The Fox's Mask

by Anna Frost

  “I would think it’s jealousy, not hatred. The sun is unkind to them; they can’t stand its rays for long.” He almost added, “The one you fought was probably weakened because it was daylight,” but thought better of it. It was not the kind of thing a young demon hunter would want to hear about his first kill.

  “Ah, I see. If they obtain a human body, they’re safe.”

  “There are pleasures only a human body can give them, too,” Sakura said, a mischievous spark in her eyes.

  Yuki made an odd noise. Akakiba suspected he was choking back improper laughter.

  “I know,” Taro said. “Pleasures like eating sweet red beans!”

  Sakura skipped away laughing, moving to hide the eggshell pieces in one of the various containers on the shelf.

  They sold the female’s egg to a stoic trio of samurai who paid the hefty asking price without arguing and wouldn’t disclose the name of the lord on whose behalf they bought it. They left with the egg camouflaged inside the bag that had previously held money—as if trying to pretend they hadn’t bought it. A thief would take risks for a dragon egg that he wouldn’t take for the same value in money. If caught with stolen money, a thief would be put to death. But if a thief obtained a dragon egg, and it hatched before he was caught, his life would be spared for the dragon’s sake.

  Even a noble whose dishonor was so great that it required seppuku was forbidden from performing it if he had a bonded dragon. For such men and women, the punishment for a severe crime was exile to a special Buddhist temple that incidentally served as a sort of dragon-breeding ground.

  Yet it was allowed for samurai with dragons to go to war and risk violent death. Humans didn’t always make sense.

  “I can hardly believe they paid without haggling,” Sakura said, staring at the pile of money. “Their master must be insane to spend a fortune like this without even laying eyes on the goods!”

  Akakiba privately agreed with her. But if the rich, who were already protected by layers of guards and servants, wanted to waste their money on dragons to let the world know they were rich enough to own one, he was glad to take it. The villagers would make better use of the money.

  The sale of the third and last egg, a purple male that didn’t seem eager to come out, was problematic. An old, dignified man inspected the egg on behalf of his master when a haughty samurai came in—forced his way in, in truth, his two followers shoving Yuki aside.

  Yuki grasped his sword and looked to Akakiba, literally quivering with what must have been anger or indignation. He answered with a hand signal that meant “Hold,” then stood up himself, resting his hand on his sword.

  “I’m taking the egg,” the samurai said. He bore the traditional hairstyle: the front of his head shaved bald and the long length of his remaining hair pinned up, but his clothes did not display his clan’s crest. He was likely a free sword, for hire.

  “We already have a potential buyer,” Akakiba said. “Please wait for him to make his decision.”

  The samurai’s hard eyes fixed upon the potential buyer. “You don’t want the egg, do you?” The rude words carried an obvious threat.

  “Forgive me, but I think this dragon isn’t quite the right color for my master’s tastes,” the old man said to Akakiba. Whether this was truth or not, he certainly fled swiftly.

  The aggressive samurai couldn’t have failed to notice the mark on Akakiba’s scabbard; he’d removed the red cloth that usually concealed it. He may not have liked to think of his family much, but he was aware the mere name inspired the sort of respect that could defuse tempers and avoid fights.

  In this case, the aggressive man’s demeanor did not change. He only gestured sharply, ordering, “Give it to him!”

  One of the other men presented a wooden box, lifting the top to show its contents. It was obvious at a glance that the money was less than the price he had accepted from the merchant.

  Face impassive, he said, “You offend me with your offer. Do leave.”

  The samurai snarled, spit flying. “Offend you! This is the proper worth of an egg! You’re trying to take advantage of me! Those damn peasants are thieves! Finding these eggs out there for free and trying to sell them at a price fit to ruin us!”

  The ringing sound of swords sliding out of their scabbards drowned out all others. For a moment the five of them held their positions, the three newcomers in front of the egg, Akakiba behind it, and Yuki by the door.

  Akakiba pushed the egg aside with his foot and jumped forward, blade already in motion. He allowed his opening move to be parried, giving Sakura, who had been sitting beside him, time to catch the egg and back away.

  The two underlings paid her no attention, busy as they were keeping him from slicing them to pieces, but the aggressive samurai advanced on her. Yuki slid in between Sakura and the approaching swordsman, his own sword held high. They backed into the front room, leading the swordsman away from his supporters.

  Akakiba focused on his own enemies. Two against one could hardly be considered fair, unless the single fighter was someone like himself. He’d been trained in sword fighting since he’d been able to stand upright, and he routinely engaged in mortal combat with monsters capable of ripping people apart. He was certainly a match for two self-important humans with swords.

  Conscious thought vanished from his mind, replaced by the automatics of fighting. Block when possible, duck when not. Watch your feet; watch theirs. Take the offensive; force the enemy to move with you.

  The fire pit in the middle of the room was both a danger to keep in mind and a way to force them to split to come after him, giving him more room to strike. In a flash of steel that was too fast for a real human, he stabbed the first man’s thigh at a precise spot, removing his blade so deftly that the wound left behind could have been mistaken for a shallow cut if it weren’t for the heavy bleeding. The man’s scream gave pause to his companion.

  “In the name of the law, stop this at once,” an unknown voice bellowed.

  Akakiba made a “Come here” motion with his free hand, but the uninjured man declined the implicit invitation to continue the fight: he instead grabbed his wounded companion and beat a hasty retreat to the front room and the safety of law.

  The idiot samurai who had started this mess wasn’t done being troublesome. He was complaining at the top of his lungs, “They ambushed us for my money, policeman! Arrest them!”

  “That’s a lie! He’s a bad man! He wanted the egg, and we said no, and he wanted to take it anyway!” That was Taro, out-screaming the samurai.

  Stepping into the front room, Akakiba looked around to locate the others. Ah, there was Sakura in the corner, her slender hands investigating a red stain on Yuki’s side. The demon wound must have been torn anew. The odd bulge in Sakura’s clothes explained where the egg had gone. A girl’s bosom was a fairly safe location, all things considered.

  The uninjured underling was also busy binding his fellow’s wound. Akakiba didn’t say so, but the wounded man’s survival chances were low; he’d hit a major blood vessel.

  The police officer in the doorway, likely the one Sakura had notified earlier about the sale, was young for the post. He looked apprehensive but determined to hold his ground as he said, “I’ve heard enough! Matsumoto, this isn’t the first time you’ve cause trouble for our citizens. I remind you that theft of an egg is a crime punishable by death. Harming an innocent dragon, born or unborn, is also a crime punishable by death. How is the egg?”

  Sakura took it out and surveyed it. “He’s all right.”

  The police officer gestured to the door. “Matsumoto, I suggest you leave and seek medical attention for your friend.”

  The uninjured men left, carrying the wounded one and giving Akakiba venomous looks all the way out. He returned their looks with open scorn. Let them come after him in a dark alley, if they dared. He’d enjoy it.

  “Thank you, Seiji,” Sakura said, addressing the police officer. “I don’t know what would have happened if you
hadn’t come.”

  Reddening, Seiji flailed his arms about and eventually settled for rubbing the back of his head furiously. “Just doing my job. Glad I could help. I, ah, better get going. Have a nice day!”

  The way he left could have been called running away.

  Sakura rounded on Akakiba with furrowed brow. “Did you have to ruin my floor? That man bled all over my tatami. Come and help me clean up.”

  He felt cheered. This bossy Sakura was far more like the childhood friend he remembered than the flirtatious Sakura from earlier.

  Once the blood had been mopped up with rags and the tainted tatami turned over to hide the stains, they went on about the egg-selling business.

  The third buyer was a lady dressed in layer upon layer of multicolored silk surrounded by a gaggle of attendants. She paid and left crooning to the egg.

  “I’m glad we’re done,” Taro said. “I’m hungry.”

  They weren’t the only ones who’d had a rough day. Akakiba was sipping tea in the back room when he heard Sakura’s father come in through the shop’s front door and mumble, “I’m home,” in an exhausted tone.

  “Welcome home, Father,” Sakura said. “How did it go?”

  “Those selfish jewelry makers have finally driven the prices beyond reason. We won’t have much to offer to those who are too poor to pay top price.”

  It was the perfect opening. Akakiba emerged from the living area with the wooden box that contained the eggshell pieces.

  “I believe we can make a deal,” he said.

  Sakura’s father was called Hiroshi. He was a tall man with an easy smile and a calm manner. One might have thought Akakiba dropped by every day for all the surprise Hiroshi showed at his presence.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” Hiroshi marveled. The bottom half of the egg was virtually intact; he handled it gingerly. “I can’t possibly turn this into powder. It’s too rare to get such a large piece.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I’m sure I can find a crafter who’ll be happy to take it in exchange for a bigger quantity of smaller pieces.”

  Once the bargain was concluded, Hiroshi fell into endless bowing, bobbing up and down. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “Please,” Akakiba said, his patience strained. “You’re embarrassing us.”

  “Nonetheless, I must thank you for the low price you offered me. With this, I’ll be able to keep providing shell medicine.”

  “What exactly do you make with dragon eggshells?” Yuki inquired. “I’ve heard it can perform wonders, but I’m not sure what’s truth and what’s plain exaggeration.”

  Hiroshi’s voice fell into the rhythmic pattern of a man repeating something for the hundredth time. “It can indeed perform wonders. Even a tiny piece of dragon eggshell ground into powder can raise a person’s vitality. That’s why it’s useful to give medicine with dragon eggshell to people who are weakened, to give them extra strength. It’s popular in times of war too. The vitality boost can be just enough to allow a person to overcome a nasty wound. But,” Hiroshi said with emphasis, “eggshell medicine is not miraculous. A deadly wound remains a deadly wound regardless of the medicine given.”

  Akakiba nearly added that the rich used eggshell powder to raise another sort of vitality, but held his tongue because Sakura was in earshot, busy cooking rice and fish to feed them. Sakura certainly knew about this special use, but a father could get upset if a man said such things in the presence of his daughter. He didn’t want to have to dodge another engagement.

  “I apologize for the simple meal,” Hiroshi said. “If I’d known, I would have arranged for something suitable.”

  Sakura sighed. “With what money, Father? At the rate you give medicine away, we’re lucky we can afford fish with our rice.” It was a rebuke but a gently spoken one.

  “I see things haven’t changed,” Akakiba said. They’d lived in this small home since before he’d met them. They didn’t even have space for a bathing area and had to use the public baths.

  They chose to sleep under Hiroshi’s roof. The large amount of money they had collected shouldn’t be carried around after nightfall. After quick calculations, Akakiba came to the conclusion that their fee amounted to so much money that he would be able to attend to certain shopping plans he’d been considering.

  Hiroshi pulled three old futon out of storage, and they laid them in the shop room. “Best go to sleep early,” he advised them. “We open when the sun rises.”

  Taro was mercifully quiet as Sakura put him to bed with a story, not even interrupting with questions. When he yawned, Sakura did as any mother would and sharply reminded him to put a hand in front of his mouth to prevent demons from entering his body.

  Yuki, too, fell asleep quickly, no doubt worn out by the afternoon’s excitement. Akakiba hadn’t thought much of it, but at fifteen, any fight was immensely stressful. Come to think of it, he had never before put Yuki in a situation where he might have to kill another person. He should remedy that: humans new to fighting had a tendency to shy away from killing their own. That made them easy prey for those who had long ago discarded such sensibilities. As if humanity didn’t have enough problems dealing with predatory demons, they had to worry about their own kind too! At times he had to wonder why he even protected humanity.

  Round-faced Taro was muttering nonsense, unable to stop talking even in his sleep. Somewhere in the city, an aggressive samurai and his cowardly companion were likely getting drunk and pretending they would one day get revenge on him. Elsewhere, men were surely raping and murdering, women verbally abusing their families and peers, lords planning bloody wars, and demons happily preying on the lot of them.

  There was enough moonlight filtering into the room that he, sitting cross-legged on a thick futon with the musty smell of long disuse, could see Yuki twitch in his sleep, a hand lying near his freshly re-bandaged wound. Three years ago, there had been as much baby fat in Yuki’s face as there was now in Taro’s. The fat hadn’t lasted, but Yuki’s face retained a slightly round shape and his large eyes, combined with his short stature, were likely to give him a youthful look all his life.

  Three years already. Three years of being…not worshipped, no, but emulated, being considered an ideal. Three years of feeling he must live up to a mere human’s expectations, never mind that he was hardly older, hardly wiser, than Yuki himself.

  To say he didn’t know why he defended humanity was a lie. Living up to Yuki’s expectations wasn’t a great and noble reason, but it was as good as any.

  Chapter Five

  Akakiba

  AKAKIBA ALTERNATIVELY HUMMED, sighed, and frowned as he inspected the swords on display. The blades were engraved with glyphs meant to destroy weakened demons, and the hilts and scabbards were varied in their details. He paid no attention to the decorations, intent on the blades themselves. When he ran his fingers over the glyphs, they responded by glowing softly. Some, however, didn’t respond.

  “This one’s a fake too,” he said, tossing the offending weapon away. “No magic in it.”

  The seller was jittering. It was the third of his “guaranteed demon-slaying blades” that Akakiba proclaimed a fake. “I cannot fathom how we came into possession of improper blades,” he said, bowing deeply.

  “Blades not bought directly from the Great Temples are suspect,” Akakiba said, for Yuki’s benefit rather than the unscrupulous seller’s. “They take great pride in providing perfectly made demon-slaying swords. Here, Yuki. Make your choice.”

  He had narrowed down the options to two swords of quality: one with a hilt and scabbard of black lacquered wood, the other with a hilt and scabbard made of pale bamboo.

  When they exited the shop, the black sword hung in Yuki’s belt, replacing the drab practice sword he had been using before. The new sword had a companion, a shorter sword called a wakizashi.

  “You shouldn’t have spent so much money on me,” Yuki said, his boyish grin at odds with his words.

  “You wanted to use my clan’s comin
g-of-age ceremony for yours, didn’t you? After a youth has proved his worth in combat with a demon, the practice blade is taken away and replaced by a personal blade of high quality. Other samurai clans have different ceremonies, including a haircut, but we care not for such details.” No one could have forced Akakiba to give up his long ponytail and bangs anyhow; he was allowed this one vanity.

  “I’m not part of your clan,” Yuki said, grin gone. “Is this proper?”

  “No one will gainsay me. But if you’d prefer it, I can arrange for you to undergo the normal ceremony, so you may stand for hours and listen to old men tell you how to behave like a proper adult…”

  “No need! I’m satisfied and honored. I thank you for the sword.”

  Akakiba inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Now that we’re properly armed, we should make our preparations to leave…”

  When they arrived at Hiroshi’s medicine shop, they found Sakura speaking with a man that Akakiba recognized immediately. This man wore monk robes, and a long-bladed spear rested against his shoulder. The spear was the traditional weapon of the sohei, warrior Buddhist monks who fought for their respective temple. Such monks were impossible to mistake for anything else with their spear, shaved head, and distinctive clothing. They wore leg guards, arm guards, and two visible layers of clothing: a white one with wide sleeves with a sleeveless black one overtop. The two layers were tied at the waist with a thick belt capable of holding a sword, which the monks sometimes wore in addition to the spear. A straw hat was usually added to the getup to prevent sunburns to the naked scalp.

  This particular sohei was named Jien and belonged to the Great Temples, a monastic order that trained its members to forge glyphed blades, fight demons, and perform exorcisms. Monks that completed their training were sent out to patrol the country and help those in need.