A Mortal Song by Megan Crewe Read Free Book Online Page A

The thick sash and wide sleeves of my robe weighed on my waist and arms. I could have fought the ghosts in their filmy forms while I stayed corporeal, bending my ki and theirs around my solid body, but the fight would be simpler if my clothes weren’t holding me back. I shifted, the lightness that came with my ethereal state sweeping through me.
    “Could be they’re scouts, like us,” the woman said. “D’you think we should take them in? You’ve got the rope, right?”
    The older man patted a bag hanging from his shoulder. The ghosts spread out as if to surround us. “Why are you fighting us?” I asked. “Kami have never done anything to you.”
    “You’ve never done anything for us either,” the young man retorted, and sprang.
    I stepped to meet him, drawing my short sword to block his knife before it could scrape at my spirit. Ki sparked between the ethereal blades. The young man’s knife was smeared with dried blood. On my head, Midori shivered, a wave of revulsion passing from her into me. The blood of a wound, as with any product of sickness or violence, was like poison to kami. As I pressed forward, looking for an opening to use my ofuda, I tried not to notice how little the blood was affecting me .
    I lashed out with a charm, but my opponent ducked, his shirt collar lifting to reveal the edge of an intricate tattoo at the top of his back. He swung at me and I whirled out of the way. We circled each other. He hissed at me through bared teeth, but for all his ferocity, I could tell he had little formal training. Swordplay was a sort of dance, to a music you had to hear in your head, and there were gaps in the rhythm of his movements. Gaps I could slip through. When he wove to the side and then jabbed his knife toward my neck, I dodged and smacked my ofuda against his face.
    The charm hit his nose more than his forehead, but it worked. The lettered strip of bark sank into his ghostly skin, and his form wavered, contracting in on itself. He disappeared with a crackle of ki.
    Across from us, the woman grunted in surprise. Takeo wrenched away her striking hand and swiped at her head with one of his own ofuda. She vanished as quickly as her companion had. Beyond her, the third ghost’s eyes had widened. He spun around and fled through the trees.
    I bolted after him. “Sora!” Takeo called. I couldn’t risk slowing. The ghostly man hurtled straight through trunks and branches it was easier for me to dart around, but that meant he moved faster. The distance between us was growing.
    Frantic, I threw all the energy in me to my feet and hurled myself at him. I slammed into his filmy body, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled over, shielding his face with a hand that was missing most of its smallest finger, the stubby end mottled with scar tissue. I set the tip of my sword at his neck and drew out another ofuda. My chest was heaving, my limbs trembling with the effort I’d just expended, but I couldn’t suppress a small smile of triumph.
    “Why are you following this demon?” I demanded. “What do you hope to gain?”
    Takeo came up behind me. The man’s gaze flitted between us and settled on me. He glared silently. I pressed the sword down with a sharpening of ki. He winced as it pierced his translucent form, but his mouth stayed firmly shut.
    I couldn’t do any real damage with my blade, only cause his spirit pain—and the thought of attempting to torture him the way his people had the kami made me queasy. My mind skipped back to the conversation we’d interrupted. The younger-looking man had mentioned Obon.
    Maybe this one would be less resistant to talking about things he thought I already knew.
    “We’ve heard about your plans for Obon,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “What makes you think you can hold the mountain that long?”
    “Are the two of you going to take it from us?” the ghost sneered. “Omori will crush you in an instant. And when the veil thins, we’ll get what we