by Ellen Oh
“Ah, you’re awake.” Takeo shivered as her voice rippled over him like a cool mountain spring. “Welcome, stranger, to our home. I am Miyazawa Atsuko, and this is my daughter, Yuki.” She waved an elegant hand at the girl, who was still watching Takeo with a curious, bright-eyed stare. “Please make yourself comfortable. You are welcome to stay as long as you wish.”
“I . . .” Takeo had no clue what to say in return. He had no business being a guest in such an important household. “I thank you for your kindness,” he finally managed “But I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” Or soil your lovely home with my presence. Why would they bother with one such as I?
“It is no trouble,” the lady said calmly, and inclined her head toward the girl. “Yuki insisted upon bringing you here, and our home is large, but we don’t get many visitors.” She drew back a step, and the light from the brazier flickered orange through her eyes. “Dinner will be served in the main hall. Consider this an invitation to join us. Yuki can show you the way.”
She drew back a few more steps and slid the panel shut, leaving Takeo alone again with the girl.
Takeo squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, feeling like cobwebs had settled in his brain. Thoughts came sluggishly, and with a faint, underlying sense of unease: a feeling that something wasn’t right, that he was missing something important. But when he opened his eyes and met Yuki’s lovely smile, everything else faded away. She could charm bears with that smile, Takeo thought. If he were a bear, he would lie down with his head in her lap and not move until the hunters came for him.
Abruptly, he realized he was staring, and dropped his gaze, angry that he could be thinking such things. “Is it . . . really all right that I’m here?” he asked. “I truly do not wish to trouble your family—”
A soft brush on his arm almost made his heart stop. For a moment, he stared at the delicate white fingers on his wrist, hardly believing they were there, that someone of her beauty would deign to touch someone like him. “Of course, Takeo-san,” Yuki said, as warmth spread up his arm and settled in his stomach. “You are always welcome here. Never doubt that. Now, come on.” She rose with an easy grace and grinned down at him. “Let’s go get dinner, before my rude, insufferable brothers start without us.”
As Takeo stood and followed the girl into the long, dimly lit halls beyond his room, he had the faint, passing realization that he had never told her his name.
The Miyazawa home was indeed very fine: passageways of dark, polished wood flanked by painted shoji panels depicting a variety of beautiful scenes—bamboo groves in the moonlight, tiny ponds with jeweled dragonflies on the water, giant maple trees mottled by the sun. Takeo tried very hard not to gape as Yuki led him into a massive hall of polished wood, the entrance guarded by two unsmiling statues. The ceiling soared above them, lit with thousands upon thousands of tiny paper lanterns, so many that it resembled the night sky.
A lacquered table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by cushions and a trio of seated nobility. Lady Miyazawa resided at the head of the table with her hands in her lap, looking serene. Two young men, both around Yuki and Takeo’s age, sat beside her at the corners. They glanced up as Takeo and Yuki came in, sharp eyes narrowed and appraising.
“This is him, Yuki-chan?” one of them said as Yuki knelt primly on a cushion. Takeo hovered behind her, uncertain of what to do, where to sit. The other young noble looked him up and down, before breaking into a wicked smile. “He looks like they all do. Just another bumbling, clueless hum . . . er, peasant. What’s so special about him?”
“Aki-kun.” Yuki scowled at her sibling. “We talked about this. Be polite.” Turning to Takeo, she smiled and gestured to the cushion beside her. “Please excuse my brother, Takeo-san,” she said. “As I mentioned before, they’re rude and boorish and unfit for civilized company. Feel free to ignore anything they say. Please”—she patted the cushion again—“please, sit.”
In a daze, Takeo sat, feeling like a stray dog sniffing around the table for scraps. But then Yuki gave him that smile that turned his stomach inside out, and everything else was forgotten.
The meal was excellent, though later that evening, Takeo would be hard-pressed to remember exactly what he’d eaten. Servants delivered steaming, colorful dishes to the table and vanished without a sound. Yuki’s brothers had almost seemed to fight over the food, snatching dishes away from each other, on the verge of an all-out brawl until a sharp word from Lady Miyazawa stopped them. If Takeo had been paying more attention, he might have thought it strange, but his mind was not on food or Yuki’s brothers, or even the dark gaze of Lady Miyazawa, who watched him across the table. It was only on Yuki. She was beautiful, gracious, and extremely curious about him and his life in the village.
“What about family?” Yuki asked, after a quick, somewhat disgusted glare at her brothers, who appeared to be in an argument over the last fish. “Do you have any siblings, Takeo-san? “
He nodded. “Two older sisters,” he replied. “They’re both married now. I don’t have any brothers, but I do have a younger sister, Hitomi. She’ll be five this . . .”
Hitomi. Memories flooded in, breaking the surreal, dreamlike haze of the moment. He remembered his little sister that morning, solemnly handing him the precious bag of rice to take to the shrine. The grave look of his father as he stared out over the dying fields. The daimyo’s men will be coming soon. Perhaps they are already there. My village is still in danger.
“I’m sorry.” Swiftly, Takeo rose, causing all four nobles to glance up at him. “Please forgive my rudeness,” he said, bowing as Lady Miyazawa’s gaze fixed on him. “Your kindness has been overwhelming, but I must go home, back to the village. My family needs me.”
“No,” Yuki said, standing up as well. Her dark eyes were wide with alarm. “Takeo-san, don’t leave. Stay here, just a little longer.”
“I’m sorry, Yuki-san,” Takeo said again, though a stab of pain went through him as he met her eyes. “I wish I could stay, I really do. But this year has been bad for my village. With the drought, we’ll be unable to pay the rice tax when the daimyo’s men come. My father is the headman, so he and my family will be punished if we can’t produce the rice. I must return; the tax collector will arrive any day now.”
Yuki looked stricken. She cast a desperate gaze toward Lady Miyazawa, but the lady of the house simply nodded and raised a hand to Takeo. “We understand, Takeo-san. Of course family should come first. Safe travels home.”
Yuki shook her head. “But—”
“Daughter.” The lady’s dark eyes fixed on the girl. “We cannot keep him here if he does not wish to stay.” Yuki started to protest, but Lady Miyazawa raised her voice. “Would you have him pine and worry for his village, and eventually come to resent us?”
Yuki slumped and dropped her gaze in defeat. Her shoulders trembled as she bowed her head, dark hair hiding her face.
“It was an honor to have you here, Takeo-san,” Lady Miyazawa continued, ignoring her daughter. “Safe travels to you on your way home. Yuki will show you out.”
Takeo trailed Yuki down the dim corridors in silence, looking up only when she pushed back a pair of magnificent red doors and stepped into a courtyard surrounded by bamboo. By the position of the moon overhead, it was late indeed. Cicadas hummed and fireflies bobbed past his head as the girl led him toward the gates. A pond with a stone lantern sat nearby, fat red-and-white fish swirling lazily beneath the waters.
At the gate, Yuki hesitated. The moonlight blazed down on her, making her glow like a yurei-ghost, beautiful and otherworldly. “Takeo-san . . . ,” she began, and stopped. For a moment, she stood there, gazing at her hands, as if struggling with herself. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked up again, her eyes shining like dark mirrors in the night.
“Do you—do you remember the day you saved a fox from a pair of village dogs?”
The question was so unexpected that at first Takeo could only blink at her. “I—I think so, Yuki-san,
” he stammered. It had been such a long time ago, back when he was young and carefree, when the weight of the village and his family didn’t rest so heavily on his shoulders. Back when he could still pretend he could become a samurai.
And then, the real implications of the question hit him hard, and a cold chill crept up his spine, raising the hairs on his neck. He’d told no one of that day or his actions. The only ones who knew he had rescued a fox from a gruesome death were himself, the dogs . . . and the fox itself.
Chilled, he looked at Yuki again, seeing her for the first time. He remembered, suddenly, the stories. Of kitsune, and what they could do: Change their shape. Appear human. Weave illusions until they blended so perfectly with reality that it was impossible to tell them apart. Yuki met his gaze, eyes glowing a subtle gold in the candlelight, the tip of a bushy tail peeking behind her robes.
“Don’t be afraid,” Yuki said quietly as Takeo stood there, frozen in shock. “I would never hurt you, Takeo-san. After you saved me that day, I wanted to repay your kindness, to thank you, but there was never a good time. Your people would have chased me off or killed me if I got too close. So, I waited, and watched you from afar. I watched you grow from a cub into the man you are now, and . . .” She paused, and Takeo thought he saw a faint pink glow touch her cheeks. “My feelings for you grew, as well.”
“Yuki-san.” Takeo breathed, feeling like he was balanced on the edge of a cliff; he could choose to step back, to safety, or take the plunge. She was a fox, his brain told him. A kitsune. Not human. But gazing into her face, he saw no trace of the guile, deceit, or craftiness attributed to her kind. What he did see was an emotion so pure and genuine it made his breath catch and nearly stopped his heart.
“I know you have to go back,” Yuki said softly. “I know how much you care for your family. But . . . I can help you, Takeo-san. I can save your village. If you’ll let me.”
Accepting help from a kitsune was a fool’s errand. He knew this. But, his family . . . “How?” he whispered.
“You need rice for the . . . tax collector, yes?” The girl tilted her head, her smooth brow furrowed. “I’ve seen them: men on horseback come every season, and they take baskets of rice with them when they leave. This is something you must let them do?”
“Yes,” Takeo answered. “The land isn’t ours; we simply farm it for the daimyo, our ruling lord. If we don’t pay the tax, the whole village will be punished.”
Yuki blinked slowly, as if such a concept was completely foreign to her, but asked: “How much do you need?”
“How—how much rice?” Takeo stammered, and Yuki nodded gravely. “At least five hundred koku, more if we had an exceptional harvest.” Yuki looked faintly confused, so he hurried to explain. “Sixty percent of our crops go to the daimyo every year, but we have to at least produce the five hundred koku to meet the minimum quota. But this year we’re short by nearly two hundred koku, and that’s if we give them everything and have nothing left to get us through the winter.”
The girl pondered this for a moment. Finally, she raised her head, a dark, determined look in her eyes. “I can give you what you need,” she said.
Takeo’s heart leaped in his chest. “You—you can? How?”
“I am kitsune, Takeo-san.” Yuki’s lips quirked slightly. “We have our ways. My family and I built an estate from nothing in the middle of nowhere. Two hundred koku of rice should not be difficult to produce.
“But,” she added as Takeo contemplated throwing himself to the ground at her feet, “if you wish my help, there is one condition I fear I must ask.”
“Anything,” Takeo husked. “I don’t have much, but if you can save my village, anything in my power to give is yours. What is it you want, Yuki-san?”
“A promise.” The kitsune stared at him, and for a moment, he saw the shadow of a fox, gold-eyed and intelligent, in her gaze. “After the rice is delivered and the daimyo’s men are gone, you must return and live with us for one year. That is the price for a kitsune’s intervention. I want you to promise me that you’ll come back, that you’ll see me again.”
Takeo’s stomach dropped. Live with foxes? For a year? Some of his anguish must have shown on his face, for Yuki’s eyes darkened and she regarded him solemnly. “Would it really be that bad, Takeo-san?” she asked quietly. “You would be an honored guest here. I promise you will want for nothing. You can leave behind the toil and hardships of a mortal life.” Her voice softened as she dropped her gaze to the floor. “And perhaps, in time, you will come to see me as more than just a fox.”
“I already do,” Takeo whispered, surprising himself as well as Yuki. She raised her head, eyes shining with hope, and he swallowed hard. “Yuki-san, you’ve shown me kindness when most would’ve seen a worthless farmer. You took me into your home and treated me not as a peasant, but as a guest. I can’t promise I’ll be able to—to return your feelings, but I can agree to return. After the rice is delivered and my village is safe, I’ll come back. I promise.”
Yuki smiled then, and it seemed to banish the shadows from the forest. “One more night,” she whispered, holding out her hand. “Stay with me for one more night. Return to your village tomorrow; the rice will be ready when you wake up.”
The bamboo around them seemed to sway, the fireflies blurring and becoming hazy balls of light. Takeo nodded, stepped forward, and placed his palm in hers.
The night passed in a fluttering of memories, like the fragile beat of a moth’s wing. The dim glow of brazier. The feel of silk, sliding over bare skin. Being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and darkness, the taste of sake and sweat on his lips, and the glow of a fire in the pit of his stomach. Gazing into the eyes of a girl and wishing that, be it illusion or fantasy, he would never wake, and the night would go on forever.
He awoke cold and shivering on a bare wood floor, a ratty blanket draped over him. Confused, he raised his head, gazing around the abandoned shell of a tiny wooden hut. Rotting beams and timbers leaned precariously against the walls, and weeds poked up through the floorboards, eating away at the wood. Takeo saw the bones of many small animals lying in corners or scattered among leaves and refuse, and tufts of reddish fur clung to everything.
In a daze, he staggered from the ruin, finding a game trail that snaked through the forest. Staggering from the trees, he blinked in shock. He was back on the road that led to the shrine, and a horse and wagon stood waiting for him at the edge, the back of the cart laden with reed baskets. A quick peek inside revealed they were full to bursting with gleaming white grains. Takeo felt his heart swell, the tension in his stomach releasing in a rush.
Thank you, Yuki-san, he thought, closing his eyes. I’ll see you again soon, I promise.
But when he arrived at the village late that afternoon, he knew something was wrong. A group of samurai on horseback clustered in front of his hut, their kimono bearing the mon-crest of the daimyo. The villagers stood silently nearby as one man, who Takeo recognized as the chief tax collector, loomed over the hunched form of his father, who knelt before him with his face pressed to the ground. An icy spear lanced through Takeo, and he urged the horse to move faster.
“A disgrace!” the tax collector was shouting, his high, shrill voice carrying over the wind. He held a bamboo rod in one hand and was waving it as though he might strike any who got too close. “Lazy, undisciplined, good-for-nothing peasants! How dare you offer this pitiful bounty to your most gracious lord! This insult will not go unpunished.”
“Wait!” Takeo called, driving the wagon up to the startled tax collector. Leaping from the cart, he hurried over and prostrated himself beside his father. “Please forgive me,” he said, feeling cold dirt pressing against his forehead. “But I have the rest. Of the rice. It’s all there.”
“What trickery is this?” The chief tax collector eyed him suspiciously, then turned his gaze to the wagon. “What have you worthless peasants been doing? Search the cart,” he ordered, and one of the waiting samurai immediately strode up to
the wagon, tearing off basket lids. Takeo waited, heart pounding, until the samurai grunted and stepped back.
“It’s all here, sir,” the warrior confirmed.
“I see.” Far from being pleased, the tax collector’s voice was ugly. He took a step toward Takeo, his fine hakama-trousers swishing over the dirt. “I know what is going on here,” he continued harshly. “I’ve seen it before. You farmers have another field, don’t you? A hidden field, where you grow rice on the side. Denying your lord his fair share, you worthless, ungrateful thieves.”
Takeo’s blood ran cold. “No,” he protested, forgetting himself and glancing up at the collector. “That’s not true!”
“Really?” The man bent down, glaring at him with cold black eyes. “Then where did you get this rice, peasant? It obviously did not come from these fields.”
“I— It was given to me,” Takeo stammered, not knowing what else to say. “In the forest. A gift from Inari himself.”
A resounding blow rocked his head to the side, laying him out in the dirt. “Liar!” the collector snarled, striking him again with his bamboo rod. “Ungrateful wretch. You peasants have been lying to us, hiding a portion of the crops for yourselves. That is a crime against your benevolent lord. I should execute the lot of you for treason!”
Takeo’s head was spinning, and something warm was trickling into his ear. He was vaguely aware of his father, pleading with the collector, begging for mercy. “He is but a boy,” he heard him say. “He didn’t know what he was doing. Forgive him. Punish me for this transgression.”
No, Takeo thought, trying to struggle upright. The ground swayed beneath him, and he gritted his teeth to keep from falling. Not my family. This isn’t their fault.
The collector sneered. “Get him up,” he ordered, and two samurai grabbed Takeo under the arms, yanking him upright, and setting him on his knees. Shivering, Takeo looked up and met the pitiless glare of the other man, who handed his bamboo rod to a samurai before drawing his sword. It hissed as it was unsheathed, a curved ribbon of gleaming metal that caught the sunlight.