The Fox's Mask

by Anna Frost

  “You’re right. The shell is very hard, and the remains can become a vase, a bowl, a plate, or any number of jewelry pieces. Next time we visit a city, I’ll show you where they sell them.”

  “I’d like that…” Yuki caressed a pale-blue egg longingly. “We’re too poor to afford anything made of dragon eggshell, aren’t we?”

  Akakiba laughed. “I’m afraid so. Don’t get expensive tastes.”

  They began walking towards the quiet of Fubuki’s hut. He wanted to leave the villagers to their business, but people were suddenly looking at them and murmuring expectantly. The old storyteller elbowed her way to them.

  “We’d like to hire you,” she said gravely. “Bandits would love to get their hands on these eggs. We need strong men to escort the boy to the city with the eggs and escort him back with the money.”

  For a pair of jobless samurai, it was a perfect opportunity. “We’d be glad to be of help,” Akakiba said. “Our fee is one koku.” A koku was a measure of rice meant to feed a man for a year, more than enough to last him and Yuki until the next job.

  “That’s too much,” someone complained. Others muttered in agreement.

  Akakiba raised a single eyebrow. “You do know how much dragon eggs are worth these days, don’t you?” He told them, and their jaws dropped. “It’s not only bandits who’ll be after them—not after we arrive in the city and try to sell them. For a high-risk mission, I take a high price. If you prefer, I would accept a cut of the total sale price. A fifth to us, the rest to you.” One-fifth would be more than one koku, but if they liked that option better, he wouldn’t argue.

  The villagers clustered together, and there was, once again, heated discussion. The villagers tried to keep their voices low, but he didn’t even need his keen hearing to follow the gist of the conversation: Tatsu’s faction wanted to go to the city themselves, ostensibly to save the village the cost of hiring samurai, while others insisted that none but samurai could protect the eggs properly.

  “They don’t trust Tatsu,” Yuki said. “Can’t we intervene?”

  “It’s their village and their eggs,” Akakiba said. “It has to be their own decision, not a stranger’s.”

  Fubuki strode forward into the knot of arguing villagers and raised her voice above theirs. “What is it, Tatsu? You think Fox clan samurai would be dishonorable and steal the eggs from us?”

  The man began spluttering an angry answer, but she spoke over it. “Sir samurai,” she said, bowing to them extravagantly, “will you not give us your word to do right by us? Perhaps that will quell poor Tatsu’s fears.”

  “I give it,” Akakiba swiftly said and nudged his younger friend. As an adult, Yuki had the right to speak for himself.

  “As do I,” Yuki added.

  In a magnificent rendition of his carp impression, Tatsu opened and closed his mouth without saying a word, his face gone red. Would he dare refuse a samurai’s word?

  Tatsu gave a stiff, insultingly shallow bow. “Then it is agreed, sir samurai. We will entrust the eggs to you and pay you a fifth of the amount.” He stalked off.

  Fubuki spoke on behalf of the village. Either her authority was accepted because the villagers thought she had a special connection to the two samurai, or because nobody else was courageous enough to challenge Tatsu’s leadership. Perhaps both.

  “Your cut will be a fifth of the total,” Fubuki said. When a villager hazarded a comment, she snapped, “It’ll give them an interest in obtaining the best price possible.”

  “We could set out now,” Akakiba suggested. The sun had set, but they could salvage a few hours of moonlit travel before settling down for rest.

  Fubuki gave him the look. The one that couldn’t be interpreted in any other way than, You’re an idiot. “Children need rest. Recovering men too.”

  Ah, yes. The old woman had said something about escorting the boy along with the eggs. Allowing him to visit the city, however briefly, must be their idea of a reward.

  He folded, if only because he did want Yuki to be properly rested. “Early morning then.”

  “Early” wasn’t all that early when mothers were involved.

  “We should go,” Akakiba said after the mothers in question had finished fighting over what foodstuff was best for travelers in a hurry. “The rice cakes will be fine.”

  “Rain coats,” one woman said. “We forgot rain coats!”

  “It’s not the rainy season,” he pointed out. That occurred in summer, not in spring.

  “That doesn’t mean it won’t rain!”

  Suspecting that arguing would lead to further delays, he let them add raincoats to their supplies.

  The egg-finder had meanwhile become the egg-bearer, fitted with a box to carry on his back. Inside it, the eggs nestled in fragrant straw.

  Tatsu chose that moment to reappear with five friends as backup. “Wait! We’ve decided to keep an egg! We haven’t had protection since the last bonded man died and his dragon stopped eating.” Tatsu made it sound as if the dead man were somehow to blame for the dragon’s behavior. Didn’t he know that a bonded dragon rarely outlived its human for long?

  “It’s a sensible idea,” Akakiba said mildly. Tatsu’s face fell—as if he’d hoped for opposition and a chance to claim that the samurai meant to steal the eggs.

  Tatsu’s gang conferred before making a choice. Akakiba was glad to see they didn’t pick the female. It would be best if she went to the city, where there would be plenty of mating partners. Bonded dragons laid fewer eggs than wild ones, but every egg helped the species.

  Fubuki appeared at his side. “I couldn’t talk them out of their stupid idea. Tatsu is going to keep the dragon for himself, the greedy bastard. He’ll make sure he’s alone with it when it hatches so it can’t bond to anyone else. I know he will.”

  “That’s likely,” he agreed. But perhaps he could do something about it. “Fubuki, fetch your old clothes. Straw is best as padding for the traveling box, but the egg that stays needs to smell humans in its nest. Else it might run away when it hatches, and that’d be worse for the village, wouldn’t it?”

  Fubuki’s sigh was a deep one. “Any dragon is better than none, even one bonded to that idiot.”

  Akakiba kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t time to explain the little-known fact that dragons didn’t bond to the first person they saw, as was generally assumed, but rather bonded to the first person they smelled…

  He waited until it was done, Fubuki’s clothes added in the bamboo basket that served as a nest for the egg staying behind. It should do the trick.

  “We should go,” he said, again. Taking advantage of the villagers’ preoccupation with discussing names for “their” dragon, he ushered Yuki and the village boy toward the road.

  They made their escape, followed by last-minute advice, such as, “Don’t forget to eat your rice cakes!” and “Be careful!”

  The village boy had spoken but two words so far this morning (“yes” and “mother”), seemingly overwhelmed by excitement. He was small, however, and his eager steps soon slowed under the weight of the box upon his back. Akakiba asked twice if the boy would like him to carry the eggs. He was refused twice. He and Yuki exchanged a look. They wouldn’t reach the city for days if they allowed the boy to set the pace.

  “He’s probably not terribly heavy,” Yuki said.

  Moments later, the boy was on Akakiba’s back, egg box and all. Their travel speed immediately doubled.

  They walked from sunrise to sunset and kept going by moonlight for as long as they could endure. The village boy was already asleep by that time, and Akakiba laid him down carefully.

  He checked the eggs next, pressing his palm against each of them in turn.

  “Don’t hatch yet, girl,” he told the female dragon, fingers stroking the shell that stood between her and the world. To Yuki, who was watching, he explained, “When an egg gets as warm as this one, it’s a sign it’ll crack soon. I can’t say when precisely. It could happen tomorrow or in thr
ee days.”

  “What do we do if it hatches before we can sell it?”

  “Would you like a dragon? We could take it as payment if we sold the shell to make up the price difference.”

  “A dragon for me?” Interest was evident in Yuki’s voice. “Oh, I can’t. We need the money. Besides, they must be expensive to feed. They eat meat and fish, not rice. Why do you even ask me? If we were to have a dragon, shouldn’t it be yours?”

  Akakiba carefully secured the box cover over the eggs before answering. “My clan doesn’t approve of keeping dragons. What we do is dangerous, and they’d just get killed needlessly. Dragons are protectors, not warriors. They’re best left to people who need them.”

  “I don’t think nobles need dragons, but many have them.” Yuki stretched out on the grass, his hands seeking rocks that he tossed away from his chosen rest spot.

  “Yes. It’s a waste. They’ve turned dragons into a status symbol. It can’t be helped when villagers badly need the money and nobles are willing to pay so high.”

  The temperature was edging toward chilly. Normally they started a fire to make nights comfortable, but the straw raincoats provided by the mothers of the village kept them reasonably warm.

  Akakiba surveyed their tiny camp. The village boy was asleep with his arms around the box that contained the dragon eggs, moonlight outlining his peaceful features. Yuki still shifted about, and their modest travel gear and food supply was heaped nearby.

  Satisfied, the Fox clan samurai settled back against a tree with his katana in the crook of his arm and went to sleep in the space of an instant.

  The sunrise was their wakeup call. They went on their way, the boy dozing on Akakiba’s shoulder.

  “It’s too early,” Yuki grumbled, stumbling along with bleary eyes. “I’ve barely slept.”

  “We’re in a hurry. Keep up, lazy.” Akakiba nonetheless adjusted his pace to accommodate the discomfort he saw in his companion’s face. Yuki kept fiddling with the sword at his waist. Its weight must have caused him pain, for it hung near the still-healing wound.

  They met no one on the road aside from a medicine man with a box of herbs and tools on his back. They paused to buy pain-dulling medicine. Fubuki had wanted to give them the rest of what she had, but it wouldn’t have been proper. What if someone in the village got injured before Fubuki could replenish her supplies? With that thought in mind, Akakiba mentioned to the medicine man that he might find business in the next village.

  Sometime later, the boy woke.

  “I’m hungry,” he said shyly. “Are we there yet?”

  “Do you want a rice cake, um, you?” Yuki blinked. “Uh, you never gave us your name.”

  “I’m Taro, because I’m the firstborn in my family,” he explained as if they couldn’t figure out that a person named “eldest son” was likely to be the eldest son.

  After discovering Taro’s name, they also discovered that once he was finished being awed into silence, it was very difficult to get him to stop talking.

  “Why is your name Akakiba?” Taro asked. “Is it a warrior name?”

  “No. It’s the name I was born with.”

  “Why would your parents pick that name?”

  “My father is named Kiba, the fang. My mother is Akahana, the red rose. They compromised with Akakiba, the red fang.”

  “Oh. Do you always wear your swords?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even when you sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even when you take a bath?”

  “No.”

  There was an all-too-brief moment of silence before Taro asked another question. “Why is it the Fox clan and not the Dragon clan? Foxes don’t fight demons, dragons do.”

  Yuki intervened, perhaps sensing Akakiba’s growing impatience. “Foxes fight demons too. Don’t you know the legend?”

  “There’s no legend with fighting foxes,” Taro asserted.

  “Is that so? Then I can’t tell you about it since it doesn’t exist…”

  “Tell me!”

  Yuki’s voice softened as he began. “A long time ago, when foxes were more than mere animals and possessed great powers, it wasn’t rare for them to take our likeness and live among us unseen. It so happened that a fox disguised as a beautiful lady fell in love with a strong and honorable samurai. They married and lived happily for a time.

  “One day, a dog wandered into their garden and started chasing the fox lady. So afraid was she that she turned back into a fox and leaped to safety on top of a wall. Having witnessed the scene, the samurai begged her not to leave, swearing to love her forever even if she were a fox. She heard truth in his voice and returned to him. They had many children and lived happily for a time longer.

  “In those days, demons were strong and cruel, and they despised foxes for their willingness to side with humanity against them. One such demon descended upon their home and killed the samurai before the fox lady’s eyes. In her anguish, she took up her husband’s sword and slew the monster.

  “The fox lady’s sorrow was, however, too great to bear; a wasting sickness took her, and she was soon on her deathbed. Sensing her death approaching, she told her children that they were to become slayers of demons, for nothing else would allow her to rest in peace. Her children obeyed and founded the Fox clan to honor their mother. Ever since, the Fox clan’s warriors have been fighting demons wherever they can be found.”

  Akakiba glanced at his friend with surprise. “I didn’t know you knew the legend.”

  “I didn’t know it before. Someone in the village told the story during the festival. You should have told me. It’s interesting.”

  Akakiba heard the unspoken reproach: You never tell me anything. But why should he? There was no need to speak of his clan. He himself hadn’t dealt with them in years, not since he rebelled, left the clan house, and found Yuki.

  Taro spoke up. “But how did the fox lady know how to use a sword?”

  Akakiba and Yuki sighed in unison. The road would be a long one.

  Chapter Three

  Sanae

  RUMOR SAID THAT shinobi carried out their work in the dead of night, wearing black to disappear in the shadows, entering castles unseen and committing murder unheard.

  Rumor, Sanae found out, was wrong.

  When she noticed the intruder, it was merely late evening and the colors of sunset hadn’t yet drained from the sky. A gentle wind was tugging strands of hair out of the red ribbon at the nape of her neck, and the air was thick with the scent of spring and renewed life. It was a sudden noise, a thud that did not belong, that first alerted her.

  She knelt outside the clan head’s suite on the porch that opened on the gardens. She wasn’t wearing practical clothing like a real guard, but rather a bright-blue furisode with ample sleeves and a beautiful flower pattern. She wore no sword, but a knife was camouflaged in the colorful sash about her waist. Her function was to raise the alarm in case of danger. Fighting was for the adults, those who had undergone the coming-of-age ceremony and thus earned the right to bear a sword. She would soon be one of them, but not yet.

  Sanae watched from the corner of her eyes as the intruder became visible among the flowering plum trees. The sound that had alerted her must have been his landing after he’d jumped the wall, an impressive feat indeed. Twice as impressive considering this wall was the second of the clan house, created specifically to protect the clan head and his entourage. The first wall was taller and better guarded. How had this intruder gained access?

  Attacks on the Fox clan were so rare that it was considered an honor to witness one. For one to happen while she was standing guard for the first time was amazing luck, and her excitement was far stronger than her fear.

  The intruder was dressed in a plain manner that would not attract attention in the clan house, but he could not disguise that which betrayed him: his human aura. The only humans who lived in the clan house were women who did not bear swords. None but a shinobi, an assassin, w
ould be so bold as to try this.

  Under normal circumstances, Sanae’s duty would have been to raise the alarm and watch as the intruder fled, discovered too soon to act. But there was no need to let the shinobi know he had been discovered; there was a fox in the garden.

  Sanae stared at the fox until she had its attention, then deliberately flicked her gaze toward the intruder. The fox slunk away to enter through a door out of the shinobi’s sight. She forced herself to remain calm, to pretend she hadn’t noticed a thing. After all, she was but a young girl watching the flowers in bloom.

  Her heartbeat quickened as the intruder approached, discreetly sizing her up. Would he attack, or would he seek another entrance to the rooms she guarded? There was no doubt he was after the clan head: assassins always were.

  Behind her, the clan head called so loudly that it was clear he meant to be heard by the intruder too. “Sanae, you may go. We do not require your services any longer.”

  “Understood.”

  Sanae indeed understood the message: she had to move before the idiotic shinobi could try to murder her. She gathered her furisode and slid her sock-clad feet into sandals before going the same way the fox had.

  The hidden door was a hinged wall section so narrow that no creature bigger than a fox could fit through. A pair of thick bushes hid it from view. It took but a moment for Sanae to focus and shift fox, enter, and shift human again. She was young and healthy so the transformation was effortless and her clothing undisturbed. It was best not to dwell upon the fact that it might not be so forever.

  The hidden door opened on a hallway where a pair of armed guards usually stood. But this time there were half a dozen sword-bearing men waiting in utter silence. The trap had been reversed, and the shinobi—along with any friends he might have brought along—was about to get a nasty surprise.

  The attack did not take long to come. The whisper of feet on the wooden floor was the signal for the defenders in the hallway to throw open the door and rush inside the room. Sanae, peeking from behind the armed guards, counted three confused-looking would-be assassins. The clan leader had lured them with his voice, but to shinobi eyes, there would be nobody present but a fox on a cushion.