by Anna Frost
An additional Fox clan samurai had meanwhile sneaked behind the shinobi team to close and block the door, denying them the option of flight. The intruders were no amateurs; showing no distress, they fell back into defensive positions with kurai knives in their hands. At the first clash of weapons, a single sword came away bloodied—yet three bodies shortly fell upon the floor.
“Cheaters,” one guard said, kicking the nearest body. “I thought we might be able to disarm one before they ingested the poison.”
Sanae, who had watched breathlessly with a hand on her knife, bit her lower lip in disappointment. If the trap had worked, if they had taken a prisoner, how famous she would have become!
“Their death is unfortunate.” Takashi, head of the Fox clan, had returned to his human shape. He hadn’t moved from his cushion during the fight. “I would dearly like to know who sent them and the ones before them. There’s no shortage of clans jealous of our status, but which of them would go this far?”
The question went unanswered. Discreet inquiries had previously been made on this subject, but no definitive information had been received. It was, however, possible that the clan head did know who was responsible but wished to keep it a secret. Leaders had to be sneaky at times.
“Well then,” Takashi said, “please dispose of the bodies and investigate how they came in. We caught them in time, but it could have been inconvenient. Thank you all for your hard work. It was well done.” His gaze lingered on Sanae as he spoke, and she colored at the acknowledgement.
“They attacked early,” a guard observed. “The sun has barely disappeared.”
“Perhaps they knew the guard changes around this time,” another man said. “It can be a weakness to exploit.”
Sanae frowned. She didn’t like to think of how the enemy might have learned of such security details.
“That could be,” Takashi allowed, “but in this case, it meant there were more men to help us. The new guards arrived at the perfect time, didn’t they? Perhaps the shinobi have heard we can see in the dark and simply didn’t dare wait for night. You all know we destroyed the last shinobi party that attacked us by moonlight.”
The comment was greeted with smiles. Swords were cleaned and sheathed, and the gathering dissolved with much bowing to the clan head. Those not on night guard duty were sent to spread the news and conduct further searches on the premises—lest they find another intruder waiting for a second chance to strike.
Sanae shortly excused herself—her guard shift also ended with the sun’s disappearance—and went away pondering the crucial question: who would send shinobi after them? The why of the attack was not difficult to guess, and the why now was no more mysterious: there had never been fewer active demons in the land. Perhaps some thought the Fox clan was no longer needed or that they could be replaced by less influential—and less competent—warriors. It was no secret that the Fox clan bred the best demon hunters and kept them alive the longest. Regular humans didn’t fare as well, having none of their advantages.
The clan house was a warren of buildings and apartments surrounded by pleasant greenery and endless gardens meant to accommodate the privacy needs of dozens of families. These days, the clan house was half empty and privacy was not an issue, but Sanae still had to live with her parents. Youths did not qualify for their own quarters until the coming-of-age ceremony. Hers was close at hand now. Perhaps too close…
“I’m home,” Sanae called as she entered and closed the sliding door behind her. No answer came, a disappointment. She would have liked to be first to tell her parents what had happened.
They must have been drawn out by the ruckus outside; even now she could hear guards running and calling out to each other as they searched the grounds for potential hidden shinobi. They would find none, she was certain of it, but it was best to be thorough in such circumstances. In the common living area, a piece of scroll lay on the writing table. Might it be her father’s latest attempt at poetry? She investigated, but it was no poem, only a short list of names. Some she could recognize as third or fourth sons of a samurai family, others she guessed were names of promising young government officials. All of them were male names.
Sanae made a noise in her throat and dropped the scroll. It had begun. Clenching her hands to her chest, she tried to recall the excitement she had felt just earlier: the thrill of danger and victory; the smell and sight of the garden in bloom; the odd sound that alerted her to danger; her rapid heartbeat as she waited for the shinobi’s move; and the sight of a real battle, blood spraying from sword cuts and bodies collapsing. All of these she imprinted upon her memory, for it might be the last battle she would ever experience firsthand.
Soon, she would be fifteen and qualify for the coming-of-age ceremony. Soon, she would earn her sword. Soon, her parents would choose a name on that list and marry her off to some human. Soon, she would be nothing more than a baby-maker for the clan.
She could see herself with cubs playing about her feet, but why couldn’t she be more? Hunter and mother at once? She wished the answer weren’t so terrible. Girls were too few and couldn’t be risked. She was to breed and raise her children in complete, boring safety.
Such was her duty.
Chapter Four
Akakiba
TARO’S EYES WERE NEARLY THE SIZE of dragon eggs, as if he were trying to see the whole city at once. Neat rows of tiled roofs extended as far as the eye could see, divided by narrow streets full of people going about their business. Soon they were part of the crowd, mingling with merchants with boxes on their backs, ladies wearing layers upon layers of colorful clothing, and grave-looking government officials in puffy clothes and tall hats.
The way Yuki’s head swiveled in every direction, taking everything in—especially the pair of giggling courtesans that went by—betrayed his modest origins. From anyone other than a newcomer, such behavior would have looked like paranoia, especially since they had increased their pace from a leisurely walk to a purposeful march.
“Give me that,” Akakiba said, lifting the basket from Taro’s back and taking it into his arms. “There’s more theft at this time of the year than at any other. You can guess why. Follow me closely.”
Taro didn’t complain, either because he was busy gawking at the city or because he remembered Akakiba’s threat that he had better be quiet if he didn’t want to be thrown into the nearest lake to be eaten by a great dragon. Wild dragons didn’t eat people, but Akakiba hadn’t told him that.
Akakiba set his face into a murderous scowl to incite people to move out of his way as he led Yuki and Taro toward the market. The scent of grilled fish and stuffed buns wafted from food stands all around them. Sellers waved sticks with fish or squid speared on them, trying to earn a sale.
Food would have done them good, but stopping now wasn’t wise. There would be time to eat later. They pressed deeper into the crowd and soon had to elbow their way forward. Dragon eggs were being sold, usually under heavy guard, and everybody crowded round to try to touch them.
Dragon eggshells were an attraction in their own right, and jewelers and medicine makers could be heard bickering over the pieces for use in their wares.
“Health is more important than jewelry!”
“Destroying dragon eggshells is sacrilege! People die but craft is eternal!”
“You’re a selfish bastard, helping to inflate prices when people are dying for want of affordable medicine!”
“You’re a charlatan who sells overpriced and useless potions to people who are going to die anyway!”
Some things changed and some didn’t. Akakiba had heard those very same arguments years ago.
In many stalls, pieces crafted with colorful eggshells were on display: jewelry, bowls, vases, and tea and sake cups. It was a good time to get a bargain on objects that were certain to become treasured family heirlooms. Even his mother appreciated such things: she owned an entire tea set made of dragon eggshell.
“Dragon egg for sale!” a ma
n with a bull’s voice shouted. “Hurry, it’s the last one left!”
The street was impassable around the stall where the “last egg” was for sale. Lords and ladies in rich silks stood surrounded by their guards and servants, screaming prices at the seller in increasingly frantic voices.
Yuki picked up Taro and put him on his shoulders. It was a good idea, ensuring that they wouldn’t lose him. The boy, now sitting above the crowd, was in a perfect position to gawk left and right.
“Where are we going?” Yuki asked after being jostled into Akakiba for a third time. “There are too many people here. We’ll get crushed!”
“This is a perfectly normal spring day in the market,” Akakiba said. “Don’t shove anyone with a sword and there’ll be no trouble.” The last thing they needed was to be delayed by a fight. “We’re not far. Come.”
They slipped into an alley to get around the knot of frenzied bidders, returning to the clogged street only to duck inside a narrow, quiet building. Jars full of leaves, potions, and creams were lined up on shelves against the walls, and a young girl knelt at the back, watching the door.
“Welcome,” she said, rising. When she approached, her eyes widened. “My, is that you, Akakiba? We haven’t seen you in years!”
She took his hands in welcome, and he peered at her face. “Sakura? You’ve grown!” He brightened: he was fond of her, as she was fond of him. They used to wander the city together as children.
Her father had once tried to convince him she would make a wonderful wife, but he’d been able to wiggle out of it by telling sorrowful stories about his clan’s widows. He had exaggerated the truth, but it had been the only polite way to refuse.
Sakura laughed. “Of course I have. It’s been three years since you last came to see us. Silly man.”
“You’ve grown well.” He remembered a twig of a girl, but she looked womanly now with discreet curves to shape her kosode and an air of maturity about her narrow face. “How’s your father?”
“He’s well,” Sakura said. “He’s hunting for bargains today. The jewelry makers are making it difficult for him. I swear they’re worse every year.”
“I see.” Akakiba shook his head, forcing his mind back to his urgent task. “I came to ask…may we use your back room?”
“Of course, as soon as you introduce me to your friends.”
“Ah, yes.” He gestured vaguely. “This is Yuki. He’s my…apprentice.” It felt silly to say it to Sakura. She of all people would know he was antisocial and unsuited to teaching. “And this is Taro. We’re here because of him. But please, not here.”
Sakura led them to the back and set about making tea while they crowded around the cooking pit. These walls, too, were lined with shelves, creating extra space to store such essentials as tea leaves and salt, cups and plates, needles and thread. The scent of medicine permeated the air. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell; so many leaves went into the making of medicine that it could be mistaken for some sort of tea.
Akakiba explained the situation.
“Ohh, dragon eggs? Three of them?” Sakura’s gaze slid to the box and stayed fixed there. When he opened it, her slender hands twitched and reached out. “May I?”
He took one out. “Go ahead.”
For reasons unclear, humans and dragons were definitely drawn to each other.
“Oh, how pretty,” Sakura said, caressing the spotted shell. “I would so love to have a dragon. We could never afford one and certainly not this year…” She looked up. “You’ve been away for a long time. Have you heard about the dragon sickness?”
His reply came out so sharp it was rude. “What sickness?”
“Many dragons caught sick this winter. They would die suddenly; nothing could be done. The ones still alive are kept isolated. Some of them have been placed under the protection of a priest. They say it’s a curse or an evil spirit’s doing, but I think the Dragon Goddess is taking back her children because their owners are unworthy. Dragons are not meant to be used like…like jewelry,” she finished, sounding faintly indignant. Cheeks reddening, she glanced at Yuki. “Please excuse my hasty words. Let me pour the tea.”
After pouring, Sakura excused herself to welcome a customer in the front room.
“I see you’re not alone in disliking the nobles’ habit of owning dragons,” Yuki said.
Akakiba grunted agreement. “They’ve grown rare. The ones we still have should be fulfilling their purpose and protecting the defenseless. Nobles are rarely defenseless. Sometimes they even hire samurai to protect their dragons from demons. Perhaps the creatures are dying of boredom. I would.”
Yuki looked far too amused by the thought. “You? If you were a dragon, you’d run away from any master.”
“If I were a dragon, I’d be a demon-hunting dragon,” Taro said. “With a sword. A small sword, because dragons are small.”
Akakiba opened his mouth to reply, then decided against it. He drank his tea. This was why he didn’t want children: they were annoying and borderline insane.
Sakura returned with news that the commotion outside had died; the “last egg” was sold and gone. She told them the price it had fetched, and even Akakiba was stunned.
They set about preparing for the onslaught. Considering the unbelievable price they were certain to obtain for each of these eggs, setting up in the market itself without guards seemed suicidal.
Akakiba studied the eggs with care, seeking any sign of a developing crack. Finding none, he took the warmest egg out first. It wasn’t the female, but a male that had grown more impatient.
He outlined the plan. “I’ll stay in the back and handle the sales. Yuki, you stand at the door and call for buyers. Don’t let in anyone who can’t prove they have the money to afford it.”
“I can help too,” Taro said.
“Stay at the door with Yuki and watch for thieves.” That might keep the kid out of his way.
“Okay!”
Sakura briefly left on an errand to notify the nearest police officer they might need help. Akakiba thought it was a superfluous precaution—two samurai should be sufficient to discourage troublemakers—but Sakura was allowed to protect her home as she saw fit.
Yuki cleared his throat and called out to the street. “One dragon egg for sale! Hurry, it’s warm and about to hatch! Interested buyers only! One dragon egg for sale!”
The first prospective buyer to appear was a merchant who must have been incredibly wealthy to dare to try to compete with nobles. Showing good sense, he’d brought a pair of hard-eyed bodyguards.
Led into the backroom, the merchant bowed, knelt, and offered a heavy box full of coins.
“I apologize, but I cannot accept your offer,” Akakiba said after a moment of mental calculations.
“I can offer no more. Take it or lose the egg. It’s about to hatch. It’ll be worthless then.”
“If I cannot get a fair price, I would rather keep the dragon for myself. As you can see, I have none of my own.”
On cue, a thin crack appeared on the egg. The merchant let out a faint nose, losing his composure, and prostrated himself on the ground. “Please, it’s for my daughter. She needs help…”
A girl no older than ten appeared from behind the bodyguards, shuffling forward to peek at the egg. Her young features promised to gain sharpness and beauty in the coming years, and her shockingly pale skin made her seem as frail as a flower. Around her neck were piled a dozen protecting charms that set off alarms in Akakiba’s head. “This is your daughter?”
“Yes. The bad spirits, you see. They come to her at night…”
Another crack appeared, connected to the first. They were running out of time.
Akakiba made his decision. “I accept your offer if you leave the eggshell to me. You can take the dragon away since he’s so eager to come out.”
The merchant’s desperate look lifted. Was his desperation a sign that whenever nobles saw an egg for sale they forcefully rejected the competition of a lowly merchant,
giving him no chance to even try to win it?
“It’s agreed!” The man turned and motioned. “Come here, quick!” He put the egg in his daughter’s frail arms and indicated a corner of the room. “Kneel there, back to us. Make sure he can’t see anyone except you when he comes out. Go!”
She went, eyes wide.
They waited in tense silence, though not for long. The egg cracked loudly, pieces falling to the floor. When the girl turned back, her smile radiant, there was a blue dragon curled around her arm. It was easy to see that dragons were related to lizards with their long and supple body, four legs, and long tail. Hatchlings didn’t have them, but as they matured, dragons grew tendrils on either side of their mouth and a ridge on their back.
The dragon climbed the girl’s clothing with his sharp claws in order to curl around her neck like a living necklace. He was barely long enough to reach around and nest his head in the hollow of her throat. Squealing, the girl petted the creature. His newborn skin would be softer than silk.
“He likes you,” the merchant said, beaming. “Isn’t he a pretty dragon?”
“Yes, Father, the prettiest.”
“Be kind to him and he’ll protect you.”
After the merchant had gone, Sakura enlisted Taro’s help to inspect the floor and collect every single piece of the shell, no matter how small.
“We could have gotten more out of the merchant,” Yuki said.
“Did you see the charms she wore?”
“Standard evil spirit protection. Is that important?”
“On occasion, a young girl or boy with frail health will begin to attract spirits. When the body is old enough to stand the shock, they try to possess it. If the danger is noticed in time, the child is sent to live in a temple or shrine, somewhere with strong warding against demons. A dragon is expensive but also far more effective.”
“If my father knew of this, he didn’t have time to pass on the knowledge to me. I thought possession was always sudden, without warning.” A frown lowered Yuki’s brows. “I never understood it. If demons hate us, why would they want to be inside us?”