by Julie Kagawa
“Forgive me,” she said, dropping into a deep bow as we stopped before her. “I don’t mean to pry, but I must ask—have you, by chance, come from Jujiro? And if you have, I wonder if you have seen a wagon on the road?”
I closed my eyes, as a somber air descended on us all and guilt gnawed the pit of my stomach. “My husband was supposed to have returned last night,” the woman continued, “but he has not yet arrived, and I fear something might have happened to him. Please, if you have any information, I will be in your debt. His name is Roshi, and he drives a one-horse cart from here to Jujiro and back.”
For a moment, there was silence, as each of us wondered who was going to break the news, then Reika stepped forward.
“I am sorry,” she began, and Roshi’s wife’s face crumpled, already guessing the news. “Your husband is dead.”
The woman’s hand rose to her mouth, trembling, before she took a deep breath and lowered it again. “I…I feared as much,” she whispered. “I knew I should have made the journey to pray at the mountain shrine. The kami were merciful when my daughter became sick last season. I should have made the pilgrimage up the Dragon Spine once more. Oh, Roshi.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with both hands.
“I’m so sorry,” I told her. “It was my fault. Roshi was kind enough to offer us a ride to his village. But we were ambushed by shinobi on our way here.”
“Shinobi?” The woman dropped her arms, her face going pale. “I thought that shinobi were myths,” she whispered. “Stories that court nobles told their children. I didn’t know they were real. Oh, Roshi, what did you get yourself involved in?”
Reika shot me an exasperated look, as if I had said something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t understand. If I was Roshi’s wife, I would want to know how he had died, and who was responsible.
Roshi’s wife took a deep breath, composing herself, then faced us again. “If…if you would be so kind as to tell me where his body is,” she said. “I must go and fetch it before the scavengers take too much.”
“We’ve already buried him,” Reika said gently. “And performed the proper death rites. Your husband’s soul should not linger in this world. But if you want to see for yourself, he is buried about a day’s walk east of here. Just look for the hill with two graves on the side of the road.”
The woman gave a watery smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking at both Reika and me. “Thank you for not leaving him, for giving him the proper rites to pass on. And I know my Roshi. He wouldn’t have offered his cart to just anyone.” She eyed my onmyoji robes, then glanced at Daisuke, taking in his clothes and hair. Even if he wasn’t wearing his family mon, his noble bearing was obvious. “I know you must have important matters to attend,” she said, turning back to me. “Please excuse my forwardness, but are you traveling to the shrine of the mountain kami near the top of the Dragon Spine?”
I pricked my ears. “Mountain kami?”
“Yes.” Roshi’s wife nodded. “Forgive me, but I thought that was your destination.” She turned, gesturing to the distant silhouettes against the sky. “Every few years, a pilgrim will pass through our village to pray at the shrine of the mountain kami. It is an arduous journey, but it is said that if your heart is pure and your prayers fervent enough, the mountain kami will grant you a bit of their secret knowledge. This is the last village before you reach the path that leads up the Dragon Spine. I simply assumed that was where you were going, as well.”
“Where is this shrine, if you don’t mind telling us?” Daisuke asked.
Roshi’s wife nodded at the road that cut through the final houses. “Just past the village, you’ll find a path that heads due east,” she said. “If you follow it for half a day, it will take you into the Dragon Spine Mountains, to a peak that overlooks the valley. The shrine sits at the very top.”
“Thank you,” I said, and bowed to her. “You’ve been most kind. We won’t trouble you any longer.”
“Wait.” Roshi’s wife glanced at me, then at my companions. “If you mean to journey up the Dragon Spine, you shouldn’t go tonight,” she warned. “The path is narrow, and treacherous in the dark. One slip, and you could tumble all the way down the mountain—it has happened to even the most sure-footed of travelers. And the Dragon Spine is home to all manner of spirits and yokai. Most are indifferent to humans, but no yokai is predictable, and a few are very dangerous. If you are to attempt the pilgrimage to the shrine of the mountain kami, it is best to do so in the light.”
I glanced at the sun setting behind the mountain peaks and nodded. “That is probably a wise idea. Is there a place we could stay in the village, a ryokan or inn of sorts?”
She shook her head. “We are a small village. Even with the shrine to the mountain kami, not enough travelers come through to warrant a ryokan. The headman often lets pilgrims stay at his home for the night, provided they pay a small fee, or perform a favor for the village if they have no coin.”
“Well, that sounds like us,” Okame said with a sardonic grin at Daisuke. “We left Kin Heigen Toshi in such a hurry, our noble Taiyo didn’t have time to grab his coin pouch. Now he’s just as poor as us peasants and ronin.”
“Indeed.” Daisuke’s voice was wry. “Though I will point out that I usually have no need of coin, and to even discuss matters of money is seen as exceedingly poor taste. It is within my right, as a samurai and of Imperial lineage, to expect that all amenities are offered without compensation, in service to the empire. Most of my kin would agree that it is a privilege for those of lesser stations to serve the emperor’s finest warriors, and they should be honored to provide whatever the samurai requests. There are those in my family who do not even know the values of the different types of coin.”
Okame snorted, letting everyone know what he thought of that, and Daisuke smiled. “However,” he went on, “if you have not noticed, Okame-san, I myself sometimes harbor…unpopular opinions among my clan. Many have forgotten, but ‘samurai’ means one who serves. The Code of Bushido states that compassion and humility are just as important as honor and courage, and if I cannot show those virtues to those of lesser status, can I even call myself samurai?”
“Oh?” With his arms still crossed, Okame raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Well, if that’s the case, what are your thoughts on chopping wood or thatching a roof, peacock? Hard, hot, peasant work, best done in a loincloth—wouldn’t want to get your fine clothes all sweaty, would we?”
“It would not be the first thing I have done in a loincloth, Okame-san,” Daisuke said easily, and while I was wondering why Reika’s face had gone red, he turned to Roshi’s wife, still watching us from the side of the road. “Wife of the honorable Roshi,” he began, “please excuse this intrusion into your life. If you would kindly point us to the headman’s abode, we would be in your debt.”
“Honored guests.” The woman clasped her hands together. “It is no trouble. You have done me a favor today, and I know my Roshi. Were he here, he would insist that you stay at our home tonight. It is small, but we do have an extra room at the back of the house that would suit your needs. Please, stay with us tonight, in honor of his memory.”
I looked to my companions. Reika, still a curious shade of pink, gave a short nod, and I turned back to Roshi’s wife. “Thank you,” I said. “If it’s truly no trouble, we would be grateful.”
She nodded. “Tonight I will cook a feast in honor of my husband,” she announced shakily. “And tomorrow, when you visit the shrine of the mountain kami, would you mention his name when you say your prayer? That is all the thanks I require.”
I gave a solemn nod. “Of course.”
I awoke to the sound of a flute.
Yawning, I raised my head from the pillow and gazed around. The room was still dim, illuminated by only the embers in the brazier and the moonlight coming through the window. A few feet away, Reika slept soundly, her hair spilling over her pillow in a shiny black curtain.
Chu sat in the
open doorway, triangular ears pricked, the moonlight casting his shadow over the floorboards.
I started to lay back down, when the faint melody came again, making me pause. I had half thought I’d dreamed it, but I heard it now, a low, mournful refrain drifting over the breeze.
Careful not to disturb Reika, I rose and padded silently to the door. Chu twitched an ear at me but didn’t move as I crouched down next to him. For a moment, I bristled at being so close to the dog, my kitsune nature reacting instinctively to the inu. But I reminded myself that Chu was not really an inu; he was a shrine guardian, part of the spirit world, and honestly more like myself than any normal dog.
“Konbanwa, Chu-san,” I greeted in a whisper. “Do you hear it as well?”
I received a slightly disdainful glance from the dog, before he trotted away from me into the room. Claiming a corner of Reika’s blanket, he curled up and lay his head on his paws, though he kept his gaze on the door, ever watchful and alert. Still, if Chu didn’t think there was danger, we were probably safe and whomever was playing the flute wasn’t a threat.
Which made me even more curious.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to the dog, thankful that it was Chu that was awake and not Reika. The miko would not approve of me sneaking outside by myself late at night. “I won’t be long, but if you hear me scream, be sure to wake Reika up, ne?”
The inu yawned. Not knowing if he would follow my requests, but knowing he understood my words full well, I slipped out the door onto the veranda and escaped into the moonlight.
I followed the haunting sound of the flute through the field, feeling the cool night air on my skin. Fireflies blinked in and out of the darkness, rising in swarms as I moved through the grass. The faint, melodic notes rose and fell with the breeze and rustling grass stalks, growing steadily more distinct as I approached an old cedar tree in the middle of the field.
I paused, suddenly feeling like an intruder. The song was so beautiful, pulling me forward and tugging at my emotions, but I feared going any closer would cause it to stop, and whomever was playing to flee. My clumsy human body wasn’t made for creeping through the grass unseen.
My fox self, on the other hand…
I closed my eyes and called on my magic. It flared to the surface a moment before there was a silent explosion of smoke. Opening my eyes, I found myself much closer to the ground, the tops of the grass hiding me completely. The night was suddenly far clearer, the shadows not so dark, the air full of life and sound. My fox ears could hear everything around me: the hum of crickets in the grass, the trill of a nightbird in the trees, the buzz of firefly wings in the air. A flood of smells filled my nostrils, mysterious and tantalizing, and I was struck by the desire to leave everything behind and go bounding through the tall grass, to chase mice and insects, to breathe globes of kitsune-bi into the air and dance under the moonlight.
However, a glimmer of a dark, lacquered scroll case lying naked in the grass brought all those desires to a crashing halt. Pinning back my ears, I swiftly pounced on the case and seized it firmly in my jaws. The wood was hard, unyielding, the outer shell clacking against my teeth. I rolled it around in my jaws, trying to find a comfortable position, resisting the urge to spit it out and leave it lying in the dirt.
Well, this isn’t ideal. I hope no one spots me and wonders why a fox is carrying around a scroll case.
Finally, I shoved the case to the front of my mouth, holding it as a dog would a bone. Mildly annoyed with my burden, I flattened my ears and slipped through the grass, continuing toward the great cedar in the center of the field.
The music continued, growing clearer the closer I drew to the tree. As I eased under a bush, I caught a glimmer of white in the branches of the tree and froze as I looked up. A figure sat in the V of the trunk, leaning back against the tree with one foot planted for balance, his sleeves and pale hair reflected in the waters beneath. He held a thin length of dark wood to his lips, and the sweet, haunting notes filled the air around him.
Daisuke?
Lowering my head, I crept closer, sliding through the long grass toward the tree. Taiyo Daisuke’s eyes were closed, his hair and sleeves billowing softly in the breeze as fireflies drifted around him, as if drawn to the music themselves.
I heard another set of footsteps shushing through the grass behind me, and quickly darted to the side just as a pair of long legs strode past. A scent came to me, earthy and familiar, before a rough, amused voice broke the spell of the flute.
“Here you are. I thought this might be you.” Okame walked beneath the trunk and paused, crossing his arms as he peered up at the noble. “So, did you have a wistful samurai moment?” he wondered. “Did the moonlight speak to you so much that you had to compose a song to the night, or couldn’t you sleep, either?”
Daisuke lowered his flute and gazed down calmly, a small, slightly smug smile crossing his face. “I will admit to feeling rather wistful tonight,” he said. “And the moonlight was very beautiful. It would be easy to get lost in it, but my true purpose for playing has already been fulfilled. It drew you here.”
Okame raised a brow. “You could’ve just asked me to join you, peacock, rather than drag me out of bed by mysterious flute playing in the middle of the night.”
“But then, I would not have known what I needed.” Daisuke raised his arm, the instrument held easily between long fingers. “I would not be so forward as to presume. The song asked the questions. That you came, that you responded, is the answer I was hoping for.”
“Taiyo-san.” Okame rubbed his eyes. “I’ve not been a samurai for a while, and even then, I barely understood the language you nobles use. Pretend you’re speaking to a peasant, or perhaps a tamed monkey. I can’t keep up with all the metaphors and hidden meanings.”
“Very well.” The Taiyo noble tucked his flute into his obi and dropped from the trunk, landing gracefully beside the pond. “Why don’t you ever call me Daisuke, Okame-san?”
“Because you’re a Taiyo,” growled Okame. “And I’m a dishonorable ronin dog. Even I know that’s about as far apart in status as you can get. I might as well be speaking to the emperor of Iwagoto. And don’t tell me rank means nothing to you, Taiyo. It’s easy enough to say when you’re part of the Imperial bloodline, but if I spoke so casually to you in a court setting, I’d likely have my head cut off for the insult to your family name.”
“Do you despise me then, Okame-san?” Daisuke’s voice was soft. “Because I am a Taiyo, the noble class you hate so much? Does my bloodline make me a villain in your eyes?”
Okame snorted. “What are you talking about?” he said, sounding uncomfortable. “I have nothing but respect for you, even though a year ago I would’ve spit in your direction for being such a court monkey. There, I said it. Does that make you happy?”
Unexpectedly, Daisuke smiled, his eyes shining as he faced the ronin. “Arigatou,” he murmured. “I’m glad. Your opinion means a lot to me, Okame-san.”
Okame shook his head. “It shouldn’t,” he muttered, looking into the shadows.
“Why?” Daisuke eased closer, his expression serious. “I admire you, Okame-san. I’d hoped…” He paused, then said in a soft, earnest voice, “I thought I’d made my feelings for you abundantly clear.”
“Stop it.” Okame’s voice was a whisper. The ronin closed his eyes, turning his head from the noble a few feet away. “Now you’re just toying with me. There is no situation, in the entire empire of Iwagoto, where a Sun Clan noble being with a ronin dog would be socially acceptable. The dishonor would be so great that entire families would commit seppuku in shame, and the stain would be passed down to your children, your children’s children and their children, forevermore. Every generation after would know the story of the golden Taiyo’s greatest downfall. Even I’m not that profane.”
“If I wasn’t a Taiyo, then.” Daisuke hadn’t moved any closer; he stood quietly by the trunk, long hair rippling in the breeze. “If you could ignore my name,
my family and my bloodline for only a moment. Would you be able to look at me that way? Would these emotions be reciprocated at all?”
“Damn you.” Okame opened his eyes to glare at the noble, baring his teeth. “How could they not?” he almost snarled. “From the moment I saw you on that bridge, I’ve had nothing but forbidden thoughts swirling through my head. It’s grown rather tiresome—I don’t normally think this much.” He sighed and stabbed his fingers through his hair, raking it back. “I wanted to hate you,” he said, though his voice was tired now. “It would’ve been so much easier. If I could’ve despised you like all the pompous, swaggering nobles that came before. Because it doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t matter that being around you is painful, that I have to pretend I feel nothing, that your teasing and pointed comments don’t affect me at all.” He sighed again, giving Daisuke a look of bitter amusement. “I’m not blind, Taiyo-san. I’ve gotten the hints. I just…I know my place. And I’m not going to drag you into the mud with me.”
Daisuke was silent a moment. Then, shockingly, a quiet chuckle drifted over the grass, making Okame scowl. “Am I that amusing then, noble?”
“Forgive me.” Daisuke glanced up, a faint smile still on his face. “I just find it ironic,” he mused, “that a ronin, who claims to despise samurai and makes a mockery of the Code whenever he can, would be so concerned about staining my honor.”
“Don’t read too much into it.” Okame scuffed a foot. “I’m just protecting my own head. I’d prefer for it to stay on my neck, if at all possible. Being around the royal bloodline has caused many a samurai to lose their head in the past.”
Daisuke straightened and took two steps forward, causing Okame to flinch and eye him warily. “My family isn’t here, Okame-san,” he said in a quiet voice. He raised a billowing sleeve toward the distant mountains. “The Imperial court is many miles away. No one is watching. No one will judge. What happens here tonight, the world need never know.”