Inari said, "Where do you want to go now?"
"Here," her child replied. "Here, and then home. Will you let me do the working?"
Inari paused. She was not yet accustomed to sharing her self with this other. Was this what it had been like for Seijin, living with whispers in the head? Seijin had gone mad, she reminded herself.
"It's only for another eight months," the child reassured.
Inari shivered. "Do the working."
She felt two vastnesses drawn together by the thin red thread that was her body. She became, for a moment, the glowing chasm between continents, then blacked out as they came together and overlapped. When she regained consciousness, she was still standing on the steps of the Shadow Pavilion and the child seemed pleased.
Inari looked around her. "What happened?" But she already knew. A tide of long, sweet grass lapped the pagoda steps. It was still twilight, but the storm clouds had gone, leaving the taste of rain in their wake. A single star hung in the water-colored sky and there, not far away, was the scimitar crescent of the new moon, visible from all worlds except Hell. A flock of birds sailed around the summit of the pagoda, now smaller, yet not diminished. It looked—solid. The crack that had run up its length had disappeared and the pagoda's structure could now be seen, made not from shadows but from oak and stone. It looked like an old family fortress, the sort of place that might one day be a home.
Within, the child radiated assent. "It will do."
The birds wheeled, flying westward, and now Inari could see that they were not birds after all, but spirits: all those whom the Shadow Pavilion had imprisoned, set free for their long journey to Heaven or Hell.
"And you?" the child asked. "What would you do now?"
Inari gave a shaky smile and touched a hand to her stomach. "I think we'd better go and find your father."