The Keeper of Night (The Keeper of Night #1)(41)

I was about to throw myself to the ground and beg for her forgiveness when she started to laugh.

At least, that was how I interpreted the dry, grating sound that came from the darkness.

“You may not have the face of a Shinigami,” she said, “but perhaps you have the soul of one.”

I let out a breath of relief, my whole body suddenly warm. No one had ever paid me a higher compliment than that.

“We do not entertain tourists in Yomi,” Izanami said. “You can pledge yourself to me, body and soul, as my eternal servant, or you can leave and never return.”

“Yes,” I whispered, rising up as much as the crushing power of Death allowed, “yes, I will serve you.” I thought of the Shinigami on the shore, his crimson robes, his perfect, elegant power.

“Serving me is a privilege,” Izanami said. “You served Reapers for one hundred years instead of me. Now you must prove your worthiness.”

“I’ll do anything,” I said.

Izanami said nothing for a moment, as if contemplating something of great importance.

“Come closer,” she said.

Before I could even try to move, the force that had crushed me into a bow dragged me forward. I crawled through the thick mud of darkness, my knees and palms so sweaty that they stuck to the bamboo mats. The closer I came, the stronger the pull of Death and the stench of rot grew. A deep hum vibrated in my ears, like the lowest pedal tone of a church organ. At any moment, my bones would shatter under the immense weight of Izanami’s power. I remembered the story of Izanami’s origin, how her husband had cast his light on her and seen her rotten body eaten by maggots. What must she look like now, so many centuries later?

The pull finally stopped, holding me at some indeterminable place in the darkness. I tensed at the sound of scratching. Somewhere in the dark void, something sharp raked against wood in quick movements.

“There is something you must understand about Japan,” Izanami said above the scratching. “We value harmony, even in death. There must be cooperation between wraiths both above and belowground. That is, the Shinigami and the Yokai. You know about the Yokai, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, the word barely audible.

“When the Yokai devour a soul, it no longer belongs to me,” Izanami continued, the scratching growing louder. “They are allowed one thousand souls between them every day, and the rest are mine. Any more, and the population of Japan begins to decrease rapidly. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said again.

The scratching stopped, leaving only the low hum of Izanami’s power ringing deep in my ears.

“Hold out your hands,” she said.

I extended my hands, palm side up, and waited, trying not to tremble as I imagined a thousand terrible things that Izanami might lay on my palms.

Then something flat and wooden pressed into my hands. A tablet of some sort. As Izanami withdrew her hand, her fingers brushed over mine, bare bones scratching against my flesh.

“This is a list of Yokai who have taken more than their fair share,” she said. “I want you to destroy them. When you do, return to me, and you may serve as one of my Shinigami.”

“And my brother?” I said. I could hardly form the words, my teeth chattering even though I wasn’t cold. “H-he came to Japan with me. He’s a Reaper, he can serve you, too.”

The air went still, the humming in my skull suddenly silent. I’d made a terrible mistake, and Izanami was going to withdraw her offer.

“Japan has opened up its doors,” Izanami said after a moment. “I suppose Yomi can as well, if they are deserving. He cannot be a Shinigami, but perhaps he can serve Yomi in some way.”

I pressed myself to the floor in a boneless and relieved bow. Finally, I had a chance at building a life that I actually wanted. First, I would secure my place in Yomi as a Shinigami, then I would find my mother.

“Thank you,” I whispered into the mat. Then I remembered Hiro and tried to sit up, my arms too weak against Izanami’s force to support me. “I was helped here by one of your Shinigami,” I said. “His name is Hiro.”

Izanami said nothing, the weight of Death suspended in the air as the moment stretched out longer and longer.

“I have no such Shinigami,” she said at last. “Now go. Do not make me wait for long.”

Then the crushing weight dragged me back toward the door. I scrambled to keep up with the pull, crawling with one damp hand while the other curled around the wooden tablet. My shaking fingers felt the screen door and pulled it open, the weight all but shoving me out the door, where I tumbled into the warm darkness of limbo again. I couldn’t breathe or move, could only clutch desperately to the tablet as the current pulled me through.

The world ripped open and I fell onto cold dirt, the tablet still clutched in my right hand. Without the weight of Izanami’s presence, my bones suddenly felt too light, like I might float off into the dark sky.

“Neven?” I called into the darkness. “Hiro?”

“Ren!”

Neven’s voice broke through the darkness, followed by two sets of footsteps and fingers clumsily patting down my hair and shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat and sitting up. My eyes took a moment to readjust to the darkness and the strange half sight, my vision oddly skewed and dizzy. Hiro stood behind Neven, his eyes unreadable. I remembered how Izanami had denied him and decided not to repeat her words to Hiro, for it would accomplish nothing other than hurting him.