The Keeper of Night (The Keeper of Night #1)(40)

It felt like I’d jumped into a warm and lightless sea, my body weightless in the never-ending night. An invisible current pulled me through until I broke the surface and the void spat me out on wooden floors.

The darkness in the palace dulled my Shinigami senses. I could barely make out the shape of paper doors in front of me, painted with golden mountain ranges and red waterfalls. I pressed a hand to the doors, where voices murmured behind the screen. The painted scenery revealed itself to my mind under the touch of my fingers—images of Izanami looking off a heavenly floating bridge into the unborn world, Izanagi by her side among the clouds, the beginning of their ancient story before everything would one day be ruined.

The door slid open on its wooden track and I yanked my fingers away.

“The Goddess wishes to see you,” the guard’s voice said from somewhere above me.

I rose to my feet and tripped over a lip in the wooden floor. I felt my way through the doorway, barely one step inside when the doors slammed shut, leaving me in complete darkness.

Here, my Shinigami senses found only solid darkness in all directions. It bruised my bones with its immense weight, pulsing behind my eyes with the crushing pressure of the ocean’s depths. As I took another step away from the door, the darkness forced me to my knees. I tried to get to my feet but could only crawl forward with trembling limbs, as if fighting gravity itself just to exist.

“Speak,” a voice said, nearly pinning me to the floorboards with its force. This was not only the language of Death, but the voice of Death herself.

I had never met a Death God before. Even in London, I’d never met our forefather, Ankou, for I’d never had a reason to. And yet, here I was, in a foreign land, kneeling before the woman who had built Japan herself, who had created Death for these people and kept the souls of all the dead in her belly. I folded forward until my hands and forehead pressed to the ground in a crushing bow.

“My name is Ren,” I said in Japanese. “My father is a Reaper and my mother is a Shinigami. I’ve come here to find her and live in the land where I was born.”

Izanami did not reply. The seconds stretched out, my breath loud against the floor, my forehead damp with sweat.

“Show me your face,” came the reply. The words scraped through my ear canals, the sound of torn and rotten vocal cords a thousand years dead.

I peeled my forehead from the floor and lifted my face, staring into the blackness.

“You are no Shinigami,” the voice said. “You have the face of a Reaper.”

Then the hands of darkness shoved me back to the ground, my face pressed once more against the mat.

“I am a Shinigami,” I said, even though the words trembled. If there was any one truth in my life, it was this. It was what I’d been told my whole life. It was the reason I’d had to flee my home. I had to be a Shinigami because if I wasn’t, then I was nothing at all.

“My Shinigami live and die in Yomi,” the voice said, “but you’ve come from afar. Why do you return to me now, expecting hospitality?”

I swallowed and wished Neven were here. Not only for comfort, but to force me to pretend I was brave.

“I can no longer live in England,” I said.

“Speak louder, girl.”

“They wanted to kill me!” I said, my hands curling into fists against the mat. “I was hated there for what I am. They learned of my light powers and would have killed me if I’d stayed. My own father didn’t even stop them. I’ve come to you now because I have nowhere else to go.”

The air in the room had grown warmer, the scent of rot stronger against my tongue.

“I know who you are, Ren of Yakushima,” the voice said at last.

I froze. “Yakushima?” I whispered.

“I know where you are from, and I know your mother. But that does not make you a Shinigami.”

“You know my mother?” I asked, all the air leaving my body.

“She lost her title for her transgressions,” Izanami said. “She is no longer a servant of mine.”

“Do you know where she is now?” I said, unable to stop the words from rushing out, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Yes.”

I held my breath, starting to worry that I might faint from the heat and pressure of the room. If Izanami knew where my mother was, that meant she was still under Izanami’s domain, somewhere in Japan.

“Could you tell me where—”

“Foreigners do not come into my palace and ask favors of me,” Izanami said. “I owe you nothing, do you understand? You aren’t supposed to be in Yomi.”

I wanted to crumble under the harshness of her rebuke, but I forced myself to stay unmoving, my arms trembling on the mat. I’d come this far, and now Izanami planned to banish me from Yomi because she didn’t like my face? I fought against the crushing pull of Death and rose to my forearms, raising my face to Izanami even though it felt like the weight of one thousand universes wanted to crush me back down.

“I am a Shinigami,” I said in Death, so that Izanami would know my words were true. “Yomi is my birthright. I will find my mother on my own if you refuse to help me, but I will not be turned away from my own country.”

In the silence that stretched out after my words, I realized my mistake.

How could I have talked so brashly to Death herself? She could snap my ribs off one by one and grate my skin into ribbons. She could kill me and keep my soul suspended in the ether, then go after my brother.