“Then why—”
He shakes his head. “You claim the gods should love and care for humans. I disagree. I don’t think love can be bought or earned or even prayed for. It must be freely given.”
For once, I don’t jump to argue with him, mulling over his words. “I can respect a belief such as that,” I say finally.
“And I can respect your determination to save your people,” he says. “You won’t accomplish such a feat, but I can respect that you’ll try.”
I scowl. “Mine was a genuine compliment.”
Shin laughs, the sound so unexpected that for a moment, he looks less like the lord of a great house and more like a boy from my village.
The trees begin to thin around us, spaced farther apart. Moonlight slips through the canopy, and Kirin and Namgi extinguish their torches. A glimmer of mist coats the forest floor. Figures robed in red and white move gracefully among the trees.
Our party approaches a small temple; its walls stand open to the forest. A few short steps lead up to an elegant wooden platform where two women wait.
The younger woman glides forward to greet the priestesses who traveled with us from Lotus House. She then turns to Shin, bowing. “We’ve been expecting you, Lord Shin.”
Kirin frowns. “Your sentries notified you of our coming?”
“Our goddess knows all.” This time, it is the older woman who speaks. From her white dress and feathered hat, it’s clear she must hold an honored position among the women. She turns her airy gaze out to the forest. “Look, here she comes now.”
At first, all I see is the deep green of the woods, speckled with small pockets of moonlight. Then movement disturbs the peace. Through the forest comes a white fox, its long, elegant tail split in two. Nimbly, it leaps over a small stream and up the steps of the temple, approaching on padded feet.
The fox’s glittering gaze is riveted on me. She’s so lovely—her eyes amber flecked with pure gold. Her fur is mostly white, with silver around her pointed ears and the tufts of her split tail.
Suddenly the fox lunges forward, her sharp teeth bared.
“No!” the younger priestess screams. At first I think she’s warning of the demon, but then I realize she’s reaching out toward Shin. He’s drawn his sword, the sharp blade angled against the fox’s neck.
The fox’s eyes slide toward him, fiercely intelligent, then it ducks beneath the blade, dodging between us to bite down on the Red String of Fate. The fox gnashes down, wringing and shaking it to the point that if it were a regular ribbon, it would have shredded to pieces. Abruptly the fox pulls back, sitting on its haunches and licking its paw. The Red String of Fate shimmers brightly, undamaged.
“How dare you raise steel against our goddess!” the young priestess hisses.
Before Shin can respond, a voice answers, deep and sonorous. “And why shouldn’t he, to protect what matters most?”
The powerful voice comes from the elder priestess, though her demeanor has changed. When before her eyes were cloudy and dazed, now they shine with an uncanny light—amber with specks of gold.
“You see it, then,” Shin says, his eyes not on the priestess, but on the white fox. “The Red String of Fate.”
“It shines bright.” It’s the priestess again who answers. The fox is speaking through her.
“What do you mean by the Red String of Fate?” Kirin studies the air between Shin and me, which to him must appear empty. “It can’t be…”
The fox moves forward to brush the top of her head beneath the ribbon, a low rumble humming at the back of her throat. “I’ve seen a fate like this before. Many years ago. It is a very dangerous type of fate, one which cannot be severed by any blade.”
“There must be another way it can be broken,” Kirin says.
“The only way to end a fate such as this is if one bearer should die.”
There’s a short pause, then Namgi asks, “So, if Mina dies, then the Red String of Fate will disappear?”
The fox shakes her head, an eerily human movement. “There is a chance that should one die, so will the other.”
Namgi frowns. “But you just said that if one of them should die, the fated connection would be severed.”
“If they both die, then there is no fate.”
“Agh!” Namgi tugs at his hair. “This is why one should never consult a demon, or a goddess for that matter. They never give a straight answer.”
“It’s the same as with the Sea God,” Kirin says, ignoring Namgi. “Instead, it is Shin’s life that is in danger.”