A Mortal Song (7 page)

He dipped into a bow far more graceful than Keiji’s had been, forcing me to do the same. As we straightened up, he took my hand, the tingle of transformation already tickling from his skin over mine. Chiyo’s mouth dropped open as we shifted into our ethereal forms. We’d turned translucent before her eyes. Haru and Keiji were both scanning the rooftop, looking just as disturbed, but for a different reason. Their human vision wouldn’t be able to register our presence at all.

“They’ve disappeared, just like that,” Keiji said. “Now that’s amazing.”

“Don’t be silly,” Chiyo said. “They’re right...” She trailed off as it must have hit her that she was the only one who could still see us.

“You’re kami,” I said, and her gaze darted back to me, startled.

From the look on her face, that was the first moment she started to really believe.

* * *

O
n the sidewalk
outside the school, Chiyo turned to the right with a discrete motion for us to follow her. Haru strode along beside her. Keiji had stopped to unlock a bicycle and now trailed behind, peering at the air around him as he walked his bike, as if hoping if he looked hard enough he’d be able to make us out. Takeo and I brought up the rear of our strange procession.

Even though I’d slept the previous night and it was still early in the afternoon, I felt worn out. Midori adjusted her grip on my hair, her wings fluttering as she gave me an affectionate nudge. I’d been so lost in my reactions to what was happening to
me
, I hadn’t given her much thought.

“Are you all right?” I murmured, directing a thread of concern her way. She answered with a touch of contentment.

“You don’t think it’s hurting her, do you?” I said to Takeo. “Sharing so much of her energy with me?”

Takeo smiled at the dragonfly. “She’s a fine old kami, small as she is. She’s got plenty to spare.”

I supposed Midori wouldn’t have been the one tasked to stay with me whenever I left the mountain otherwise.

The scent of freshly steamed vegetables seeped from the open doorway of a dim restaurant we passed. Next to it, the brightly lit window of a cafe showed off plastic replicas of a vast array of desserts. Chiyo grazed her fingers over them with an avid look, but kept going. A lilting melody whispered through the glass: piano and bass and a woman’s high voice. Human music.

I absorbed it as it carried after us down the street. Mr. and Mrs. Nagamoto had often put on instrumental pieces full of strings and woodwinds, not so different from the songs kami played. Their children had usually worn earphones when listening to music at home, but I had vague memories of pounding beats and screeching guitars. This didn’t sound quite like any of that.

I’d thought I’d known so much about humans after all the time I’d spent in town, but I didn’t really know anything, did I? Nowhere near enough to start living as one myself.

We headed into a quiet residential neighborhood several blocks from the school. Chiyo picked up her pace, and my heart started to beat a little faster. What would they be like—the mother and father who’d raised her in my place? How could I possibly talk to them? Midori send me another wisp of reassurance, but my mouth had gone dry.

Finally, Chiyo stopped outside a beige house surrounded by a low wrought-iron fence. A scuffed red mat lay in front of the door and filmy curtains hid all view of the interior. Chiyo opened the gate. Keiji leaned his bike against the fence.

Takeo glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then nodded to me. We shifted back into corporeal form. Haru flinched, but Keiji just grinned.

“If you can do that, does that mean I can too?” Chiyo asked, cocking her head. “Invisibility would be really useful for dodging questions in class.”

I recognized Takeo biting back a grimace. “It’s how we survive,” he said. “If we couldn’t hide, humans would stumble on us all the time. And we can’t assume all of them would be kind.”

“Is he always so gloomy?” Chiyo asked me. Without waiting for a response, she breezed past us with a swish of her lavender ponytails.

Six days, I thought as we followed her into the house. We had six days to make this girl into a kami focused enough to defeat a demon and an army of the dead.

“Mom!” Chiyo said brightly, kicking off her shoes. “I’ve brought home a couple of kami who want me to save Mt. Fuji.”

A sharp clink sounded from somewhere farther inside, like a dish set down abruptly. A middle-aged woman appeared in the hall. Her searching gaze took in her daughter and the small crowd of us standing behind her. With a twitch of her fingers, she tucked her chin-length hair behind her ears. Hair as thick and straight as mine, by a chin as sharply curved into her slim, pale face. My breath stopped in my throat.

Then I registered her expression. Her eyes and the set of her thin mouth held no surprise or disbelief, only a sort of sad resignation.

I hadn’t given much thought to wondering how aware Chiyo’s adoptive family had been, hadn’t realized I would care, but in that moment the understanding struck me like a blow to the ribs.

This woman had known. She’d known she’d traded one daughter for another. It hadn’t been some secret trade in the dark of night, with my human parents remaining none the wiser.

My birth mother had given me up willingly.

“Well,” she said, her voice strained. Her hands twisted together in front of her. “Well. Would you come in? I’ll make some tea.”

C
hiyo’s mother
—
my
mother, actually, a voice in my head reminded me—insisted that we couldn’t talk until Chiyo’s father got home. She ushered us into the living room and then hurried to the kitchen. The urgent murmuring of her voice into the phone carried through the wall.

I wanted to protest that we had no time to spare, that the mountain couldn’t wait, but the tightness around her mouth as she handed out cups of tea kept those words locked in my throat. Takeo stayed silent as well, though I could see the tension in his sinewy arms as he lifted his cup to his lips.

We couldn’t force Chiyo to come with us. She clearly still had her doubts. If we started pushing her or her parents too hard, I could easily imagine her balking completely.

After a stretch of sipped tea and awkward silence, the front door opened. I braced myself as Mr. Ikeda stepped into view, but there was nothing fearsome about the slight, smooth-faced man who nodded to Takeo and me with a stiffness that contradicted his spoken welcome. Plainly our arrival wasn’t completely unexpected to him either. Both of my human parents had agreed to send me off to Mt. Fuji, to be parted from me for years.

There wasn’t really space for all of us in that small room. Haru, Chiyo, and Mrs. Ikeda were squeezed together on the small couch, and Mr. Ikeda sat in the armchair beside it. I couldn’t help noticing the muscles in his long-fingered hands as he clasped them together, wondering if he was the one who played the piano in the corner. Had my love for music come to me through him?

I squashed down that question and the others tugging at my mind. This wasn’t about me. It was about saving the mountain. What were Mother and Father going through there as this meeting dragged out?

Keiji had dropped onto the piano bench, and Takeo and I stayed standing. Takeo took one last polite sip of his tea and set the cup on the low table in front of the couch.

“I can see you understand why we’re here,” he said, briskly but firmly. “It’s time for Chiyo to come home. The threat her true parents knew she would eventually face has arrived; she must live out her destiny and save Mt. Fuji. The service you’ve done for the kami all these years will be rewarded, I’m sure. I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more forewarning.”

Mrs. Ikeda brought her hands to her face. “I thought—she was supposed to stay with us until she was of age. Twenty years, they said.”

“They hoped the threat wouldn’t appear until after that time,” Takeo said. “Sadly, they were wrong.”

“So it’s true?” Chiyo broke in. “I’m a... a kami?”

“It’s true,” Mr. Ikeda said roughly.

Chiyo laughed. “You don’t even
believe
in kami. We only go to the shrines for the big festivals, when everyone goes. You never said anything.”

“We didn’t want to risk you seeing something that would make you realize, or risk some spirit seeing you and recognizing what you were...” He raked his fingers through his thinning hair. “I was so startled when
I
realized that we’re not alone in this world, that there truly are beings with powers beyond my imagining—I know it must be such a shock for you, to be told you
are
one. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Part of the arrangement was that we had to keep it from you.”

“Powers,” Chiyo murmured. She looked at her palms, and I suspected she was remembering the ball of energy I’d tossed to her an hour ago. Then she shook her head, her smile turning rueful. “It almost makes sense. All my friends would complain about their parents criticizing this and arguing about that, but you let me wear whatever I wanted, go to whatever school I wanted—you didn’t even get upset when I dyed my hair! I thought you were just cool. But you were trying to make up for lying, right? Or—was it because I’m not even really your daughter, for you to boss around in the first place?”

“We’ve tried to be the best parents we could for you,” Mrs. Ikeda said. “As far as our feelings go, you
are
a daughter to us. We never wanted to think about you leaving us someday.”

My arms tightened where I’d crossed them over my chest. Takeo had suggested I could go back to these people, but they didn’t want me. They wanted Chiyo. And why not? She was the daughter they’d watched grow up, that they’d lived nearly half their lives with, not me.

That was fine. I didn’t want them either. I wanted my
real
home, safe and filled with love and music again.

“It seems so crazy!” Chiyo said. “I don’t feel that different.”

“You will,” Takeo said, “when we’ve shown you everything you can do.”

“But why?” Keiji said. He leaned forward on the bench, his bright eyes lit up with fascination as he fixed them on the Ikedas. “Why did the kami pick the two of you out of everyone in Tokyo to take Chiyo in? How did it even happen?”

“It was a favor that needed repaying,” Mr. Ikeda said. “When I was younger than you, my sister became very sick. She’d been in the hospital for months and she was only getting weaker. I traveled to Mt. Fuji to pray, not really thinking it would make a difference, but desperate to do anything I could. It turned out I should have believed. A woman appeared to me and told me she’d seen that the wish in my heart was pure. She offered me water from a spring to give to my sister, so she’d be well again.” The corners of his lips curled into a faint smile. “My sister walked out of the hospital the next day, and she’s never had more than a cold since then. So when the same woman came to us and asked for our help—how could we deny her?”

Mrs. Ikeda touched her stomach. “I think they may have repaid us on top of that. We’d only just started trying, but it was right after we agreed that we found out for sure we were having a child of our own.” She turned to Takeo. “Where is our other daughter? Is she all right? She wasn’t... hurt, by this threat to the mountain?”

The worry etched in her face might have comforted me a little if her words hadn’t sent a cold jab of realization through me. Their sacrifice hadn’t just been twenty years. She and Mr. Ikeda had given up their daughter knowing they might lose me
forever
. Rin herself had said I’d been set up as Chiyo’s stand-in so that if our enemies came for her, they’d find me in her place.

If the attack had happened differently, if I’d been caught up in it instead of able to escape, I might have died. So that Chiyo wouldn’t.
That
was what the deal had really meant. My life to save hers.

My stomach knotted. Takeo opened his mouth to answer, and I jumped in. “She’s safe,” I said. “Chiyo’s parents made sure she was out of harm’s way.”

If they knew it was me, that I was here now, they wouldn’t understand why I was going to leave again. Why I wasn’t happy to see them. But I could hardly bear being in the same room as them right now. I couldn’t handle an argument. It was simpler if they didn’t know.

“They did,” Takeo agreed, glancing at me. “You needn’t be frightened for her. We weren’t able to bring her with us, but you can be sure she’s looked after, and I’ll do everything I can to ensure she returns to you once our mission is finished.”

The back of his hand brushed mine, and I passed a ribbon of ki to him, warm with gratitude. Mr. Ikeda considered the two of us, his lips pressed flat. Could he see through my lie? I didn’t think the family resemblance I’d noticed was so obvious.

He sighed and looked away. “They said, as soon as they took Chiyo from us, we would have our own—our other—daughter back.”

He looked so miserable I felt a twinge of guilt, but I hadn’t made that bargain. And where I went should be up to me, shouldn’t it? From the moment they’d traded away my life, they’d lost any claim to my loyalty.

“No one’s even asked if I’m
going
,” Chiyo said, and everyone’s attention snapped back to her.

“You have to come,” Takeo said. “A sage’s vision has shown that you will be the one to defeat those who threaten the mountain. Your true parents—all of the kami—are depending on you.”

She spread her hands. “How can they all be depending on me when I’ve never even
met
any of them?”

“So what if you’ve never met them?” Keiji said, his voice almost angry. “Your parents did everything they could to protect you, and now you’re going to ignore them when they need you?”

I blinked at him, surprised and impressed by his vehemence. If only Chiyo cared that much.

“I don’t want you to go,” Mrs. Ikeda said to her. “But that’s where you belong—where you’ve always belonged.”

“Okay, okay,” Chiyo said. “Chill out. It’s not like I want people to get hurt. I just don’t see how I’m supposed to take on a whole army or whatever, even if I’m a kami.” She pointed a finger at Takeo and me. “You’re kami, and you couldn’t stop them.”

“Yes.” Haru slipped his hand around Chiyo’s, sitting up straighter. “What you’re asking Chiyo to do is dangerous, isn’t it? Do you know for sure that
she
won’t get hurt?”

When he put it that bluntly, it was hard to answer. Rin’s words echoed in my head.
A vision is not a guarantee.

“So she could,” Haru pressed. “Who’s going to help her fight all those ghosts you talked about—just the two of you?”

“The great sage who foresaw her victory will be helping us,” Takeo said. “We’ll train Chiyo to use her powers, which are considerable even among the kami, and help her gather the Imperial treasures. With them, she should be able to destroy all who threaten the kami.”

“And
you’ll
come with us too, won’t you?” Chiyo said, squeezing Haru’s fingers.

He hesitated, relief, surprise, and uncertainty softening his stern expression in turn. “Of course,” he said.

Takeo’s composure cracked. “We must begin as soon as possible and move as quickly as possible,” he said. “I don’t think there is time—”

“Haru and I go together,” Chiyo said firmly. “And speaking of time, are you talking about leaving
tonight
? I’ll kick some ghost butt if I’m ‘destined’ to, I guess, but afterward—I can come back here, right? I’m not giving up my whole life.”

As if any of us had a choice. My spine stiffened.

“Your true life is as a kami on Mt. Fuji,” Takeo said. “But I see no reason why you couldn’t visit the city from time to time.”

“Visit?” she said. “What about my parents here—what about my friends? I’m going to leave without saying good-bye, and then who knows when I’ll see them again? If I’m fated to save Mt. Fuji, it’ll happen whether we leave now or tomorrow, won’t it?”

“I don’t think you understand how grave the situation is,” Takeo said. “If the kami aren’t released soon, we can’t even know all the consequences the world will face.”

“Chiyo,” Mr. Ikeda started, but she waggled her finger at him.

“I just found out you’re not really my dad,” she said. “You can’t tell me what to do.” But despite her teasing, the glow of her ki was contracting, as if she were pulling into herself. Away from us.

“Then by the words of your true mother and father,” Takeo said. I held up my arm to stop him, my throat tight.

We needed Chiyo to
want
to learn, to want to use her powers. The more demands we made, the more she would resist. If we couldn’t find a point of agreement, then Rin’s prophecy would mean nothing at all.

I looked at Chiyo clutching Haru’s hand, her shoulder leaning against her mother’s. Maybe we’d come at this wrong. The urgency of saving all those kami on the mountain was clear to us, because they were
our
friends and family. We hadn’t considered what mattered most to
her
.

“I don’t know what might be decided after the mountain is saved—about where you could live or who you see—but I do know that it’s not just the kami who need your help,” I said, letting a little of my anguish bleed into my voice. “If our enemies aren’t stopped soon, every living being will suffer. Every human. The people living close to Mt. Fuji most of all, but the harm will spread everywhere, even here. You’ll be saving
everyone
.”

Chiyo stared at me, her eyes wide. Her ki shimmered brighter again. I’d gotten through to her, at least a little.

“And we could start the training right here, couldn’t we?” I went on, turning to Takeo, before she had to respond. “Sage Rin wanted us to teach her the basics before we brought her to the valley—there is a chance we’ll run into more ghosts on the way there, and she’ll need to fight. We can start tonight and perhaps be ready to leave tomorrow. As long as we stay in the house it’s unlikely Omori’s allies will notice us if they’re patrolling the cities too. And that will give her more time to get used to all these ideas before she has to leave the home she’s used to behind.”

“That sounds fair to me,” Chiyo said to my relief.

Takeo’s gaze swept through the room, and I could tell he was thinking this house was not an ideal setting for training. Nonetheless, he gave a resigned nod. “Now that her powers are awakening, it will be much easier for our enemies to identify her. She should know how to defend herself before we risk traveling.”

Chiyo cocked her head. “You know,” she said, “if you’re worried about people noticing us, those really aren’t the best clothes.
Can
you put on other things?”

Takeo eyed his uniform as if it had never occurred to him that there might be a situation it was inappropriate for. “Of course,” he said. “We can wear whatever we like.”

Even as I fingered the fine embroidery of my robe, I remembered how quickly the ghosts we’d encountered in the forest had identified us as kami—and important ones at that.

“She’s right,” I said. “We stand out too much like this. We should find other clothes.” My outfit wasn’t ideal for defensive training either.

“Now that’s a problem I’m happy to help with right now,” Chiyo said, beaming again as she bounded to her feet. “Dad, can you find something that’ll look normal on Takeo here? And Sora, you come with me.” She patted Haru’s arm. “I know you have that thing with your grandfather tonight, but I want to see you first thing in the morning, you hear?”

He nodded with a small smile, and she bobbed up to kiss him quickly. As he headed for the door, Keiji raised his hand to us. “I’m going to duck out for a bit too. My brother will be checking in on me, and I can grab a bunch of my books for preliminary research on ghosts and demons. I’ll be back soon.”