“As I invite you,” the kami in black said. “For Kunitoko has painted a masterpiece in you.”
The kami blushed as she pulled her white robe tighter around her. The warmth of the feeling shut out the swirling cold of the mist.
“Izanami and Izanagi,” Kunitoko nodded. “The kami who invite creation. I’m eager to see what you will paint.” He clapped the kami on the black shoulder of his robe. “Go ahead and begin, Izanagi.”
Izanagi stepped toward the river, the spear dripping with golden possibility.
“Up here,” said Ameno, and Izanagi startled at his voice. He stepped onto the planks of the bridge, the gems clinking against the side of the spear in an out-of-tune harmony. “You can see everything from here.”
Izanami followed them onto the bridge, her eyes cast down toward the swirling mass of fog. It was cold here, dark and oppressive. She wanted space, light. Warmth. Yes, more of the warmth she’d felt when Izanagi had smiled at her.
Izanagi reached the spear over the side of the bridge, as if he were fishing. He pressed the naginata into the waters, the blade rattling as the current threatened to dislodge it from the shaft of the spear. The gems tossed back and forth in the foam, their lights blinking in and out like fireflies. The lights lifted into the air as Izanami thought it, lightning bugs of sapphire and azure and gold.
“It won’t budge,” Izanagi grunted, pressing against the waters. “The chaos is thick and immovable.” The blade shuddered in the current. Izanami tensed; if the blade was lost, nothing could be painted. Only shadow and ink would remain forever.
She stepped forward, resting her hands upon his. The softness of his skin filled her with warmth again, the press of her fingers molding against his. This was what it was to be alive, she thought. Izanagi looked at her, his eyes softening, his grip on the staff loosening under her touch.
Together they moved the heavens, swirling the chaos in a mass of churning ink. The fog pressed back, the light of the hundreds of risen fireflies gleaming in the sky. The sudden light blinded Izanami, and she threw her hand up to shield her eyes. They had turned to stars, lighting the darkness in a ceiling without end. Below, the reed leaf had risen from the waters, attached to other leaves, to other stems, and to roots. The roots to shoreline, heaving and steaming as it crashed forward from the waters. The bridge was propelled farther into the sky, the land pushed farther below.
Ameno’s eyes crinkled with delight. Kunitoko pressed his fists to his sides as he nodded.
Izanami looked down at the land as it shaped below them into islands. Her mind teemed with ideas for the painting to make it bolder, more fluid. Warmer.
“Will you help me?” Izanagi said, looking at her. Izanami smiled, her glance falling as she looked away from the warmth of his face.
“For all time,” she said.
The golden ink lifted in a flurry of sparks around them.
Yuki raced through Sunpu Park, her knee sock coiling around her right ankle. The shrimp had taken longer than she’d expected to fry the golden color she’d needed. Everything had to be just right. The bentou shifted around in her book bag as she clutched it to her chest. It wasn’t like her to be late for school, especially not today. Katie’d had a meeting with the headmaster over the weekend to discuss the graffiti that she and Yuu Tomohiro had somehow been involved in. Yuki still wasn’t sure what she thought of Yuu, but she felt pretty confident that Katie hadn’t been involved. Tanaka had even told her he’d met them when they’d first arrived that morning—they hadn’t had time to mark up all the chalkboards with giant kanji and awful messages. Either way, Katie hadn’t answered Yuki’s texts, and she was dying to know what had happened. Today of all days she needed to get to school before the bell went.
She rounded the corner to the eastern gate, sliding on the gravel of the Sunpu Castle courtyard as she burst through and turned left. She slid between groups of other students, some bound for Suntaba like her, others wearing the blue-and-green plaid of Katakou School. Some of them were still only wearing their blazers for warmth. She shook her head, glad she’d pulled on her black wool coat. The air held a crisp chill to it that hadn’t been there last week. Fall had come on quickly, and winter wasn’t far behind.
Yuki pushed through the gate, immediately spotting Katie near the front door. It was easy to find her in the sea of students, her blond hair spilling out around the pink plaid scarf wound around her neck. She’d picked it out when they’d been shopping, Yuki promising she’d knit her one like her own when she had time. In truth, she’d started a completely different scarf—a red one, and not meant for Katie. Yuki blushed at the thought, but then pushed the guilt away. Katie would understand.
She raced toward her friend, pressing her book bag into Katie’s startled hands. “Here!” she said, reaching down to pull up her knee sock. The fabric clung to her leg, the cold wind finally blocked.
“I’m glad to see you here,” Yuki puffed as she stood upright and grabbed her bag back. “I thought you might get suspended! When I didn’t hear back from you, I assumed the worst.”
“I’m sorry,” Katie said. “I should’ve texted you back.”
Yuki shook her head. “Is it bad?” She looked around the doorway, and back to Katie’s worried face. “Yuu-senpai isn’t here. Was he suspended?”
A rush of warmth pried the girls apart, and Yuki found herself yelping in surprise. Tanaka shouted a cheerful good-morning, and after a moment it registered that he’d pressed his hand against Yuki’s shoulder to stick himself between her and Katie.
Yuki glanced at him as he grinned, his glasses sliding just a little down his nose from the impact. His deep brown eyes gleamed as he turned to meet her glance. How many times had she searched his eyes? she wondered. They’d gone to different schools until junior high school, but they’d always lived only a couple streets away from each other. He’d had that same gleam in his eyes when he’d passed her house in his kindergarten uniform, his straw hat pressed too far down on his mop of curly hair. He’d had that gleam when his family came over for tea so their mothers could discuss elementary school choices and entrance exams. He’d pulled funny faces at her while she’d pressed her lips together as tight as possible so her mother wouldn’t scold her again for giggling. When no one was looking, long after Yuki’s mom had strongly reminded her that the refreshments were for the guests, he’d slipped her the last cookie under the table. His curly hair was gone now, cropped short and spiked on his head, but the gleam in his eyes was still there, Yuki thought. He was always full of a warmth that flooded through her when she looked at him.
It wasn’t that he was always cheerful. He joked a lot at school, but walking home together from junior high, and now from Suntaba, he’d get quiet, thoughtful, his mood as deep as his eyes. She wanted more of that warmth from him, the way he made her feel that only she could swim in the ocean of his thoughts. The feeling that everything would always be all right as long as he was near her.
She tried to ignore how warm his hand felt on her arm as she pretended to jump back from his reach. “You can’t go around terrorizing people in the morning, Tan-kun!” she said, burying her face deeper into the coils of her scarf. He hadn’t noticed her reaction, had he? She wanted him to, but she also didn’t. Things were so complicated between them. They’d always been together. How did he feel now? Like she was a sister, or did he feel what she did? She was frightened to ruin it, that he’d turn his back on her and go his own way, and then she’d be alone, split in half by the loss of him. Yuki blinked at how serious it sounded in her head, but that was the way it was with Tanaka. She couldn’t remember a time they weren’t side by side. It was like the vine of him had wrapped around her heart and bloomed into a hundred flowers overnight, when