Surrender to Darkness Page 14

  “Indeed. Is he also the one who placed the dimensional shift upon the scabbard to make your sword disappear when sheathed?”

  “Aye.”

  Sora rubbed his chin. “I hope I have the opportunity to meet the man one day. He’s blessed with skills of which I have rarely seen the equal.”

  Murdoch nodded. “I’ve only known one other mystic of his caliber in the many years I’ve existed. A Scottish druid back in the thirteenth century.”

  “Someone you sought to help free you of your berserker potion?”

  “Yes.” But that was water long passed under the bridge. He would never be free of the berserker. Murdoch brushed past the old sensei and headed for the front door. “Excuse me. I have a pressing need to walk.”

  “I understand. A westerly direction will eventually take you to the village. A southerly direction will take you to the sea. Take your pick. I’ll call your phone if Kiyoko’s condition changes.”

  He nodded and tossed Sora a half smile. “Don’t wait up.”

  Opportunity was knocking.

  Azazel watched Murdoch stride across the grass and head down the mountain slope toward the village. By the sound of things, the Soul Gatherer intended to be gone for several hours, which should be just enough time to execute a raid. Nothing too elaborate. Just a quick search and snatch.

  But first he needed a diversion.

  A demon attack on the house, for instance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t simply call in a strike. Satan was unaware that he had survived. For good reason. If he revealed himself before he returned to full strength, his rivals for the Great Lord’s attention, Lucifer and Beelzebub, would use their considerable might to crush him. Orchestrating a demon attack under the circumstances would be difficult.

  But not impossible.

  Satan’s legions of drones constantly tested the barrier between hell and the middle plane, seeking entrance. They would instantly punch through a weakened area. If he softened this one little spot, right in front of the house, the demons would take care of the rest. It wouldn’t matter how many succeeded in punching through, or what type of demon appeared.

  Kiyoko was weak as a kitten, so she wouldn’t put up much of a fight. And as for the others … Well, none of them were real threats.

  If all went well, he might get lucky and come away with the Veil. Save the day, and all that. But he’d be happy with the oracle scrolls Kiyoko had told him about in their last session. And the attack alone would earn him a shiny black feather. Perhaps more than one, if a number of onmyōji died in the process.

  He rolled his shoulders to release the strain of containing his wings inside his slender body.

  Really, it was all win.

  He had nothing to lose.

  Sweat beaded on Murdoch’s chest and trickled down his belly as he ran through the trees and leapt down rocky precipices. This part of the island was largely unpopulated, dotted with mountain peaks, crystal clear lakes, and meandering streams. Steering clear of the odd farm-house, he managed to stay out of sight as he tore along at a blurring pace, heading toward the village. His berserker was quiet, so it was just him and his immortal body burning up the calories.

  Or it was until he ran smack into two gray-faced ghouls.

  Still traveling at full tilt, he sent the pair flying into the brush like an emaciated set of bowling pins. Momentum carried him forward another ten feet, despite his efforts to stop. He tripped over a bony leg and almost crashed into the elegant white-haired woman standing in the shade of a huge fir tree. He found his balance just before his head plowed into her gut.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there.”

  Murdoch glared at her. “What in God’s name are you doing standing here in the middle of nowhere? Do you take some perverse glee out of surprising people?”

  “Not people,” she said. “Just you.”

  “Lucky me. What do you want?”

  “Your tone is inappropriate, Gatherer.” Attired in a black-and-white silk kimono and traditional geisha makeup, Death flicked her fan. Her twin ghouls regained their feet and took up protective positions behind her, their gray shrouds billowing in the breeze.

  He snorted. “You should be used to it by now. We’ve been keeping company for how long?”

  “Seven hundred and twelve years.”

  He shrugged. “If you say so. I’ve stopped counting.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed her face, quickly replaced by a smile that only made her look more coldly beautiful. “I require you to perform a special task for me.”

  “Sorry. I’m busy.”

  “I have crushed bugs more respectful than you.” Her pale blue eyes narrowed. “You owe me, Gatherer. Your debt is not even close to being paid.”

  “I’ve served my original five-hundred-year term and half of another. I’m fulfilling my debt. I owe you nothing more than to gather souls. Check the contract.”

  Her crimson lips tightened. “One hundred and seventy-three.”

  Murdoch rubbed his hand over his chest, soaking up the sweat with his T-shirt and easing the ache that blossomed under his sternum at her words. “I need no memory prod.”

  “You’ve clearly forgotten the size of the favor I granted you, Murdoch. One hundred and seventy-three lives in exchange for a second five-hundred-year term. I released all those souls. For you.”

  “You had not marked them yet.”

  “Of course not. Had they been marked, no deal would have been possible. Still, they were on the list. Had they not been, you’d never have come to me begging for their lives. They were scheduled to die in a horrible clan feud, as I recall. Murdered in their beds by that ugly fellow MacDonald.”

  Arguing against the truth was a pointless endeavor.

  “What do you want?” he asked wearily.

  “I made a bargain with Webster and he appears to be reneging on his end.”

  He lifted a brow. “So? I doubt you made the deal without arranging a penalty. Why involve me? Just call in your marker.”

  “My, my. Have you no care for the man’s future, Murdoch? You don’t even know what the penalty is, yet here you are, heartlessly eager to make him pay.”

  “I’m not his nursemaid.”

  Reaching out, she caressed his jaw with an icy finger, her lips pouting. “I miss the beard. Were you horribly upset when you had to shave it off?”

  “Cease your chicanery.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. “I’m not so easily duped. Clearly, you want him to fulfill his obligation far more than you want him to pay the penalty. What was he supposed to do for you?”

  “Nothing onerous. Merely fetch me a trinket.”

  She had demanded one of the relics? Surely not. “What trinket?”

  “That’s none of your concern. I don’t need you to collect the item—that’s Webster’s job. I need you to convince him to part with it.”

  “If it’s one of the dark relics,” he said, lowering his chin, “you’re asking the wrong man.”

  “Bah.” She waved a cavalier hand. “Your collection of relics is of no interest to me. I only approved the hunt for them to keep Satan on a short leash. The item I seek is one of more consequence.”

  “The Shattered Halo,” he guessed.

  She said nothing, just smiled coolly.

  “How do you expect me to sway him? He and I are hardly the best of friends.”

  She shrugged. “You respect him, he respects you. There must be some room for influence within that relationship.”

  “I’m in Japan. He’s in California,” he pointed out.

  “Which is why I’m here,” she responded. “Wrap up this dreary business quickly and return to San Jose. I’m growing tired of the delay.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Of course it is. Just take the Veil and leave.”

  He sighed. “To a woman with no conscience, I suppose everything is simple. For me, the decision is harder.”

  She
wrinkled her nose. “Does this have anything to do with that old man, the teacher?”

  “Sora? No. Why?”

  “I’ve never liked him. He’s a sneak and a thief.”

  “Really?” The sensei was annoying, true enough. Always talking in riddles. But a thief? “What did he steal?”

  “I’m through with talking. You know what I want, now deliver.” Death whipped out her fan again. “And you might wish to turn around and head back to the compound. The village is not worth your time.”

  Murdoch cut his liege a short bow and detoured around the tree and her entourage, striding through the grass. “Thank you for the advice, but I’ll keep going. I need to think.”

  “I do like my Gatherers to spend an appropriate amount of time reflecting upon their sins,” she called after him. “But if you don’t turn around, you’ll lose the Veil.”

  He stopped and spun to face her.

  “What do you know?”

  “Everything, of course.” Death smiled. “Your new friends are being attacked by a horde of nasty pith demons even as we speak. If I were you, I’d run.”

  Then she was gone.

  “Kiyoko-san.”

  Kiyoko opened her eyes.

  “Kiyoko-san,” repeated the female voice, low and urgent. “Wake up.”

  Groggy and confused, Kiyoko turned her head to view the frowning face of Umiko. It was hard to see in the darkened room, but the fierce grip the old woman had on her arm told her plenty. “What’s wrong?”

  “We are under attack.”

  Kiyoko sat up. Or tried to. A sudden and severe stab of pain in her chest brought tears to her eyes, and she fell back against the pillow. Ah, yes. Broken ribs. How could she have forgotten her failed experiment in the courtyard? “By whom?”

  “Demons.”

  Gritting her teeth, Kiyoko finally succeeded in sitting up. “Are you certain?”

  “I’ve seen them. Fireballs shoot from their fingertips.”

  Kiyoko grimaced. That certainly sounded like demons. “Fetch me my sword.”

  “No, you are too weak to fight. For the moment, your warriors are keeping the demons at bay, fulfilling their vow to protect you. But they will not last long against such might. Do not waste their gift. We must use the passage through the rocks to escape.”

  Her father had been a very practical man. Once he decided to wed and have a family—a great risk for an onmyōji—he made arrangements for every conceivable scenario, including the need for escape. When he built the house, he created a passage below the floorboards of the kitchen. But it had never been intended for him. Only for his wife and daughter.

  “You go,” Kiyoko said firmly. “I must stay.”

  “To die?” Umiko asked, anxiety eroding the usual respect from her words. “Why? If you engage the enemy in your current state, you will not survive. If you escape now, you can live to fight another day.”

  “I cannot abandon Sora and the others.” She rolled out of bed, using a spell to dull the protests of her battered body. Crossing to the east shoji, she slid the translucent panel back a few inches so she could peer out. “Don’t worry. I’m not a fool. I won’t pitch myself into the heat of the battle. I’ll remain in the house. But I’m not leaving.”

  Umiko glared at her. “You are as stubborn as your father.”

  Kiyoko smiled. It was the highest compliment the old housekeeper could have paid her, and they both knew it. “Honor us both, then. Take my parents’ wedding photo with you when you leave.”

  Umiko stared at her for a moment, then nodded and scurried from the room.

  Kiyoko turned her attention to the events outside. A wall of onmyōji warriors stood halfway between the house and the compound, wielding their swords with practiced ease, deflecting fireballs, and holding off the twenty or so demons bent on burning down the house. Yoshio was front and center, as always, aggressively battling demons in the two-sword style. He showed no sign of tiring, but the same could not be said for the warrior to the right of him. Even as Kiyoko watched, the young man fell under a hail of fireballs.

  Under other circumstances, she would have rushed to his side. Or at the very least sent a flurry of protective spells in the young man’s direction. But her ki was still a low flicker in her chest, not the intense thrum of power she could normally harness, and with the significant distance between her and the men, her options were limited.

  All she could manage was a blind spell.

  She tossed it anyway, hoping the simple defense would give the fallen warrior the moment he needed to regain his feet. But it was a vain hope. Her men were not prepared for such a large-scale battle. Typically, they fought two or three demons at a time.

  Almost as proof of her point, she saw Yoshio break from the line of warriors and dash up the path toward the house. An instant later, the middle section of the line crumpled and a horde of demons rushed forward.

  Kiyoko stepped back from the window, eyeing the mulberry bark that covered the shoji. The house would not provide much protection against fire.

  “Kiyoko.”

  She glanced up. Sora stood in the main living space with protective armor over his black robes. Like Yoshio, he held two swords, one short and one long.

  “Can you fight?”

  “Not well,” she answered.

  He strode toward her, frowning. “Where is the Veil?”

  The Veil. Of course. She wore it so close to her skin that she tended to forget it was there. Before she could reassure Sora that it was safe, Yoshio burst into the room, gripping the neckline of Ryuji’s expensive suit in one hand and his long sword in the other. “I found him hovering outside the door. The demons are almost upon us.”

  Ryuji was wide-eyed and pale, clearly flummoxed by the attack. But there was no time to explain.

  Sora tossed Kiyoko his prized katana. “I’ll find another. Protect the Veil, no matter what the cost. Take the passageway.”

  Then he turned to Yoshio. “You and I will defend the door as long as we can, and hopefully give Kiyoko-san time to get away.”

  “No,” Kiyoko said. “We leave together. All of us.”

  Handing Sora back his weapon, she looked him firmly in the eye, then spun about and headed for the kitchen. As she ran, she murmured the incantation that would summon her shikigami. Only a handful of onmyōji over the centuries had been blessed with the talent to control the little spirit imps, and those that could usually required focused effort to bring forth one. Kiyoko could summon multiple shikigami with ease, and when they awakened, they fell over themselves in their eagerness to do her bidding. As they did now. A dozen invisible spirits suddenly swarmed about her head, batting her softly, gently rubbing along her skin, then darting away, behaving much like the feline familiars they were often compared to.

  Kiyoko gave them an order, and they were off.

  “A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history,” murmured Sora as she lifted the wooden floor panel that hid the metal door to the passage.

  She glanced at him. “Confucius?”

  “No, Gandhi.”

  She smiled. “Wise man.”

  “Indeed.”

  The house shook violently on its posts, ceramic bowls and pots crashing to the floor around them. Kiyoko hastily slid the lower door aside, exposing the tunnel carved into the rock.

  “Kiyoko-san, you go first,” Sora said.

  She nodded and quickly slipped into the cool, damp tunnel. Just as she was about to duck her head and disappear down the dark passage, she heard a fierce guttural roar vibrate through the air. It was followed by a swell of supportive yells from the onmyōji warriors.

  She glanced up at Sora, who shrugged.

  “It would seem Mr. Murdoch returned earlier than expected. I’m not certain even his berserker can triumph over twenty demons, but I would say that our odds of survival just improved dramatically. Go, Kiyoko-san.”

  “But—”

 
“Your duty is to protect the Veil.”

  “But—”

  “And our duty is to protect you. Go, Kiyoko-san.” The pleasant tone had disappeared, replaced by firm command. “Now.”

  Kiyoko entered the tunnel.

  Ryuji followed her in, then Sora, and finally Yoshio. When all four of them were in the passage, Yoshio pulled the wooden panel over the opening and slid the metal door shut, leaving them in total darkness.

  It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, then the glow of luminescent meter marks on the walls appeared out of the gloom, subtly lighting the curve ahead. Amazing how reassuring a series of small green dots could feel. Especially when the rough walls on either side pressed against their outstretched palms and the roof nearly grazed their heads.

  She moved swiftly down the tunnel.

  Murdoch was strong, smart, and a seasoned demon fighter. He would survive. No other outcome was worthy of consideration. When the conflict was over, he would greet her with that arrogant, lopsided grin and applaud her for keeping the Veil safe. He would.

  “The door opens to a narrow ledge on the cliff,” Sora reminded her, as they rounded the third and final bend in the tunnel. “After that, we must climb.”

  “I remember.”

  When she was younger, her father had insisted on random practice escapes. The worst had been a drill enacted in the pitch-black of midnight. Scrambling up the cliff face in the dark, unable to see the small steps carved in the rock and occasionally losing her footing, had given her nightmares for weeks afterward. Fortunately, today’s climb would be made in broad daylight.

  Just as they reached the final curve in the tunnel, Kiyoko’s big toe connected with something thin and hard. The item skittered across the rock floor, hit the wall, and shattered.

  “What was that?” Ryuji asked.

  “I’m not certain,” said Kiyoko, sliding her feet cautiously in the direction of the broken item.

  Sora glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll only injure yourself. We must keep going.”

  “It could be something important.”