Soul of the Sword (Shadow of the Fox #2) - Julie Kagawa Page 0,56

feeling strangely irritated with myself. Not for reminding them who I was or putting them in their place; among demons, if you weren’t strong, you were prey. Even the hag sisters, though they called me Hakaimono-sama and recognized my superiority, would turn on me in an instant if they thought I was weak. If one of them had spoken to me like that when I was in my real form, I would have done more than threaten; I would have torn the offender into little pieces and made the other two watch.

But I hadn’t, and that was the problem. There were three ogresses; killing one to prove a point was what should have happened. I should have crushed the hag’s skull between my fingers and let her brains leak over the ground, as I had threatened. I should have made certain the survivors knew that Hakaimono was someone to be obeyed, feared and never questioned. And yet, I’d let her live.

I had shown mercy.

Irritation flared into disgust, and I clenched a fist, barely stopping myself from spinning around and driving my claws through the back of the hag’s skull, after all. I was not myself, I realized. I’d spent too many years in the sword, in the minds of weak-willed humans with their feeble emotions polluting me like Jigoku’s corruption poisoned the souls of men. I had once been the most feared, ruthless oni lord with no concept of human feelings, but for the past four hundred years, I had been continuously exposed to repulsive sentiments like honor, mercy, kindness and love. And now that frailty was seeping into my consciousness.

Resolve settled over me like a grim cloak. There could be no hint of weakness in Genno’s court, no shadow of doubt or hesitation. If I was going to make the self-proclaimed Master of Demons do what I wanted, I would have to be just as ruthless, if not more so, than him.

We continued through the forest, which had grown eerily still after the battle with the Man-eating Heads, as if the rest of the inhabitants were in hiding. Perhaps they had decided that any creature that could slay the most dangerous ghost to haunt the Forest of a Thousand Eyes was something best left alone. But as night fell and the woods grew darker and even more tangled, I began to see movement in the trees; pale figures sliding through the undergrowth. A woman in a bloody white dress, watching me between tree trunks, a samurai walking behind us on the narrow trail, the front of his armor smashed open to reveal a gaping, bloody hole. They floated or flickered around us, a host of yurei and restless spirits; mortals that had fallen in the tainted forest and were now trapped, unable to find their way to Meido, or wherever human souls ended up. Most of them seemed confused, grief stricken, but one ghost—the bloody woman in white—stalked us through the trees, winking in and out of existence, until I finally drew Kamigoroshi in annoyance. The yurei fled as the blade’s cold purple light washed into the trees, and did not bother us again.

At last, with dawn about an hour away, we reached a vast chasm that cut through the forest like an old wound. A rotten wooden bridge spanned the gulf, and on the other side, a skeletal castle loomed, tiered pagoda roofs stabbing the night sky. Pallid mist clung to its walls like ragged curtains, pale tendrils writhing up from the chasm and slithering over the ground. The structure itself was falling apart, half covered in choking vines and roots, as it seemed the forest had not taken kindly to the intruder within its boundaries and was trying to pry it apart. But lights flickered within the windows, and a lit torch stood at the other end of the bridge, indicating the ruin was no longer abandoned.

“Here we are,” sighed the blue hag sister as we approached the bridge. Her left shoulder had already sprouted a withered blue arm with knobby digits that would soon become talons. “Let us go, quickly. I am eager to see Lord Genno, and he will certainly wish to speak with you right away, Hakaimono-sama.”

The bridge groaned under my weight, creaking and protesting every step, but the rotten planks held. An icy wind rushed up from the misty chasm below, smelling of grave dust and old bones. I gazed across the gorge to the castle, taking note of the gate and large,