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Forty-Three

Fan was standing on the edge of the precipice, gazing out across Hell. She had been there for some time now, and Inari was by no means sure what the scarred woman was seeking. Perhaps it was some kind of meditative practice, but Fan seemed dangerously exposed on the lip of the rock. The perpetual wind caused her robes to stream out behind her like a banner of fire and ash, and her hands were upraised as if to catch the wind. Far below, all the way to the dark horizon, the lights of the port city of Hell guttered and burned.

Fan had told Inari to stay behind in the cave, but Inari had grown tired of being cooped up, and tired, too, of being told what to do, so she had crawled up the narrow passage into the last of the light, and now struggled against the wind to where Fan was standing. She did not want to startle the woman and make her fall, though it seemed to Inari that nothing very much would alarm Fan. She stepped onto the rocky ledge and called, "Fan? It's me. Inari."

The scarred woman did not turn her head. She called back, "Inari? It is coming." It was as well that Inari had a demon's hearing, for the words were snatched and swallowed by the wind.

"What?" Inari asked, bewildered. "What's coming?"

Fan lowered her hand in the direction of Hell and spoke a single word. An arc of smoking flame shot from the palm of her hand, rending the windy air. As Inari came to stand beside her, something fluttered out of the wild darkness and came to rest on the tip of the flame. Fan began to draw the flame back into the palm of her hand, like someone reeling in a fishing line, murmuring as she did so in a swift, urgent mantra. Soon, the fire was gone, and a soot-black thing crouched in the centre of Fan's scarred hand.

It was small, and covered in oily dark feathers. It had no eyes. Its toothed beak gaped for air, and the talons of its four feet settled around Fan's fingers with the grip of a vice.

"My messenger," Fan said. "Now, quickly, back inside. Creatures such as this attract attention so far from the city, and they don't ride the storm alone." She cast a swift, wary glance up into the racing sky. "I told you to stay inside."

"I'm sorry," Inari said. "I—"

"It doesn't matter. We have to get below ground." Firmly, Fan grasped Inari's arm and led her back along the lip of rock towards the entrance of the cave. The messenger clung shrieking to her shoulder, talons splayed, and Inari could see thin, red bars of blood creeping out from beneath Fan's robe.

"It's hurting you," she said in dismay

But Fan only echoed, "It doesn't matter." She shoved Inari towards the entrance. Inari had to bend her head to duck under the rock. As she did so, she looked up and what she saw nearly made her fall down the stone steps.

Something was passing overhead. It was immense. Its body was too vast to be seen properly, but she caught a glimpse of a coiling, rolling back. Spines drew down lightning from the upper skies, illuminating the span of its scales. Its thick lips were drawn back in a permanent snarl, concealed by the clouds of its breath, and a single crimson eye like a sun swiveled in the direction of the ground.

"Get in," Fan hissed, and kicked at Inari's fingers. The edge of her boot only grazed Inari's hand, but it was enough to make Inari lose her paralyzed grip and stumble. She fell heavily to the stone floor on her hands and knees, and was joined a moment later by Fan and the messenger.

"That was one of the wu'ei," Inari heard herself say. Her shaking arms gave out at that point and she collapsed onto her face. The floor felt cool against her skin, and reassuringly solid. Fan's hand reached out to grip her shoulder.

"Get up," the scarred woman said gently. "Do not forget what you have just seen, Inari. It is you whom the wu'ei are looking for. This is why I told you to stay below. You'll be safe here, underground beneath the dome of the old devil's skull, but outside it is a different story. Now rise, and let us see what my messenger has to say."

 

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Framed