by T. Isilwath
Her hand reached over and covered his, making him look up into her eyes.
“I don’t hate you.”
He gave her a small smile, his heart speeding up. “I know. Thank you.” She looked away, towards the birds and rabbits he had caught while they were out. “Clean food I should.” He nodded. “And I will go back to look for your knife.”
“Knife?”
He pantomimed her dagger throw. “I’ll see if it is still there.” She put a hand on his arm. “No. Not safe.” “Don’t worry. If I smell danger, I won’t go. I promise. But I want to see if I can get your dagger back for you.” “Akihiro careful.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise,” he vowed, silently pleased that she seemed genuinely concerned for his welfare and safety.
She looked unconvinced, but she let go of his arm. “Come back soon.”
“I will. I’ll be back before the ducks are finished baking.” She smiled wryly. “Ah ha. Akihiro wants food. I understand,” she teased.
He patted his belly and gave her a smile. “Johrannah-sama feeds me well.” Standing, he stretched and shook the kinks out of his spine. “I’ll be back soon.” “I wait.”
He nodded, giving her one more smile, then bounded off.
‘So… she’s spoken for. I shouldn’t be surprised. A woman that smart and talented wouldn’t go unclaimed,’ he thought as a bitter smile touched his lips.
‘Not that she would ever accept a filthy half-breed like you as a companion.
You aren’t worthy of her anyway. You have nothing to offer her but pain and an early death. Still, I wonder why it will be two years before she marries that…
that Michael. Maybe it’s one of those arranged marriages where one of the humans is still a little kit, and they have to wait for him to come of age.’
He pushed aside his questions and focused on the task at hand. He was nearly to the place where they had run into the two demons, and he could already smell the stench of decaying flesh. Taking to the trees, he went up so as not approach the corpse from the ground just in case the victor was still nearby.
He moved silently, keeping his senses on full alert, but he couldn’t feel any demon auras within his range. A moment later the body of the lizard came into view. It was quite dead, and the dirt all around the body was burnt from its acidic blood.
He checked for danger one more time, then hopped down, circling the corpse until he was at what was left of its head. Johrannah had struck it in the eye but the dagger wasn’t there, and it looked like the eye had been gouged out.
He sniffed around, trying to scent for metal underneath the other odors that assaulted his nose, and wondered if the knife hadn’t been dissolved by the blood. He finally found it flung some distance away. Part of the handle was damaged by the acid, but the blade was intact. He picked it up, shoved it into the waistband of his nobakama pants, and headed back to camp, happy to have accomplished his task.
‘Johrannah will be pleased to have her dagger back. She only had the two, plus the big knife.’
He found Johrannah finishing up with the last of the game he had caught that day, having gutted and skinned the rabbits, and packed the grouse in an egg of molded clay that she would later bake in the coals of the fire. The pheasant hung from the rope strung between two trees, waiting to be cured and dried.
“Welcome back,” she greeted with a happy smile.
He squatted down beside her and offered her the dagger.
“Oh! Awesome!” she exclaimed, taking the knife, but frowned when she saw the damage to the handle. “Ahhh, mou.” “I’m sorry. The acid blood burned it.”
“It’s okay.”
He noticed that she had a pot of boiling vegetables over the fire, and he hoped that meant what he thought it did. He eagerly sniffed at the air. “Are the ducks ready?” She giggled and nodded. “Yes.”
He perked up his ears happily and went over to the mound of earth that marked the underground oven. She joined him and together they began to scoop away the top layer of dirt. Then she showed him how to roll back the rain cloth so that no soil fell into the pit, and a cloud of aromatic steam came pouring out.
‘Kami-sama… what a delicious smell.’ His mouth started watering and he could barely contain himself. ‘I’m dead and this is heaven. It must be. I died when the exterminators shot me and now I am living in Paradise.’
Using the tongs, Johrannah took the two leaf-wrapped, steaming bundles out of the oven and put them in her shallow, black metal pot. The leaves were soaked with fat, so she removed the top layer and drained as much off as she could. Then she took the plates and began peeling the meat from the bones, dipping her fingers in a bowl of cold water to keep herself from burning her hands. He watched as the meat literally fell off the carcasses in juicy strips, and he had to clench his fists to keep from pouncing on it.
It seemed to take her forever to prepare two plates with the meat and boiled vegetables, but she finally gave him his portion and a set of chopsticks. Quivering with anticipation, he took his first taste, and the flavors rolled over his tongue and into his sinuses.
‘Ohhh. Yes. This must be Paradise,’ he sighed, closing his eyes in rapture.
He forced himself to eat slowly so he could savor each moist, tender bite.
“Ahhh, yummy. Yummy, yummy,” he crooned, casting an adoring look at her.
His tennyo smiled and laughed as he gazed at her. ‘You are perfect….’
He burped suddenly, breaking the mood, and he flushed with embarrassment even as she giggled.
“You like the food, ne?” she asked.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he purred.
She blushed and tapped her head. “Stop. I will be too proud.”
“You are the best cook ever. The best cook in all of Japan.” She blushed redder and shook her head. “I’m not.” “You are for me. I will hate to leave you.”
Her face fell. “You leave?” she asked with some distress.
‘She really does want me here,’ he realized, his heart fluttering.
He hurried to reassure her. “Only for a day or two, then I’ll be back. I must go to my village. They think I am dead.” ‘And probably don’t care but…’
“Ah. Home. Family.”
“No,” he corrected. “No family. The village is… it is just where I stay.” He would be able to better explain when she knew more Japanese. “I made a promise to a man.” “Promise? Ah. I understand.”
He touched his chest. “I… I help the village and they…”
“Help you,” she finished.
‘Not really.’ “Something like that.”
“They worry for you.”
‘I doubt it.’ “I must go and tell them I am alive.” She nodded. “Yes.” “But I will come back very soon.”
She smiled and waved a hand indicating the grove. “I here.” He nodded and returned to his food. He didn’t want to talk about his leaving anymore. In truth he didn’t really want to go at all, but he knew he had no choice. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, then he changed back into his old clothes. Johrannah sat by the fire, sipping a cup of tea, and she watched him with a resigned look on her face. Finally he decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable, so he crouched beside her and took her hands.
“You are going.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. But I promise to come back,” he vowed.
She nodded, her eyes sad. “Okay.”
“I may even bring back some miso and pickling spice for you. Do you have anything I could use for trade?” “Trade?” she repeated.
“Yes. Barter. Something I could trade for miso and other things you need.” She pulled her hands from his and looked in her book. He waited for her to figure out what he wanted and saw her nod.
“Money,” she finally said.
“Money? Do you have money?” he asked, surprised.
She nodded and went into the hollow. She came out with a handful of coins.
“Her
e,” she told him, placing the coins in his hand.
He quickly counted at least ten copper sen pieces and four silver mon.
Each copper sen coin was worth a bowl of rice, and each silver mon piece was worth a bowl of rice for a month. Between the sen and the mon, she had given him enough money to buy over 100 bowls of rice.
“Where did you get this?” he questioned, staring at the money.
She thought for a moment, then answered, “Dead men.”
“Dead men?”
She nodded. “Yes. Demon kill.”
“The men were killed by a demon,” he offered.
“Yes.”
‘So you probably took everything you could from their bodies, including their money.’
She looked up something else in her book, then asked, “Is it enough?” Being that she had just handed him more money than most of the villagers saw after several months of labor, it was more than enough.
“Yes. Yes, this is plenty.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Thank you. I will use this money to buy miso and pickling spice, and other things. I can buy wheat and barley. Maybe even some rice…” “No rice,” she said firmly.
“No rice?” he repeated, stunned. ‘No rice?’
“Rice bad for blood sickness,” she explained.
He blinked. He had never heard of rice making someone sick, but she would know better than he about her condition. “Oh… okay. No rice.” “Miso. Soybeans. Vinegar. Cooking oil. Ginger. Honey,” she said.
‘Hmmm. Honey will be hard to find and expensive. The other things are easy enough.’ “I will do my best.” “I know.”
He took her hands again, commanding her attention. “Thank you for everything you have done for me. I owe you my life,” he said seriously.
He needed her to know what it meant to him. He needed her to understand that he was now beholden to her in a life-debt. Even if she did not know what a life-debt was, he needed to tell her because it meant that he was hers, and she could command him to do almost anything.
He could see her struggling with words, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “It was nothing. I am glad to help you.” She was. He knew she was, and that was perhaps the most amazing thing of all. “I am very grateful. I promise you that I will come back very soon. I will use the money you have given me to buy things that you need. The rains are coming. Once they are here, it will rain almost every day and hunting will be harder.” “Yes,” she agreed.
He mentally tallied up travel time, the trip to Edo, and how long he would be expected to stay in the village. “Four days. I will come back in four days.” “Four days,” she confirmed.
“Four days. I promise.”
“Okay.”
He had to force himself to let her hands go. He didn’t want to leave. It was safe there. He was wanted there. He wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, but he had to go. He was honor-bound to keep his promise to the village, and Johrannah needed things from Edo.
“Be safe,” she said to him, her voice calm and full of concern.
“I will,” he replied, then made himself turn his back and leap away. He had to do it quickly before he changed his mind; before he lost his resolve and ran back to huddle under the blanket in her hollow until the rains stopped.
Chapter Eight
Akihiro knew exactly which way to go in order to head back to the village because he knew the marsh where they had hunted the ducks. The village was to the south about two ri away from the grove, but the distance was no trouble for him. On a good day, he could travel 50 ri from sunrise to sunset, 70 if he pushed. Two ri were nothing for him, and he barely broke a sweat.
He paused once he reached the outskirts of the village shrine and tried to decide on the best course of action. He knew he couldn’t just walk into the shrine as if nothing had happened. He’d been gone for five days, and there were bound to be questions as to where he had been. As much as he hated to do it, he had to tear and soil his clothing to make it look like he had been huddled under a bush somewhere. It seemed a shame when Johrannah had spent so much time cleaning and mending his meager garments, but it was necessary if his story was going to hold. He wasn’t going to lie. He just wouldn’t tell them everything.
He ripped the stitches where Johrannah had patched his clothes and streaked the fabric with grass and mud. Then he cut himself and smeared the blood over the “arrow” holes in his clothing. All three arrows had hit him from the front because the exterminator had been waiting for him when they used the stink-smoke to flush him out, and he was shot as he came out of the trees. Even then, if it hadn’t been for the poison on the arrows, he probably would have been able to escape, but the toxin had acted quickly. Once he had been slowed down by the poison, it had been easy for the exterminators to net him.
While he waited for the blood to dry into dark stains on his clothes and his cuts to heal over, he dirtied his face and hair, and tried to make himself look as ragged as possible without resorting to an illusion. When he was ready, he lowered his ears and tail, and staggered out of the forest to the shrine.
The shrine complex was a medium-sized one, founded and tended by Ichiro’s ancestors some four generations ago. It had one main sanctuary and three outbuildings, plus the shrine grounds, gardens, sacred tree, and a house where Ichiro and his kits lived. The house was large and had a covered porch known as an engawa that looked out over the shrine complex. Because the shrine also served as a place of healing, the house had been built with a wing of extra rooms for convalescing patients with its own long engawa porch. This porch was lined with sliding shoji doors that opened onto four sickrooms, and these rooms were connected to a central corridor inside the house. The wing of the house where Ichiro and his kits had their rooms was separate, but attached to the “healer’s” wing by a short hallway.
It was to the sickrooms’ engawa that he crawled, feigning exhaustion and weakness, and he huddled in a shivering heap at one end. There he waited for someone to discover him. He didn’t have to wait long. It was almost time for the evening duties, and Ichiro would be returning to the house. He heard the footsteps approaching and he recognized the scent as belonging to Ichiro, but he didn’t move until a sandaled foot kicked him lightly. He let out a low moan.
“So. You are alive,” the priest said neutrally.
Slowly, he uncurled himself and looked up at the human through half-open eyes. He knew he looked like a disheveled, bedraggled mess, and he hoped that the man was drawing all the wrong conclusions.
“Ichiro-sama,” he whispered hoarsely, trying to sound parched and starving.
“Hmmph,” the man replied and turned away, heading into the house.
Akihiro lay his head back down and tracked the priest’s movements with his ears. He heard the sound of water in a dipper and the telltale slosh of something being poured. Shortly thereafter, a cup of water and a bowl of leftover barley mixed with hot green tea were placed on the wooden boards near his head. No utensils were offered however; he was expected to eat with his hands.
He made a show of sitting up slowly and taking a drink from the cup.
“Thank you, Ichiro-sama,” he said faintly.
“Hmmph.”
He picked up the barley and tea soup and drank it in small sips. Rice was too precious a commodity to be eaten every day, and Ichiro would never have wasted rice on him anyway. It was enough that the priest gave him food at all.
Compared to the meals he had been given by Johrannah, the food was bland and tasteless, but he refused to be rude and not eat it. While he was eating, he heard two more individuals approaching and identified them as Kaemon and Suzuka, Ichiro’s son and daughter. They, too, were returning from their evening duties. Suzuka was the shrine miko and her elder brother was following in their father’s footsteps by studying to be a shrine priest. The oldest son, Hitaro, was learning weaponry under a local lord and no longer lived in the house.
“Hanyou,” he heard Kaemon gasp, his voi
ce relieved and quietly pleased.
The young man had inherited his grandfather’s generous heart, and Akihiro had saved him from a snakebite several years ago. If anyone in the village had cared about his fate, it would have been Kaemon.
“You look a fright. We were told you were dead,” Kaemon said, coming up to stand beside his father.
“The men came back without you. They told us that you abandoned them when the oni-gumo charged,” Suzuka informed him in a cold voice.
‘So… they told everyone that I was the one who abandoned them.’ Somehow he wasn’t surprised, but he knew he couldn’t come out and say they were lying. It would be his word against theirs, and they’d never believe him.
“There was a great deal of confusion. The exterminators were driving the oni-gumo into a trap. I told Genru and the others to follow me when I flanked to the left. The oni-gumo were running south and going left was the safest path.
I thought they were behind me, but when I turned around they weren’t there,” he explained quietly, keeping his ears down in submission. ‘Because they’d all run off screaming at the first sight of the spider demons.’
“The exterminators told us that two of their number felled you as well,” Kaemon offered, his voice gentle.
He touched his shoulder where the first arrow had struck, feeling the phantom pain. “They shot me with poisoned arrows.”
“They also said you were dragged off by a mountain witch,” Suzuka said.
‘A mountain witch? Of course that is what they would say. Blame it on a demon-witch, then they don’t have to face the humiliation of being beaten by a single human female,’ he thought bitterly.
“I have no memory of a mountain witch. When I woke I was underneath a tree, and I had been sick for three days from the poison.” ‘Well, that’s all true.’
“You look as if you barely survived,” Kaemon commented sympathetically.
He nodded. “This is the first opportunity I have had to make my way back here. Did all of the men return safely?” ‘If I show concern for the villagers that will reflect well upon me.’