The Fox's God (20 page)

E
pilogue

Yuki

T
here was a feast. That was apparently how it was done in the Fox clan. Do something heroic, have a feast. Even the
shinobi
were invited.

Between Grandmother Naoko—finally returned from wherever the successive waves of spirit energy had blown her—and Inari—recovered from the shock of feeling a host body die—all severe injuries sustained after the explosions were healed. Marin strutted, displaying her perfect-again legs. Her junior
shinobi
trailed her, looking jumpy and distrustful.

“I can feel it,” a faceless fox said authoritatively from somewhere near. “All the extra energy in the air. I feel stronger already.”

The foxes kept saying that. Did they hope repetition would make it true? Inari was the authority on the matter and she’d already said to expect improvement over the next several years. There was a reason they’d broken the swords near the clan house rather than in the northern island’s vast dead area; the foxes wanted to strengthen themselves first. It might have been selfish, but it was a selfishness Yuki didn’t begrudge them.

Jien groaned, head resting on his tray. “Ate too much. Going to die.”

“I thought you wanted to drink sake,” Akakiba said. “They’re bringing bottles out now.”

Jien groaned again. “No sake.”

As empty food plates migrated back to the kitchen and tiny drinking cups appeared in everybody’s hands, Hachiro rose. He had a lengthy scroll in hand. “I would like to speak of heroes. One, who was born and bred to be strong. One, who became strong the day I found her in the burning remains of her bandit-ravaged village. Others, friends and comrades, who fell protecting us as we battled.”

Akakiba’s frown deepened as the big man spoke on and on. “Who told him all that about Sanae?”

“I told him what I knew,” Yuki said neutrally. “And your mother told him the rest. He asked about her, for his speech. I think he wrote it while we were busy making things explode.”

“I see.”

Akakiba didn’t, Yuki thought, look displeased to hear Sanae lauded to the heavens. They sat, and listened, and drank. And if, perhaps, they let a few tears escape, they weren’t alone in doing so.

Jien burst into the room brandishing rolled up scrolls. He threw one at Akakiba. “That’s for you, and this one—” he held up the other “—tells me Aito’s talking again! I need to go annoy Inari into getting me to Nara. Come meet me there later, why don’t you? We’ll find some new trouble to get into.”

He scrambled out.

“He’s energetic like a kit,” Akakiba said. “He tires me out.”

Yuki poked him in the ribs. “You talk like an old man. Be glad for Aito. Who’s writing to you?”

Akakiba unrolled the scroll and blinked at it as if waiting for the text to change. “The emperor,” he said at last. “He wants to know if I’ve decided whether his actions were justified.”

“Have you? Decided?”

“No. He was right to fear we would side with Inari given the chance. But it was wrong for him to choose not to interfere when the
shinobi
leader sent his clan against us.”

Before Jien’s interruption, they’d been sitting drinking sake and listening to the soothing noise of rain hitting the roof. But the message had ruined the mellow mood.

Yuki seized the scroll and threw it over his shoulder. “Don’t answer him. Let him deal with his guilt alone.” Snatching the hairbrush, he went after Akakiba’s damp, slightly tangled hair. It had grown too long to be easily manageable, but it was beautiful and it was pleasant to sink his hands in the silky mass. It made for a lovely distraction. “When are we leaving?”

“I never said we were leaving. Jien can find trouble on his own.”

“You never said you wanted to stay. If we go a month without finding a fight, you’ll get bored. We can come back anytime. More often than once every three years.”

“True.” Then, after a beat, “Tomorrow.”

“You forget Sakura’s wedding. We’re invited.”

“The day after the celebration.”

“Agreed.”

They were both sore from their impromptus flying lesson because Grandmother Naoko did not believe in healing non-life-threatening injuries, but not so badly they couldn’t…do things. It was as good a time as any to be bold, and distracting.

Gathering Akakiba’s hair, he tied it at the nape like usual and pushed the heavy mass of it aside. His hands curled in the
yukata
’s fabric, tugging until it slid off to expose vast expanses of skin and those deep, cruel scars running from shoulder to hip. Akakiba made an inquisitive noise, head turning to eye him sideways.

Tracing the scars with the tip of his fingers, Yuki waited for an objection that didn’t come. Well then. He leaned forward, set his lips against Akakiba’s ear. “I would like to…” Embarrassment made the rest of his words a whisper, but he spoke them.

Akakiba turned his head so far he might have just pulled a muscle in his neck. His eyebrows were high with surprise, his eyes wide with what one might hope was interest. Yuki met his gaze and tried to pretend he wasn’t flustered at all. He had no choice but to be terribly forward, because Akakiba was obviously too withdrawn to reach out and too stubborn to acknowledge anything more subtle than a flat statement of intent.

“That,” Akakiba said at last, “can be arranged.”

Yuki’s
yukata
didn’t stay on very long either.

The open veranda door afforded them a perfect view of the storm filling the sky with swift lightning strikes and angry thunder. Hunger would eventually force them out of the room, but for the moment they could pretend to be alone in the world.

Yuki hummed thoughtfully. He might as well take advantage of the greater privacy afforded by a noisy storm overhead to get a few answers. Would-be eavesdroppers wouldn’t have any success in this weather.

From his position sprawled on the floor like a child, Yuki reached to poke Akakiba insistently. “Tell me about Jien. He said you were almost lovers.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Yet you’re still mad about what happened. Tell me. He already gave me his version.” He tugged on shiny black hair. “I have a right to know where my fox’s been.”

“
Your
fox?”

“Yes?”

Akakiba huffed a laugh. “If you say so. Not that there’s much foxness left in me. I can’t shift at all.”

“We’ll visit Ari and Chiyako often. Inari said energy sinks are the best places for strengthening, didn’t she? You’ll shift again, one day.” If he said it often enough, Akakiba might come to believe it.

“Perhaps. I’ll live, either way.”

After a moment, Yuki gave up trying to find a subtle way to ask, “Are you well? I thought it would be…difficult for you.”

“I don’t like it, but it’s best to accept loses and not let them fester.”

That sounded very much like advice received from somebody else, somebody Akakiba didn’t want to name. His mother or father, perhaps? “That may be true,” Yuki said, “but we’re still going to visit the girls to strengthen you.”

“You just want to see Drac.”

“That too. I miss him.” Yuki could foresee much travel in their future as they prowled the many roads between the clan house, the temple where Aito was recovering, and the mountains where Drac resided and the energy sink was located. They had few coins left, but surely there would be work to be found along the way.

He tugged again on Akakiba’s hair, harder. “Back on topic! Tell me about Jien.”

Akakiba grumbled further, but Yuki didn’t let him wiggle out of it. Finally, he began, “We first met before I turned fifteen, in the forest not far from here…”

About the Author

Anna Frost is a Canadian girl who spends winters writing and dreaming of summer. An overdose of Japanese culture and media has led her to write fantasy inspired by Japanese mythology. 

In a shocking break with literary tradition, Anna does not live with cats. Instead she lives with chinchillas, which can be just as demanding and evil as cats.