by Leah Cutter
What was Masato hiding? How were the fox fairy powers affecting him?
Junichi had suspected that his former apprentice wouldn’t be able to handle them. He had warned him about them, that the kitsune were tricky and wild. But Masato hadn’t listened, of course.
Then again, Junichi hadn’t been too stern in his admonitions. Maybe Masato would surprise him. Maybe he’d developed enough discipline in his studies of Buddhism.
Masato knelt on pillows before his altar, looking wise and composed. His robes were the finest quality—a beautiful auburn color, with a design of dark brown pinecones—and his hair was neatly slicked back. As always, his eyelids drooped slightly over his expressive black eyes, giving him a perpetually sleepy stare.
But Masato couldn’t hide from his old master the slight tremor in his hands, clenched tightly in his lap, the way his head turned this way and that instead of staying focused on what was in front of him.
After the tea was served and enjoyed—a lovely smoked brew that Junichi would have to ask about later—Junichi finally asked, “How may I be of service to you?”
Again, that tremor of his hand as Masato put down his teacup. “I need your help taming the fox fairy powers,” he said through gritted teeth.
Keeping his face completely impassive, Junichi crowed inside. This would finally put Masato fully under his thumb again. “Of course,” Junichi said smoothly. “I’d be happy to remove them.”
Junichi waited. Would Masato give in to the temptation to just be rid of the powers? That would be the simplest course for him. When Masato had been Junichi’s apprentice, that would have been the path he’d have taken, leapt at.
Had Masato grown? Or would he take the easiest way out of his predicament?
“I don’t want them removed,” Masato said, though his voice quavered, like an old man’s. Obviously, he’d been fighting with himself over this very subject. “I merely want them contained. Lessened.”
So his pupil had grown. Junichi couldn’t help but smile. “That will be more difficult,” he warned. He’d tried to anticipate what Masato would actually request and had come with more than one spell prepared, as well as more than one artifact.
Merely releasing the powers from Masato would be the easiest, bleeding them out of the man and letting them dissipate into the ether. The area where they performed the spell would retain some of the magic and become a place of great power. Masato could have dedicated such a place to his Buddha, created a significant temple.
But while Junichi had prepared for that possibility, he doubted that Masato was that selfless.
Transferring the powers from Masato and recapturing them in an artifact would not have been as easy as merely releasing them, but Junichi had prepared an appropriate vessel: a bronze statue of a sleeping fox, curled up, nose buried in its tail.
Merely weakening the powers, but leaving a shadow of them with Masato, was the most difficult of spells, but Junichi had prepared for that as well, creating a box similar to the one he’d held the fox fairy spirit in. This one, though, was decorated with sanzashi thorns and berries, and lined with smoky ashes. The berries from the sanzashi could help a man with a weak heart—or kill him, if the potion was strong enough.
“It will also cost you,” Junichi warned. The supplies to do all the spells had been expensive, and they’d taken time to craft. This venture had cost him so much already.
“Of course,” Masato replied dryly.
Junichi couldn’t help but smile. It was good Masato valued Junichi’s work.
“How much gold—” Masato started.
“Not gold,” Junichi said, interrupting him. He knew it wasn’t polite. But he wanted to shock Masato as well, make him pay attention despite his horribly distracted state.
“Really?” Masato asked, one eyebrow raised. For a moment, he sat perfectly still.
Junichi suddenly realized just how affected Masato was by the comparison. His former pupil had been fidgeting—subtly, but constantly—the entire time they’d been sitting there.
“I want your bones,” Junichi announced boldly. He would have asked for Masato’s life force, but depending on how Masato died, and when, Junichi may be able to claim that already given the contract they’d originally signed as master and pupil.
“That’s all?” Masato gave a slight chuckle. “I will happily sign those away to you. I’d assumed you’d take them anyway, regardless.”
Junichi nodded and kept a pleasant smile on his face while he cursed silently. He should have asked for more.
“And the lives—” Junichi started.
“I will not provide you with more lives,” Masato said firmly. “I need my men to fight.”
“Then it will have to be more gold,” Junichi replied swiftly. He wasn’t going to delay all of his payment until later.
“Gold I have,” Masato said. “And will have even more, once I take the estate. Let’s draw up the contract.”
Junichi sipped his tea as Masato’s scribes wrote up the contract, still smarting from the deal they’d made. Masato had become a better negotiator. Junichi should have driven a harder bargain.
But that was all right. He could just shave off a smaller portion of the fox fairy powers than he’d originally planned, so that the next time Masato asked for help taming them, Junichi could renegotiate everything.
Ξ
Junichi strode confidently into the graveyard. The tantalizing scent of fresh limestone tickled his nose—maybe he’d have to come back and steal some bones, later. Crows roosted in the nearby trees and cawed cautiously at their approach, like a friendly welcome home. The night was clear, but the moon was still only a quarter full, silvering the ground and setting the dew–covered grass to sparkle.
Masato had stopped just after they’d entered, then determinedly walked forward again. He’d probably forgotten how much work he’d done in such places when he’d been an apprentice.
Or maybe he was remembering the nights and the corpses, and the memories weren’t as fond as Junichi’s.
No matter. This was Junichi’s playground, where he spent his most magical time. Others might find the graveyard eerie, the smells distasteful, the sounds of bones creaking unsettling, but they were all part of the music of the night to him.
Most nobles were cremated when they died, their bones set aflame with fragrant pine and incense. The poor, however, couldn’t afford the fuel—it took a very hot fire to burn a man. They sometimes left the bodies of their relatives on sacred ground, hoping that the priests there would take care of the matter. Particularly if the family was very poor and couldn’t even afford the cost of the prayers.
So the priests buried the dead, sometimes deeply in the ground, sometimes just in shallow graves. Frequently, more than one body was buried together.
Since there had been so many deaths on the battlefield, the priests had been busy with those funerals. The local farmers had received very little in the way of care.
Something Junichi had been counting on.
Fortunately, they didn’t need any of the bodies that night. Junichi had been tempted to make Masato dig one up, just for old time’s sake, but decided at the end that it was unnecessary.
Maybe next time.
The spot they chose was a shallow grave. Junichi could feel the bodies under the ground, four of them, buried one on top of the other. A large sanzashi thorn bush grew nearby, its thorns matching the ones on the box Junichi had prepared. Though its flowers had already dropped, it wouldn’t berry until much later that fall.
Masato knelt beside the grave, sinking into the soft earth with a grace that belied his size. He hadn’t always moved so well—was that an effect of the fox fairy powers? Junichi wasn’t sure.
Junichi prepared the space, sticking joss sticks of finely made jasmine incense in the center, a silver basin of pure water on the left, and the box on the right. When he opened the box, the ashes swirled slightly on their own, as if tickled by hidden winds.
Then Junic
hi started his prayer.
Izanami, goddess of the night,
Aid me in my quest
Powers we seek
To carve apart
And hide in the darkness
The poem went on for several more stanzas. Though Junichi had crafted the song specifically for this spell, Masato still sang along when he could, compelled by the power swirling around the pair of them.
Junichi raised his arms as he sang, circling Masato and the area they’d prepared. He’d missed this, he realized, missed creating something magical with someone else.
It was why he’d bothered with an apprentice in the first place.
Maybe he should try again, but he was too afraid they’d turn out to be exactly like Masato, and would leave before their training was finished.
As the crescendo approached, Masato extended his left arm over the basin of pure water. With a quick flick of a knife, Junichi cut the skin of Masato’s wrist so the blood dripped down, splashing into the water, sullying its purity.
Then Masato extended his left arm over the box. Junichi, on his next circle around, plucked a thorn from the sanzashi bush, then rammed it into Masato’s wrist with his thumb.
A tiny trickle of blood slid from the wound along Masato’s skin and dripped into the box.
At the same time, a wisp of yellow smoke slid out around the thorn. The ashes from the box swirled up and captured the smoke before it could escape, like ivy climbing a trellis, several small nodules sinking into the smoke as if it was a solid thing.
The ashes tugged downward, drawing the smoke with it, into the box, wrapping firmly around it.
Junichi continued his song for three more stanzas. Before he’d signed the contract, he’d planned on drawing out eight stanzas of power.
But now—three would do. Masato would feel as though a great pressure in his chest had been released. And it had been.
Junichi also gave it only two or three days before it would build back up to intolerable levels and Masato would beg him to carve out more of the fox fairy powers.
When Junichi finished his song, the smoke stopped seeping from Masato’s wrist and the ashes fell back in the box. Quickly, Masato reached down and slammed the lid shut. He kept one hand there, a finger idly tracing the sanzashi thorn bush design while he brought his other wrist to his mouth, licking at the wound.
Silence filled the graveyard. Junichi took a deep breath of the stillness. He was tired. The spell had been work. But he also felt very satisfied. The spell was complete and well realized.
“Thank you,” Masato said after a few more moments. He stirred briefly, then settled down again. His chest expanded and his shoulders settled down.
He felt better. It was obvious to Junichi.
But it wouldn’t last.
Junichi also felt great satisfaction at that.
Ξ
Masato held the box close to him as they walked back into the camp. Junichi let him carry it, as well as all the other supplies. It was still full night. The moon had set and only a few fires burned, the men settled in for the night. None of the guards seemed surprised at Masato being up and around that late at night by himself.
As they approached Masato’s tent, he turned to his old master with his usual smile, lazy and tired. “Thank you again. I think I’ll finally be able to sleep tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” Junichi said with a slight bow of his head.
“Would you like me to prepare a tent for you?” Masato inquired. “I know you must be tired after performing such a great, complicated spell.”
Junichi shot a look at Masato. That wasn’t another dig at Junichi for being old, was it? Masato’s accusations that Junichi was old and out of touch still stung, for all that they’d been uttered more than a decade ago.
But Masato seemed merely solicitous, a host asking after the health of his guest.
“The night is still full of spirits and life,” Junichi replied sincerely. The cool winds tickled the short hairs on the back of his neck, stirred his blood. He still felt satisfied with the work he’d done that night. “I will make my way back to my own compound.”
“I would like to send some of my men with you,” Masato insisted. “Just to make certain that you arrive safely.”
Who would attack a Taoist sorcerer during the moonless part of the night? Did madmen exist on the mountain, determined to squander their lives? Or had Masato forgotten Junichi’s power?
However, Masato appeared to be sincerely concerned. “I can travel over this entire mountain safely on my own,” Junichi replied crisply.
“I know you can,” Masato said with good humor. “I still feel the need to look out for you.”
“Keep your men,” Junichi said, waving his hand dismissively. “I will be fine.”
“If you insist,” Masato said slowly, following Junichi as he made his way to his horse.
“I do,” Junichi said. Even if he’d been barely able to stand because the exhaustion was so bad, he still would have refused any help.
“Very well,” Masato said, acquiescing.
Junichi’s mount was prepared quickly and efficiently. Masato’s men were at least very well trained. Better than Junichi’s, he suspected.
But not as easily replaced, he was certain. Such training cost.
Masato himself packed Junichi’s bags, ensuring that the silver basin was safely stowed away. When he stepped back, though, he still carried the box containing the fox fairy powers. He stood there, beside Junichi, waiting.
When Junichi reached out to take the box, Masato stepped back.
“I’ll take that,” Junichi said. He was too tired to try to be polite and merely ask.
“I don’t think so,” Masato said slowly. “This is mine, these are mine.”
“What do you mean?” Junichi asked, his anger starting to rise.
“Check the contract,” Masato said. “I only paid for a vessel to store the powers. I never surrendered them to you.”
Junichi thought back. Masato was correct. The contract had been worded very carefully around that clause. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.
Masato really had grown more clever. Junichi cursed silently.
“You need to be very careful with that box,” Junichi warned. “If you lose it, you’ll be vulnerable. Someone could use those powers to get at you.”
Masato chuckled. “True. I had already figured that out. However, that someone would have to have your powers. Only someone with strong Taoist magic could untangle the fox fairy magic from the ashes and thorns of the graveyard.”
Junichi had to reluctantly agree. “You still have to be careful with it.”
“I will be,” Masato assured Junichi. “You be careful riding home.”
Though Masato didn’t add the phrase, old man at the end of his statement, Junichi heard it anyway.
He certainly felt like an old man, outsmarted by his former apprentice. He’d planned on keeping the box with the fox fairy powers, to be able to use it, if necessary, to guard himself against Masato.
Possibly he could steal them later, though Masato would undoubtedly ward them well.
The next time Masato needed help, Junichi would be more careful. Negotiate harder.
Prove that he wasn’t an old man.
Junichi swung himself up onto his horse without any aid and rode out of Masato’s camp as if the winds of the demon Futen were at his heels.
And maybe they were. He certainly felt as though his soul was being flogged. Pain from old betrayals seeped from wounds he’d thought had healed.
Next time, he’d be more clever. Next time, he’d get his full due.
Next time, Masato would have to come crawling to him before Junichi would lift a finger.
Junichi rode hard and fast, barely able to see the road. It didn’t matter—his horse’s steps were guided by magic, ensuring that Junichi would make it back to his compound safely. None of Masato’s guards would have mattered.
The cold nigh
t winds didn’t clear Junichi’s anger. But he did wonder at the truth of things.
No matter what happened, he’d likely come to Masato’s aid the next time he called.
They were too twisted together, too entwined. Old obligations still ran between them under the new relationships. Just as Masato would always come running if Junichi sent for him, asked for help.
Not that he ever would. Just as duty didn’t change, neither did Junichi’s nature.
He was sure to die alone, as that horrible fox fairy had once predicted. Just before she’d rejected him for the final time.
Seven
Looking Around Curiously
Kayoku
Looking around curiously, Kayoku wondered at the differences between where the priestesses of the Mori temple stayed on the estate and the priests. The hall she’d been shown to wait for Priestess Ayumi was more austere than any other on the estate. Even the poems hanging on the walls were simple, done in the woman’s kana script, and merely celebrating the beauty of the mountain. No fancy lattice–work dividers stood along the walls—it was as if they always used the entire space, without ever dividing it. The remnant of sweet incense still floated in the air, though Kayoku couldn’t see any burning. No cobwebs lurked in the rafters, and no dust gathered in the corners.
Priestess Ayumi came hurrying in after Kayoku had circled the hall twice, impressed by the sturdy wooden walls that showed no sign of insects or wear, how neatly piled the guest pillows were in the corner where she assumed Priestess Ayumi wanted her to sit.
“Greetings, my lady,” Priestess Ayumi said, bowing low. “Please excuse my tardiness.”
“I barely gave you any time to get ready,” Kayoku said. “Think nothing of it.”
Priestess Ayumi wore formal Mori Temple robes that morning, burnt orange with saffron yellow lining. Instead of her usual practical bun, her long hair was piled up haphazardly, strands artfully falling down to enhance her moon–round face. She wasn’t as beautiful as Hikaru—few were. But she still was a stunning woman.