The Fox's Quest (11 page)

Though Akakiba might strangle him, afterwards.

He arrived after nightfall to find Chiyako, Ari, and Drac deep in sleep around the dying fire. He stoked the fire with wood taken from a side room given over to wood storage, checked the water buckets for fresh mice—they were getting harder to catch, as the stupid ones were dead already—and guiltily raided Chiyako’s supply of prepared rice balls, meant to be snacks. He didn’t touch the sisters’ other supplies: pots of beans, radishes, mushrooms, nuts, and even a stash of dried persimmons.

Dried fish and seaweed were conspicuously absent. So far from the sea and without an easily accessible river, the girls couldn’t obtain such things on their own. Likely the family had once obtained such things from the village, but these days the idiot villagers didn’t want to do business with the “cursed” girls. With the source of the “curse” gone, the dead area would spring back to life. The idiots would have to change their minds.

Dressed warmly, with a fresh supply of rice balls and a modest bag of uncooked rice, he stepped back outside without waking anyone. He stopped by the stable to pick up their supply pack, useful because of its pot, bowls, and tea leaves. The horses were in their stalls, happily munching on boiled soybeans; he wouldn’t need them.

Information gleaned from Akakiba and Sanae told him which direction he needed to go.

Drac’s mind stirred sleepily against his.
Where are you going? Come back.

He conveyed the idea of a sword.

Come back
, Drac insisted, conveying the idea of danger.

He radiated stubbornness in answer.

Deep cold began to seep into his bones—not his physical ones, but Drac’s. The dragon had gone somewhere unheated, and his cold-blooded body couldn’t defend against low temperatures. Yuki’s sleepiness shot upward. He had to stop, rub his eyes furiously, and protest,
Stop!

Come back.

“Curse it,” he said aloud to the trees. “I’m not going to be in danger! I won’t do anything without Akakiba! I’ll be fine so stop worrying!”

Drac’s answering unhappiness was muddled with sleepiness.

He trudged on, worrying his lower lip and refusing to let his eyelids close as they wanted. He fell twice, but each time climbed back to his feet and moved on.

Admitting defeat, Drac crawled back to the fire. The dragon knew if he pulled Yuki into sleep now, Yuki might die of exposure.

I’m sorry, Drac.

No answer, not even a hint of feeling. Heart constricted, Yuki plodded onward. He knew Akakiba well, knew the fearless idiot would attack regardless of whether or not he had a reasonable chance of successfully retrieving the sword.

He wanted to help. It might not change the odds by a significant margin, but he’d be there.

Chapter Seventeen

Akakiba

T
he convoy was composed of a cart drawn by a sturdy horse and four mounted men to guard it. The possessed
shinobi
named Mamoru both drove the cart and cared for Akakiba’s inert body. The body was handcuffed, wrapped in blankets, and regularly given water, which, Mamoru told the others, was drugged to keep the captive unconscious. The lie kept the normal humans from asking why the prisoner never roused.

The stratagem seemed unlikely to work for weeks, the time it would take to reach Kyoto at the pace a cart-drawing horse could sustain. Sooner or later, the humans would get suspicious. Mamoru must have realized this because his face was perpetually drawn into an expression of worry.

“Cheer up, Mamoru,” one of the guards said. “You’ll do fine on your mission. Yoshio wouldn’t have sent you if he thought you couldn’t get it done.”

Akakiba, invisibly following the convoy in what Sanae called the “mist form,” watched over his physical body’s well-being. It was odd to see his own face without the distortion produced by water and other reflective surfaces, to be able to study the lines around his eyes and mouth. He looked grim, like a man who never laughed. The remains of his injuries, such as the still-oozing gash on his head and the burn along his jaw, hardly made him look friendlier.

Did he always look like he was attending a funeral or planning one for whoever he was looking at? Perhaps it explained Jien’s neverending attempts to cheer him.

Later, when the convoy stopped, the humans huddled around a giant fire while Mamoru sat on the cart forcing soup down the inert body’s throat. Half of the bowl ended up staining the blankets instead.

Akakiba paced and watched the night through but never found the opportunity he needed to snatch his body back. Perhaps he should have enjoyed this painfree vacation, but he
needed
to return home to his flesh. He needed it like a drowning man needed air. Resisting the urge to go back in immediately required every shred of self-control he possessed.

Spirit senses were strange and confusing, to the point he had a headache without even having a head. He could “see” and “hear,” but not quite like a physical person did. Colors weren’t like colors and sounds were subtly wrong. He was overly aware of other spirits and driven to distraction by the sight of what Sanae called life sparks, the tiny bits of spirit energy that existed in every living thing. She hadn’t been kidding about those—even bugs had one!

Finally, one night’s stop presented an opportunity. He coiled in anticipation, watching from behind the tree line as the
shinobi
party left the cart almost unattended in the miserable stable by the inn. Mamoru and a single guard remained with the cart.

Sanae should have been here to help, but since she hadn’t yet returned from checking in with the others, he was prepared to act alone. His body had been fed sufficiently to be in working order as far as he could tell. He could easily overpower two humans, even if one was possessed.

“I need the outhouse,” Mamoru said. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Akakiba watched him head for the privy with exultation. He couldn’t have hoped for a better opportunity.

He zoomed at his body—and hit an invisible stone wall. Ow! He tried again, and again, from every angle. He couldn’t get in, not even through the mouth that hung half open. He studied his body, bewildered. What was wrong? Had his body forgotten him?

Ah! Something shone at his body’s neck. The human guard wasn’t watching so Akakiba did as Sanae had shown him and made himself physical. He pawed at the object to drag it into sight.

It was a wooden pendant with a protective spell on it, one of those sold at shrines. They were supposed to protect people from demon possession, but Akakiba had never known they were this effective.

He yanked the glyphed pendant off with his teeth and tossed it away. He didn’t want to contemplate what would have happened if they’d had the brains and means to etch the protective spell on something harder to remove than a pendant, like a metal collar or his very skin.

His flesh welcomed him. He sank in as a tired man sinks in a hot bath, tingling with pleasure. True sensations returned to him—the feel of soft blankets against his skin, the sound of crackling fire, and the smell of rice arising from the guard’s meal. Pain made itself known from various half-healed injuries, but battle fever was already rising and eclipsing it. He was whole again and it was wonderful.

The lone guard stood with his back to the cart, watching the door. In a move as smooth as inhumanly possible, Akakiba lunged at him.

Tackled from behind, the guard fell face first against the ground. He had been eating; he gagged on his food, which prevented him from crying out for help. A solid whack to the head from Akakiba’s bound hands put him out of commission. It was uncertain whether he would wake—there was always risk with head injuries—but Akakiba couldn’t afford to be gentle.

“I’m grateful for your incompetence, but you shouldn’t turn your back to a prisoner or eat while alone on guard duty. Don’t
shinobi
have standards?”

Whoops. He hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts. There were adjustments to be made now that he was—how did Sanae put it?—“fleshy” again. His body felt strange and his limbs were ever-so-slightly wobbly. It could have been because of his injuries, or because he was underfed.

He worked the flimsy restraints off his wrists while gazing round. The stable was small, lit by a single candle left on the floor, and free of the smell of recent animal occupation. Possibly it was more often used as shelter for poorer travelers.

Footsteps alerted him to an imminent arrival. Tripping over his own feet, he barely made it to the door in time to hide in the darkened corner beside it.

Either the human or the demon had excellent reflexes; upon seeing the guard on the floor, Mamoru plucked a knife from his sleeve and spun round. His mouth, half open as if to raise the alarm, sagged open soundlessly as he came face to face with the escaped prisoner.

“Yes, I’m still here,” Akakiba said. It wasn’t honorable to taunt the enemy, but he remembered almost losing to this demon, almost being taken… Now that he had a body again, he could feel properly angry about the humiliating incident. “I told you not to assume you’d won.”

Mamoru leaped backward, knife raised in a self-defense pose. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my idea!”

Akakiba advanced. “Tell me what Yoshio wants with that sword.”

“I have no idea. He doesn’t explain himself to anyone. I do what he says and I don’t ask questions.”

He would have enjoyed wringing the demon’s neck but he wasn’t certain whether Mamoru the human was still alive. If he were, it wouldn’t be fair to kill him too. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. He remembered the “Mad Fox.”

“Get down and stay quiet,” he growled.

Mamoru flung himself to the ground in a corner. He hadn’t let go of his knife, however, and his eyes were watchful. He was too scared to attack, Akakiba judged, but not too scared to defend himself if he must. Rather sensible, for a demon.

He secured items of interest from the cart, mostly food and fresh clothing to replace his stained ones. His swords were there too, hidden under everything else. He considered taking a horse but decided against it. If he wanted to make his way back unseen, best he run as a fox.

He melted away into the forest. The moon above was a slim crescent, aiding his flight by keeping the shadows nice and deep.

He devoured the dried fruits he’d stolen, wishing he had a hare to eat instead. He’d even eat a monkey if he could catch one. When he felt he’d gone a safe distance—he could hear no pursuit—he shifted and went hunting. He needed the energy.

Sanae found him gorging on a wild boar while keeping an eye out for the wolves he could hear howling at the moon. Getting rid of other predators was as easy as turning back into a human, which never failed to confuse and frighten them, but wolves still weren’t to be trusted.

That’s wasteful, Brother,
Sanae scolded.
A whole boar!

He didn’t pull his face out of the hot carcass, continuing to swallow as much meat as his body could contain.
They starved me. I need my strength back if I’m to fight.

I wish I could share. Looking at meat makes me feel hungry. But even when I go physical, I can’t taste or digest real food. I tried.

That’s what you get for not taking better care of your human body.

Stop needling me. I have important information. Jien and Aito are on the road. They plan to wait for us at the temple. The old monk is getting impatient to consult with them. And Yuki, ah…

He raised his head, muzzle dripping blood.
What about Yuki?

He appears to be making his way toward the shinobi stronghold on his own, going through the dead area and over the mountain. I told him it was a bad idea, but he doesn’t care. He’s coming. He says he’s tired of being left behind. He almost fell off a cliff before I came along and put him back on the right path.

I told him to stay where he was!

I think that’s the problem, Brother. You noticed he’s an adult now, didn’t you?

It’s the dragon. The bond is muddling his brain. Heading into battle in such a state is the height of foolishness. They’ll both fall asleep before they get anywhere!

Oh, he left the dragon behind again.

He…did?

It startled Akakiba to hear it—Yuki had never been apart from the dragon for long ever since the two had first met. Yuki had now twice parted from the dragon on his own initiative. The first time might have been a fluke, but twice was proof Yuki was still independent and capable of acting alone. The human-dragon bond they shared had seemed abnormally strong, but perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps, dare he hope, it was reversing? Perhaps the dragon’s maturing was causing a drift between it and its bond companion. He might yet get his Yuki back. Things between them might get better instead of worse, despite everything else.

Watch over him and make sure he doesn’t start anything before we meet,
Akakiba said.
We’ll consider our plan then.

Plan? Hah! You’ve never planned a thing in your whole life. You merely go and hack the enemy to death.

He swished his tail and began to groom himself clean of blood to mask his irritation.
And perhaps you’re better at it?

Absolutely,
Sanae said.
My plan has been set into motion already. What did you think I was doing these past two days?

What plan?

I call it “let’s make the
shinobi
weep in terror.” It’s quite fun.

Chapter Eighteen

Sanae

“I
tell you I saw it! Yoshio can claim it was a ‘simple murder’ as loud as he likes, I know it was a ghost and not a person who did it.”

“As if any one of us would murder a comrade in such a manner. Tomoyo’s throat was torn out! There was a fox’s paw print in her spilled blood, wasn’t there? That’s proof enough.”

“Does anyone still believe Jun slipped to his death? There’s no way a skilled man could misstep like that. The ghost must have pushed him down.”

“Hey Asuka, would it bother you if I moved into your room for a while? I feel nervous staying alone in my room. I keep hearing odd noises.”

The interesting thing was, Sanae reflected as she crept invisibly along the
shinobi
stronghold’s hallways, she hadn’t murdered anyone.

The old woman Tomoyo had died of natural causes. Sanae had gotten there first because she’d felt a life spark go out. It had been easy to inflict a throat wound to make it look like sinister work. To ensure they got the message, she’d left a paw print outlined in blood. Sharp wits might have realized a wound inflicted on a living person would have bled more profusely, but hysterics had prevailed.

From a human point of view, it hadn’t been a respectful thing to do. But her fox side viewed dead things as meat and her spirit side saw no worth in empty shells. Her own human body had been turned into ashes and this bothered her not a whit. Humans were far too concerned with their physical remains, truly.

As for the man Jun, he must have died shortly before she started playing games because she had no idea who he was. She liked to moan in the hallways in the deep of night, sharpen her claws on walls and doors, mist through bedrooms, and swirl about people walking alone. She’d been at it for mere days yet there were those who claimed they’d seen her weeks ago. At this rate she’d get blamed for deaths several years old!

“It’s a giant wolf, with eyes blazing like fire. Blood drips from his muzzle, drip, drip…”

“No, no, it’s a she. If you listen at night, you can hear a woman’s voice crying out for her lost son. It has to be the mother of the fox samurai Yoshio captured. She won’t stop until she finds him.”

“I heard she’s the lady from the fox legend, the first one. She was a war hero, did you know? The special sword Yoshio’s got, I bet it’s hers. She’s looking for it. That’s what happens when you steal from the dead.”

Sanae misted by, swirling about the gathered gossipers, who shuddered and edged away.

“Did you feel that?” one man asked. The others mumbled confirmation.

“It’s been happening ever since we came back from that fool attack on the foxes.”

From down the hallway, a voice exploded, “There’s no such thing as vengeful ghosts! If you’ve seen something, it’s a demon or spirit bent on mischief. Grab your knives and handle it yourselves next time!”

Recognizing Yoshio’s voice, Sanae slid away. She dared not show herself to him, not knowing how much he might guess by witnessing her or how well he could see auras. There was also the fact he was the most likely to react violently. Normal weapons couldn’t inflict lasting damage on spirit matter, but glyphed weapons scared her.

Yoshio cursed at the men. “I will have defensive glyphs inscribed everywhere and the problem will end. Now end your gossiping!”

Hm, that could be a problem. If the glyphs he meant were the same as the ones she’d encountered in the Great Eastern Temple, they would hinder her plan.

Sanae worked diligently overnight, adopting by turn the shape of a nightmarish fox sharpening its claws on hard floors and slicing through thin paper doors—causing no few shrieks when the persons inside were awake—and the one of a weeping woman calling for her lost son. That last idea she’d stolen from the gossiping men. Human imagination was a wonderful thing.

A trio of men coming out of the baths after a late night dip near jumped out of their skins when she leaned out of the wall with the ghastliest human face she could conceive of, an elongated oval of bloodless whiteness with sunken eyes and cheeks.

Where is my sword,
she moaned, a skeletal hand reaching out.
Return my sword, thieves!

They ran. One went back in the baths, a foolish move. She stalked him, pouncing at him from behind. Shrieking and flapping his arms, he fell into the deep bath. Sanae sat on his back and waited a few moments. She didn’t want him dead, only to lead him to believe she did.

Somebody looked in, possibly attracted by the splashing noise. “What’s going on in he—”

It was as good an excuse as any for her vanish and let the near-drowned man sit up and cough out water. His tale of narrow survival would no doubt spread like fire.

She went to the room, deep within the stronghold, where food supplies for the winter months were stored. If Yoshio kept his promise to use glyphs to keep her out, this was her last chance for sabotage. She ripped open bags of rice and emptied sake bottles. She broke jars of pickled vegetables and dug holes in the earthy ground to bury nuts. She crushed dried fruit under her paws and put a live mouse in a bag of millet. Not knowing what to do with the preserved fish, she dumped it in the spreading sake puddle.

No food, no alcohol, and a ghost haunting the hallways. Would it suffice?

It was cruel, this campaign of terror she was waging, but after what they’d done to her clan, she had no pity for them. Ultimately, fear might even save their lives. Yuki was no more than a day away, Akakiba less. There would be fewer dead if the
shinobi
broke and ran when the three of them joined forces in an assault.

She spent the next day popping in and out of the spiritual realm as she tracked the boys under her care: her brother, Yuki, Jien, and Aito. On her return to the
shinobi
stronghold, she found out each door now had a glyph, each hallway had several, and each room had no fewer than two.

Really, now! Who worked that fast?

She’d have to work around it. The glyphs could prevent her from interacting with physical objects, but nothing more. She didn’t need touch for her games; the ghostly transparency so-called good spirits used to appear would do.

On her round of the now-familiar hallways, she heard aplenty about Un-drowned Man’s ”miraculous escape” but not a single whisper about ruined foodstuff. Upon investigating the food depot, she saw the mess had been cleaned up and part of the food salvaged. But not enough to last. Why weren’t the
shinobi
speaking of it?

They must not have been told.

Taking a calculated risk, she misted upward to the room she knew was Yoshio’s.

There, she saw a weed-thin man cowering as Yoshio yelled at him, “Do as I say! Send men to get fresh food. Tell them mice got in the rice and it’s hardly fit for us. I don’t want to hear any ghost nonsense. The demon is gone and won’t return. Now get out!”

In winter, days were short and often overcast. In Sanae’s opinion, it didn’t matter if it weren’t night; any darkness was proper for ghosts. She wished to be seen widely, to convince those who may yet doubt.

Your food is ruined, your glyphs useless
, she chanted through the hallways.
Fail to leave, fail to live. I come for my sword and all here shall die.

A thrown knife almost ended her. With a split second to duck, she crossed to the other realm in a flash, and came right back. The glyphed weapon now quivered in the wall behind her. It may have seemed like it’d gone through her harmlessly, for the witnesses gasped and retreated.

“It doesn’t work! It is a ghost!”

“Out of the way! I’m done with this!”

That was close
, she said to no one. Her nonexistent heart couldn’t race and her nonexistent skin couldn’t sweat, but she nonetheless shuddered as if from a physical fear reaction.

The first time she had died, it had been because of overconfidence, because of a fatal misstep. She could almost recall the cold feeling of metal sliding through her belly.

She was still afraid of death, after all.

A sobering thought, that.

Eventually, she got what she wanted.

Yoshio was cornered by a handful of
shinobi
with anger written all over their tight lips and narrowed eyes.

“We’ve heard about the ruined foodstuffs.”

“It sounds as if you’ve been lying to us, Yoshio. Why?”

“You keep saying this ghost can be killed, but I haven’t seen you do anything about it!”

“What is it you know and won’t tell us? Did
you
bring this ghost here?”

Yoshio lifted his hands palms out, his tone soothing. “There’s no cause for concern. I was merely afraid this little incident would send the most irrationally-minded among us into panic.”

“We’re irrational now? With a ghost stalking us in our very home and destroying our food?”

“I don’t care what it is. If it won’t leave, then I will. Do something!”

Yoshio’s reply was drowned out by the others’ angry words.

It was almost too easy. Perhaps
shinobi
were too used to being the ones who lurked in the dark, the ones who inspired fear in others. Perhaps they didn’t know what to do when something else lurked.

Sanae enjoyed their fear, and wondered if that meant there was something wrong with her.