The Fox's God (5 page)

A hand closed about his ankle and dragged him down. Oh, whoops.

Somewhere near, Yuki’s puzzled voice said, “What’s going on? Are we fighting now?”

Sanae’s voice answered,
You picked a bad time to wander off. You missed all the fun.

Jien didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because a fist hit him in the face, splitting his lip.

He spat bloody saliva and grinned. “You hit like a scribe!”

Chapter Five

Sanae

T
he expedition numbered no more than twenty men—plus two women. None of them appeared to have anything important to do, because they’d all wandered over to watch the ongoing fist fight. Hachiro’s friends drank sake from the bottle, shouting incoherent encouragement. At times they seemed to get confused about which fighter they were cheering for.

The scribe swooped down on the gathering when he returned, mouth gone flat with ire. Sanae intercepted him, talking fast.
You said no swords. They’re not using any.

She didn’t need to bring out her second argument—the other guy started it!—as the scribe halted and said, “That is true. I suppose they can hardly addle their wits worse than they already are.” He stayed, either out of morbid fascination or out of a sense of duty to ensure nobody died.

The fight didn’t so much come to an end as devolve into a halfhearted shoving match between two equally sweaty, exhausted men.

“Good fight,” Jien said, flat on his back.

“You have courage and tenacity,” Hachiro said. “I shall be pleased to go into battle with you.”

“You’re not bad yourself.”

Somebody passed down sake and the former opponents shared it like they were the best of friends. The empty bottle rolled past Sanae’s feet moments later. Would they still be friends when they woke in the morning feeling every bruise they’d given each other? She certainly wasn’t going to waste energy healing either of them!

Yuki stared. “Are they bonding over beating each other up? They’re bonding over beating each other up.”

“Warriors” the scribe sniffed.

“Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing with you violent people,” Yuki said. His smile and the way he jostled Akakiba’s shoulder with his own, made it a jest rather than a serious complaint. “Nobody would believe I was meant to be a priest like my father.”

Jien waved pathetically from his position on the ground. “Aki, help. I can’t get up.”

“Don’t call me that,” Akakiba said. But he got up and went, anyway.

The scribe turned to Yuki with a curious expression on his face. “I’m sorry, I overheard you say you’re a priest’s son. However did you come to be a samurai?”

“A demon burned down our shrine and Akakiba took me in. The rest just happened.”

“How unfortunate. But surely something could be arranged, if you wished to return to your roots.”

“I’m content with my life.”

The scribe looked put out. “Why would you prefer a life of violence and danger over a life of helping others and gathering knowledge?”

“You don’t think demon hunters help others? Knowledge from scrolls is good, but experiencing the world first hand is the best way to learn new things.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Sanae glided over.
Yuki knows more about our clan than any priest or scribe ever will. And he’s discovered things about great dragons nobody’s ever known.

The scribe’s annoyingly perfect eyebrows went up. “Such as?”

Yuki, tell him about their language.

“I’d rather not,” Yuki said stiffly. Sanae wasn’t insulted, because she could tell what he
really
meant was “I am most grateful for your intervention, oh wise and beautiful Sanae, because otherwise I would never be forward enough to show this arrogant person I know more about the world than he does.”

Great dragons have their own language,
Sanae said, to help him out.

“I’ve never heard of this,” the scribe said. “If it were true, somebody would have written about it.”

People who meet great dragons aren’t the type to sit down and write scrolls to entertain people who have nothing better to do than read!

“There’s nothing wrong with reading!” Yuki said. Turning back to the scribe, he explained, “I don’t think they ever use their private language in front of humans, but they name themselves in it. I had a…friend, who was named Drac. Not Du-ra-ku, like we’d pronounce it. There’s no U sound. I know what it translates to, but I’d rather not say. It was a confidence.”

“I see.” The scribe’ s tone was so neutral it meant he didn’t believe a word they said.

Whether you believe us or not doesn’t make it any less true,
Sanae sniffed.
We’ve all met Drac.

Because she didn’t have a tongue to limit her pronunciation, she could say the word without the Us quite easily.

“As you say. If you’ll excuse me…” Raising his voice, the scribe barked, “We leave at first light! Anyone not up and ready will be left behind!”

The boys piled into their tent, all except her brother, who lingered outside face turned into the wind. “It would be a good night for a hunt.”

If you could afford to shift,
she said sharply.
The healer said the only way this wound will heal is if you leave it alone, so don’t you dare attempt to shift or bleed red.

Akakiba whirled round; she made herself visible so he could make eye contact. “Maru said that?”

Yes. I asked.

She half-expected him to be upset; he didn’t like when his secrets were shared without permission. But he only exhaled noisily and stood watching the night a while longer.

Yuki put his head out of the tent. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” To her, Akakiba said, “Watch Hachiro. He has the original sword and it’s very, very dangerous.”

Oh, first it’s “don’t spy,” and now it’s “do spy”? I’ll notice if he tries anything. Go sleep.

Sanae stood guard overnight, pacing round and round. Nothing more dangerous than falling snowflakes came to her attention. The emperor’s men made no threatening move and the two men on guard duty pretended they weren’t watching the tent where Akakiba and company were sleeping. They
were
watching, but it was nice they tried to act like the fox party was a welcome part of the expedition.

No unwelcome spirit showed up and no crazed cultists attacked. How boring.

Sanae sat listening to the wind, almost able to trick herself into believing it was calling her name. There was something about the way it whistled that felt mysterious and unnatural.

I’m too young to go insane,
she remarked to Momo. The squirrel had slept for a while, but now scurried about camp with her. He’d never stop following her if the others didn’t stop feeding him!
I thought you were a flying squirrel. Go find a tree to fly from.

Momo looked at her with his dark liquid eyes and didn’t go away.

Oh, fine. We can go rattle the guards on watch together. It’ll be fun.

The scribe lived up to his word. The painfully bright sunrise found them on the road, the humans bleary-eyed as they pulled or followed the supply carts.

I don’t know how he knows I’m here,
Sanae complained. Momo was trailing her on the ground.

Yuki laughed. “Is that why you’re misting? To hide from the squirrel?”

No, it’s because the sun is out today. Now I know why demons hate sunlight—it feels like it’s trying to burn me away.

As long as she stayed in mist form, exposure to sunlight felt like having an itchy nose and no free hand to scratch it, a maddening but not especially painful sensation. Showing all of herself, like when she condensed the fabric of her being in order to be able to affect the physical world, felt like an express sunburn. Except it was bits of herself, bits of her power, that flaked off instead of skin. She didn’t have the strength to spare, not in such an energy desert as this place was.

Ahhh, she missed the deep of winter and its numerous overcast days, when the sun couldn’t bother her.

Perhaps tired of following her—she could hope!—Momo climbed up Akakiba’s clothes, burrowed in his
kosode
, and stayed there.

“The squirrel is taking a nap in my clothes,” Akakiba said in an aggrieved tone.

“Let him rest,” Yuki said. “Flying squirrels are nocturnal.”

Hours passed. The farther they went, the less spare energy there was. Trees grew sick and birds vanished. Momo, awake once more, seemed leery of venturing outside the protection of Akakiba’s clothes.

The second day, they stopped early because the ground shook and shook and they couldn’t take three straight steps. Sanae tentatively explored ahead and didn’t like what she found.

I can’t go much farther,
she griped to her brother. Not unless she used Aito’s ink trick to hide under somebody’s skin, but she wouldn’t be able to get out again until they were back in a safe area.

Akakiba looked up at the sun, judging the time. “You can go home and tell them so. We won’t be going anywhere until morning.”

Desire to see her parents warred with the fear something would go wrong while she were away.
You get in trouble when I’m not here.

“Don’t be too long and we’ll probably still be alive when you return.”

How reassuring. A short visit, then.

She went as swiftly as she could. She had no objective way of measuring how long it took to travel through the spirit realm, but when she finally emerged in the clan house, the sun was still above the horizon. As long as she left before sundown, she’d be back in time to assume the night watch.

She greeted Takashi first, keeping it short.
All’s well, but we expect to hit the dead zone tomorrow. I’m here to see my mother. Later!

Akahana was in the central room of their assigned family quarters, her limp evident as she paced and ranted, “I cannot abide greedy people! If they’d listened to me—Oh, Sanae! Is everything well in the north?”

Well enough. And before you ask, I’ve just come from telling the clan leader. Now, tell me who you’re meddling with.

“Do you remember the nice boy you liked? Seiji?”

Sanae didn’t remember having liked him, so she made a neutral noise.
I remember Seiji. Is he married yet? I understood he liked the medicine merchant’s daughter, the one who is Akakiba’s friend.

“Sakura is a hard-working girl, but Seiji’s father wishes for a bride with a bigger dowry. He claims the money is needed to provide dowry for his younger daughters, so I arranged a tentative match with the sons of a merchant we have good dealings with. I thought he would accept Sakura’s low dowry if I ensured his daughters could marry without one.”

I take it he wants more money?

Akahana’s lips thinned. “It seems he has gambling debts he wishes to settle.” Dowry was meant to go to the husband, not to the husband’s father. Pressuring Seiji to give up the money to help his sisters marry well was one thing; pressuring him for money to settle self-inflicted debts was quite different.

I suppose they would rather marry Seiji to a ghost woman like me?
Sanae said sarcastically. Akahana gave her an I’ve-got-an-idea look. She returned one of her own.
Mother, how much would you enjoy meddling further?

Akahana smiled.

It wasn’t a complicated plan, but it did require a quick stop at the medicine shop where Sakura and her father worked and lived, and then a visit to the bigger house where Seiji’s family resided, where they were made welcome in haste and borderline panic.

Akahana bowed low before her hosts, who froze in shock. Their respective social positions being what they were, she should have had no reason to bow low to them.

“I have come to tell you reports of Sanae’s death were untrue. I regret speaking falsehood without knowing.”

The father swelled. “She’s alive? How wonderful! Seiji has mourned her loss for so long.”

The mother was more cautious. “Was she left behind on the battleground, for nobody to know she was alive? Is she badly wounded, the poor thing?” Sanae read the underlying concern: is she too ugly or maimed for my son?

Akahana sighed, her face grave. “Sanae, show yourself.”

With a swirl of energy, Sanae gathered herself into physically at her mother’s side. She adopted glowing eyes and made her fangs more prominent. Furthermore, she made her body transparent, to ensure she looked truly ghost-like.
Yes, Mother.

“My daughter,” Akahana said to the stunned parents, “is a true fox spirit. Since we had promised her hand to Seiji, we are prepared to respect the engagement and celebrate the wedding. There will be limitations to such a match, I’m afraid, but since there will be no children for us to raise, she may live with her husband in this house.”

Seiji’s parents looked like rabbits before a wolf, alarm showing through the cracks of their composure. Anybody would have been petrified at the idea of welcoming a ghost in their home. Yet to go back on their engagement with the Fox clan—or any samurai clan—was unthinkable. This knowledge hung thick in the room.

Akahana frowned theatrically. “What is it? Were there other arrangements? Oh—have things proceeded with Sakura without my knowledge?”

Faced with that choice, the mother jumped at what she plainly considered the better deal. “We are shamed, but what can we do? When young hearts set themselves on each other…”

“Very well,” Akahana said. “I understand and put no blame on you. The rain falls where it wills, and so does the love of youths. I wish Seiji and Sakura a happy, fruitful union.”

“We thank you for your kindness and understanding,” the father said, bowing repeatedly.

Even as they exited, Sanae could hear the heated whispers begin. She lingered to eavesdrop.