Shadow of the Fox

by Julie Kagawa

  Ice twisted my stomach. “Why?” I struggled to my feet, feeling my leg throb and pulse like it was on fire, and nearly collapsed again. My foxfire had sputtered out; I raised an arm and called it to life again, a blue-white globe flaring in my hand. It wouldn’t hurt them, but maybe they didn’t know that. “I haven’t done anything to you, or your weasels. Why are you doing this?”

  The wind witch laughed heartily, her hair writhing madly around her. “Oh, little vermin,” she chuckled, raising her arm. The two kamaitachi crouched on her shoulders, blades gleaming as they targeted me. “If you cannot figure that out, then you really are too stupid to keep living.”

  “So loud,” sighed a new, unfamiliar voice behind me. “At least you could have the courtesy to kill her quickly. Some of us are trying to sleep, after all.”

  Startled, the wind witch lowered her arm, and I turned toward the voice. A body sat on one of the barrels close to the wall, cloaked in the shadows cast from the roof. Raising its head, it stood and walked into the light.

  My heartbeat fluttered, whether in awe or fear, I couldn’t tell. A man stood before me, tall and slender, the moonlight casting a silvery halo around him. His billowing robes were a spotless white, trimmed in red and black, without patterns, markings or a family crest to identify him. His hair was very fine, even longer than the wind witch’s, and a bright, stunning silver, the color of a polished blade. An enormously long, curved sword was strapped to his back, the sheath dwarfing a katana’s by several inches, the hilt doubled in length. Lazy, heavy-lidded eyes, like molten gold, met my gaze, then slid past me to the witch standing overhead.

  “You’re making an awful racket,” the stranger said in that low, vaguely wry voice, as if he found this situation amusing. “It’s fortunate humans are all deaf, or they would hear you for miles. Does it really take such elaboration to kill one little half fox in an empty alley?”

  “Seigetsu-sama,” whispered the witch. Her face had gone pale, the wind dying to a murmur as she stared at him. “What are you doing here? Do you know this vermin?”

  “The half-breed?” The stranger’s lips twisted in a smirk. “No, I was just in the area, and decided to take a nap. By all means, continue.” He waved at me in an offhand manner and started walking away.

  My heart sank. I had thought the stranger was going to help me. He looked powerful, with his golden eyes and giant sword; even the wind witch seemed afraid of him. Kazekira smiled triumphantly and raised her arm, her clothes and hair beginning to snap in the wind once more.

  “Although...” The stranger stopped, rubbing his chin, and glanced up at the witch again. “They say kamaitachi move so quickly, the naked eye cannot comprehend them. I’ve always wondered if that was true.”

  Reaching back, he drew his weapon over his head, lacquered case and all. Holding the sheath in his left hand, he slid one foot back until he was in some sort of stance, his empty hand hovering a few inches from the hilt of the giant sword.

  “Let’s play a game,” the stranger said, a vicious smile crossing his face as he stared at the witch. “You send your familiars to kill this half-breed, and I try to cut them from the air before they can reach her. If the kamaitachi are as fast as the stories claim, they should be in no danger. If not, well...” He lifted one lean shoulder in a shrug. “You can always find more, right?”

  The wind witch stiffened. On her shoulders, the two kamaitachi cowered, looking reluctant. My heart pounded as the silence stretched out. The beautiful stranger didn’t move, his hand steady and motionless over the hilt of his sword, ready to draw steel in the blink of an eye.

  Finally, Kazekira raised her chin and sniffed. “Much as I would like to play your game, Seigetsu-sama,” she said in a lofty voice, “I don’t think I can convince my cowardly vermin weasels to cooperate, so you’ll have to excuse us.” With a sneer, she glanced in my direction. “Consider yourself lucky, half-breed. You get to live tonight. But Seigetsu-sama won’t always be around to protect you. My kamaitachi and I will see you soon.”

  A strong wind gusted through the shrine, stirring dust and making the lanterns sway. The wind witch rose into the air, robes billowing around her, and drifted away over the rooftops. In seconds, she had disappeared.

  As the wind died down, I looked at the stranger, watching as he straightened and slipped the weapon over his shoulders again. Seigetsu-sama, the witch had called him, a suffix reserved for those of the highest station. Did that mean he was a lord, perhaps the daimyo of one of the Great Clans? I wouldn’t have thought that I would meet someone so important in the back alleys of Chochin Machi, but I didn’t know much about the outside world. Perhaps he was taking an evening stroll around town...without the company of his samurai and bodyguards. It seemed unlikely, but, whatever his reasons, I did know that his timing was impeccable.

  “Ano...” I stammered as the stranger glanced up, those lazy golden eyes pinning me in place. For a moment, I felt almost naked beneath them, all my secrets laid bare. Shaking myself, I offered a smile. “Thank you.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “You’re welcome,” he stated simply. “And consider yourself lucky. I don’t make a habit of saving oblivious half foxes from angry kamaitachi, but tonight I thought I would make an exception.” He regarded me with cool amusement. “You know why Kazekira was after you, yes?”

  How did he know about the scroll? Come to think of it, how did Kazekira? I swallowed hard, feeling the narrow case hidden in my furoshiki. “I really have no idea.”

  One silver brow arched. “You’re going to have to lie better than that if you want to survive, half-breed,” he told me. “There are many out there searching desperately for the scroll, who will do anything to acquire it.” I tensed, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “You can relax. I have no interest in the Dragon’s wish, or you. But I will offer this bit of advice—don’t tell the demonslayer about Kazekira.”

  My ears pricked. He knew about Tatsumi, as well? Who was he? “Why?”

  His eyes, golden and mesmerizing, bore into mine. “Because, little fox, powerful kami-touched witches don’t randomly attack ordinary peasant girls without reason, especially in a town or city. The demonslayer knows this. If you tell him you were assaulted by a wind witch with kamaitachi familiars, he’s going to want to know why she was after you. And what will you tell him then?”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip. “Good point.”

  Shaking his head, the stranger started to walk away but paused again, watching me from the corner of his eye. “You will likely see Kazekira again,” he warned. “If you do, and the demonslayer somehow gets himself into trouble, remember this.” He raised a hand, the last three fingers held up, long and elegant. “Kamaitachi always come in threes. Their loyalty to each other is unbreakable, and if one is threatened, the others will do whatever it takes to save their brother or sister. Remember that, and ask yourself why Kazekira has only two familiars. Sayonara.”

  Before I could reply, he strode down the alleyway and vanished into the darkness.

  * * *

  Walking was painful. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself along the wall of the alley, feeling the wound throb and pulse with every motion. Gingerly, I pulled up the hem of my robe, expecting to see a mess of blood smeared across my skin and dripping to the ground. I found the gash easily enough, a thin straight cut right above my knee. But, though it looked fairly deep, it wasn’t bleeding.

  As I limped toward the main street, there was a blur of shadow, and the bright edge of a sword suddenly blocked my path. Freezing, I looked up into Tatsumi’s cold, unamused face.

  I shrank from him as he pressed forward, his terrible blade casting his face in a faint glow as it hovered between us. Hitting the wall, I winced as the movement sent a flare of pain through my leg, making me gasp. “Ite,” I whimpered. Ouch.

  Instantly, the blade at my throat lowered a few inches, and Tatsumi frowned at me. “You
’re injured,” he stated, his cold fury thawing a bit. “What happened?”

  “I...um... I was attacked,” I stammered. Remembering what Seigetsu had said, I thought quickly. “I was going to get us a room at the inn, but then there was this strange wind and...something hit me. I ran, and it chased me here.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “It was invisible,” I went on, making his eyes narrow. “Or it was too fast. I didn’t see anything when I was cut. But I did look up once and there was this...this weasel thing with knives growing from its legs, perched on the corner of a roof.”

  “Kamaitachi? Here?” Tatsumi took a step back and scanned the alley, his gaze sweeping the rooftops. His sword flared, almost in excitement, but the shadows surrounding us were empty.

  “Kama...itachi?” I repeated, as if this was the first time I’d heard it. “What are they?”

  “Sickle weasels,” Tatsumi answered, not taking his eyes from our surroundings. “A type of yokai that travel on the wind. The stories say that there are always three of them, and that they have a particular way of defending their territory—one knocks you down, the second cuts you, and the third applies medicine to the wound so you don’t bleed to death. This all happens near-simultaneously, so the intruder doesn’t know he’s been injured until later when the wound starts to bleed.” He tore his gaze from the rooftops and glanced at me, appraising. “In reality, kamaitachi produce a type of secretion and coat their claws with it, so when they strike you, the gash doesn’t bleed right away. But they’re usually found farther north—I’ve never heard of one attacking someone in a city. Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

  “A weasel with giant knives growing out of its legs? I am very certain.” I was glad that he seemed to believe me. I didn’t dare tell him about Kazekira. Better that this was a strange yet random yokai attack, and I the clueless, hapless visitor who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “They weren’t very nice weasels,” I grumbled, wincing as my leg throbbed again. “Are kamaitachi always this cranky, or was I just unlucky tonight?”

  Tatsumi sighed, sheathing his sword. “Can you walk?” he inquired, not looking at the leg where the kamaitachi had slashed me. I nodded and pushed myself off the wall again. Pain flared, and my leg nearly buckled, but I clenched my jaw and limped after Tatsumi.

  On alert for yokai and sudden winds, I followed him back to the ryokan. Tatsumi walked slowly, setting a pace that I could easily keep up with, though his hand did not stray far from his weapon. I scanned the rooftops, shadows and crowds of Chochin Machi for a figure with long hair floating on the wind, but if Kazekira and her sickle weasels were close, they were staying out of sight.

  Back at the ryokan, we left our regular shoes at the entrance as was custom and found our room. Curious to see what the inside of a ryokan looked like, I stepped eagerly through the frame, but found a normal room on the other side of the door. It was elegant in its simplicity, with warm tan walls, thick tatami mats and a small alcove with a single ayame-iris in a vase. There were no beds, as it was too early for the futons to be pulled out of the closet, so a low table sat on the floor in the center of the room. A tray with a teapot and cups had been placed on the table, steam curling gently from the spout.

  Tatsumi shut the door, removed the straw sandals the inn had provided for interior use and placed them by the door. I followed his example, and he nodded to one of the pillows at the table. “Sit down,” he ordered, without any explanation of why or what he was going to do. I did as he instructed, gingerly lowering myself onto the blue pillow, clenching my jaw as my leg throbbed with the movement.

  Tatsumi knelt at the end of the table, reached under his obi and drew out a packet of colored paper that could fit in the palm of my hand. He placed it on the table and opened it carefully, revealing small amount of what looked like green dust. As I watched, fascinated, he poured hot liquid from the teapot into a cup, then carefully trickled a few drops onto the powder.

  “What...is that?” I asked.

  Ignoring me, Tatsumi mixed the green dust with the water until it became a paste. Picking up the entire square, he held it gently in his palm and looked up. Glittering violet eyes met mine, and my stomach turned over.

  “Where did the kamaitachi cut you?”

  I hesitated, feeling my heart beat faster under my robes. He was so close. The scroll was safely tucked away in the furoshiki over my shoulder, but would he see it? Would he get close enough to feel it?

  Tatsumi didn’t move, eyes flat and expression blank as he waited. I paused a moment longer, then carefully pulled up the hem of my robe, showing the long, straight gash on my thigh. It was red and angry-looking, and it throbbed like a dozen hornet stings, but it still wasn’t bleeding. And somehow, seeing it clearly made it hurt all the more.

  Tatsumi didn’t blink. In one smooth motion, he scooped up the green paste in two fingers, reached down and smeared it firmly onto the cut.

  “Ite!” I yelped, jerking my leg back, startled by both the sudden, dizzying pain of my wound, and the casual treatment from the human in front of me. He gave me a puzzled look, as if he didn’t understand my reaction.

  “It’s a healing salve,” he explained. “It will numb the injury and keep it from becoming infected.” He reached for my leg again, and I flinched away, making him frown. “Do you not want aid? We have to take care of the wound now or it will start to bleed soon. Let me see it.”

  “It hurts,” I gritted out, pulling back my hem to expose the gash again. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been cut by a sickle weasel, Tatsumi, but this is my first time, and it hurts quite a lot. Please, be more gentle.”

  “Gentle.” He gave me another puzzled look, as if the concept was completely foreign to him.

  “Yes. Kind? Tender? Not making it feel like my leg is going to fall off?” He still looked baffled, and I frowned. “Haven’t you had injuries treated before?”

  “Of course. But the intent was always to treat the wounds as quickly and efficiently as possible. Showing pain is a weakness—it exposes you and lets your enemies know you are vulnerable.”

  “Oh.” I was starting to understand my cold, dangerous travel companion a little better. “We were raised very differently, I think.”

  He tilted his head, regarding me with appraising violet eyes. “You weren’t punished for showing weakness while injured?”

  “No. Denga-san once said that I didn’t need to be punished when I injured myself doing something stupid, because the injury was all I needed to learn not to do it again.”

  Tatsumi frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, I learned that you really shouldn’t climb onto the temple roof at midnight during a rainstorm. And that if you’re going to pop out of a closet to scare a martial arts master, be ready to duck. And if you have to flee an angry bear in the forest by climbing a tree, you should first check that there aren’t any hornets’ nests hiding under the branches.”

  Tatsumi only stared at me, looking faintly bewildered. I sighed. “Master Isao taught kindness and patience in all things, especially when one was injured,” I went on. “He said that caring for the spirit was just as important as caring for the body.” Looking into Tatsumi’s blank, emotionless face, I had a sudden, heartbreaking insight. “No one has ever showed you any kindness before, have they?”

  “Your wound is bleeding,” Tatsumi stated, making me start and glance down at my leg, where a trickle of red was starting to crawl down my skin. Before it could drip to the floor, Tatsumi swiftly pressed a cloth to the cut, making me grit my teeth, and all conversation stopped as he cleaned and bandaged the gash. He might have been a little less rough, but he was not gentle.

  Thankfully, food arrived soon after: bowls of rice, trays of pickled cabbage and a deep black pot that, when the top was removed, revealed a steaming array of vegetables, meat and bubbling broth that made my stomach leap in excite
ment. Tatsumi called it a nabe—a hot pot—and I gorged myself until I couldn’t eat another mushroom. But the night’s danger wasn’t yet over. When the meal was finished and the tray removed, my face stared back at me from the table’s lacquered surface: yellow eyes and pointed ears reflected in the dark wood. Fortunately at that moment, Tatsumi had been watching the maid depart, and didn’t see the flash of kitsune in the room with him. I retreated to a corner, claiming my wound was throbbing, and stayed far away from the table and its treacherous shiny surface.

  Not long after, the maid arrived to pull the futons from the closet and lay them out on the floor, and I crawled beneath the blankets as Tatsumi put out the light. After secretly making sure the lacquered case was safe and secured in my furoshiki, I lay in the darkness for a long time, thinking about kamaitachi, wind witches and various demons who wanted the scroll.

  And Tatsumi. Kage Tatsumi, the demonslayer of the Shadow Clan. A boy who didn’t know the first thing about kindness, compassion or mercy. Who was ruthless, dangerous and would kill anyone—human, demon or yokai—that got in our way. Who didn’t realize that the exact thing he wanted, the entire reason for his mission, was sitting not ten feet from him. If he ever discovered I had the scroll...

  I shivered and clutched the wrap a little tighter to my chest, feeling the hard length of the scroll case within. I knew I should be afraid of him; there was no doubt that he would kill me if he found out I’d been lying to him. Not only about the scroll, but about my true nature, as well. Even if I was only half yokai, I doubted the demonslayer of the Shadow Clan would take kindly to a kitsune who had been pretending to be human this whole time.

  Tatsumi was dangerous, I understood that. But, at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel...sorry for him. He didn’t know how to laugh, or smile, or have any fun. He didn’t know the pleasures of the simple things—laughing, dancing, finding beauty in the world. It seemed like a very boring existence. The brief bout of dancing tonight had certainly lifted my spirits, and I knew Master Isao and the others wouldn’t want me to be miserable. I wondered if I could show Tatsumi that there was more to life. Then maybe he wouldn’t be so cold and scary. It certainly wouldn’t hurt for him to smile a little. I would just have to be careful about it.