“This is the sacred spear given to Osu,” he said. “The spear of heaven,called the spear-of-ten-hands.” True to its name, the long blade gleamed ten hand’s-breadths in length, longer than her arm.
“It was found by the young god of storms after he slew the serpent the first time,” Jobo said. “After Sora’in’s sacrifice, it was given to the princess Osu, with the guidance of my order for safekeeping.” He fell silent then, mouth twisted into a frown and a sigh upon his breath. “I’ve just been ordered to return it to the capital. This spear is a symbol of the sovereign. They bequeathed it to my order, and the monks of the Godspath have kept it in secret for a hundred years.” He gave Sen a look. “Ever since your ancestors were sent to quell the northern peoples. They used it as justification for their divine right of conquest.”
“And now they want it back?” Sen asked.
“Strange things are happening in the capital.” Jobo’s eyes had gone low, to his hands, as they hefted the shaft, turning the long-bladed spear to reflect the light. Rui smelled dust in the air, and incense, and curtains of sunshine broke through windows at the end of the little hall. “There are things that have worried me. And yet.” He gave a smile now. “Who is to say. Perhaps this will lead to good in the end.”
“Teacher,” Rui said. “Does this mean we’re going to the capital?”
His eyes fell. “It’s been years since I went up to the capital. It is not my fate to go there again.”
“Will you send it away?” Sen took the spear carefully in his hands, amazed. “As if it were some normal object, a thing?”
But Jobo scowled. “Anythingis just a thing. It is, by itself, no more sacred or powerful than any other.”
“But they say it can kill a god,” Sen began.
“Have you learned nothing, star-boy? It is invested by the gods, this is true. And yet, the palace of a mighty king is just a building, if no one’s there to make ithome. Four walls are the same; but that is not the only thing that matters. There is more, neh? Anyway, you can’t kill a god… Not unless they want to die.”
They were interrupted by the other monks as they approached. “Jobo,” the oldest said, softly. “Another message. From the Ogami’in. You should come…”
Jobo furrowed his brow.
“What is it?” Sen asked later, when he returned. They’d gone outside, where a harsher wind fell on them, scattering the brittle leaves from one end of the path to the other. Jobo said nothing for a while, merely walked with them, slowly, back toward their dormitory. Finally, he stopped. He peered up to the sky, but the day hung flat and cold, and the clouds ofautumn told him nothing. Jobo had long read the augurs of the birds, and now he paced to and fro, hands clasped behind him, and tried to read the sky again.
“What do you see?” Rui asked.
“It is as I feared. It is the Hososhi, the One Who Sees, guardian-god of the barrier between our world and the next. I’ve been looking for them, these last months. They watch us, you see. The Hososhi. I hoped to hear them in the air. But they have been silent. I fear some kind of change is coming, something evil in the wind.”
“How do you know if they’re watching you?” Rui asked. “The Hososhi god?”
“They’re always watching,” Jobo said. “They see in all directions. If they show themselves to you, Rui, it is for a reason. But until that happens, I can’t say where, or when, that will be. I can do my best to summon them, but until they come… No, the Hososhi will not reveal themselves until they need to. We must be careful.”
“Teacher.” Sen moved, quietly, beside them. “What did the message say?”
Jobo nodded heavily, as if confronting a difficult task. “It feels as though the barrier between the worlds has changed. As though the very earth itself is on edge, waiting, in anticipation. The woods are quiet. The mountain is still. The gods have stopped talking to us. Come.” He hurried them along the path. The sun was falling; Rui tasted rain.
“Teacher,” Sen said again. “Iyo’s message. What’s happened?”
“We are going to Kitano,” said Jobo. “We’ve been summoned. Your stewardmother, Sen, has asked for our help. We leave tomorrow.”
“What’s happened?” Sen repeated.
“Nothing,” Jobo said. “Not yet. But Iyo feels it as I do. Pack your things. Rui.” He came to her. “You understand I must leave you at the gates?” She nodded slowly. They would never let her inside the castle walls again.
“I can stay with old Goro in the outvillage,” she said.
He gave her a gentle look. “It will be all right. Yes, I’m sure old Goro will be happy to see you. Now, come. I must prepare the sacred items.”
That night they snuck into the inmost shrine and found Jobo performing a ritual at the hearth. The flames rose every time he threw a bone into the fire, and every time, he muttered something, eyes narrowed in concentration, mouth turned down. If he knew they watched him, he gave no notice, eyes focused solely on the fire, the burning objects there. Rui tried to peer into the flames, as he did, but if there was a messagethere, for her, it was obscured. She watched her teacher. She wondered what he saw.
The following day, Jobo led them down the old road toward Kitano fortress, the great gate and the houses Rui had not seen in a year. He carried the spear-blade, safely sheathed and wrapped in purple-brocaded silk on his back; they would mount it at Kitano. The day splintered under gusts of wind. Rui couldn’t help but notice that her companions seemed to feel as apprehensive as she did; no one talked, and there was little sound but for the clinking of the prayer rings on Jobo’s staff. She felt like someone – or something – was watching her, following in the trees just out of sight; a mysterious figure at the edge of the woods, and in the earth, and sky.Even the gods feel wrong, she thought. As though there was a voice, a distant echo, saying,Let me in.
When Rui was nine or ten years old, she often saw someone walking in the woods. The no’in called him the Old Tree Man, and told stories of a strange, skeletal figure, dressed in rags the color of moss. She could never be sure of his age, or if it was really a man at all, for as soon as she thought she saw him, standing silhouetted on the top of a rise, or by the bend of the river, or perhaps nestled down among the foxberry plants or at the edge of a copse, she would try to go to him, to say hello and ask him for his name. But every time, he started when she came close, reacting as if afraid; and every time, he fled.
She had the same feeling in her bones now, as she held the small sword they’d given her and crossed back along the trail. The same feeling of being watched, of being observed, as though the earth itself were listening to her every step. For a moment, she actually thought she had seen the soft mossy rags and the bony shoulder of the old man at the edge of sight, in the shadow of a huge elm, wreathed from behind in the setting sun.
“It will be good to see it again,” Sen said quietly, pulling Rui from her thoughts. “Kitano.” But the strange omens were getting to him, too, Rui saw. She was about to say something in consolation when Sen jolted to a stop.
