The Twelve Kingdoms: Shadow of the Moon Read online

  The Twelve Kingdoms

  Shadow of the Moon,

  a Sea of Shadows

  by Fuyumi Ono

  translated by Eugene Woodbury

  Part I

  pitch black world. The girl cowered in the darkness. From somewhere came the high, clear echo of a drop of water striking the surface of a calm pool. A cave, she imagined at first, except that she knew she was not in a cave. The darkness was too wide, too far, too deep.

  A crimson light blossomed in the distance. The flames flickered and twisted, shifted in shape and form. The conflagration climbed higher, casting long shadows into the heavy gloom, the shadows of a countless horde of beasts, beasts that leapt and pranced as they ran from the fire. Apes, rats, birds, every kind and species of creature, and none the same as you should find in a children's book, their torsos too large, their coats colored red and black and blue.

  They whirled like dervishes, reared and raked the air with pawing forelegs. It made the girl think of Carnival and people whipping themselves into an ecstatic fervor. But even as they danced and spun, their attention remained focused on her, the sacrifice they would bear joyously to the altar.

  Four hundred yards away from her and their mad and murderous intent beat against her like a hard wind. The monster at the head of the mob opened its wide maw in a jubilant howl.

  She heard nothing.

  Only the sound of a drop of water breaking the quiet surface of a pond.

  She could not tear her gaze away from the rushing shadows. When they reach me, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, they will slaughter me. Tear her limb from limb, gnaw on her bones. But she could not move. There was no shelter to seek, no way to defend herself. The blood rushed in her veins, roared like the ocean in her ears.

  In the time she watched the stampede had pressed another hundred yards closer.

  Youko awoke with a start. She blinked the stinging sweat out of her eyes, took a deep breath.

  "A dream . . . " she said aloud.

  Hearing her own voice confirmed that she was indeed awake. She could not relax until she knew for sure. "It was a dream," she said again. A dream. A dream that had plagued her for weeks.

  Youko turned her gaze around the room. The heavy curtains shut out the light. The clock on the bedside stand told her it was almost time to get up. She should, except her body felt like a slab of lead, her arms and legs as if mired in tar.

  The dreams started a month ago. In the beginning she had seen nothing but the empty darkness, heard nothing but falling water. She stood in the pitch black, the awful panic growing inside her, desperate to run away, run anywhere, but frozen in place.

  Five nights ago she had awakened, screaming inside, haunted by the red glow and the shifting shadows and the black stain flowing inexorably closer. For the last three nights, she had understood the nature of the fearsome things running from the inferno.

  Two days. It had taken two days for the strange beasts to separate themselves from the shadows. She picked up her old rag doll and hugged it to her chest.

  They were so close.

  In a month they had crossed the distance from the horizon. Tomorrow, or the day after, they would be at her throat.

  What would she do then?

  Youko shook her head.

  It's only a dream.

  If the dream returned again and again for another month or more, it was still only a dream. But saying so did not calm the fear in her heart. Her pulse raced, her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her breath burned at her throat. She clung to the rag doll as if to life itself.

  She roused her body from the bed. She put on her high school seifuku uniform, went downstairs. No matter how bad things got she managed the customary things. She washed her face and walked into the kitchen.

  "Morning," she said.

  Her mother was at the sink, making breakfast. "You're up already?" She glanced back over her shoulder as she spoke. A look of concern crossed her face. "You're getting red again," she said.

  For a moment, Youko had no idea what she was talking about. Then she hurriedly pulled her hair back from her forehead. She usually braided her hair before she came down to the kitchen. She had combed it out the night before and had left it undone.

  "Why not dye it, just to see how it turns out?"

  Youko shook her head. Her hair brushed against her cheeks. From the start her hair had been unusually auburn for a Japanese. Exposure to the sun and water only washed out more of the color. Her hair now reached the middle of her back. The ends were so light they looked pink.

  "Maybe if you trimmed it a bit?" her mother pressed.

  Youko didn't answer. She bowed her head, quickly twisting her hair into three braids. Doing so darkened the tint somewhat.

  "I wonder what side of the family you got it from," her mother mused with a grim little sigh. "You know, your homeroom teacher asked me the same question. He even wondered if you were adopted. Imagine that! He thought it'd be a good idea if you dyed it, too."

  Youko said, "Dyeing your hair is against the rules."

  Her mother busied herself with the coffee. "Then get it cut. At least it won't stand out so much." She said in her matter-of-fact voice, "A girl's reputation is what matters most. She shouldn't draw attention to herself or give anybody reason to question her character. It's not the kind of thing you want happening to you, that's all I'm saying."

  Youko studied the kitchen table.

  "You know how people look at your hair and raise an eyebrow. Stop at the salon on your way home from school today and get it cut. I'll give you the money."

  Youko groaned to herself.

  "Did you hear what I just said?"

  "Yeah."

  Youko stared out at the charcoal-gray day brightening outside the window. It was the middle of February. The winter sky was cold and wide and cruel.

  Chapter 2

  Youko attended an ordinary high school. Other than it being a private girl's school, nothing exceptional could be said about it.

  The school was her father's decision. She had done well in junior high and had aimed her sights higher. Her junior high guidance counselor had recommended a better school. But her father did not budge an inch. The school was close to home, had neither a disreputable nor controversial reputation. It prided itself as strict and traditional and that was enough.

  At first, even her mother was disappointed with the rank of the school. After all, she had followed the results from Youko's high school practice exams. But he soon had her agreeing with him. Once her mother and father agreed on anything there was no room left for argument on her part.

  She could have qualified for a better school a bit farther away. Among other things it had much nicer uniforms. But it didn't feel right to make a big fuss based on the style of a uniform, so she kept her mouth shut and did as she was told.

  As a result, now well into her junior year, she possessed little of what might be called "school spirit."

  "G'morning!"

  A bright trio of voices greeted Youko as she entered her homeroom. The three girls waved to her from across the room.

  One of the girls hurried over to her. "Hey, Youko, you got the math assignment done, right? Let me see it, could you?"

  Youko made her way to her desk by the window. She retrieved the assignment from her satchel. Several more girls quickly gathered around and set about copying down her answers.

  "You're such a good student, Youko. No wonder you're class president."

  Youko shook her head self-consciously.

  "No, really! I hate homework! It's all in one ear and out the other."

  "Yeah, me too. The second I start thinking about it, I don't unders
tand a thing. It's like watching paint dry. Puts me to sleep. I wish I was smart like you."

  "I bet you didn't even have to crack the book."

  "No, it's not like that at all."

  "You really like to study, huh?"

  "Don't be silly." Youko made a show of being outraged at the remark. "It's my mom, she's always on my case."

  It wasn't true. Her mother wasn't strict at all about schoolwork. But it was best to go with the flow. "She checks my homework every night," Youko lied. "I can't stand it."

  The truth was the opposite. If anything, Youko's bookishness annoyed her mother. It wasn't that she didn't care whether her daughter got good grades or not, it simply wasn't a priority. "If you've got time to study all day, then you've got time to do your chores, too." That was her favorite saying these days.

  And it wasn't that Youko cared for studying, either. The simple truth of the matter was, the disapproval of her teachers terrified her.

  "That bites, checking your homework every night."

  "I know, I know. My parents are the same way. They expect to see me studying every waking minute. No normal person can stand studying that much!"

  "Totally."

  Youko nodded, if only from relief that she was no longer the topic of conversation.

  Behind her someone said in a stage whisper, "Hey, it's Sugimoto."

  The gaze of everyone in the room lit upon the girl who had just come in, and in the same instant fell away. A wave of cool aloofness washed into the void. Over the past six months shunning Sugimoto had become the sport of those in that class who mattered. Sugimoto stared back for a moment, a deer caught in the headlights, then shuffled over to where Youko was standing. She sat down at the desk to her left.

  "Good morning, Youko," she said.

  She spoke politely. Youko started to answer, only as a reflex, then choked off her reply. Once, not long ago, she had inadvertently exchanged pleasantries with Sugimoto. Afterwards her classmates had piled scorn upon her.

  So she said nothing, acted as if Sugimoto weren't there at all. The other girls began to titter. Sugimoto bowed her head but did not look away. Youko felt her eyes on her. To hide her discomfort she made a show of engaging in the patter of conversation.

  She might feel sorry for Sugimoto, but go against the rest and the next time she'd be "it."

  "Um . . . Youko?"

  Youko pretended not to hear. She knew what she was doing was heartless but she could not comprehend any other recourse.

  Sugimoto persisted. "Youko," she said.

  The conversation stopped. As one, the circle gathered around Youko's desk turned its attention on the girl. Youko could not fail to follow suit and found herself meeting Sugimoto's upturned gaze.

  "Did . . . did you finish the math assignment?"

  The timidity in the girl's voice launched the circle into another fit of giggles.

  Youko struggled for an appropriate response. "I . . . sort of, I guess."

  "Could you let me see it, please?"

  The math teacher always assigned a student to explain the previous night's homework assignment. It occurred to Youko that Sugimoto's turn was coming up today. She glanced around the circle. No one said a thing. They answered her with the same hard looks they reserved for Sugimoto. Youko understood at once that they were waiting to see how she was going to rebuff Sugimoto's plea.

  Youko swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "I . . . I still need to check it over for mistakes."

  The roundabout refusal did not impress her companions. "Oh, Youko," one of them piped up, "you're such a pushover."

  A voice filled with disapproval and reproach. Youko cringed inside. The rest of the group chimed in.

  "You've got to be more direct than that, Youko."

  "She's right. A person in your position can't leave any room for doubt."

  "Else you'll end up surrounded by idiots who can't take no for an answer."

  Youko had no idea what to do. She lacked the courage to openly betray their expectations. At the same time, she lacked the disciplined indifference required to hurl at the girl the kind of words they wanted to hear. Finally she responded with a nervous laugh.

  "I'm sure . . . . "

  "It's true! You're too nice all the time. That's why nobodies like her are always glomming onto you."

  "But I'm class president."

  "That's why you've got to stick to your guns. You've got real responsibilities, after all. You can't get distracted by every pest that comes along."

  "I suppose."

  "That's right." A thin, wicked smile creased the girl's lips. "Besides, if you give Sugimoto your notes, she'll get them all . . . dirty."

  "Yeah, you wouldn't want that."

  The circle dissolved into another round of vicious mirth. Youko joined in the laughter. But not before she noticed out of the corners of her eyes the girl's bowed head, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  It's her fault too, she instructed herself. People like her don't get picked on for no reason. There's always a reason. They bring it on themselves.

  Chapter 3

  Within the infinite dusk there was no heaven, no earth. Only the high, hollow sound of each falling drop of water. In every direction she could see the thin, crimson glow, the writhing shadows, the strange beasts galloping towards her.

  Less than two hundred yards separated them. Their sheer size collapsed the distance further. There was a monkey amongst the menagerie, its mouth agape in silent, raucous laughter, its fur glistening in the red light . . . it was so close that with each leap and bound she could see the flex and draw of sinew and muscle.

  She stood rooted, dumb and immobile. As much as she tried to avert her gaze she could only watch the cavorting menagerie. The smell of death was thick on the wind and it choked her.

  I must wake up.

  She had to rouse herself from the dream before they reached her. Even as she repeated the mantra to herself, she couldn't think of any way to do so. If will alone was enough, she would have done it already.

  While she stood there helplessly the distance between them was halved again.

  I must wake up.

  A frantic desperation possessed her. The panic coursed through her body, crawled along her skin. She gulped for air. Her heart pounded, her blood thundered in her ears.

  What happens if I can't escape?

  In that same moment she felt a presence above her head. A crushing bloodlust descended upon her. Yet for the first time in the dream she found that she could move. She looked up at tawny wings, limbs of the same color. Scaly feet tipped with razor-sharp claws. She didn't have time to contemplate escape. An ocean roar filled her body.

  She screamed.

  "Youko!"

  She fled. She did not think about how to escape. Her body simply fulfilled the desire. She bolted and ran. Only afterwards did she stop to take in the landscape around her.

  And the startled look on her teacher's face, the wide eyes of her classmates.

  She was standing several steps back from her desk. It was the middle of English class. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, then reddened with embarrassment.

  A beat, and a gale of laughter swept the room.

  She had fallen asleep. The dreams had turned her into an insomniac. She often found herself nodding off at school. But the nightmares had never visited her before in the daytime.

  Her teacher strode towards her. Youko anxiously bit her lip. She usually had no problems getting along with her teachers, but for some reason this one resisted. No matter how accommodating and subservient Youko tried to be, her English teacher remained stubbornly antagonistic towards her.

  The teacher tapped on the desktop with the corner of the textbook. "I accept that a student will try to steal a few winks in one of my classes now and then, but this is a first, Miss Nakajima. Will you bring a pillow to school next time? I'd hate to think that our uncomfortable desks should cause you so much distress."

  Youko bowed her head and re
turned to her desk.

  "Of course, one has to wonder what you think school is for? Silly me, believing that students should do their sleeping at home. Then again, if you find your classes so tiresome there's no need for you to show up at all, is there?"

  "I . . . I'm sorry."

  "Or are you perhaps too busy at night to get any sleep at all? Is that it?"

  The remark produced an eruption of laughter, some of it from her friends. Youko even heard a restrained giggle from Sugimoto.

  The teacher casually picked at Youko's braids. "Your hair, it's naturally this color?"

  "Yes."

  "Really? A friend of mine in high school, she was a redhead, too. More so than yours, even. You remind me of her." She smiled to herself. "During her senior year, she ended up in juvenile court and had to drop out. Whatever became of her? Ah, it was such a long time ago . . . . "

  Stifled laughter rippled around the room.

  "So, are we ready to starting paying attention, Miss Nakajima?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "In any case, you'd better stand there for the rest of the class, to help you stay awake." She sniffed to herself, quite amused at her half of the exchange, and paced back to the front of the room.

  Youko stood by her desk for the remainder of the hour. The muffled laughter never did completely die down.

  Her performance in English class was duly reported. That afternoon she was called down to the office for a grilling about her personal life.

  The vice-principal was a middle-aged man with a perpetually furrowed brow. He said, "In fact, a number of teachers believe you might be engaging in some, ahem, extracurricular activities. Can you think of anything in that regard that might be relevant to your recent behavior?"

  "No." It was neither the time nor the place to start explaining about her dreams.

  "So you're staying up late, say, watching television?"

  "No, I . . . . " Youko grasped for a good excuse. "I . . . my midterm exam scores, they weren't so good."