What if he’s here already? What if we’re too late?
By the gods’ hands, how had it come to this?
“My name is Kai Gekko’in!” she shouted, her voice so small against the cold. “I am heir to the Gensei family! You sheltered my father…”
The snow was too much. She tripped. She fell. The flurries grew worse, slicing through her, and she slipped to her knees. Above, the river-monks were still as statues. The roar of the wind made her wince.
Something shook. The gate before her cracked through its shield of frost and groaned open.
“My name is Kai Gekko’in…” Three figures were approaching now, river-monks in robes of black and gray, framed in the white of the snow. They called to her.
“Lady! This way! The gate is open!”
She struggled, numb and shivering all over. The world dimmed and drifted. “I am heir to the Gensei family. You sheltered my father…”
She couldn’t stand. Her vision swam and it was all she could do to keep repeating the words.My name is Kai Gekko’in…The cold had somehow ceased to hurt. The fear and exhaustion of the past three days caught up. She felt light. She felt like she wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again. It was wonderful. She felt that, after everything, she would be fine. So much warmer now. She couldn’t feel her feet.
“My name is Kai Gekko’in. Heir to the Gensei…”
“Gods’ hands, help her up!” A voice came to her from somewhere in a great distance. “Get her inside!”
“My name is Kai Gekko’in…”
Someone was shouting. They were lifting her up.
She entered the temple of the Onji River with a painfully old monk carrying her through the gates.
“Rest easy, ame’in,” the elderly monk said. “You’re here now. Just a few steps more…”
As they entered, she saw that, within the open ground inside the gate, there lay a courtyard rigid with small plants and barren trees. Looming prayer halls rose from the whitening night, and dark-robed monks dashed about, lighting torches. Someone – the kindly old monk – held her hand,leading her in. At the center of the open space, two trees stood at angles with skeletal branches shaking in the frost. Plum trees, perhaps, or cherry. The garden lay to the side, near two stone shrines and a shallow-water stream.
Beyond it, within the inner gate, there was a well.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
Rui
In her fever, she spoke to the Hososhi again. They showed her dark images, of fire and rain, dead bodies on a garden path, blood-polished stone. Their voice came, calling soft-whispered words beyond her ability to hear.
The world felt hot, the air turbulent. She tried to speak. She heard her teacher and Myorin conversing in hushed tones.
“The wounds can be treated,” Jobo was saying, “but I do not have the skill to exorcise a god.”
“What will happen to her?”
“Depends on the god. And on her.”
She slept again. When she settled back onto the blankets, chest aching, nausea in its familiar place, she wondered,What if I die?Her stomach pitched and turned. She told herself she wouldn’t fail, wouldn’t allow herself to fade, wouldn’t be a victim to what happened. She longed for the confidence of hope.
Then it was nearly dawn, and Jobo was sitting beside her with a faraway look in his eyes, a look that made her think he was reliving some great terror from his past.
“The god has helped you, Rui,” he said at length, “with your wounds. They are trying to show you what they want from you. What they want for you to do.”
“Why?” she croaked.
“Why what?”
It took some time for her to gather her thoughts. “If the god sees in all directions… how… how could they let this happen? They would’ve known that we were there, that I… that I would…” She couldn’t finish.
