E.L.P.E.R.

  Princess Michiko stood among the ancient cedars of the Jukai forest, staring patiently up through the thick canopy of leaves. Though the horrors and strife of the Kami War had spread to every corner of her nation, here at least was one place where the wind was soft and pale yellow light streamed placidly through the trees. The war would find her again, she was sure of that. The serenity of the forest’s edge would not last, but while it did she meant to come here often to appreciate this one tranquil place left in all the world.

  Michiko continued to watch the canopy overhead, gracefully balanced atop a small grassy mound. Beside her stood her friend Riko, a slight young woman who wore a student’s robe and carried a short bow with all the confidence of a professional soldier. Riko’s eyes continuously scanned the surrounding area, but they also passed over Michiko herself as often as possible.

  Four kitsune warriors also accompanied Michiko and Riko. The foxmen blended into their surroundings so well they were almost invisible, but Michiko always knew they were there. She had been a frequent target for attacks and abductions lately, and her kitsune hosts back in the village were not about to let her come to more harm while she was their guest.

  Michiko was grateful for the escorts, but there had been no further attacks on her since they had escaped the massacre at Minamo Academy. She welcomed the kitsune’s protection, but it was maddening to sit idle while her nation and the entire world tore itself apart. The elders were keeping her safe, but they were also keeping her from doing any good.

  Riko shifted her weight and flexed the fingers on her bow hand. “Any sign, Michiko-hime?”

  The princess slowly closed her eyes. She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  Riko’s voice betrayed the archer’s scowl. “He won’t answer. And I’m glad of it.”

  Michiko opened her eyes. The kitsune were treating her as a gifted child, but a child nonetheless. They included her in their council meetings and they listened politely when she spoke, but her arguments rarely held sway.

  So Michiko had called upon her allies outside the forest. After taking her mentors’ dire warnings into account, Michiko had sent a messenger to Toshi Umezawa in the Takenuma Swamp. She had retained the ochimusha’s services, and he had proven himself both reliable and effective. The kitsune who had met him didn’t object to his abilities, however, but his character. Indeed, when he and Michiko first met, Toshi had impulsively kidnapped her and held her against her will. Fortunately, he had seen working for the princess as more valuable than ransoming her. Toshi was an opportunist and a mercenary, but he was at least a competent one.

  In her message, Michiko requested that Toshi provide some general information about the situation in the marsh lands and requested that he to come to her for a new assignment. It had been several weeks since she sent it, and so far Toshi had not replied.

  Michiko was anxious to see him, but not for his report on the criminal goings-on in Takenuma. Toshi had laid his hands on the great prize her father had stolen from the spirit world, the Taken One, whose abduction sparked twenty years of Kami War. When she had seen Toshi with it in his arms, she had longed to reach out and touch it herself, to feel its power and perhaps finally understand the spell it had cast on her father.

  But the Taken One was too powerful and too unpredictable. Her guardians and Toshi himself had cautioned her to keep away, and Michiko never came within arm’s reach of the prize. Since then her thoughts had often returned to the rough-hewn disk with the etched figure of a serpent across its face. She felt it was the key to ending the conflict that had erupted between the spirit world and the physical one. It was the key, and she herself was somehow tied to it.

  So she waited for Toshi’s reply, or better still, Toshi himself. Only he could tell her what she needed to know, and she could feel their time running out. Toshi was cunning, so she expected he was still alive. She had also worked diligently to improve her skill with the messenger kanji, so she was sure that it had reached him.

  He would have to reply soon. When she pictured the world, Michiko saw waves of violence and conflict all rolling toward her and her peaceful patch of forest. Not even the kitsune could keep her safe forever.

  Something rustled in the trees, then a strange black symbol burst through the canopy. Michiko’s heart raced. She recognized the same messenger kanji she had sent to the swamp and felt a small rush of pride. It had returned just as she had intended. And if it had found Toshi, it might also bear his response.

  The queer black bird fluttered through the beams of sunlight toward the princess. The kitsune warriors and Riko all tensed as they prepared for a fight. Two of the fox samurai stepped between Michiko and the symbol with their swords drawn.

  Well clear of the kitsune blades, the messenger kanji stopped and hovered in place.

  “Deliver your message,” Michiko called.

  The thick, inky strokes of the kanji pulsated as purple light twinkled along their edges. A clear voice rang out, its words tinged with a touch of amusement.

  “Princess,” Toshi’s voice said. “Nice work with the kanji. Unable to visit you at present, but I promise I’ll see you soon. As for general information … it’s a complete nightmare out here. But don’t worry. I’m working on it.”

  The kanji deflated back to its original size and began to crumble. The light breeze blew ash and grit back into the thicker reaches of the forest, where they disappeared into the gloom.

  “He’s working on it,” Riko sneered. “We can all relax. Toshi’s working on it.”

  Michiko frowned. “Riko,” she said. “Toshi rescued all of us from Minamo, and from the forest myojin before that. Surely you appreciate just how much Toshi is capable of.”

  Riko held Michiko’s stern eyes. “I do, Michiko-hime. I’m not scoffing at his abilities. I’m afraid of what he can do, not what he can’t.”

  “I have paid for his services,” Michiko said. “So whatever he is or isn’t capable of, he will do as I ask him. That’s why I wanted him here.”

  “And I’m sure he’ll come. You asked him for help … that’s like a delicious smell to Toshi. He’ll show up when we need him least and profit from it, like he always does.”

  Michiko did not reply, but turned back toward the village. The kitsune samurai spread out before her, gliding through the forest without disturbing a single twig.

  Riko was underestimating Toshi. Michiko had seen him confront the most powerful adversaries and win through guile instead of force. He was capable of great deeds, and not just in scope. If she could just talk to him, he could help her understand the Taken One, and she could help h
im understand the rewards of working for the common good. He was a criminal, but he was a learned and loyal criminal. He could yet be redeemed.

  Michiko sighed as she headed back to the village. There were so many dangers on the road ahead that redemption was a remote possibility for any of them. Survival was a far more pressing concern.

  Behind her, a great bank of clouds covered the sun, and the princess’s bright, quiet haven descended into shadow.

  PART ONE

  THE ICEBERG BREAKS

  Toshi Umezawa stood facing the thundering waters of Kamitaki Falls. It was one of the most magnificent sights in all the world, where the mighty Yumegawa River plunged over five hundred feet to the lake below. It was a place of scintillating beauty and raw elemental force that drew pilgrims, seekers, and students alike to its mysteries.

  Toshi was resting on the rail at the edge of a city-sized platform that served as the foundation for Minamo Academy’s main building. The massive hall was a grand and opulent structure of blue steel and glass spires that rested on a magical column of water hundreds of feet above the surface of the lake.

  Overhead, the soratami capital Oboro peeked through the clouds. The city was not clearly visible from where Toshi stood, but he had been there once before so he knew that it was even more lavish and visually stunning than the academy grounds. Where Minamo was designed to mimic natural forms found in the rocks and water, Oboro was all sharp, clean edges and proud, almost arrogant towers that stood draped with gleaming, crystalline wire that glistened in the moonlight.

  Toshi glanced up at Oboro one last time and then spit on the ground. He hated this place. Despite all the natural beauty and architectural splendor (and in some ways, because of it), Toshi resented the snobbery and elitism that dripped from both Oboro and Minamo like spray from the river.

  Toshi’s vivid green eyes darted across the entrance to the academy, and he shook his long black hair from his face. When he left the academy, it had been under an all-out attack, but now it was as still and as quiet as a tomb. The somber mood around the academy clung to the place like thick fog. The school was supposed to be a place of learning and enlightenment, but it felt like one of the daimyo’s prisons after a plague wiped out all the inmates: empty, foreboding, and dead. There was bad magic here—raw emotions and violent death permeated the air like incense.

  Still, if there were no one left alive inside the school, his job would be significantly easier. Toshi didn’t let his hopes rise too high; nothing he had done lately had been easy or gone according to plan. He placed one foot on the bottom step of the Minamo entrance and waited. When nothing happened, he climbed another step. Nothing.

  On the fifth step, two lean, muscular people sprang from inside the open doors, tumbling and spinning as they came. The male was bald and dressed in bleached skins, the female in tight braids and a red wool wrap that covered her from breastbone to mid-thigh. Both were armed with swords and the man carried a staff. Each warrior wore a black phylactery strapped to their head and bore a circular symbol with a jagged line through it—the man carried the standard on the end of his staff with a series of metal rings looped through it and the woman wore the symbol as a necklace.

  Though their leaps carried them twenty feet into the air, they both landed soundlessly a few paces from Toshi. He glanced at one, then the other, and shrugged.

  “Well?” he said. “You either recognize me or you don’t. If you do, take me to see the ogre now. If not, draw your swords.”

  Toshi smiled. The two warriors did not. They stared at him, vacant as sleepwalkers. They did not react to his words, his smile, or even his presence on the grounds.

  The ochimusha sighed. He waved a hand in front of the glassy-eyed woman, and then snapped his fingers in front of the man.

  “Hi-de-tsu-gu,” he said slowly. “Your boss. My partner. You helped him wreck this place awhile ago. Is he still here?”

  The sound of the ogre’s name made the man flinch, but the woman remained expressionless. Toshi paused, winked at her, and then stepped up into the man’s face.

  “Hidetsugu,” he said again, enjoying the ripple of fear that crossed those otherwise inscrutable features. He turned back to the woman and gestured at the man. “I can keep this up all day, you know.” He turned back to the man. “Hidetsugu.”

  The man snarled. The woman’s blade appeared in her hand and Toshi yelped. Before he could backpedal, the man’s staff thumped solidly into Toshi’s back and he clamped on to the ochimusha’s sword arm.

  Gingerly, with the tip of the woman’s blade inches from his nose, Toshi pushed the sword aside with one finger. He slid his left wrist free of his sleeve and showed them the triangle-shaped symbol there.

  “Hyozan,” he said. “This symbol is the kanji for iceberg. Your master has a similar mark on his chest. It signifies membership, brotherhood. We’re members of the same group. You two should recognize me, we’ve met before.”

  Toshi took a moment to study his fingernails. Casually, he added, “And if you don’t say something useful soon, we’re going to have to fight.” He put his hands on his hips. “And Hidetsugu won’t like that. He’ll probably bite your heads off just for making me explain this much. If you’re lucky.” He smiled a wicked smile and cocked his head. “Think about it. You know I’m not exaggerating.”

  The man’s grip on his shoulder softened. The woman lowered her sword.

  “Good,” Toshi said. “Now, you don’t have to announce me and you don’t have to escort me. Just let me pass and I’ll find him myself.”

  The woman sheathed her sword. She stared at Toshi through her dead eyes, then pointed up the stairs into the academy interior. With a soft grunt, she sprang high into the air and landed on the lintel above the main doorway. Toshi heard feet scuffling the ground behind him, and then the man joined his fellow sentry on top of the door.

  Toshi waved pleasantly as he strode up the staircase. These two were yamabushi, feared and powerful warrior-priests from the mountains. They were notoriously reclusive and highly trained in the art of killing, especially effective against opponents from the spirit world. Toshi almost chuckled. Getting past them was the easy part.

  His gallows-humor mirth dissolved when he approached the door, as Toshi saw dried bloodstains and sword slashes carved deep into the marble stairs. He paused for a moment to wonder what would have happened had circumstances been different, and if he hadn’t shown the yamabushi his hyozan mark. Such thoughts were extremely unpleasant and unhelpful as he prepared to face Hidetsugu once again, so he shoved them to the back of his mind. Outwardly confident, Toshi slipped inside the building.

  Inside, the academy was just as still and lifeless as the outside. Toshi could see high water marks on some of the walls as if a flash flood had swept through the halls, but there were no people, no bodies, and no signs of a struggle. He knew what Hidetsugu was capable of and he had seen the aftermath of the o-bakemono’s rage many times, but the academy was not at all like Toshi expected.

  That made him nervous. Hidetsugu was at his most dangerous when he was deliberate, and the conspicuous lack of trophy corpses meant he was being especially precise. If there weren’t heads decorating the academy gates, Hidetsugu must have found another use for them. Toshi shuddered at the thought.

  The layout of the school was unfamiliar, but Toshi knew that Hidetsugu would be in the largest centrally located chamber. He followed the entrance hallway into the center of the building and then climbed a set of stairs to a mezzanine-style reception area. Opposite the stairs on this level, he saw two yamabushi standing guard outside a wide doorway.

  The yamabushi barely noticed him as he approached. After pausing to make sure they did not intend to prevent him from passing, Toshi swept into the great hall. Without looking for Hidetsugu, Toshi bowed deeply and said, “Greetings, oath-brother,” as jauntily as he could.

  Toshi stood staring at the floor for a few moments. He heard a deep, stentorian growl and the clatter of falling stones.
The ochimusha waited until the first drop of sweat fell from his forehead to the stone floor, and then he raised his head.

  Hidetsugu the ogre sat on a mound of white, polished bones piled higher than Toshi’s chest. The massive figure was smiling slightly as he stared down at Toshi, his eyes glowing dull red like embers in a blacksmith’s forge.

  “Hello, old friend.” Hidetsugu’s grin widened and he cocked his broad flat head in a disturbing parody of Toshi’s own quizzical expression. Each of his gnarled, twisted teeth was as big as Toshi’s hand.

  Toshi felt a familiar chill. An ogre’s smile was never something to be taken lightly. A cunning, learned, and patient ogre was still an ogre, and while Hidetsugu was always scrupulous in observing the terms of their shared hyozan oath, he also seemed amused by the dread vow they had sworn.

  Toshi kept his tone respectful but looked the ogre unflinchingly in the eye. “We were supposed to meet here and take down the school together, oath-brother,” he said. “Remember?” Toshi opened his arms, indicating the vast empty space around them. “You didn’t wait, so now I’m not sure if the plan is still intact.” He smiled. “Or if I’m even welcome. I know how much you hate guests.”

  The o-bakemono stood, sending a cascade of bones rattling down the mound. “Nonsense, Toshi. You are always welcome to visit me.” Hidetsugu tilted his head back and drew a long stream of air into his nostrils.

  The uneasiness in Toshi’s stomach hardened into a cold, hard ball. It was said that o-bakemono can smell powerful magic, and Toshi knew it was true. If Hidetsugu guessed Toshi’s latest secret, this little errand would be over before it began. Everything hinged on the next few moments, in a contest between Hidetsugu’s instinct and Toshi’s preparations to deflect that instinct.

  Hidetsugu finished his breath and smiled down at Toshi once more. “You stink of your myojin and the dead of winter,” he said.