The Fox's Quest (8 page)

“Further in the mountain, there used to be a magnificent area lush with life. It’s a hard climb, but people were willing to endure the hardship to see it and pray to the shrine there. The old went to die in peace, the wounded to heal. It was a magic place and it was said white spirits danced there by moonlight.”

“Then it was cursed,” Ari said as she shuffled back inside. She took a moment to violently persuade the door to close, then continued, “The animals left and the trees died and nobody wanted to go there anymore, so we couldn’t make any money. That’s why Father died, because we didn’t have any money.”

“We couldn’t afford medicine,” Chiyako clarified. “The herb lady in the village wouldn’t come, claiming we were cursed like the forest.”

Akakiba leaned forward. “When did this happen?”

“A few years now. It’s difficult to do everything by myself but we’re still here.”

Ari reddened. “I help!”

Chiyako laid a hand on her younger sister’s head. “You do, that’s true.”

Yuki doubted a tiny girl like that could be of much help, but she proved him wrong moments later as she set to the task of cooking a meal. Her tiny hands prepared rice and chopped root vegetables. With a flourish, she produced a jar full of distinctive and easily recognizable mushroom pieces to flavor the rice. It was a welcome surprise;
maitake
mushrooms were rare, large, and delicious.

“Eat your fill,” Chiyako said as she passed out bowls and chopsticks. “We grow our own rice and nobody dares to come ask us for the lord’s share. They’ve not come once since we were supposedly cursed.”

They ate plentifully—except Drac, who snorted at this meatless fare. “I’d rather hunt for rabbits.”

Yuki didn’t speak his doubts but he “thought” them.
You can’t hunt. You’ll fall asleep.

Drac’s mind was a block of stubbornness, the equivalent of stating “I’ll find a way.”

Extra futon were brought in the room and extra wood tossed onto the fire so it may last late into the night. Even with the fire going, the corners of the room were cool. That was convenient, as the cold knocked Drac into sleep easily.

Yuki curled up under the covers and felt himself being drawn down into a sort of slumber meant to last for longer than a human could possibly survive without feeding. It didn’t frighten him; Akakiba could be an irritating bastard at times, but he would never let him die.

Chapter Twelve

Jien

T
raveling with Aito was like traveling with Akakiba, insofar as both men were the silent, reliable type. But it was different, too.

Aito could point out fifty birds in a row and never mistake their species. Aito could glance at indistinct tracks in the mud and say a wolf pack five members strong had come by two days ago. Aito could spend an hour studying a snail. If asked, he’d claim he’d been meditating. But he’d been watching a snail during that “meditation.”

Aito was also impressively good at ignoring Jien’s existence when his patience came to an end. Akakiba would have snapped and tried to skewer him; Aito merely stopped reacting.

The game, if it had a name, would be called “try to make Aito show a sign of irritation or anger.” So far, Jien hadn’t won.

“Aito, I’m bored. Tell me about that incident with the bullies.”

“Aito, I’m hungry. Are we stopping soon?”

“Aitoooo, pay attention to me!”

It wasn’t an especially friendly game to play but it did help him forget about the terrible weather they’d had ever since beginning to climb this mountain. One might have called it “sleet” but he thought “snow-raining” better described it. Snow fell from the sky but melted the second it touched down, turning dirt roads to mud and making narrow passages dangerously slippery.

Lapsing into silence, Jien fell back on another pastime: Aito-watching. Sometimes the quiet monk would frown, or quirk a smile at thin air, or nod as if listening to someone talking. It was fascinating to watch these signs of human-spirit interaction without ever glimpsing the spirits themselves.

“Hey, Aito,” he said cautiously. “Can I ask you how spirits attach to humans? I heard women can get familiars by dancing naked in the forest under the full moon but somehow I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Aito deigned to notice his words, giving a bewildered look. “Where did you hear that?”

“From a man in a drinking house. Don’t roll your eyes! There’s a great deal of critical information to be gathered in drinking houses.” It was true, too! The best way to find trouble was to drink sake with locals and listen to gossip. Yet people never believed him when he said it was a reliable investigating method.

Aito returned his attention to the road ahead, as if he’d decided to resume pretending Jien didn’t exist. Long moments went by before he spoke again. “What do you know about spirit lures?”

“A spirit lure is a child who attracts spirits. They’re usually weak in health and demons tend to try to possess them if they’re not actively protected. I’ve never met a lure but I know Akakiba and Yuki did. The girl child was given a dragon to solve the problem.”

“If that girl hadn’t been given a dragon’s protection, she might have become like me,” Aito said. “Spirits will fight over a lure until one or several of them establish a bond with the human. In unfortunate cases, an unfriendly spirit will resort to possession in order to ‘win.’ Those are the cases young monks are told about. The fortunate cases go unnoticed.”

Jien refrained from making a jest about this sudden volubility. Five sentences in a row was more than Aito had said all morning! Instead he kept to the topic at hand. “You’re saying people with familiars are grown up lures who got lucky and bonded with friendly spirits?”

“Yes.”

“I see. That must have made for a difficult childhood.”

“Yes.”

The urge to pry was strong, but Jien could guess this was a personal matter. Pushing for details likely wouldn’t get him anywhere unless vast quantities of sake were involved. He’d have to be patient to get that story.

Aito’s next words were, “I discern early signs of disease.”

“What, where?” Jien frowned at their surroundings, seeing no such signs. The trees were very tree-like, with brown bark and the occasional leaf left on a branch. The ones possessing needles instead of leaves looked smug next to their naked fellows.

“We’ll start seeing it with our eyes soon.”

Ah. Aito was cheating again.

Nobody would expect to meet honest travelers in the mountains at this time of year, and certainly not while this wretched weather continued. So when Aito said, “My familiars detect people ahead,” Jien sat up and paid attention.

Jien casually shifted his spear from his back to his lap, keeping a single hand on the reins. If it were bandits, he would be ready to teach them a lesson.

A single man stood in the middle of what passed for a road here. His non-descript clothes were damp and his hair was cut unevenly. He leaned on a spear and watched them as they watched him. “Hello, friends. What brings you to my mountain?”

Jien was about to challenge him—since when did individuals lay claim to mountains?—when Aito said, “Mountain monk.”

Mountain monks were hermits who sought enlightenment in solitude, practicing martial arts and occasionally killing demons or bandits for disturbing their peace. They were well-liked by travelers and pilgrims, who knew they were safe in a mountain monk’s domain. It was said that in the north, where neither fox samurai nor Great Temple
sohei
went, people relied on mountain monks to ward off demons.

“My mountain,” the man repeated serenely. Now that they were closer, Jien noted there were dark bags under his eyes and a look of weariness about him.

Jien glanced at Aito; what could they say of their quest?

“Your friend can come down from that tree,” Aito said.

A girl in a
furisode
jumped down from a nearby tree and stood by the monk with a sulk on her sultry lips. “How did you know I was there? You didn’t look up.”

Her clothing was bewildering; her flower-print
furisode
was torn at knee-length, exposing smooth legs in scandalous fashion, and she had what appeared to be a thick cushion tied to the small of her back with rope. Her only protection from the weather was a pink sun umbrella she held in one hand.

“Mountain monks are sexier than I expected,” Jien said to her.

“I’m merely the help.”

“Who likes to hang out in trees?”

“Yes.” Her smile seemed to dare him to argue.

“I never did understand women,” he said prudently.

“We’re here on important business,” Aito cut in. “Haven’t you noticed some trouble with the forest?”

“You mean the part where it’s dying? Why, yes, I did.” Though his tone remained pleasant, the mountain monk shifted his weight in a way that indicated he was ready to pick up his spear. “What do you know about it?”

“I would ask the same of you.” The staring contest went on until Aito inclined his head. “Not possessed, either of them.”

“Why would you think us possessed?”

“You may not have heard the news, but six months ago the Fox clan and the
sohei
of the Great Temples went to war against an army composed of demon-possessed humans. We’ve had trouble eradicating the remains of their…hm. One might call it an organization, for they certainly were organized. We don’t know yet how far they may have penetrated society.”

Now it was the hermit and the woman who shared a “what shall we tell them?” look. The man eyed them again. “If I tell you the forest is dying from a certain cause, can you tell me what it is?”

“Likely a sword,” Aito said, “or another object inscribed with glyphs that should have been forgotten long ago. Can you tell me why this object is causing the forest to die?”

“It’s eating up spiritual energy. The valley beyond is a sink for such energy and it has been feeding the sword.”

Aito dismounted and bowed. “I am Aito,
sohei
of the Great Eastern Temple. This is Jien, of the same. We believe the sword in your valley was stolen from us years ago. We wish to retrieve it and hide it where it can do no harm.”

The man bowed, too. “I am Domi, hermit of this mountain. My companion’s name is Marin and her allegiance is to me.” Straightening, he said, “I might believe your story, but I don’t know if I agree to allow you to take the sword away. You might have been sent by the very person who planted it there, and he may want it back for unsavory reasons.”

“The possibility exists. Just as I consider it possible you were hired to watch over the sword so we cannot retrieve it.”

Marin made a show of yawning behind a raised hand. “Please, is the manly posturing finished yet? I know, and you know, Domi, that my father would never send
sohei
to fetch a sword he stole from them.”

“They could be imposters.”

“No one can impersonate
sohei
that well but
shinobi
, and I’m well placed to tell when I meet one of those. They’re genuine. Whether they can be trusted… That’s another matter.”

“Your father,” Jien repeated. He held his spear loosely, but he was no less ready to swing into action if the situation warranted it.

There was bitterness in the woman’s answer. “Yes, my father, and my once clan leader. I’m sure you’ve never heard of a
shinobi
clan leader called Shinichi. He sent me to steal a magical sword, had me kill the blacksmith who made copies of it, and afterwards betrayed me in fear I may betray his plans.”

“I always wanted to rescue a lovely damsel in distress,” Domi said with sudden cheerfulness. “The gods must have heard me.”

“You idiot,” Marin said. Domi caught her with his free arm and hugged her close as she protested, “Not before guests!”

He let go, laughing. “Pardon me, love. Living in the wild has made me a beast.”

She caught his
kosode
and yanked him closer, purring against his cheek, “You say foolish things when you open your mouth, my love.”

Jien cleared his throat. “We can come back later, if this is a bad time.”

The pair parted, looking not at all bothered to behave so intimately before strangers. Then again, hermits in general had little interest in other people and what they thought, else they wouldn’t be hermits. Domi could be considered strange for keeping a lover. Watching them together left no doubt about the nature of their relationship.

“I might as well offer tea,” Marin said. “Or do you fear I’ll poison it?”

“I’d never think that of a lady,” Jien said. “Tea would be good, especially if it means we can drink it in a dry place, out of this wet.” He lifted a hand to show how his sleeve clung damply to his arm.

“The weather is rather unpleasant today, isn’t it? I’ll go ahead and prepare tea.” Marin hastened away, taking a shortcut between the trees. “Love, bring them the long way.”

They recovered their horses, which had wandered off to sample the local greenery, and followed Domi onward.

Aito dropped a few words in his ear in passing. “I sent a spirit after her.”

Jien agreed with the measure. No use taking chances, not when they could in one move ensure their personal safety and make a show of trust to their host. If the woman’s words were true—that she was the sword thief and her father was the hand behind their troubles—her knowledge would be invaluable.

They needed only to figure out who her father was and how he was linked to the demon that had stolen knowledge from trainee Saji’s mind.

Hi
, Sanae said, popping into existence.
What did I miss?

Chapter Thirteen

Akakiba

W
hen Akakiba woke in the morning, the fire had burned down to embers. He coaxed it back to life with a few logs, hoping to lift the temperature high enough for his breath to stop turning into faint white puffs every time he exhaled.

Their hostesses were asleep and curled up together—for warmth, certainly, but perhaps also for protection. Chiyako had left a heavy metal pan on the ground, within her reach.

The rumor of their family being cursed must have kept people away, which would explain why Chiyako had been unprepared to handle visitors. But rumors wouldn’t deter men bent on mischief after hearing there were two young girls living alone. He might have a word with Chiyako later, to explain that a heavy metal pan wasn’t going to save her when real trouble came along. It seemed to please Yuki when he showed concern for strangers.

But there were other matters to handle first.

Akakiba tried to shake Yuki awake, to no avail; the dragon had once again sunk into the deep sleep of winter and brought the human along. Knowing then his decision was the right one, he picked up the slumbering dragon—he had to cheat and bleed red a touch—and brought it to the nearest unheated room.

The girls were awake when he returned, straightening their clothes—they’d slept fully dressed—and taking turns brushing their hair with what must be their only comb.

“Were you looking for something?” Chiyako inquired, not without a touch of suspicion in her tone.

“Reptiles are meant to sleep the winter,” he said by way of explanation while he ensured Yuki was well tucked in his blankets. “As long as the dragon is left in the other room, he’ll sleep. And he’ll keep my friend asleep too. If I’m not back by tomorrow night, please warm up the dragon so they’ll both wake.”

“May I ask where you mean to go?” Chiyako asked.

“To find what’s causing the forest to die. It’s too dangerous for these two in the state they’re in.”

“Pardon me, but… wouldn’t curses be a matter for priests or monks?”

Telling the whole truth to an outsider would be too dangerous, so he compromised with another incomplete truth. “We consulted with monks before we came. We’re prepared.”

Chiyako chewed on that, likely trying to decide whether she should be hopeful, skeptical, or alarmed.

Ari crept close to poke Yuki with a stick, eliciting no reaction. “Oh, he’s sleeping really hard.”

“Ari!”

There was tea, most welcome on this unfriendly morning, and an offer of food, which he declined. “I have my own supplies.”

He lingered, eying Yuki’s helpless form. Removing the string of coins he always wore around his neck and under his clothing, he placed it on top of a woven basket sitting by the door.

Chiyako’s voice rose hard and sharp. “No guest ever came to harm under this roof. There is no need for that.” She didn’t say “bribe” but her indignation made it clear that’s what she took it as.

“Take it as an expression of gratitude for your hospitality.” With a child to clothe and feed, and considering the condition of their home, refusing his coin would have been foolish.

More quietly, Chiyako said, “If you’re not back by tomorrow night, I will wake him and tell him.”

“Thank you.”

He yanked the door open, then shoved it closed after stepping outside. The last words he heard were Ari’s. “But what if Yuki needs to pee while he’s magically asleep?”

He took a step, paused with a look over his shoulder. There would be consequences for what he was doing. Twelve-year-old Yuki had understood when his teacher left him behind to tackle a foe without distraction, but fifteen-year-old Yuki would take it as a grievous insult. It would drive Yuki a little further from him and a little closer to the dragon.

He wished he’d drowned the reptile back when it was small and harmless. Then Yuki would still be his and his alone... Ah, here he was thinking foolish thoughts again. If the dragon hadn’t pushed them apart, the other thing would have. Like the saying went, spilt water wouldn’t return to the tray.

The past couldn’t be changed and the present left him no choice. He felt an itch, a premonition things might go wrong. The dragon bond made Yuki too vulnerable in cold weather. Best to leave him here, safe with kind people who would take care of him if the worst happened. The spirit-who-was-probably-Sanae would show up sooner or later and would be able to inform Jien and Aito of the situation.

“Stop delaying, idiot!” He strode away, choice made.

The horses welcomed him in the stable, nudging him with their muzzles. The smart beasts had unlatched their stall’s door and were wandering freely through the modest building. There was a hole in the roof at one end, which explained why there was snow on the floor and no warmth other than what the horses generated for themselves. At least the walls were solid wood and blocked the wind.

This wasn’t a stable meant for a domestic animal or two but rather one meant to accommodate the mounts of rich guests. Chiyako must have spoken plain truth when she said the place had once seen visitors in quantity.

What appeared to be the girls’ entire supply of hay had been piled in the stall where the horses had originally been. It smelled dry, not musty, so it must have been safe for the horses to eat.

He located their equipment and saddled his beast, the darker one. He had to stop Yuki’s mount from following him out, closing the door in its face.

“You’re staying for now. Don’t eat all the hay.”

The grey horse whinnied, possibly confused at being left behind. It likely had a name, as did the one he rode, but he’d forgotten to ask before stealing the beasts from his clan. Saying “the paler one” and “the darker one” was adequate when there was a need to differentiate them.

The path into the forest was easy to find, even if it were covered in an ankle-deep blanket of whiteness. Thousands of feet must have packed the earth smooth and free of vegetation over the years. Given time, the path would vanish under new greenery. But for now, it pointed the way.

Lazy snowflakes drifted down from the sky, either the last of the night’s snowfall or the first of a new wave. He hunched on his mount and grumbled. It took a fool to climb up a mountain in the bad season—or someone on an urgent mission that couldn’t wait until spring.

The-spirit-who-was-probably-Sanae didn’t appear. Was there trouble on Jien’s end? Perhaps it had gone to speak with Toshishiro to see what the old man might have learned in their absence. Or perhaps it was sleeping—assuming spirits required sleep. Surely they must require rest of some sort.

Odd that he, a demon slayer who was half-spirit, did not know such things. Shouldn’t his clan possess better information about their inhuman roots? He wished he could ask Grandmother Naoko, the clan’s matriarch, if she knew of any suppressed knowledge regarding the nature and habits of spirits. The Great Temples had many such secrets, bits of dangerous knowledge they had chosen to suppress and keep from their younger members.

The sun had reached its zenith when he began to notice sick trees. Before long he and his horse were both restless and unhappy to be there. They kept going regardless.

Daylight was on its way out when he reached what he hoped was his destination, a shrine dedicated to the mountain it stood upon. It was not a fancy shrine with a priest to tend to the premises but rather a tiny one composed of a single red gate and a stone monument surrounded with bottles of sake left as offering.

What better place to hide an object that ate spiritual energy? He searched the area but found nothing suspicious.

He did find suspicious persons, however.

His first clue was a sound in a place bereft of life, a scraping against bark. His second was a pair of throwing stars whistling through the air. He ducked and rolled, taking shelter behind the stone monument to draw his sword.

“Who’s there?”

He’d already located three figures before he received an answer. They couldn’t have snuck up on him without his noticing, so they must have been laying in ambush since before he arrived. Not bandits then, but people who knew what object was here—or had been here. He was too late.

“It’s rude not to introduce yourself first,” a cool voice replied.

Two of the men came closer. The speaker was the older of the two and had the face of a warrior. His nose was flattened, his skin burned near the ear and scarred on the cheek. The other, barely of adult age, sported recent burns and hair so ragged it looked like burned bits had been snipped off.

The both of them were darkness-touched, likely possessed if it were them who had planted the swords. Interestingly, the younger man looked fearful, his attitude at odds with the confidence the taller man projected. That, if nothing else, told him they must know what he was. Why fear a lone samurai otherwise?

Akakiba’s eye was drawn to the sword held by the taller man. Perhaps it was not too late to complete his task.

“As I thought,” the man said. “You were looking for this sword. I’m afraid I can’t part with it. I would like to know what you did with the one you stole.”

Ah. The man wanted to gloat. What a very human thing to do. Why should he not indulge? It might give him time to think of something.

“You’re the thief,” Akakiba said. “You have no right to that sword.”

“I have it, therefore it is mine.”

“We have the copy, therefore it is ours,” Akakiba shot back.

The man seemed amused. “A fair point. Now, since it is rather cold out today, I would prefer if we cut to the heart of the matter at once.”

Akakiba hadn’t waited for the man to finish speaking. He bled red halfway down his hair for a burst of speed and hurtled backward, away from the man with the dangerous sword. He could not allow himself to be wounded by that weapon; even being in near proximity while bleeding out was inadvisable.

The dark horse came up to him snorting and tossing its head. War-trained like every one of the clan’s horses, it knew to stick by its human when swords came out. But being near Akakiba put it in harm’s way, as throwing stars and throwing knives sliced the air toward them. He intercepted those he could with the flat of his blade, his enhanced reflexes capable of such a feat.

“Get out of here!” he shouted at his mount, trying to recall how one signaled to a clan horse to return home alone. “Go back! Back!”

The horse wheeled and charged in the opposite direction. Akakiba hoped it would make its way back to Yuki’s location instead of trying to reach the clan house. Either way, best it not stick around where
shinobi
could shoot at it.

He had no need for a horse; bleeding red, he could run as fast as one.

It was unfortunate speed and caution didn’t mesh well. The weapons thrown at him had been but a distraction, keeping him looking up instead of down. He realized that the second the ground vanished from under his feet.

He threw an arm back, his scrambling fingers closing upon a hard root. It jolted his shoulder hard but gave him a handhold to haul himself out of the hole. Curse it, he liked it better when his opponents were straightforward brawlers instead of schemers and trap-layers. He was a samurai, good at things involving swords. Trap detection wasn’t part of his training, especially when they were made invisible by a thick layer of snow.

Maybe he relied on swords too much. If the enemy was cheating, then why couldn’t he do the same? The clan would disapprove, but he no longer cared to follow their rules.

He put his sword away and shifted.

In his human form, bleeding red made him run as fast as a horse. In his fox form, bleeding red made him run like the wind.

He ran past a
shinobi
who stared at him slack-jawed, forgetting to use the weapons in his hands, and over another drop-trap, which rattled but did not fall in under his light weight. How many traps had they laid, exactly?

He swerved to avoid a pair of objects hurtling through the air. When they hit the ground, they exploded. The shockwave tossed him off his paws and into a tree. More fell and exploded, stunning him, burning him. One projectile was filled with blinding powder; it exploded into intense light that seared his sight away. He yelped and growled and kept running despite being burned and blind, and half-deaf from the noise, too.

Without sight and hearing, avoiding further projectiles was impossible. Darts buried in his flesh, injecting poison into his blood. His enhanced metabolism couldn’t counter so much of it. His limbs stopped responding, paralysis spreading. Defeated, he came to rest in a heap in the white, white snow.