by Anna Frost
“The White Lady likes the moon,” Akiko murmured. “She sings more often when it’s full.”
Akiko knelt so close that Yuki could smell the flower she had placed over her left ear, so close that he was sure she could hear his heart beating madly in his chest. There was no doubt now that she had invited him with a goal in mind.
He cursed himself for not asking advice of Akakiba, then decided it made no difference: his teacher was more chaste than any monk he’d ever met. One of these days he might find out why, but tonight he was otherwise preoccupied.
When the moon appeared in the pool, like a lady studying herself in a mirror, Akiko presented their offering of uncooked rice and cold sake. The grains of rice hit the surface with faint ripples and vanished before they had time to sink.
“She’s here,” Akiko whispered, her voice vibrating with what could have been excitement or anxiety. Her kosode had slipped, showing a creamy shoulder, and Yuki wasn’t fool enough to think it an accident. This girl had definitely asked advice of someone.
With sudden worry, he wondered if this was an elaborate ploy to force him into marriage. First entice him, then shame him into a match. He could imagine Akiko in tears at Akakiba’s feet, demanding he do something to restore her honor…
Perhaps he had better let her know he was definitively not part of the Fox clan and certainly poorer than she might hope. Wait, wait. Akakiba couldn’t possibly have set him up, could he? First Sakura, now Akiko?
Lost in his private worries, Yuki first became aware of the danger when the pool’s waters began to churn.
Akiko recoiled, lifting her hands to her mouth. “What’s happening? Is she angry at us?”
“We’ve done nothing she might object to. If not at us, then—?” A hard object collided with the back of his head.
He came to moments later, his head ringing and his vision swimming. He could hear Akiko shrieking and struggling as if against a foe, but the noises were muted, distant. It was, he suddenly realized, because his head was underwater. His upper body had slumped forward into the water after the blow. Yet he could breathe.
He threw himself back, gasping needlessly, and fumbled for his katana. There was a single enemy, a disheveled man of middle stature and shadowed features. The man had thrown Akiko over his shoulder and was trying to make away with her. He was thwarted in part by the shrieking and kicking girl and in part by the red fox biting and snapping at his legs.
As Yuki watched, bemused by the spectacle, the man successfully took his sword out of its scabbard and began trying to impale the fox. It might have gone better for the man if he hadn’t been off-balance because of his kicking, hair-pulling burden.
“Bite him, bite him!” Akiko called frantically.
There was a splash in the pool. He looked even though he knew he would find no fish or rock that might have made the sound. He could recognize spirit activity when he heard it.
“Yes, yes,” he said to the pool. “I’m going to help!”
The fight, already unfair, became decidedly one-sided when he joined, his brand new sword at the ready. “Surrender,” he said as he parried the man’s clumsy attacks.
The man’s right leg was bleeding badly, mangled by the determined fox, yet he made no sound other than grunts of pain. He merely continued to struggle with decreasing skill.
“What’s wrong with you? Stop before you die!”
The scent of abundant blood was nauseating, and he thought it wiser not to look at the mess that had once been a whole leg. Throwing up in the middle of a fight wouldn’t be very manly. The fox had started on the other leg with equal ferocity, but Akiko was breathing heavily and kicking less heartily.
The man’s wounded legs buckled, no longer able to support him. Yuki caught Akiko’s hand to pull her up and away from the would-be abductor. With a last snarl, the fox bounded into the forest.
Akiko leaned against him, her clothes disarrayed and her thoughts obviously far from seduction. “What’s wrong with him?” she said shakily. “He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t scream. Look at his legs…”
“Don’t look.” He turned her toward the pool and sought to distract her—and himself, too—while the silent man bled to death. “The White Lady helped. She tried to warn us.” He ran a hand against the back of his head. By all rights he should have been bleeding and hurting yet his fingers found not a scratch on his scalp, and his mind felt as clear as ever.
“She must have sent the fox, too.” Akiko bowed deep. “Thank you for your help, White Lady. I shall bring a better offering next time.”
“We should go back to the village.”
They turned and jumped, for Akakiba had appeared out of nowhere; he was standing over the dead man’s body, studying it by moonlight. “Akiko,” he said, “do you know this man?”
Edging forward, Akiko took a long look at the dead body. “I think so, yes. He came by the village this morning, claiming to be a samurai looking for a wife. Fubuki’s dragon had to hiss at him to make him leave. How did you guess?”
“Fubuki told me after you left. It worried me so I came to ensure your safety.” Akakiba glanced around as he spoke, a frown on his features. “Come along now.”
As the two of them descended the path behind Akiko, Yuki whispered to his teacher, “Why are you tense? Is there a second man to worry about?” He kept his hand on his sword as a precaution.
“Just the one. But I don’t like this. The man back there was possessed.”
It took him a moment to grasp the implications. His whispering became almost inaudible as he tried to ensure Akiko wouldn’t hear. “Ah, I see. Your clan wants you to seek the source of multiple disappearances, and here we catch a possessed man trying to abduct a young lady. You think he was the culprit in the other cases?”
“If he was, I can’t make sense of it. Why would a demon that already has a body seek to kidnap people? If it were eating their flesh while in a human body, remains would have been found.”
Yuki considered the mystery at length, all the while paying close attention to the path they were traveling. He had to do so more with his feet than his eyes, for there was hardly any light under the trees. It would have been less than dignified to trip and break his nose on a rock.
“Demon possession damages the body,” he said slowly. “Perhaps this demon is body switching, going from one to another when they begin to deteriorate.”
“Perhaps.” Akakiba didn’t sound convinced.
For good or bad, his evening with Akiko was ruined. He was wet and shivering, hair plastered to his head and kosode clinging to his flesh.
“I’m sorry it turned out like this,” he said to her.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I need to go home. Good night.”
Yuki was content to crawl into the pile of hay that had served as his sickbed while he was healing. The hay had been changed since, and the pleasant smell of it filled the hut. He was so tired that the nature of his bed mattered not. He could have slept well on bare dirt.
“You can take my futon,” Fubuki said. Since her scowl was more or less permanent, it was difficult to tell whether it was an honest offer or one made out of a sense of obligation.
“I’m too damp. At least the hay can be thrown out when it goes moldy.”
Fubuki didn’t argue, merely moving to put out the cooking fire, which served double duty as a light source after nightfall.
Akakiba took position near the entrance with his back against the wall, his right knee up, and his sword resting against his shoulder. It was the way he always slept when they were outside, sitting back to a tree and keeping watch over the camp. It was usually a reassuring sight, but why would Akakiba feel the need to keep watch when they were inside a building? Was it possible they’d get attacked here? His hand wandered over to check that his weapons were close enough to be snatched up in a hurry. Still, he went to sleep feeling confident that nothing could get past his teacher.
They
slept late and only left the hut after the villagers had gone to work the rice fields. It was the best way to avoid being pressed for details about the previous night’s incident. Akiko must have told the story a hundred times already.
Akakiba boosted him up on the mare before mounting the gelding. “We’ll ride as long as we can,” he said. “We’ve got time yet, but I’d rather be back early than late.”
Yuki fully expected to find his behind reduced to puree within the day. From the way Akakiba cringed when he dismounted to relieve himself, one could assume he felt the same way. They must not have been sitting correctly. If riding were always this painful, surely it wouldn’t be so popular.
This situation was a strange way to find out that Akakiba cared so much for his sister that he would endure several days of discomfort to please her. If he cared for her, why didn’t he ever talk about her?
He had a feeling there were many things his teacher kept from him.
Chapter Seven
Mamoru
TECHNICALLY, SPYING ON THE UPPER RANKS was forbidden and could be cause for elimination. However, it couldn’t really be spying when the leader’s right hand was speaking so loudly that they could hear every word from the next room over.
Mamoru sat like a statue in the study. His fellow shinobi in training had gone motionless too, showing no signs of life other than faint, regular breathing.
“To think of all the gold we were promised! You couldn’t even kill a single man! What do you mean he wasn’t there? Did you or didn’t you identify his voice before signaling the assassination team to rush in?”
There was a pause as the shinobi team under fire offered an answer too low to be overheard.
“You empty-headed fools! You were tricked! I warned you about the foxes, didn’t I? It only took one to see you and alert the guards! It’s a wonder you got away.”
Mamoru exchanged glances with his comrades. Was the clan leadership mad to believe that members of the famous demon-hunting clan could speak to the animals they were named for? Or were the members of the assassination team to blame for not believing it and acting accordingly?
How amazing it would have been if the team had succeeded in murdering the Fox clan’s leader! It would have been an infamous feat. It could have earned them a reputation and a name—Fox Slayers, perhaps? Being a tiny, nameless shinobi clan had its advantages when it came to avoiding notice and keeping customers’ business secret, but it didn’t do much for their coffers.
None of the trainees spoke until the commotion died down, until there were no voices, footsteps, or creaking floorboards to be heard.
“What a silly idea. Nobody can talk to animals,” Usagi said, pulling on her elaborate hairdo. “Ah, it won’t stop sagging. I wish I could let my hair down. I’m every bit as beautiful with my hair down, aren’t I?”
Insofar as beauty went, Usagi was ready to seduce secrets out of anyone: her hair was smooth and shiny; her skin appeared soft as silk; her breasts, half-uncovered by the practiced and indecent way she wore her furisode off her shoulders, commanded attention. Who would have suspected she had knives and long needles hidden on her person? Mamoru only knew about them because he’d seen her pull them out during training exercises. Even the lacquered sticks holding up her hair were potential weapons.
The problem, as he saw it, was that her weapon of choice was her tongue. Who would be foolish enough to trust a woman who displayed so little graciousness and kindness?
He wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.
“You look perfect regardless of what you do with your hair.” Suspecting that she’d fish for further compliments if he let her, he changed the subject back to what interested him. “About the foxes…”
Usagi rolled her eyes. “What is there to talk about? Animals don’t have speech. End of discussion.”
“Some dragons can speak.” Or so people said. The only dragons he’d ever seen were the small ones, which understood human speech but lacked the vocal cords to speak it. “Maybe other animals can too, in other ways.”
“We’d know about it, if it were true.”
“Not us. We’re not important. If the leaders say it is so, they must have information that proves it.”
The third trainee stirred. Nagato was as plain and unremarkable in appearance as Usagi was beautiful, which made him well-suited to covert work. “I’m sure they talk to the foxes, but I’m not sure the foxes talk back,” he said. “They believe they’re descended from a fox woman, don’t they? Perhaps their foxes can become human like the legend says.”
“That’s peasant nonsense,” Usagi scoffed. “That legend, if there’s any truth to it, must come from a spirit’s tricks. Spirits love to adopt the likeness of animals and people. It’s well-known. There must have been a spirit that used both a fox form and a woman form, and the story got twisted into saying it was a real fox turning into a real woman.”
“You forget that spirits were stronger in the past,” Nagato said. “There are historical records that speak of giant demons rampaging through the country. That’s fact, not legend. Foxes would have been stronger back then too, wouldn’t they? Maybe it’s even true that they used to grow extra tails when they got older and stronger.”
“That could be true…if foxes were spirits instead of real creatures! Really, Nagato. Think before you speak.”
Mamoru sneaked out of the room, leaving them to the argument. If only he could ask one of the trainers whether he would soon be sent on a real mission. But if he did, he’d likely get a disappointed look and an answer along the lines of “If you have to ask, you are not ready.”
He knew he was ready! He could be a gawking peasant, a proud nobleman, an assiduous son, a serious apprentice, an eager food seller. All of these roles he had learned to play in preparation for the day he would finally be asked to infiltrate an enemy stronghold to spy or to perform acts of sabotage.
He absently checked his sleeves, satisfied to find his knives hadn’t slipped from concealment. They weren’t poisoned at the moment, but during a real mission, they would be.
As Mamoru moved toward his bedroom, which he shared with Nagato, he saw a motionless figure in the middle of the hallway. Just standing, alone. Oh no. Not the leader.
He made himself quieter, tip-toeing past, but he did not go unnoticed. Intense, dark eyes in a wizened face tracked him.
Mamoru bowed deep and scuffled backward until he reached a bend in the hallway. Once he was safely around the corner, he allowed himself to shudder. The clan leader had grown strange lately, so strange it made him want to peer back and find out whether the leader had feet. Everybody knew ghosts had none.
But if he looked, he might find that the intense, dark eyes were still staring his way. That would be worse than meeting a ghost.
Somebody younger—and saner—was bound to replace the leader soon. But not yet, because it was the leader who had come into contact with their new client, the one who had a grudge against the Fox clan and wanted their clan head dead. Nobody else knew who the mysterious client was, but they had been promised that gold would rain on them if they succeeded.
Mamoru hoped they would be asked to try again. Perhaps, this time, he would be sent along. He assuredly wouldn’t fail. After all, how strong could these pretend foxes be?
Chapter Eight
Akakiba
THIS TIME, AKAKIBA WAS EXPECTING Sanae’s ambush. He caught and lifted her off the ground, swinging her in a circle as if she were a child.
She shrieked until he put her down. “I knew you’d make it!”
“Shouldn’t you be meditating? The ceremony is a serious matter.” He hoped she wouldn’t point out that his own behavior undermined his argument. He hadn’t meant to do something so silly, but it felt natural to copy her mood.
“That’s what everybody keeps saying.” Sanae straightened her clothing and bound hair, both of which had been disturbed by the short flight. “Do I look proper?”
“You’ll do.”
For the ceremonial sword fight preceding the coming-of-age ceremony, youths wore red kosode with red hakama. The color was meant to remind the wearer of blood and that their duty was to spill theirs in battle.
He thought it melodramatic and misleading. The correct way to carry out a demon hunter’s duty was to live and fight for as long as possible. The less spilling of blood, the better.
Sanae peered past him. “Oh, you brought your friend!” she said, clapping her hands. “You’re Yuki, right? Jien told me about you. You must come to my ceremony!”
Yuki blinked, eyeing Sanae oddly. It was probably because of her hair. Normal human hair was dark, not red, and especially not fire-bright red.
“I would be honored to come,” Yuki said, “if it’s allowed.”
“If I invite you, it is.” Sanae clapped her hands again, fairly bouncing on her feet. “Oh, I should be getting ready. Hurry and go sit with everybody. Mother and Father are already there. They think I’m meditating.” She fled as quickly as she’d appeared, socked feet making no noise on the floor.
They were in the entrance of the dojo, a building that comprised various weapon showrooms, two separate training rooms, and two tiny rooms reserved for pre-combat meditation. To find out which training room was in use, they needed only follow the buzz of conversation.
Their arrival drew startled looks as Akakiba had known it would: Yuki was the sole person present who was neither a clan member nor one of their sohei allies. Of the latter he saw two, Jien and an older monk who was unknown to him.
He would have preferred to sit anywhere else than beside his parents, but tradition dictated that close family members and special guests sit in the front row. Sanae would expect to see them there.
Aside from family and guests, the front row was composed of those clan members who could no longer shift out of fox form. There was over a dozen of them, more than there had been three years prior. He dared not wonder how many of the clan members in human form were also unable to shift, never again to return to their natural shape.