Soul of the Sword (Shadow of the Fox #2) - Julie Kagawa Page 0,82
battling Hakaimono, but that is a problem for when and if your kitsune-tsuki is successful.”
“Let Tatsumi know I’m coming?” I stared at the white fox. “How? I can’t send him a message. Anything he knows Hakaimono knows, too.”
“That would be true, were we in the physical world,” the kitsune said. “However, this is Yume-no-Sekai, the realm of dreams. And even Hakaimono must sleep sometimes.
“Come.” He rose before I could ask what he meant, his bushy tail rippling languidly behind him. “Follow me. Stay close. And remember, nothing you see here is real except the native baku—the dream eaters—and the souls of those who slumber.”
“Where are we going?”
“I am taking you into another dream. But we must hurry—our target is a very light sleeper. Once he wakes, his presence will vanish from Yume-no-Sekai, and you will not have a second chance to speak with him. Quickly now.”
I bounded after the white fox, and suddenly, the cool, misty forest surrounding us changed. One moment, we were trotting down a shadowed game trail through the tangled undergrowth, the next, we were at the edge of an arched wooden bridge over a river, a full silver moon shining down directly overhead.
“Nani…?”
“Don’t be alarmed.” The white fox looked back at me, eyes glowing like candles in the moonlight. “Remember, nothing here is real. We’ve simply left your dream and have entered another’s.”
“Whose?”
“Draw your weapon.”
The calm, quiet voice drifted over the bridge, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. I recognized that low, elegant manner of speech. Looking up, I saw a lone figure in the middle of the bridge, bare-chested and white hair unbound, the moonlight glimmering off the pale oni mask covering his face.
I blinked. “Daisuke-san?”
Oni no Mikoto, the demon of the bridge, ignored me, his gaze focused on something behind us. At my back, a quiet chuckle drifted over the breeze.
“I think you’ve made a mistake, Oni-san,” said another familiar voice. I turned to see Okame standing at the edge of the bridge, facing the demon prince. His bow was missing, though a short blade hung from his obi, and he made no move to draw it as he stepped forward. The white fox and I skittered aside, and neither of the two men seemed to notice us. “I thought you only challenged honorable warriors to duels. Not filthy ronin dogs.”
“Whose dream is this?” I whispered to the white fox, entranced by what was happening before me. “Is this Okame’s dream, or Daisuke’s?”
He gave me a slightly irritated look. “Does it matter? It has nothing to do with us, or our objective. Let us continue.”
“There has been no mistake,” replied the other, and when I glanced back, it was no longer Oni no Mikoto with the demon mask and cold eyes, only Daisuke. His long hair still rippled and flowed around him, the moonlight shining down the length of the sword in his hand. “And I see no disgraced warrior before me. Only a man who has lost much, and is struggling to find his way.”
A smirk pulled at one corner of the ronin’s mouth. “It doesn’t matter how you put it, Taiyo-san,” he said, and though his expression was mocking, his voice was sad. “I’m no samurai. I’m still ronin, still a wild, honorless cur, and nothing will change that.”
Daisuke stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the ronin. “That is true,” he said quietly. “I have known many samurai. In the court, the capital and on bridges throughout the country, I have seen my share of honorable men. Their loyalty to the empire is irrefutable, they follow the tenets of Bushido religiously, their honor cannot be questioned. Like the petals of a sakura tree, they are flawless, perfect, irreproachable. And like the sakura petals…exactly the same. One can compose only so many poems about cherry blossoms before one grows tired of their flawlessness.”
Okame glanced up, a wary, almost hopeful frown crossing his face. Daisuke smiled and stepped closer; now only a couple feet separated the two men. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move or look away, despite the growing impatience from the fox beside me.
“Of late,” Daisuke murmured, “I find myself fascinated by the violent storms at sea, by the passion, the unpredictability and danger of it all. And by the eagles that soar over the mountaintops, wild and free, beholden to no one.” He paused, a slightly pained look crossing his face, before continuing. “It is…a dangerous thing, this curiosity,” he said in a low tone.