The Fox's Mask
Page 15
He hadn’t gone far when he met and was swallowed by the crowd coming from the meeting room. The old fox had accomplished her task, alerting them. The crowd fell quiet after he yelled his urgent news, awaiting the clan head’s directions.
Orders came swiftly. “Those without weapons, find one! Women, secure the walls! Men, defend the gate! Children above twelve may fetch weapons for their mothers, younger children and humans to the meeting room.”
Those orders were obviously meant to account for birth gender, not apparent gender, for several seemingly male warriors broke away with the women. Many women who had first appeared unarmed were pulling knives and short swords from their sleeves or sash.
The handful of human women who lived here, brides to members of the clan, would have been trained with the spear like any other samurai wife. The task of defending the children would logically fall to them, just as was customary with other clans.
Jien naturally included himself in the men’s defense group. They spilled out in the courtyard, the sandy ground crunching under their many feet.
At the front gate, Aito was a fast-moving whirl, spear jabbing the hands grabbing at the partly opened doors and feet kicking at people who tried to squeeze through the gap. They were reversed doors, opening outward so that it was impossible for attackers to push their way inside. There were no handholds on the outside, no easy way for the enemy to pull them open. Enemy fighters were throwing grappling hooks, either meaning to use them to pull the doors open or simply to climb over.
By all logic Aito should have been stricken down by poisoned arrows or throwing stars, but he was still standing, defended by two bright trails of light that zipped back and forth to intercept and deflect dangerous projectiles. Jien almost stopped in his tracks, but the crowd pushed him forward as unrelentingly as a tsunami heading for shore. He could hardly focus on the army at the gate so stunned was he by the discovery that Aito had familiars. Spirits rarely served humans, but when they chose to do so, it was for life. The human’s life, that was. It explained a great many things, among which how Aito had known of the attack before anybody else.
Aito backed away from the doors, unable to defend them alone any longer. They were finally pulled wide open by a multitude of eager hands, revealing a hundred armored men.
The foxes’ lack of armor put them at a slight disadvantage, but they rushed ahead as if they didn’t even notice.
Jien screamed his challenge and plunged ahead with them.
Chapter Fifteen
Mamoru
MAMORU WAS DEVELOPING A CRAMP in his leg. Maybe he should have thought twice before deciding to hide up a tree. The view was good, but he could barely stretch his stiff limbs without the risk of falling off or getting noticed by one of the guards patrolling the Fox clan’s wall. Things were already going badly; if he made the situation worse, senior shinobi would murder him.
The original plan had called for the infiltration of two teams disguised as sohei inside the Fox clan house: one to create a diversion by making a direct attempt on the clan head’s life and the other to use that distraction as a cover to open the gate and let in everybody else. The assassination team had been expected to fail, although success would have been a useful outcome. The original plan had also called for the attack to occur past dusk, but Mamoru doubted they could wait until then.
The arrival of real monks had upset everything, partly because they were likely to unmask the infiltrators in short order and partly because of the intense activity their arrival had set in motion. It was like a buzzing hive in there.
“I wonder what they’re all excited about,” he whispered. “Is that woman they brought someone important?”
“No idea, but it’s too dangerous to send the other team in now,” Nagato whispered. He was crouched on a different branch of the same tree. “Damn monks. If there hadn’t been so many witnesses, we could have intercepted them.”
There was indeed traffic on the road today, mostly messengers on horses and ox-pulled carts full of food and weapons. This increased activity fit with the rumors of the Fox clan’s intention to go to war, although none of their spies had found out whom they wanted to attack.
“Look,” Mamoru said, nodding upward, “they’re giving the order.”
A hawk had been released. True to its training, it circled high in the sky. No one would find a circling hawk strange, but it was a message to the team within the clan house.
If the team could get to the gate unseen, the situation could be salvaged. Once the bulk of their forces were inside the walls and able to take hostages, it would be over. That was the plan anyway.
An eternity later, the guards on the walls moved away from the front entrance and began to patrol. There was their opening. The signal came in the form of a single sandal sailing over the front wall.
“Uh, was that the ‘go’ signal or the ‘mission aborted’ signal?” Nagato inquired.
“They’re going for the gate. Get moving!”
They climbed down to join the other shinobi who were pouring out of the forest, jumping down from trees, or springing up from concealed positions on the ground. Their leather armor didn’t jangle like samurai plate, and their form-fitting footwear didn’t slap against the ground like sandals. They moved quickly and silently to mass at the front gate.
The handful of people coming up the road swiftly turned back.
Small teams broke off, heading to predetermined positions from which they would swarm over the walls with grappling hooks. The men in those teams wore monk robes to confuse the enemy; the women wore casual clothing. Those women who hadn’t been chosen to fight were gathered in a nearby location, preparing to care for the injured. Usagi had been relegated to the support role of patching wounds, which gave Mamoru a certain satisfaction. He would be sure to remind her often that he had participated in the assault and she hadn’t.
“Why isn’t it open?” Nagato murmured, earning a stern “Be silent” hand sign from an older shinobi.
The two doors were moving agonizingly slowly. The front ranks began to help, shoving their hands in the narrow opening to pull at the doors. Cries of pain rose.
“Is someone defending the gate?” Mamoru asked his taller friend.
Nagato stood on the tip of his toes. “I can’t see. Everybody is in the way.”
An authoritative voice finally called, “Get those doors open! Now!”
The doors, now revealed to be as thick as a person, swung aside as many hands were lent to the task. But instead of facing an empty courtyard, there were armed and battle-ready defenders racing to protect their home.
“Attack!” The battle cry sent them surging forward, some calling out to the enemy mockingly.
“Here, foxy foxy!”
“I’ll make a nice fur coat for the winter!”
Fear froze Mamoru’s insides, but he didn’t allow it to freeze his feet. He charged along, twin knives in hand. They’d been told to take whatever weapons they were most comfortable with. For shinobi this meant short swords, knives, and throwing stars, the weapons they usually wore concealed on themselves.
It took many wild heartbeats for him to reach the gate and pass through. They were not favored by the situation: frontal attacks weren’t what they were trained to do. But the leader had been firm in his intention to overwhelm the foxes with their entire strength. He would hear no argument. It was like the leader was possessed, obsessed with the Fox clan and his mysterious, rich client.
The ranks of his comrades parted before Mamoru, and he glimpsed Nagato, who had somehow gotten ahead, engaged in battle with a girl with astonishing red hair.
Nagato went down clutching a knife embedded in his belly, the worst place to take a wound. The knife seemed to have gone through the thick leather armor as though it hadn’t even been there.
“Nagato!” Mamoru shot forward, shoving bodies aside in an attempt to come to his friend’s aid, and came face to face with the red-haired girl. Screaming wordless hatred, he thrus
t his weapons toward her flesh.
She jumped back and swung her katana so fast he was barely able to block the gleaming blade with his knives. In her dark eyes he saw complete confidence—and perhaps a hint of pity. For him.
Fear took him then, its coldness numbing his wits. She was stronger than a girl had any right to be, and his arms trembled with the effort of holding her blade away. She had killed Nagato so quickly, so easily. He defended himself with desperation, blocking and deflecting the blade that sought his blood.
His sluggish mind tried to remember how to find a weak point, how to exploit it. He knew a dozen ways to kill an unwary person, but this was a very wary person. His thoughts were panicked, his arms growing tired and weak from parrying her strong thrusts. He stood his ground, parrying over and over. If he held on a heartbeat longer, someone would help. Someone would save him.
Mamoru’s reflexes were well-honed, but they had never been pressed so hard. He was too late to block her knee as it targeted a delicate part of his anatomy. The sheer unfairness of the move made him gape even as his eyes filled with tears of pain.
“I have no shame,” the red-haired girl told him. “Sorry!” She elbowed him in the face, driving his head back hard, and he heard bone snap.
Mamoru collapsed to the ground, knowing he wouldn’t get up again.
Chapter Sixteen
Akakiba
AKAKIBA HEARD THE CLASH of weapons and the cries of the wounded long before he saw the battle. It was those noises that sent him and his mother hastening for the gate. Who in the world would dare attack them?
Fear for his family surged inside him at the sight of the melee filling the courtyard. Everywhere he looked humans and foxes were locked in combat, spilling the crimson of life. Where was his father? His sister? His human? He viciously stamped down his fear. Fight now; panic later.
They joined those who had formed a wall in front of the main building, preventing the enemy from penetrating any deeper into the clan house. They filled a weak spot in the defenses where a man with an arm sliced to the bone was in the process of being dragged away by two fellow foxes.
The wounded man resisted. “It’s just a flesh wound! I’ve still got another arm to fight with!” His fellows, who clearly had better sense, hauled him away.
Despite the chaos of battle, attackers weren’t difficult to tell apart from defenders, both because of their human aura and because they wore dark leather armor. In contrast, the defenders largely wore everyday clothes. A few foxes who had been caught wearing feminine and elaborately decorated furisode had ripped off the inconveniently large sleeves and now fought arms bare.
Akakiba estimated the enemy’s visible numbers close to a hundred, a match for their own hundred and some battle-fit foxes. That number included the fox-trapped, who were currently helping by savaging legs and feet, but not the children and elders. The women on the walls were cutting off grappling hooks, proof they were dealing with sneaky shinobi. Rope-climbing wasn’t a samurai skill.
He tried to fall into his usual blank-mind battle state, but he couldn’t let go of the reality that his home, the one place in the world that should have been safe, was under attack. He was unable to focus, unable to stop looking wildly around as if the whole scene might suddenly prove to be a bad dream.
Two men came at him, playing off each other to prevent him from landing a blow on either of them. He parried their bloody knives over and over, katana in his right hand and wakizashi in his left. His flesh escaped their metal, but his clothes didn’t, his sleeves soon full of holes. Their eyes were hard, determined. The moment he made a mistake…
An arrow appeared in the eye of one of the two men, a gift from an archer on the wall. The other shinobi didn’t notice the loss of his partner quickly enough. Akakiba’s sword tore into his stomach.
He took a step back, panting and overwhelmed. He’d never been in this type of large-scale battle, had never been told that it felt like riding a deadly storm, not knowing when a wave might sweep you under. While physical strength was on their side, many foxes were clutching a limb on which an inconsequential wound had been inflicted. Poison.
His own mother fell from such a treacherous injury. One moment she stood at his side, the next she had a knee on the ground and a growl on her lips.
“Mother?” He hated how weak his voice was.
Akahana pulled a tiny dart from her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
He doubted that. Whatever poison it was might not have been fatal on its own, but non-fatal effects could be quite deadly when the enemy was waiting for a weakness to exploit.
Teeth bared, he stood in front of his mother until a three-legged fox hobbled by with a necklace of strung vials.
“Antidote,” Maru announced.
“Thank you,” Akahana said in a strained voice, seizing a vial.
Maru moved on to the next impaired fighter. He was not alone in his work: at least one other fox was carrying vials across the courtyard, a wizened fox that Akakiba was surprised to recognize as Sora. Too old to fight, perhaps, but not too old to help.
“Do you need rest?” Akakiba swallowed the word “Mother” this time. She was in male form, and there were outsiders present. He circled her protectively still, sword high, his expression an effective deterrent.
“I’m fine.” Akahana stood, swaying like a reed in the wind.
“You’re not.” He took her arm and pulled her away, inside the building. “Come.”
The fight had spread out, many shinobi having slipped by the main line of defense, but the meeting room should have been kept secured to provide a safe haven for the children and the wounded. They had to step over several bodies to get there, all clad in leather armor but one, a young woman he recognized as a close cousin. He averted his eyes. Feelings of sorrow were to be ignored until the end of battle. Doing otherwise might hasten his own death.
Ahead in the hallway, two fox kits were harassing a shinobi disguised as a monk, sinking their sharp teeth into the man’s heels. The kits were yipping, no doubt thinking themselves great heroes. The shinobi’s hands meanwhile disappeared inside hidden pockets. That couldn’t be good.
Akakiba left his mother leaning against a wall and charged, his heavy steps catching the fake monk’s attention. He deflected a throwing star with his blade and sliced across the shinobi’s chest, splitting him open like a piece of fruit. The body hadn’t yet hit the ground when he turned on the kits.
“Your parents will hear about this!” he snarled. “You two get back to the meeting room immediately, you hear me?”
They scampered off in the right direction with lowered ears and tails.
“Hikaru and Kaoru,” Akahana said, having caught up by leaning against the wall. “Twin terrors already. Their poor parents.”
“We’re almost there,” he said encouragingly, sliding under her arm once more.
As soon as they crossed the meeting room’s threshold, a girl of thirteen or fourteen came to assist them. He could hardly recognize her face, but he thought she was Maru’s daughter. Her eyes were solemn as she took Akahana’s pulse.
The girl proffered a cup of tea that smelled rotten. “Drink this and take a nap.” She left, moving on to the next patient.
Akahana gagged on the first sip.
“All of it, Mother.” He stared until she brought the cup back to her lips and drained it. “I’m returning to the courtyard. Don’t follow until you’re fit to do so.”
She didn’t answer, which he took as an acknowledgement that he was right. Later, after the shinobi were dead and he’d made sure Yuki and Sanae were safe, he would take the time to enjoy this rare victory.
On his way out, he nodded his respect to the human women guarding the door with spears. Their eyes were no less determined than anyone else’s, for their children were in this room and their husbands fighting outside.
“Beware the fake monks,” he told them in passing.
Outside, he surveyed the fight and saw that now that the
full strength of the Fox clan had come to bear on them, the shinobi couldn’t hold. They were losing ground, leaving behind a trail of dead bodies and blood-soaked gravel.
Cries of pain and sounds of weapons clashing abounded, but the fighters were otherwise eerily silent. Shinobi were trained to it, and foxes were quiet by nature. Here were the two types of warrior most feared in the land: the murderous shinobi and the mysterious fox samurai. The story of this battle would be told and retold endlessly, mostly by people who were making things up as they went.
He raised his bloody sword. There was work to be done, namely, finding Sanae and Yuki.
When he spied a flash of red hair, he spared a thought for the poor fools who stood between him and her. Then, he dove in.
Chapter Seventeen
Yuki
“WE’RE UNDER ATTACK! Defend the wall!”
By the time Yuki heard the call to arms, mind-yelled by an amazingly old-looking fox with thin, pale fur who hobbled past, he’d already tired himself out with an intense bout of practice. There was sweat on his brow, a twitch in his left calf, and a painful dryness in his throat.
“Terrible timing,” he groaned. “Grandmother, where should I go to help?”
The fox paused to study him. “You’re the human boy who sees demon auras, eh? Go help Tate near the Mirror Pond. That demon-possessed woman may try to escape.” She sat on her haunches. Though her mental voice was alert, her breathing was shallow, and she was trembling.
“Are you well, grandmother? Here, I have water.” He knelt to share his flask and cup with her.
“These old bones haven’t worked so hard in quite a while, that’s true. There will be plenty of time to rest if they kill us all. Now hurry. We must not lose her.”
“I’m going.” He sprinted in the direction she indicated with her paw. He heard fighting on the walls above, where women armed with bows, swords, and knives repelled climbers. A man in leather fell to the ground screaming, the impact shattering bones and leaving him writhing in agony in the shade of majestic plum trees. An arrow zipped down to silence him.