The Fox's Mask

by Anna Frost

  “Takashi is a fool. He should have ordered us to bleed red from the start.”

  “Yeah. We would have crushed them!”

  “He never even suggested it!”

  “Why didn’t you go ahead and do it then?” Akakiba snapped. “Must you be told everything?”

  It was no use reminding those idiots that there were good reasons why they were taught to contain themselves and never use their powers openly. The last thing they needed was for humans to be scared of them because they had strange inhuman powers.

  Night had fallen when they lit the funeral pyre. Among the burning bodies was old Sora’s fox form, broken and bloody.

  Long after the others had gone to bed, stumbling with exhaustion, Akakiba remained where he was, staring at the fire. He vaguely recalled telling Yuki to go to bed, that he’d follow soon.

  “What a shame,” a voice said.

  Akakiba looked up, startled, to find old Naoko standing near. In her human form she was a short, bent woman. What few hairs she had left were bone-white, and her hands trembled constantly. She, too, stared into the fire.

  “Grandmother?” he said gently.

  “I tried to compose a haiku for Sora, but I never had the skill he had for it.”

  “He wrote poetry? I didn’t know that.” Human samurai wrote poetry, but foxes were unskilled in such things, try as they might to understand.

  “There’s a great many things you don’t know, child.” Naoko gave a deep sigh. “I wish you to know…old Sora was one like you. When he was born, so very long ago, we did not yet know we were in crisis. By the time we realized how badly we needed new blood, Sora was too old to make children. He tried but could not. He was forever bitter, believing his selfishness had hurt the clan. The hate he showed you was but a reflection of the hate he felt for himself.”

  Akakiba sat up, abandoning his slouch. The revelation hurt like an unexpected slap. The one person who had been like him, the one person who might have understood, had preferred to reject him. “I never knew…”

  “Of course not,” Naoko said. “Secrets are meant to be kept. I kept this one long enough. I believe it was wrong, what was done to you. The clan tried to force you to be other than you are, and you could not help but rebel. I see the guilt and anger in you. Have a care you don’t become bitter like Sora.” She gave him a look that didn’t feel entirely friendly and wandered away.

  Akakiba drifted off to sleep, sitting against the wall, wondering why fire was always so merry when it danced over the dead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jien

  THE SCREAMS LEFT NO ONE INDIFFERENT. That much could be deduced from the grim, tight-lipped expressions of those walking by. But none of them went over to try to make it stop.

  Jien stood far from the scene, but he could still hear the shrill screams. It had been going on the entire morning. If the single shinobi they’d captured alive knew anything, he’d talk sooner or later.

  Yuki sat near him, head bowed. “He’s no older than I am.” The baby dragon huddled on his lap, possibly sharing his human’s misery.

  “You should go to the kitchen. It’s mealtime.”

  “So that I can’t hear it? No. I won’t pretend it’s not happening.”

  Jien made no further comment. It wasn’t his place to criticize. The already weakened Fox clan was now even weaker. If they fought the demon-possessed as planned, the survivors may not be numerous enough to be called a clan. They would fight anyway, of course. They were impossibly stubborn that way. He could only hope that they could give themselves a greater chance of victory by gathering such shreds of knowledge as the young shinobi might possess.

  It was depressing. Supernatural creatures were declining and only the evil ones had found a way to survive. What would humanity do without the protection of half-fox demon hunters? Without the help of good spirits and dragons? How would humanity fight demons that took over human bodies? It would be up to the monks of his order to handle it.

  The screams stopped with a dreadful suddenness. Jien rose. “I wonder if it was worth it.”

  They went to listen as the news—and rumors—spread.

  “The night guards should be disciplined. A hundred shinobi in our forest, and they never noticed?”

  “They were clever. They sneaked in overnight a few at a time and hid. By the time the sun rose, birds were used to their presence and sang like usual. That’s why nobody noticed.”

  “The attack itself was still idiotic! What did they think would happen? They attacked just because their crazy, old leader said so!”

  “We got interesting information out of him,” a young man told Jien animatedly, his hands dancing in the air as he spoke. “His testimony supports what we already suspected, that their leader is demon-possessed. He couldn’t justify the attack; he just told them to do it.”

  “He might not be possessed,” Jien said. “He could simply have been bought. Given enough money, a greedy man might be willing to sacrifice his men in a senseless attack.”

  “Who else but the demon-possessed would be desperate enough to offer the kind of money that would take? The timing can’t be coincidence. We’ve discovered their camp, and they’re scared, so they sent the shinobi after us!”

  Jien thought the timing rather supported the theory that the two groups weren’t related—there hadn’t been enough time for messages to fly between the demon-possessed people’s camp and the shinobi clan. Besides, where in the world would demons—or the peasants they inhabited—have found money to hire assassins? He didn’t bother sharing his thoughts: the youth was certain he was right and wouldn’t be convinced by anything as ordinary as logic.

  “What happened to the shinobi?” Yuki asked.

  The young man shrugged. “Dead. They’re disposing of the remains.”

  “What was his name?”

  “His name? I think it was Nagato or something like that. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  Jien saw Yuki’s expression turn ugly and herded him away. “Don’t take it so hard. War happens. There’s no helping it.”

  “I don’t think torture is necessary.”

  “They couldn’t risk missing critical information. Their survival may hinge on it.” Seeing his words weren’t having any effect on his companion’s expression, he tried another approach. “The shinobi had a belly wound. It would have gone bad and killed him regardless of what anyone did.”

  “I went with Akakiba to become a hero. I expected to feel like a slayer of evil, a protector of the innocent. I didn’t expect to become the kind of person who sits idly by while someone is being tortured.”

  Jien leaned on his spear, which he couldn’t bear to be without today, and swallowed a yawn. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he’d spent the night lost in nightmares filled with invisible shinobi. “You should know by now that life is more complicated than that.”

  Glancing at the sun, which shone inappropriately bright on this bleak day, Yuki said, “I need to find Akakiba. He never came to bed last night. I think he’s hurt and won’t say.”

  “That’s likely. He’s a stubborn, proud idiot.”

  They wandered through the garden, addressing anyone they passed. “Hey, have you seen Akakiba?”

  They came across a man who appeared to be hiding behind a rock. He flinched at being addressed but answered, “Oh, I think I saw him sleeping in the courtyard. Near the pyre.”

  “I see. Thank you.” Jien turned around, courtyard-bound. A few steps later he said, “I wonder why that guy was so jumpy.”

  “You didn’t hear? That’s Tate. He was in charge of watching the demon-possessed woman when she escaped. People haven’t been all that nice to him about it.” Yuki sighed. “I was there too, but they’d rather blame him than blame a guest.”

  “Ah. So he’s hiding because he’s ashamed. Samurai are too concerned with their honor, honestly. We sohei are far more concerned with helping the weak and defenseless than with questions of honor and shame. You sho
uld change your career.”

  In the courtyard, they found Akakiba slumped sideways against the wall in a pose that was unlikely to do his back any good. The children working to clean the mess left by the funeral pyre spoke among themselves in hushed voices.

  Cleaning the ashes of dead people wasn’t a task Jien would have assigned to children, even if these were on the edge of adulthood, and it led him to wonder if there was a purpose to it. Were these unusually reckless youths being given a lesson? Maybe the foxes were simply trying to keep them busy and away from the badly wounded whose survival was still in question. Who knew with foxes?

  “I shouldn’t have left him alone,” Yuki muttered, kneeling to poke and prod Akakiba. “He was acting weird, but I was so tired…Hmm, I don’t see any wound.”

  “The problem’s in his head,” Jien said, settling down cross-legged in the dirt. “He didn’t take yesterday well.” Nobody had taken it well, but some had taken it harder than others. “Yuki, do me a favor. Fetch food for us three. It’s not a good time to neglect our health.”

  “Oh, of course. Don’t let him escape if he wakes, okay?”

  Yuki hurried away.

  “You know what, Aki? Your little protégé is so helpful it’s perplexing. I understood from what he told me that you basically got his father killed by drawing a pissed-off demon to their home. I’d expect him to be resentful of you, but instead he’s all understanding and forgiveness. It’s almost creepy.”

  Akakiba responded by beginning to snore.

  “You’re lucky to have friends like us, Aki. You could show some appreciation.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Akakiba

  THE MOMENT AKAKIBA OPENED HIS EYES, he wished he hadn’t. “Go away,” he said, without much hope of being obeyed.

  Jien poked him again. “Do you want to hear the news or not?”

  “What news?” He shifted forward and regretted it as his back burst into flames—the result of sleeping in an improper position. Gingerly settling back against the wall, he repeated the question.

  “It’s my fault,” he said after Jien had stopped relaying the news. “I let the demon escape my body, and it told the others I was a fox. That’s why the shinobi made this desperate attack.”

  “Do think it through, Aki. They would never have had time to plan and implement this attack if they’d started organizing after our visit. This began long before.”

  “I—”

  Jien waved a hand, babbling right over his attempt at a reply. “I’m aware it’s impossible to stop you from blaming yourself. Yuki’s been trying for three years, and he hasn’t had any success. Be quiet and let me talk. That way we won’t get in a fight.” He proceeded to wave his other hand, which was bandaged. “See this? I grabbed a throwing knife right out of the air before it hit one of your ladies in the back. Not bad for a human, eh?”

  “Wasn’t it—”

  “Poisoned? I think it was. I wasn’t feeling very well while I tried to find one of those foxes with the little vials. I need to find out what’s in them. It works wonderfully.”

  “Maru—”

  “Good idea. I’ll ask him about it later. You know, I’m glad I’m well-known to your clan. I wouldn’t have wanted to be mistaken for a shinobi. I heard they sneaked a couple fake monks over the walls while we were busy up front.”

  Yuki appeared, precariously balancing three trays on his arms. “Help before I drop them.”

  The meal consisted of plain, unseasoned rice and unevenly cooked meat. Whoever was on cooking duty had settled for the easiest food to make in great quantity—rice—along with the food that would give foxes the most energy—meat.

  Picking up his chopsticks, Yuki began shoveling rice in his mouth. Akakiba more or less did the same with his meat, sinking his teeth into the tender food with great relish. Rabbit again but delicious rabbit. Jien, watching them, seemed amused; he was eating his rice with no special hurry.

  “Jien, are you going to eat that?” He pointed at the meat with his chopsticks.

  “My religion doesn’t approve of killing helpless animals to devour them.”

  He took that as permission to help himself. “Your religious order encourages you to fight and kill spirits and the occasional human. How is killing rabbits any worse?”

  “We kill creatures that do harm. I’ve never seen an evil rabbit.”

  “I have. They bite hard.”

  “You eat them. Biting you is self-defense.”

  Akakiba turned his attention to Yuki’s tray next. “Your rabbit for my rice,” he proposed, making the switch.

  “Wait.” Yuki reached to recover a piece of the stolen meat and lifted it above his head so his dragon could seize it. Seemingly satisfied by the single piece, it disappeared again. It was disturbing how easy it was to forget there was a dragon in Yuki’s hair. Dragons were by nature lazy creatures, likely to spend entire days basking in the sun, but that one was crazy if it thought it could get carried everywhere forever.

  “He’s not going to be able to hide in there for long,” Jien commented.

  “My neck agrees.”

  The front gates creaked as they were opened. Akakiba turned in instinctive alarm, half-expecting to see another shinobi mob coming at them. What he saw was far easier on the eyes.

  Sohei were coming up the road, dressed in leather armor and walking in ranks like a well-trained army. Row after row of raised spears gleamed in the bright sun. They were all on foot but for the rear-guard, who were mounted on dark horses, and the old man who led them on a pale steed. Walking with the front ranks were dragons of the usual small breed, each following its bonded human.

  These monks, the kanji on their banners said, hailed from the Great Eastern Temple and the Great Western Temple, the two Buddhist temples that had long ago come together to create the monastic order of the Great Temples. No other Buddhist order trained its sohei as extensively as the Great Temples did, and no other required them to wander the country and protect those in need.

  “Is there a Great Northern Temple? And a Great Southern Temple too?” Yuki inquired.

  “They exist,” he confirmed. “No one ever accused monks of having an overabundance of originality.”

  Jien snorted. “Next time we’ll certainly ask the Fox clan’s help in finding a less obvious name. Ah, you’ll have to excuse me.” Rising, he went to meet his brothers.

  Akakiba remained where he was, watching the ranks come up the mountainside and pour in through the gate. It would have been difficult to host so many visitors if they hadn’t brought their own supplies: at the very rear came two dozen carts drawn by oxen.

  The dimmest child could have guessed what was going to happen next. The clan head and the sohei’s leader would meet and talk at length, exchanging news and drawing up plans. Then, they would march in haste. It would take days to reach the village where the demon-possessed had gathered, and it was foolish to think they would simply sit and wait. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. The demon-possessed could flee as far as they wanted: they would be found and destroyed.

  He went to his room intending to lie down and rest. The night’s sleep had enabled his body to see to the numerous minor cuts and muscle strains sustained during the fight—along with filtering out any trace of poison in his blood—but fast healing always left the body tired.

  Yuki, who’d followed him, said, “Shouldn’t you wash at some point?”

  “I’m aware I smell like a dead animal.” A mix of dirt, sweat, and blood had gathered in his clothes and on his skin. The sensation, now that he paid attention to it, was truly repulsive. To rest or wash first? “The bathhouse is far…”

  “They left buckets at the door, didn’t you see?” Yuki hauled in a bucket of soapy water with a washing cloth laid over its side and looked at him pointedly.

  Washing first, then.

  Most of the dried blood covering him wasn’t his, and some had gotten into his long hair, requiring much scrubbing and untangling. Afterwards, he toss
ed out the revoltingly dirty water and slid into clean clothes. The soft fabric was positively luxurious against his skin.

  Now he could rest.

  “Brother? Are you awake?” Sanae slid the door open a crack and peeked in. “How are you feeling?”

  He grunted, which his sister appeared to take as “I’m feeling great and wonderful and require no sleep at all.”

  “Good. We have visitors.” Sanae slid the door open the rest of the way and ushered a pair of humans inside. “They said you know each other.”

  The visitors were Sakura, who had on her back the square box with many compartments that medicine sellers used to carry their wares on the road, and Seiji the police officer.

  “Look, Seiji brought dragon shell powder,” Sanae said after they had finished greeting each other, showing the jar she held in her hands. “Maru will be pleased.”

  Akakiba raised an eyebrow at his sister. That much dragon shell powder was worth a fortune. Why would a police officer bring such a pricy gift? And why was she on a first-name basis with him?

  “We had tea with Seiji’s family while you were gone,” Sanae explained.

  Stifling an exclamation of surprise, he gave Seiji a long, hard look. That lanky, soft-looking man was a potential match for his sister? Seiji fidgeted and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “We thank you for this generous gift,” he said at last. “I cannot deny we have a pressing need for powder. We are in your debt.”

  “No, no,” Seiji replied, his manner equally formal. “The Fox clan has always protected the city, and we are grateful for it. This is but a small token of appreciation for your hard work.”

  It was also an easy way to rise in their parents’ esteem. He glanced at Sakura, trying to catch her eye, but she averted her face. The room felt thick with unease, Sanae, Seiji, and Sakura avoiding everybody else’s eyes. Yuki’s face was politely blank, likely hiding puzzlement.

  “Oh, forgive our rudeness, we didn’t offer tea.” Sanae touched the pot on the table and grimaced. “Ahh, it’s cold. There must be fresh tea elsewhere.” She jumped to her feet to leave.