by Julie Kagawa
The trees opened up, the foliage falling away, as we walked past the tiny rock garden with its meticulously raked sand, and up the steps of the temple. As we entered the dim, cool hall, I spotted Nitoru glaring at me across the room, and dared a cheeky wave, knowing he would not approach while I was with Master Isao. I’d probably be sweeping the steps until next winter, but the look on the monk’s face was worth it.
Master Isao led me through several narrow hallways, passing individual rooms on either side, until he slid back a door panel and motioned me through. I stepped into a familiar room, small and neat, empty but for a large standing mirror on the opposite wall and a hanging wall scroll beside it. The scroll depicted a massive dragon soaring over a raging sea, and a tiny boat tossed by the waves beneath it.
I masked a sigh. I’d been in this room a few times before, and the ritual that followed was always the same. Knowing what Master Isao wanted, I walked lightly across the tatami mats and knelt in front of the mirror, the only one in the entire temple. Master Isao followed and settled himself beside it facing me, his hands in his lap. For a moment, he sat there, eyes serene, though it felt like his gaze passed right through me to the wall behind my head.
“What do you see?” he asked, as he always did.
I looked at the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me, a slight girl of sixteen winters, straight black hair falling, unbound, to the center of her back. She wore straw sandals, a white sash and a short crimson kimono that was tattered in places, especially the long, billowy sleeves. Her hands were grubby from kneeling at the pond talking to the fish, and dirt stained her knees and face. At first glance, she looked like a ragged but perfectly normal peasant girl, perhaps a fisherman’s or farmer’s waif, kneeling on the floor of the temple.
If you didn’t happen to notice the bushy orange tail, peeking out from behind her robes. And the large, triangular, black-tipped ears poking up from the top of her skull. And the glowing golden eyes that very clearly marked her as not normal, not human at all.
“I see myself, Master Isao,” I said, wondering if, this time, it was the right answer. “In my true form. Without illusion or barrier. I see a kitsune.”
Kitsune. Fox. Or half kitsune, more accurately. Wild kitsune, the foxes that roamed the hidden places of Iwagoto, were masters of illusion magic and shapeshifting. While it was true that some kitsune chose to live as normal wild animals, all foxes possessed magic. Kitsune were yokai, creatures of the supernatural. One of their favorite tricks was to take human form—usually in the guise of a beautiful woman—and lure men astray. To the naked eye, I was an ordinary human girl; no tail, pointed ears or yellow eyes. Only in front of mirrors and reflective surfaces was my true nature revealed. Lacquered tables, still water, even the edge of a blade. I had to be very careful where I stood and what I was around, lest an acute observer notice the reflection on the surface did not quite match the girl in front of it.
Or so the monks warned me. They all knew what I was, and made certain to remind me of it often. Half-blood, demon child, fox girl: phrases that were part of my everyday life. Not that any of the monks were cruel or heartless, just practical. I was kitsune, something not quite human, and they saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
I glanced at Master Isao, wondering if he would tell me anything different this time, any hint of what he really wanted me to say. We’d played the what do you see? game numerous times in the past, and none of my answers—be they human, demon, fox or fish—seemed to satisfy him, because I’d always find myself right back here, staring at the kitsune in the mirror.
“How are your lessons progressing?” Master Isao went on, giving no indication that he’d heard my answer, or if it was the right one. I very seriously doubted it.
“Fine, Master Isao.”
“Show me.”
I hesitated, casting about for a suitable target. There weren’t many to be found. The mirror, perhaps. Or the wall scroll. But I had already used both in the past, and Master Isao wouldn’t be impressed with the same tricks over and over again. This, too, was a game we’d played often.
I spotted a yellow maple leaf, caught on the end of my sleeve, and grinned.
Picking it up, I twirled it between fingers and thumb, then carefully put it on my head. Kitsune magic needed an anchor, something of the natural world, to build an illusion around. There were stories of very old, very powerful kitsune who could weave illusions out of thin air, but I needed something to attach the magic to. Focal point in place, I half closed my eyes and called on my powers.
Since before I could remember, magic had come naturally to me, a gift from the yokai side of the family, I was told. Even when I was a toddler, I had shown impressive talent for it, floating little balls of kitsune-bi, the heatless, blue-white foxfire, through the halls of the temple. As I’d gotten older and my magic had grown, a few of the monks thought Master Isao should put a binding on me, sealing away my power so I wouldn’t hurt anyone, or myself. Wild kitsune were notorious troublemakers. They weren’t inherently malicious, but their “pranks” could range from merely annoying—stealing food or hiding small items—to truly dangerous: spooking a horse on a narrow mountain path, or leading someone deep into a marsh or forest, never to be seen again. Better that I didn’t have that temptation, at least according to Denga and a few others. But the master of the Silent Winds temple had adamantly refused. Fox magic was part of a kitsune’s life, he said, something as natural as sleeping or breathing. To deny it would do more harm than good.
Instead, I practiced my magic every day with a monk called Satoshi, in the hopes that I would learn to control my fox-given talent, and not the other way around. The monks had been skeptical at first, but I knew Master Isao trusted that I would not use my powers for mischief, so I tried not to give in to temptation. Even though some days it was very hard not to disguise the cat as a teapot, or to make a closed door look open, or to turn a log invisible in front of the steps. Fox magic was nothing but illusion and trickery, Denga-san had seethed on more than one occasion, usually on the tail end of a prank. Nothing useful could ever come of it.
That might be true, I thought, as the heat of the fox magic rose up inside me. But it certainly is a lot of fun.
A ripple went through me, like my body was made of water that someone had just dropped a pebble into, and a puff of white smoke engulfed me from the ground up. As the tendrils of smoke dissipated, I opened my eyes and smiled at the image in the mirror. Master Isao stared back at me in the reflection, a perfect replica of the man sitting beside the mirror, if you didn’t count the rather smug grin on his weathered face. And the white-tipped tail behind him.
The real Master Isao chuckled and shook his head. “Is this what you and Satoshi have been practicing?” he asked. “I shudder to imagine the day ‘I’ suggest Denga-san should go and catch a monkey.”
“Ooh, do you think he would? That would be hilarious. Um, not that I would ever do something like that, of course.” Reaching up, I plucked the maple leaf from my head, and the illusion frayed apart, fox magic scattering to the wind, until I was just me once more. Twirling the leaf in my fingers, I wondered how much trouble I’d be in if I did disguise myself as Master Isao and told Denga to go jump in the pond. Knowing the monk’s fanatical devotion to his master, he would do it without question. And then he’d probably kill me.
“Sixteen years,” Master Isao remarked in a soft voice. I blinked at him. That was new. Normally by this time, our conversation would be over and he’d be instructing me to return to my duties. “Sixteen years to the day that you have been with us,” he went on, almost wistfully. “Since we found you outside the gate in a fish basket, with nothing but a tattered robe and a note pinned to the cloth.” Forgive me, but I must leave this child in your care, the letter said. Do not judge her harshly, she cannot help what she is, and the road I walk is no place for innocence. Her name is Yumeko, child of dreams. Raise her well, and m
ay the Great Dragon guide your steps, and hers.
I nodded politely, having heard this story dozens of times. I’d never known my father or my mother, and hadn’t given either of them much thought. They weren’t a part of my life, and I saw no point in worrying about things I could not change.
Though there was one very hazy memory, from when I was just a toddler, that continued to haunt my dreams. I’d been wandering the woods outside the temple that day, hiding from the monks and chasing squirrels, when I’d felt eyes on me from behind. I’d turned and seen a white fox staring at me from atop a fallen log, yellow eyes glowing in the shadows. We’d watched each other for a long moment, child and kitsune, and even though I was very young, I’d felt a kinship with this creature, a sense of longing that I didn’t understand. But when I’d taken a step toward it, the fox had disappeared. I’d never glimpsed it again.
“Sixteen years,” Master Isao continued, unaware of my thoughts. “And in that time, we have taught you our ways, steered you down what we hoped was the right path, trained you to seek the balance between human and kitsune. You have always known what you are—we have never hidden the truth. I have witnessed both the fox’s cunning and human compassion within you. I have seen callousness and kindness in equal measure, and I know you are balanced on a very thin edge right now, one of yokai and human. Whatever you choose, whatever path you wish to take, even if you attempt to traverse them both, you must decide for yourself, soon. It is almost time.”
He didn’t give any explanation of what he meant. He didn’t ask me if I understood. Maybe he knew that half the time I could never untangle his riddles, and the other half I really wasn’t listening. But I nodded and smiled, like I knew what he was getting at, and said, “Yes, Master Isao. I understand.”
He sighed and shook his head. “You have no idea what I’m babbling on about, child,” he stated, making me wince. “But that is all right. It is not the reason I brought you here today.” He looked away, his gaze going distant, that shadow falling over his eyes once more. “You are nearly grown, and the world outside is changing. It is time you knew our true purpose, what the Silent Winds temple truly protects.”
I blinked and, in the mirror, the kitsune’s ears twitched forward. “What we...protect?” I asked. “I didn’t know we protected anything.”
“Of course not,” Master Isao agreed. “No one ever told you. It is our greatest secret. But it is one you must know. The Dragon is rising, and another age comes to an end.”
* * *
“A very long time ago,” Master Isao began in the lyrical tones of a master storyteller, “there was a mortal. A young lord who commanded a great army and had servants that outnumbered the grains of rice in the field. His name has been lost to legend, but it is said he was an arrogant, foolish human who wished to become an immortal kami—a god. To this end, he assembled his greatest warriors and ordered them to bring him the Fushi no Tama, a jewel that was said to grant immortality to any who possessed it. Unfortunately, the jewel of immortality resided in the forehead of the Great Dragon that lived under the sea. But the lord coveted immortality, and told his warriors to retrieve Fushi no Tama by whatever means possible.
“His retainers, a little more sensible then their master, pretended to set off on this quest at once, and so sure of their success was the lord that he adorned his rooms with gold and silver, and draped silken cloth over the roof of his house, as was befitting a god.
“Several months passed with no word, and the young lord, growing impatient, journeyed to the sacred cliffs of Ryugake, where it was said the Dragon lived beneath the waves. As it turned out, not one of his warriors had taken a boat to search for the Dragon but had fled the province at first opportunity. Angry at this news, the lord threw caution to the winds, hired a helmsman and a ship, and embarked on the quest himself.
“As soon as the unfortunate ship reached deep ocean, a fierce storm blew in and the sea turned on the lord and his crew like an enraged beast. To make matters worse, the lord was struck with a terrible sickness and lay close to death while the sea raged and howled around them. As the storm grew in ferocity, and the ship itself threatened to break apart, the helmsman cried out that surely the gods were angry with them, and that the lord should offer a prayer to pacify the Great Kami of the deep.
“The lord, finally realizing his mistake, was ashamed and horrified at what he had attempted to do. Falling to his face, he prayed no less than a thousand times, repenting of his folly to slay the Dragon, vowing that he would challenge the Ruler of the Tides no more.
“Afterward, some legends claim that the lord returned to his homeland, and that nothing happened except the crows stole the fine silk cloth from his roof to line their nests. However, one legend goes on to say that, after the lord finished his thousandth prayer, the seas boiled and a mighty Dragon rose from the ocean depths. He was thrice the length of the ship, his eyes burned like torches in the night and a shining pearl was embedded in the center of his forehead.
“The lord was very frightened, and rightly so, for the Dragon looked most displeased. He fell facedown and begged the mighty serpent to have mercy on him. The Dragon then presented the lord with a choice. He would grant the mortal one wish, anything he desired—riches, immortal life, power over death itself—or he would leave him his soul. The lord chose to keep his soul, and returned home a wiser man.
“Now, every thousand years—one year for each prayer the lord uttered—the Dragon will rise again to the mortal who summons him. If the mortal’s soul is pure, if his intentions are just and his heart is honorable, the Dragon will grant him his heart’s desire. However, if the soul is found wanting, the Dragon rips it from the body and takes it as forfeit for the arrogance of the mortal who sought to become a god, so long ago.”
* * *
Silence fell after Master Isao finished his tale. I sat there, thinking it was an intriguing story, but what it had to do with our temple and the thing we were supposed to protect, I hadn’t a clue. Master Isao watched me for a moment, then shook his head.
“You do not know why I told you that story, do you?”
“I do,” I protested, and Master Isao raised his bushy eyebrows. “It’s so that I can...um...well. No, I don’t.”
He said nothing, only waited patiently, silently insisting, as he often did, that I figure it out myself. I racked my brain, trying to understand. He mentioned a dragon, both in the story and earlier with the mirror, so it must be important. What had he said, exactly?
“The Dragon is rising,” I repeated, earning a nod of approval. “And, in the story, every thousand years, it can be summoned. To grant a mortal whatever they desire.” I paused, frowning slightly. “So...why does the Dragon grant wishes? It’s a god, isn’t it? Surely it has more important things to do than pop in every thousand years. Does it like granting wishes?”
“The Dragon is not a wish-granting puppet, Yumeko-chan,” Master Isao said. “It is a Great Kami—the God of Tides and the Harbinger of Change. Every time it appears, for good or ill, the world shifts and goes down a different path.”
“So, that must mean...is it time for the Dragon to rise again?”
“Very good, Yumeko-chan.” Master Isao gave another solemn nod. “You are correct. The time of the Dragon is nearly upon us. And there are many, even now, who are searching for a way to call on it. But the Dragon will rise only if it is properly summoned, and the only way to do that is to recite the young lord’s prayers, word for word. All one thousand of them.”
“A thousand prayers?” I cocked my head. I had trouble remembering what day of the week it was. I couldn’t imagine having to recite one thousand prayers from memory. “That sounds terribly difficult,” I remarked. “I don’t suppose it’s the same prayer, over and over again, either. Someone should have written them down...”
Oh.
And the pieces clicked into place. The mystery of the temple, th
e sacred duty of the monks. I glanced at the hanging scroll on the wall, the Dragon and the doomed ship, realizing its significance for the first time. “That’s what we protect,” I guessed. “The prayer to summon the Dragon. It’s...here.”
“A piece of it,” Master Isao said gravely. “You see, Yumeko-chan, long ago, someone used the power of the Dragon’s wish for a terrible thing. Darkness and chaos ruled, and the land was very nearly torn asunder because of it. It was decided that such power should never be used again, so the prayer was split into three parts and hidden throughout Iwagoto, so such darkness could not rise a second time.”
“But...I thought the Dragon only granted a wish to an honorable mortal,” I said. “One ‘whose heart is pure.’ How could the wish be used for evil?”
“The path to Jigoku is lined with honorable intentions,” Master Isao replied. “And absolute power can corrupt even the purest of hearts. Such is the folly of men. Regardless, now that you know what we protect, Yumeko-chan, we must be very careful. This is why we are so isolated, why the temple never receives visitors. With the coming of the Dragon, the balance will shift. Outside these walls, the land is in chaos. Men fight each other for power, unnatural things stir and rise, drawn by blood and violence, and the world grows dark with fear. It is our duty to ensure that the Dragon’s prayer never sees the outside world, that we guard this piece of the scroll from all who would call upon its power. This is our greatest responsibility, and now, it is yours, as well. Do you understand, young one?”
A spider of frost ran up my spine, even as I nodded. “I think so, Master Isao.”
“There is a shadow approaching this place, little fox.” Master Isao’s voice had gone soft, almost distant. He wasn’t looking at me, instead gazing at the wall over my head. “It draws ever closer, and some of us may not survive. But it will not catch you, if you can find the path between and hold on to the light.” Blinking, he glanced at me again, the distant expression fading as he smiled. “Ah, but I am rambling again, aren’t I?” he said brightly. “And I believe you had something to do today, didn’t you, Yumeko-chan? Oh...and if you want to avoid Denga and Nitoru this afternoon, I would sneak over the western wall.” One eye closed in a slow wink as he rose. “I will see you tonight at dinner. Give the monkeys my regards.”