The checkpoint guard was nineteen, maybe twenty, with soft hands that had never swung anything heavier than the spear he held like it might bite him.
Taro knew the type. Farmer's son, probably. Sent to serve the shogunate because his village needed to meet their conscription quota. Give him a year and he'd either toughen up or wash out. Right now, he was just scared and trying not to show it.
"Travel papers." The guard's voice cracked slightly.
Taro pulled out the worn documents he'd carried for fifteen years as a hashiriya. They were legitimate, stamped with seals from a dozen different provinces. Of course, they also had his real name and occupation listed, which could be a problem if descriptions from Magome had made it this far.
The guard studied them with the intense focus of someone who couldn't actually read very well. His lips moved as he traced the characters.
"Courier," he said finally. "But you're not carrying anything."
"Between jobs." Taro kept his voice easy, conversational. "Heading to Mikawa Province. Heard there might be work there."
"Long walk for 'might be.'"
"Better than sitting idle in Edo waiting for work that never comes." Taro shrugged.
"Road keeps a man fed, at least."
The guard seemed to accept this. He turned to Jiro, taking in the monk's robes, prayer beads, and the faint smell of sake that followed him everywhere. "And you?"
"Wandering monk." Jiro bowed slightly. "On pilgrimage to various shrines. Seeking enlightenment. Also avoiding my abbot, who has opinions about my drinking." He grinned his crooked grin. "But mostly the enlightenment thing."
Despite himself, the guard cracked a smile. "My uncle's a monk. Drinks like a fish too. Says it helps him commune with the spirits."
"Your uncle sounds wise." Jiro pulled out his own papers—monastery credentials that were probably forged but looked authentic enough.
The guard glanced at them, clearly not caring much. Monks wandered all the time. Nobody questioned it. "Any weapons besides the short sword?"
"Just this." Taro tapped his blade. "And my devastating wit."
"He's not joking about the wit," Jiro stage-whispered. "It's truly devastating. In the worst way."
The guard's smile widened. He was relaxing now, deciding they weren't threats. Just two more travelers on roads that saw dozens pass through daily. "Go on. Post town's half a mile ahead. Try the inn near the watermill—they're the cheapest."
"Appreciate it." Taro started forward, then paused as if just remembering something.
"Hey, you hear anything about trouble on the mountain passes? Bandits or—" He made his voice casual. "—worse?"
The guard's expression shifted. Not quite fear, but close. "You mean the burned village? Magome?"
Taro's stomach clenched, but he kept his face neutral. "Heard something about a fire, yeah. That near here?"
"Two days north. Whole inn burned down. Some people saying it was bandits. Others—" The guard lowered his voice, glancing around as if the morning air might be listening. "—others saying it was yōkai. That something came down from the high peaks and attacked. Officials aren't saying much, but they've been asking about travelers.
Especially groups of five. One shrine maiden among them."
"Five, huh?" Taro scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "Well, as you can see, there's just two of us. No shrine maidens. Barely enough monk to count as one."
"Hey now," Jiro protested.
The guard laughed again, tension breaking. "Yeah, you're fine. But be careful on the high roads. Something's not right up there this season. Old-timers say the mountain's restless. More yōkai sightings than usual. People going missing." He gripped his spear tighter. "Stay in towns when you can. Don't camp alone."
"We'll keep that in mind." Taro bowed slightly and walked on, Jiro falling into step beside him.
They didn't speak until the checkpoint was well behind them and the road had curved around a stand of cedar trees.
"They're looking for us," Jiro said quietly.
"Not very hard, apparently." Taro glanced back, but the checkpoint was out of sight.
"That guard barely looked at our papers. I could've been carrying a scroll that said 'notorious criminal' and he would've waved me through."
"Border posts are always undermanned this time of year. Harvest season pulls everyone to the fields." Jiro pulled out his sake gourd, took a sip. "But he's right about one thing—the mountain is restless. I can feel it.
Something's stirring in the high places. Building toward... something."
"The trials?"
"Maybe. Or maybe we're not the only ones walking dangerous roads right now." Jiro corked the gourd. "The Flame Bearers have been quiet. Too quiet. They sent bandits after us, sure, but where's the priestess?
Where's their real strength?"
Taro had been wondering the same thing.
The cult had wanted Sora's amulet badly enough to track them through mountain passes and manipulate yōkai. But since the jorogumo village, nothing. No pursuit. No attacks. Just silence.
"Either they lost our trail," he said slowly, "or they're waiting for something."
"My money's on waiting." Jiro's expression was grim. "The trials are getting harder. More dangerous. Maybe they figure the mountain will kill us for them. Save them the trouble."
"Comforting thought."
"I'm full of those."
Tsumago revealed itself gradually as they rounded the final bend—a proper post town straddling the road like it had grown there naturally. Wooden buildings with dark tile roofs. Merchant stalls already opening for morning business. The smell of cooking rice and grilled fish making Taro's stomach clench with hunger he'd been ignoring for days.
The town was built in the old style, all the buildings facing the main road to catch traveler traffic. Daimyo processions must pass through here on their way to Edo, which meant the town's prosperity depended on maintaining good facilities and better hospitality.
"There." Jiro pointed to a building with faded characters painted on its sign. "That's Takeshi's smithy. I'll handle him. You find your merchant contact."
"And if he's not there? Or doesn't remember you?"
"Then I improvise. It's kind of my specialty."
Jiro's grin was all teeth. "Meet back here in two hours. If either of us isn't here by then, assume trouble and get back to the cave."
"Without supplies?"
"Better to run empty-handed than get caught." Jiro's expression turned serious. "If the authorities have our descriptions, staying here too long is suicide. We get what we need and disappear before anyone looks too closely."
Taro nodded. It was a solid plan. Simple. Which meant a dozen things could go wrong, but at least they had a starting point.
They split up. Jiro headed toward the smithy, his monk's robes drawing respectful nods from early-morning shopkeepers. Taro went the opposite direction, toward the merchant quarter where his old contact—if the man was still alive—would be conducting business.
The town was waking up properly now.
Shutters opening. Apprentices sweeping storefronts. A farmer driving a cart loaded with vegetables toward market. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that two fugitives walked among them.
Taro envied them that ignorance.
He found the merchant's shop wedged between a tea house and a fabric seller—a narrow building with a sign proclaiming "Yamada's Fine Goods and Curios." The name was right, at least. Whether this was the same Yamada who'd hired Taro for courier work five years ago remained to be seen.
The shop's interior was cramped, every surface covered with merchandise. Pottery. Scrolls. Jade trinkets. Bronze mirrors. The kind of place that sold to travelers who wanted something "authentic" to bring home, even if half of it was probably made in Edo last month.
Behind the counter, a man who'd grown considerably rounder since Taro last saw him was arranging tea sets. He looked up as Taro entered, his merchant's smile automatically engaging.
"Good morning, sir! Looking for anything particular? I have excellent—" He stopped.
Blinked. "Taro? Five Roads Taro?"
"Hello, Yamada." Taro closed the door behind him. "Been a while."
"Five years!" Yamada came around the counter, his smile genuine now. "I heard you'd retired. Thought you were done with the roads."
"Was. Am. It's complicated." Taro glanced toward the back room. "Anyone else here?"
"Just me. My apprentice doesn't come in until noon, lazy—" Yamada's smile faded as he took in Taro's condition. The mud-stained clothes. The sword worn from hard use. The exhaustion carved into his face. "You're not here for a social visit, are you?"
"No." Taro kept his voice low. "I need supplies. Food, medicine, travel gear. And I need them quietly. No questions, no records of the sale."
Yamada's expression went carefully neutral. "That kind of quiet costs extra."
"I don't have extra." Taro pulled out his money pouch, counted what was left. Twenty-three mon. Barely enough for a decent meal. "I have this. And—" He hesitated. "And information you might find valuable."
"What kind of information?"
Taro took a gamble. "The kind about why the shogunate is asking about travelers. About what really happened at Magome. About things moving in the mountains that officials aren't talking about."
Yamada's eyes sharpened. Merchants dealt in information as much as goods.
Knowledge about bandit movements, yōkai sightings, official crackdowns—all of it affected trade routes and profit margins.
"I'm listening," Yamada said finally.
"First, do we have a deal? Supplies in exchange for information?"
Yamada considered, merchant's instinct warring with curiosity. "Depends on the quality of the information. Give me a taste. Then I'll decide."
Fair enough. Taro chose his words carefully. "Magome burned because of yōkai. A jorogumo, specifically. Ancient one. She'd been trapping and killing travelers for years, maybe decades. Nobody noticed because she made it look like people just moved on. The fire—" He met Yamada's eyes. "—someone finally stopped her. Burned her web. Freed whatever victims were still alive."
"Someone." Yamada's tone made it clear he knew exactly who that someone was. "This someone wouldn't happen to be traveling with a shrine maiden, would they?"
Damn. The man was sharper than Taro remembered. "What makes you ask?"
"Because the descriptions circulating say five travelers. Because a merchant I know swears he saw a shrine maiden with a jade amulet passing through two weeks back. Because—" Yamada leaned closer. "—
because I've been hearing stories. Rumors. About pilgrims walking an impossible road toward Hōrai-ji. About trials and tests and cultists in red cords hunting for something powerful."
Taro's hand drifted toward his sword hilt.
"Relax." Yamada held up his hands. "I'm not turning you in. Bad for business, frankly. If you're fighting yōkai and cultists, you're doing work the shogunate should be handling but isn't. And—" His expression softened slightly. "—you saved my son once. Remember? Delivered medicine when no other courier would risk the winter passes. He's thirteen now. Healthy. Because of you."
Taro did remember. A desperate run through a blizzard, carrying a package he'd been told contained medicine for a dying child. He'd nearly frozen to death but made the delivery. Hadn't thought about it since.
"So we have a deal?" he asked.
"We have a deal." Yamada moved to the back room, returning with a large canvas pack. "I'll give you rice, dried fish, vegetables, medicine for fever and infection, fresh waterskins, rope, oil for lamps. That cover what you need?"
"More than. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Yamada started loading the pack. "Information is a two-way street. Tell me what you know about what's coming. The mountain's been strange all season—more attacks, more disappearances, more sightings of things that shouldn't exist. Merchants are getting scared. Trade routes are suffering. What's really happening up there?"
Taro debated how much to reveal. Decided Yamada had earned honesty. "Something old is waking. The trials—they're not random yōkai attacks. They're tests. Part of a ritual that started years ago. And the Flame Bearers want to control it. Use it for—" He shrugged. "—I honestly don't know what.
Power, probably. They always want power."
"And you're trying to stop them?"
"We're trying to survive long enough to reach the temple. After that—" Taro smiled without humor. "—after that, we'll see what happens."
Yamada finished packing, added an extra bundle of rice. "Here. And take this—" He pressed a small leather pouch into Taro's hands. Inside were silver coins. Enough for a month's supplies. "Before you refuse, it's not charity. It's an investment. You kill cultists and yōkai, my trade routes stay open. Simple economics."
"Yamada—"
"Take it. And if you survive this insanity, come back sometime. Tell me the full story. I'll buy the sake." He grinned. "Good sake, not the swill that monk of yours probably drinks."
Taro took the money and the pack, feeling the weight of both. "If we survive, I'll take you up on that."
"When you survive." Yamada walked him to the door, glanced outside to make sure no one was watching. "Be careful, Five Roads. Whatever's happening on that mountain—it's bigger than you think. Bigger than yōkai and cultists. I've been hearing things from other merchants. Reports from all over the province. Shrines finding their offerings burned. Priests having visions. Stone markers being found toppled or defaced."
His expression was troubled. "It feels like something's building. Like the world's holding its breath before a storm breaks."
"Comforting as always, merchant."
"Just telling you what I'm seeing." Yamada gripped his shoulder briefly. "Watch your back. And watch that shrine maiden. If she's carrying what I think she is—a lot of people are going to want it. Not all of them wearing red cords."
Taro left the shop with more questions than he'd arrived with, the pack heavy on his shoulders and Yamada's warning heavy in his thoughts.
He found Jiro waiting at their meeting spot, looking pleased with himself. The monk had acquired two new packs—both bulging with supplies—and what looked like a new traveling staff wrapped in oiled cloth.
"Success?" Taro asked.
"Takeshi remembered me. And after some negotiation—" Jiro's grin was wicked. "—he agreed to provide supplies in exchange for some spiritual services I'll perform next time I'm through. Blessing his forge, cleansing his shop of bad luck, the usual."
"You know how to do any of that?"
"Not remotely. But he doesn't know that."
Jiro hefted one of the packs. "Got food, first aid supplies, and—" He patted the wrapped staff. "—three iron-tipped spears. Not fancy, but better than trying to stab fog with regular steel. Also got these—" He pulled out paper talismans. "—fresh stock. Takeshi's wife does calligraphy as a hobby. These might actually work, unlike my usual scribbled garbage."
"You're full of surprises, monk."
"I contain multitudes. Mostly sake, but some useful skills too." Jiro's expression turned serious. "We should move. I saw shogunate officials near the main checkpoint. They were showing something to guards—looked like sketches. Our descriptions, probably."
"Agreed. Let's—"
"You there! Stop!"
Taro's blood froze. He turned slowly to see three men approaching—not guards, but something worse. They wore nondescript traveling clothes, but Taro recognized the way they moved. The careful positioning. The hands near concealed weapons.
Hunters. Professional ones. And they were looking straight at him and Jiro.
"We need to have a conversation," the lead man said. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "About some friends of ours you might have encountered on the mountain."
Behind him, his companions spread out, blocking escape routes.
Taro's hand found his sword hilt as his mind raced through options, none of them good.
This was about to get complicated.