Soul of the Sword (Shadow of the Fox #2) - Julie Kagawa Page 0,146
Will he live?”
“Most likely. The surface injuries will heal quickly, but the burns on his chest and arm are quite severe and will take time. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be any nerve damage, but he is going to be in a great deal of pain until they heal.”
The man snorted again. “Yes, well, maybe next time he’ll remember not to stab a nue with a steel sword when it’s getting ready to discharge lightning.” Uncrossing his arms, he glared down at Tatsumi again. “Demonslayer,” he said, bending closer to the demonslayer’s face. “Can you hear me, boy?”
“I…hear you, sensei.”
My throat closed up. His voice was tight with pain, but he still tried to speak calmly. The man straightened, gazing down at him without a shred of compassion. “What went wrong?” he asked in a hard voice. “I warned you about the nue’s lightning shroud. This shouldn’t have happened, Tatsumi.”
“Forgive me, sensei,” Tatsumi gritted out. “There were…” He paused, closing his eyes, as one of the robed men splashed that clear liquid onto his chest, causing white bubbles to froth up where it landed. “There were two of them,” Tatsumi went on after a moment. “The nue must’ve had a mate. When the first was killed, the second…ambushed me.”
“Two of them.” Tatsumi’s sensei sounded dubious, but grim. “Well, that explains the amount of disappearances around the area. Nue are bad-tempered and territorial at the best of times. Thank the kami they’re relatively rare. Did you kill the second one?”
“Yes…sensei,” Tatsumi answered.
“Good. That means you don’t have to go hunting it again when you’re back on your feet.” The man straightened and looked up at the robed figures. “Keep me updated on his condition. If he worsens or looks like he’s going to die, inform me at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man stepped back, but I saw him pause, just a moment, gazing down at the suffering demonslayer. A flicker of what might have been sympathy went through his eyes, though it was gone between one blink and the next. Without another word to the severely wounded Tatsumi, the man turned and left the room. As the healers went back to work on the demonslayer, Tatsumi set his jaw and cast his gaze to the ceiling, staring again at nothing.
I bit my lip to keep my eyes from blurring. My heart ached, wishing I could go to him and take his hand, just to let him know he wasn’t alone. That someone in his harsh, lonely existence cared if he lived or died. But this was just another memory; the two healers continued their work without looking at me, and on the table, the demonslayer lay silent and long-suffering. Waiting for it to be over.
Deeper, I thought. Tatsumi’s soul isn’t here. I have to go deeper.
Turning from the grisly scene, I walked away, following Tatsumi’s sensei out the door, and the world faded around me.
Hakaimono followed me. I couldn’t always see or hear him, but I could feel him; a terrifying dark presence looming ever closer. Chasing me through the layers of Tatsumi’s consciousness. Sometimes I would flee a memory knowing he was right on my heels, that if I waited another moment, he would reach out and snatch me. It didn’t help that I had no idea where I was going. I was lost in the labyrinth of Tatsumi’s mind, where each memory was darker, bloodier and more depressing than the last. All I knew was that I had to reach his soul, that it was here somewhere, in this bleak landscape tainted by Hakaimono’s presence, and I had to keep looking until I found it.
Once more, I found myself in a forest clearing, the sky a mottled red and black through the trees. An old stone well sat in the center of the clearing, outlined in the crimson light of the moon and sky. It cast a long, menacing shadow over the grass, and made my skin crawl just looking at it.
A shiver went through the clearing, and Tatsumi materialized out of the trees like a shadow becoming real. In one hand, Kamigoroshi was unsheathed and glowed a subtle purple against the eerie crimson light.
The demonslayer walked steadily across the clearing until he stood a few feet from the well. Overhead, the full moon emerged from behind a cloud, rising until it hovered directly overhead, its sickly red beams shining down on the well.
A pale hand rose from the darkness of the well, grasping the edge of the stones. Another followed,