Imurinya disarmed me with her bright gaze, so intent that my heart skipped. I felt certain that I had erred, and that she and Lord Sharima’en would take away the compromise altogether.
“Very well,” said Imurinya at last. “Winter and spring, it is decided. But for this first cycle, you must wait for spring. Winter approaches, and your body needs to heal.”
She lifted one of the rabbits at her feet, and divine light pooled around us, piercing into the mortal realm. Takkan drew a sharp breath; now he could see her.
“The pledge is made,” Imurinya informed him. “Shiori’anma will rejoin the earth every winter and spring, spending half the year with you, and half with me. Come the first moonrise of spring, you will find her on Rabbit Mountain, Bushi’an Takkan.”
Takkan blinked, the only sign of surprise he let slip at the sight of the great immortals. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and bowed his head low. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Thank you, Lady Imurinya. I will be there.”
“Now say your farewells,” said the lady of the moon.
Piece by piece, my spirit reassembled within my body, a tingling sensation flooding every nerve. I lifted my head first, as a test. Then, as the rest of me awoke, I gave Takkan a dimpled grin. That was all it took to erase the sorrow from his face. His eyes went wide with wonder and relief.
“Help me up,” I said, and Takkan’s hand was there in an instant, pulling me gently to my feet.
I saw now that we were no longer alone. My brothers had come, and they hurried forward.
“At least you won’t have to sew when you’re on the moon,” Yotan teased. “Or will you?”
“I doubt the lady would want me ruining her tapestries,” I replied.
“True, true.”
I embraced the twins, then moved on to Reiji. Like me, he would be leaving Kiata soon.
We hadn’t gotten along particularly well during our childhood, and I thought I’d be at a loss for words. Not today. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll miss you, Reiji.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said mildly. “No one else will put cicada husks under your pillow…or dare you to steal snakes from Raikama’s garden. You’ll find yourself in a lot less trouble.”
“So, at last you admit this whole thing was your fault?”
He gave a lopsided grin. “We share equal blame.”
I threw my arms around him, wishing I’d hugged him more when we were younger. “This isn’t goodbye forever,” I said into his ear. “I know you’ll find a way to charm your paper princess into a visit when I’m back.”
Then came Hasho, his wing folded at his side. “I’m glad you asked for winter. Your birthday wouldn’t be the same without you.”
I hugged my youngest brother. He had always understood me best.
“We’ll have a feast ready for you when you return, sister,” said Benkai. “A banquet with all the best dishes, and a sky full of lanterns.”
I laughed. “I’m the one who’s supposed to cook for you all.”
“You will.” Andahai winked. Had I ever seen him wink? “We’ll make a list of our favorite dishes.”
I whirled to him, realizing. “I’ll be an aunt when I return.”
“And hopefully I’ll have a new brother,” replied Andahai. He inclined a nod at Takkan. “Don’t forget, you still have a wedding to prepare for. Maybe the two of you should wed now, lest you get a notion to stay on the moon for good.”
“I won’t.” I exchanged a shy smile with Takkan. “His heart is my home, and—”
“—where you are is where I belong,” he said together with me. He looked down at our wrists, the red strands still visible, their ends knotted. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
His words were all the music I needed to hear, and I blew a kiss as I followed Kiki and Lady Imurinya on a path of moonlight into the oldest legend I knew.
I stood on the brink of the moon, a sea of twilight welling beneath my feet, stars hanging above and below. Though my vantage point was a glorious one, tonight I felt no awe. Only eagerness.
I’d waited six months for this. I wouldn’t waste a second.
“I’m ready,” I whispered.
A trail of silvery moonlight appeared, unspooling over the star-touched folds of heaven. Down and down it led, among fields of clouds soft as freshly fallen snow.
I moved quickly, unable to match the pace of my racing heart. Or Kiki, whose new wings had made her remarkably swift. As she waited for me to catch up, she made a game of threading between the beams of light that shot after us.
Hurry up, you snail! she cried. Spring will be over by the time you make it down to earth. I’ll never get my cakes.
I hurried, smiling wistfully. Kiki adored being a real crane, and she never spoke of her papery past anymore. But sometimes, when she was frightened or lonely, she would still try to fly into my sleeve, forgetting that she was too big. That was how I knew she missed her original form, at least a little.
Together we coasted down the moonlit path until a breeze shot forth, cutting through the stillness of the heavens. Imurinya had told us that the sons of the wind guarded the divide between the immortal and mortal realms. This was where Kiki and I would part.
Remember to bring back cakes, she said, making me promise for the hundredth time. The round rice ones with red bean paste. Mooncakes, too. Imurinya would like that.
“I’ll remember,” I said, pressing a kiss on my little bird’s head. “Don’t cause any mischief for the lady when I’m away.”
Kiki disappeared behind a curtain of moonlight, leaving me alone with the sun and clouds. I had come to the end of the path, but Imurinya hadn’t told me what to do from here.
I bent down, my fingertips caressing a low cloud as it skimmed my ankles. Below, the sun illuminated the world, and I had the view of the gods. In the South, I spied Gen poring over a trove of books, the mirror of truth glimmering at his side. Then across the Taijin Sea, I caught a glimpse of Seryu racing a pod of whales. His horns had grown into a magnificent silvery crown, and his eyes glowed redder than the sun. The Dragon King’s heir, I remembered. I wondered how he had managed that.
He must have sensed me watching, for he tipped his head up and looked straight at me—straight at the moon. For the barest moment, our gazes met, and Seryu gave me an enigmatic smile. Then, without missing a beat, he dove back into the sea, roaring past the whales who’d only just caught up with him.
I clapped, letting out a laugh and watching them disappear beyond the horizon. Then, directly below my feet, the clouds shifted to reveal a familiar two-peaked mountain. I almost didn’t recognize it without its usual dusting of snow, but suddenly my heart was beating so fast I could hardly breathe. And suddenly I knew what to do.