The Fox's Quest (16 page)

He couldn’t help his tensed shoulders, or his defensive tone, but he could consider his words carefully. “Ask.”

“Why does it make you angry?” Yuki kept his eyes averted as he spoke. “I wouldn’t treat you differently if you wanted to be a woman.”

Akakiba swallowed a groan and sat down. The human wanted to understand, fine. He could try to get through. “I am not a woman. I have never been one or wanted to be one. My birth was…an accident.”

Yuki waited, evidently expecting a more substantial explanation. How to make it plain?

“When I was a child,” he said slowly, “I always assumed I would grow up to be like my father. Puberty was a betrayal from my own body because it changed in all the wrong ways. I fought it with bindings around my chest and my hips but still they swelled. Puberty is also the time we develop complete control over shifting. I learned to shift male because my birth shape disgusted me. I would have taken a knife to my chest if I’d had no other choice to make those growths go away. That’s how bad it was, how wrong it felt. It took months for me to gain proper control, to be able to remain male constantly. Once I achieved it, I never went back. But the physical part isn’t the real problem.”

Yuki’s eyes flickered. “It’s how you’re treated. If you married an outsider, you’d be expected to keep your clan’s secrets. You’d have to be a woman for him in every way. Constantly. And he’d treat you like a woman, and love you like one, and it would be a lie.”

The earnestness in Yuki’s tone made it difficult to take offense, even if that was the most embarrassing thing Akakiba had ever heard. Embarrassing, because it was closer to the truth than anything he’d ever wanted to admit aloud.

“Saying it like that is a bit exaggerated,” he protested stiffly. “A suitable husband can be adopted into the clan, which means there’s no need to keep secrets from him. I believe my mother would even have been content if I’d gotten with child without marrying.”

“It would still have forced you to be a woman. Pregnancies take a very long time.”

“True.”

“I’m glad,” Yuki said, voice growing thick, “I didn’t ruin your last chance to shift. I pushed you to shift human because I was scared you were trapped as a fox. Afterwards, I was scared I’d made you pick something you didn’t want. But if you don’t want to be a woman…”

“I don’t,” Akakiba said firmly. “If I’m to be trapped in a single shape, I’d rather it be this one.” Even if it hurt to think he would never, ever hunt on four paws again. Even if it was gut-twisting to think he would never again feel Yuki’s hands running through his fur. He could manage another shift to fox if he wanted it badly enough, but would he be able to get out again?

To think that one tiny reaction delay, one nick from an evil sword, had led to this situation. Destroying the sword and its copies wouldn’t fix him, but it would make him feel slightly better. Slightly.

Yuki studied the blank wall. He seemed to be waiting, but what for, Akakiba couldn’t guess. Wasn’t the conversation finished? What else was there to discuss?

“I do have wits and the ability to understand things if you’ll just explain,” Yuki said at length. “Sometimes I even understand things you don’t explain. This matter with the swords, it’s important to you. You always felt like you were a traitor to your clan for not marrying. But if you fix the underlying problem and restore strength and fertility to your kind, you’ll have redeemed yourself. It’s even more important now, because breeding doesn’t seem to be an option for you anymore.” His gaze darted aside to his companion, then darted back to the blank wall. “Am I correct?”

It was a rather fascinating wall, Akakiba decided, studying it too. He wanted to protest, but Yuki would probably just say something worse. If he folded, the unbearable embarrassment might end more quickly.

Quietly, he answered, “Yes.”

“We’ll try. Maybe we can’t fix it, but we’ll try.”

“Yes.”

“And,” Yuki added with emphasis, “you’ll stop considering me a piece of porcelain. You should know what it’s like when nobody listens to what you want. I want to help.”

But you’re human,
Akakiba thought,
and weaker, and easier to break. Sanae died so quickly, and she had advantages.
He couldn’t speak such thoughts, so he said, “Yes.” Between agreeing to Yuki’s demands and risking alienating him as badly as his family had alienated him, he’d rather agree.

Silence stretched.

Yuki let out a long drawn out sigh, as if he were deflating. “Okay, I’m done. That was awkward.”

Akakiba risked a look: Yuki’s face was about as red and mortified as he thought his own was. Unexpectedly, laughter bubbled up. “Awkward, yes. I agree.”

Everything had been said, the matter closed once and for all. Except…

“Sanae,” he later hissed into moonlit darkness. “Did you invent that story?”

She manifested, glowing faintly.
If I were to invent a story, it’d be a better one. The woman would have rescued herself, at least. I just thought it might get his mind off Drac and on you instead. Seems to have worked.

They both looked over at where Yuki was deep asleep, hidden beneath two plump layers of futon. Rice paper doors were very nice in summer, but in winter they did nothing to keep the chill out.

“It’s wrong of me to be pleased he lost the dragon, isn’t it?”

It was a fortunate thing, in a way. The breaking was unexpected and he was given no choice in the matter. It’d have been worse if Drac had made him choose while the bond was still there.

Yuki might have been safer living on the edge of a lake but safe didn’t mean happy. There’d been a strangeness in their human-dragon bond. Who was to say whether Yuki would even have been able to make his own choice if asked? He might have been too heavily influenced to oppose his bond partner.

Sanae misinterpreted his silence.
Don’t make that gloomy face. He would have picked you, no matter what. I’ve been in his head so I know.

That was absurdly cheering. “Thank you, Sanae.”

It’s nice you’re calling me by my name now
.
Was it really so hard?

“What is this,” he said defensively, “the day for deep and serious conversation?”

She sat there, gleaming black eyes seeming to plead with him. Perhaps she needed to understand, too.

He didn’t explain he’d thought her a ghost for a while, because in hindsight it had been a weak excuse to rationalize feelings he didn’t want to consider too closely. It was time to face the real problem.

“I know who you were before,” he told her reluctantly. “But I’m not certain whether you’re still her. If you’re truly Sanae, the whole of her, then why are you always in fox shape? Why won’t you show her face?” He rubbed at his forehead, trying to articulate feelings that had little to do with logic. “When I left my body, I understood better. I was still me. But I was different, too. I didn’t feel whole again until I was back in my flesh. I don’t know if I’d remain myself if my body died and I could never return to it.”

Sanae was silent a long time, completely motionless in a way a living being couldn’t be.
Jien asked me once if I were “Sanae’s fox half.” Maybe he got it right. Maybe I did lose a bigger part of myself than I wish to admit. Maybe I’m still mourning for that lost human half.

She evaporated in thin air before he could frame a reply. Whereas the conversation with Yuki had made him feel better afterwards, this one made him feel worse. He buried back under the covers and wished she’d laughed at his questions and given the answer he wanted to hear. He had Yuki back; couldn’t he get his sister back, too? If he had at least that much, his impending loss of shifting wouldn’t seem so bad.

The next day, they were in Kyoto.

They found the targeted drinking house, where the miscreants had been supposed to bring the sword copy. It was a cheap place with a surprisingly high number of hard-eyed men sitting around. A hub for activities of various levels of illegality, no doubt.

“You’ll fit right in, Aki,” Jien said after they had reconnoitered the area. “You can do ‘murderous bastard’ as well as any of them.”

He ignored Jien’s words. “You and Aito stand out in this neighborhood so you’d make terrible lookouts. You should be the ones to go inside. It’s also possible the courier will be a possessed man. He might recognize what I am and flee. Aito is harder to detect.”

“Then you’ll be our lookout,” Jien said, patting him on the shoulder with inappropriate familiarity. “Hang around and look murderous. It’ll work perfectly.”

Sword copy strapped to his back, Jien sauntered inside. He was to tell the barkeeper the secret code “I have heard the phoenix’s song.” It was the kind of meaningless phrase of which
shinobi
were fond.

While Jien and Aito were drinking inside and—one might hope they’d think of it—covertly studying the patrons, the rest of them stationed themselves to watch the building’s various entrances. Whoever came to retrieve the sword wasn’t getting away.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mamoru

K
yoto, capital of the land, did not look so grand as Mamoru had expected. He’d seen cities during his training and Kyoto was merely bigger and busier. Rows and row and rows of sloped roofs with gray tiles, streets lined with paper lanterns, and a vast, ever shifting crowd—locals gossiping, servants carrying purchases, workers with loads on their backs, and shrieking children dashing through.

The streets were muddy; the only non-melted snow was hiding in shadowy corners. Under the warmth of the bright afternoon sun, one might have been tricked into thinking it were spring if it hadn’t been for the naked, winter-bare trees dotting the city here and there.

Two men with wooden hammers were pounding rice into paste while the woman beside them sold colored dumplings made with the resulting sticky paste. A skewer of dumplings in hand, Mamoru ventured onward.

He could hardly go three steps in the market street without being jostled. He lingered, squeezing his way from tiny stall to tiny stall. Marvelous silks caught his eye and left him daydreaming of offering them to Usagi—but she must have been provided with an extensive array of fancy clothing for her role here. Best wait and save his coin. Perhaps he’d be able to find out what items were currently in fashion and sought after.

Now, where was the Imperial Palace? Polite inquiries sent him the right way to find the servant’s entrance.

To the guards there, he said, “I seek the lady Usagi. She should have arrived here recently at the behest of her uncle Advisor Yoshida. I am her cousin, arrived late because of injuries I sustained while we were traveling here.” The burns had healed almost unnaturally well and fast, leaving no scar behind. “Please inform her of my arrival.”

One of the guards snorted. “You, a relative of the emperor’s advisor? Unlikely.”

Mamoru knew his modest appearance wasn’t very impressive, but it was in keeping with his role. If he didn’t find the right words to convince these guards, it might be a while before he saw Usagi.

“You misunderstand,” he said. “I am only related to the lady. I am but a minor relation, but I serve her well. Ask her how I gained these burns.”

Luck was with him as the second guard said, “Hey, isn’t that the lady Usagi coming toward us?”

A woman wearing thick and colored layers of clothing was drifting by, head tilted back to observe the cloud-free sky. Mamoru recognized the delicate visage at once. He wanted to wave but didn’t; it wouldn’t be consistent with his cover. Subordinates didn’t gesture at their betters. He had to remember such things, things trained into Mamoru the
shinobi
, but not into his other half.

The second guard called out, “Lady Usagi, a visitor for you.”

Usagi’s face lit up, eyes brightening and lips curving in a smile. “Mamoru, my dear! Are you quite recovered?”

He bowed deep. “As you can see, my lady, I am fit to travel. I hoped to find my place at your side yet vacant.”

“Of course, of course. Come along and we’ll get you settled.” Usagi glided onward, Mamoru a step behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her words sent his heart soaring, but only until she added, “We have a situation that may require special talents.”

Was she only happy because she had need of a
shinobi
?

The sandy ground gave way to a gardened area with a fish-filled pond beside which stood a lone man. Usagi approached and bowed. “Uncle, you wished to speak with me?”

The man turned, presenting a gaunt face full of sharp angles. “Who is this, Usagi?”

Mamoru bent at the waist and held the bow silently. He hadn’t been addressed.

“This is my cousin Mamoru, the one who was injured protecting me from a falling tree. He’s newly arrived in the city.”

“Ah, yes. I recall. He may be of use. Listen: the phoenix has sung. I have men in place, watching. Go, and take your cousin as escort.”

Usagi received a small box from the man’s hands. “Of course, Uncle. We will serve you well.” With a last bow, Usagi retreated and turned away. “That’s Advisor Yoshida,” she whispered to Mamoru. “Our patron here. He even introduced me to the youngest prince.” Irritatingly, there was a pink tinge to her cheeks.

The next moment she was business-like, speaking fast as they headed back toward the gate. “I’m to recover a certain article. The hired men are brutes and we might have to silence them discreetly. That’s why I’m going, you see?” She batted her eyelashes. “If I meet with trouble, I count on you to help.”

A lady and her attendants drifted past, so Mamoru kept his answer short and safe for their ears. “Understood, my lady.”

Discreetly, Mamoru checked his supplies. The pouch at his belt contained not only his coin but also poisoned needles and antidotes in padded vials, hidden pockets sewn inside the top of his
hakama
pants held throwing knives, and his winter
kosode
’s long sleeves concealed a pair of daggers. Bandages were wrapped around his legs below the knee, for use in case of injury.

With a few words to a servant, Usagi acquired a basket to camouflage the money box. This basket Mamoru carried dutifully as they strolled through town, Usagi making a few purchases of dried fruits along the way to put atop the camouflaged box.

They wandered toward quieter, narrower streets. Here homes were one-room affairs built of plain wood, doors succeeding each other at short intervals. Over here, a line in front of the street’s shared outhouse. Over there, a water well surrounded by chatting women.

Usagi was ridiculously overdressed for the area and attracting the eye of everyone they passed. Mamoru glared and glowered and threatened death with his gaze.

“This is it,” Usagi finally said, gesturing to a rundown building of dubious appearance. Inside, small groups of hard-eyed men were drinking. Advisor Yoshida’s men might have been among them.

Usagi approached the bartender, a scar-faced fellow who seemed more likely to serve death than sake. “Excuse me. Who here has heard the phoenix’s song?”

“Monks,” the barkeeper said.

“In the far corner,” Mamoru murmured.

The two men there wore the shaved heads and robes of
sohei
and had the spears to match the outfits. The one whose face they could see had a cold, distant look in his eyes.

“Those are your brutes?” Mamoru said. “Monks?”

“Let us find out.” Usagi approached the monks. They’d been watching her, the same as every other breathing male in the room. “Do you have what I seek?”

One of the monks stirred, lifting a sword from where it had been laying on his lap. “I have this.”

“Please allow me to see it.”

The man grinned, transforming his face into a jovial, friendly one. It was a vaguely familiar face, but Mamoru couldn’t place it. He didn’t trust it, though.

“The lady’s not a mere courier, eh? Have a look, then.” The monk pulled the sword half out of its scabbard, enough to expose the glyphs on it without seeming to threaten her with it.

The glyphs meant this was a demon-slaying sword. Not sure whether it might react to his presence, Mamoru edged back.

“It appears to be the one,” Usagi said. “But I don’t believe you’re the men we hired to recover it.”

The cheerful one stayed cheerful. “I’m afraid they met with an accident.”

“I see. Mamoru, please.”

He laid the basket on a nearby table and lifted the money box from it, presenting it with a servile bow.

The monk seemed unimpressed. “That’s it? For this thing? We’d get more selling it back to the Great Temple it was stolen from.”

Usagi froze, either acting shocked or truly taken by surprise. “Ah, stolen?”

“Didn’t you know? This is one of the Great Temples’ relics. It’s exactly the kind of old, useless item they keep for their ‘historical value.’ This one was stolen years ago. It’s quite interesting your master knew where it was, eh? Wonder what the Temples would make of it.”

Whether or not it was true was beside the point; these men wished to squeeze them for additional coin. Mamoru stayed outwardly relaxed, waiting for Usagi to tell him what to do. If she flicked her fingers in a certain way, it meant to attack.

Her fingers didn’t flick.

Usagi slid on the bench and leaned against the cheerful monk. “Please, let me reward you for your hard work. Would you like a cup of tea?”

This place was obviously more used to serving sake than tea. But a steaming teapot did arrive after Usagi stared murder at the barkeeper.

Usagi poured with poise and feminine grace, slipping poison in so deftly Mamoru almost missed it. He placed a hand at his waist, ready to grab hold of a knife.

A shimmering at the edge of his vision caught his attention, but when he turned his head to better see it, there was nothing there. One of the monks frowned. Had he seen it, too?

Ghost,
said Mamoru’s superstitious side.

Please, let’s not be silly,
he admonished himself. It could have been a passing spirit, but what would it be doing in the middle of a city?

“What troubles you two?” Usagi inquired of the non-drinking monks. “You don’t like green tea? Would you prefer sake?”

The barkeeper was nowhere in sight. Mamoru slid a look toward Usagi’s slim fingers, waiting for the signal. It was beginning to feel like a trap.

A shadow filled the doorway. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a samurai’s weaponry at his side and a pointed face vaguely resembling one of a fox. It was an unfortunately familiar face. Suddenly, Mamoru recalled where he’d seen the jovial monk’s face: in this man’s mind.

“Mamoru, wasn’t it?” Akakiba said. “Is your lady friend aware of what you’ve done?”

Usagi sprung to her feet and held her hands to her bosom in what could have been taken for a young girl’s fright but was in truth her “prepared to draw weapon from sash” position. Her eyes were full of distrust, for the strangers, but also for him. In their trade, double agents weren’t entirely unheard of. “Mamoru? What is he saying?”

“He’s trying to confuse you, Usagi,” Mamoru said hastily. If he spoke fast enough, perhaps he could obscure certain unfortunate facts. “He knows me because we captured him after you left. He escaped while we were on our way here. I was afraid Yoshio wouldn’t let me come to you if I went back to report, so I didn’t.”

Mamoru stared at Akakiba, daring him to spill his secret. He stood ready to scoff at the idea he was “possessed.” To ensure Usagi believed him, he was even willing to challenge the monks to try and perform an exorcism. He was almost sure exorcisms couldn’t work on a mixed soul like his.

The fox samurai raised an eyebrow, possibly surprised or skeptical, but did not reply. Behind him, a younger samurai
—
Yuki, wasn’t it?—stood watching the street, blocking the way to potential backup. Where were Advisor Yoshida’s men when they were needed?

The cheerful monk made a “tsk” noise. “Do sit down, you two. Mamoru and Usagi, wasn’t it? We can see you’re poised to pull out a hundred weapons, but trust me when I say the two of you are no match for us. We know what you did to the tea, too, so don’t expect us to drink it. Not that I would anyway; tea from this place is likely even worse than their sake.”

Usagi’s shoulders slumped. She sat. “Are you working for the Great Temples?”

“Yes. We never found out who stole this sword originally, so we’d love to talk to your boss and learn what he knows.”

“I can’t tell you.”

Mamoru waited for the signal, for it was sure to come. He was willing to follow Usagi’s lead and fight, but he considered their survival somewhat unlikely. They could have handled the two monks, but the fox samurai was a game-changer and Usagi didn’t even know it. She’d never believed the Fox clan samurai were anything more than regular humans.

The other men in the room had until now been watching the scene as if it were a staged show. One—Advisor Yoshida’s man?—finally stood up and glowered. “Cocky samurai aren’t welcome here.” The others at his table stood as well, silently menacing.

In that moment, with the samurai and
sohei
distracted by the interruption, Usagi signed “flee.”
It was better than “fight.”

Mamoru’s fingers quested for the objects hidden in his sleeve. Two smoke bombs hit the floor, creating a pair of bright flashes and a short-lived wall of smoke engineered to make eyes itch and water.

Usagi and he flew over the table and dove behind the drinking locals. A window there became their escape route into the street. Usagi had the glyphed sword in her hand, but not its scabbard, which must have stayed in the cheerful
sohei
’s hands.

An outraged yell proved the theft hadn’t gone unnoticed. “She grabbed it!”

Throwing himself through the window, Mamoru heard weapons clashing and people shouting.

“Boost me to the roof,” Usagi said.

He laced his hands together for her small foot.

From inside the building, Yuki shouted, “We’ve got this! Go!”

Who was he talking to?

Akakiba burst out the front door. Ah.

They fled blindly, neither of them familiar with the area. Turning a corner at high speed, they came face to face with a wall. The alley had no exit. They could only spin around to face their pursuer.

Twin daggers in hands, Mamoru interposed himself between Usagi and the enemy.

Akakiba held out a hand. “Give me the sword and you may go unharmed.”

Mamoru glanced backward, hoping…

“No,” Usagi said. She held a hairpin in her free hand—probably poisoned.

Oh, curse it.

The samurai twitched, and attacked. Mamoru caught the attack with his crossed daggers, angling them to try and pry the sword out of the samurai’s hands. They broke apart, clashed, broke apart again. The samurai
was fast, but Mamoru’s reflexes could keep up, if only barely. As long as he deflected at the proper angle, as long as he could dance away from blows too brutal to catch, he would be fine. He needed only an opening.

One of his daggers slipped and metal sliced into his arm. He stumbled back, twisting away from a darting sword point seeking his belly. It pierced his side instead, in and out so swiftly he didn’t even feel it until ten frenzied heartbeats later.

It’s not deep
, he encouraged himself.
It’s just pain. It’s not over.

He stood his ground at the next pass, catching and holding the sword between the prongs of his daggers. If he could just get it out of the fox’s hands, the fight would shift in his favor. They struggled, so close their breaths washed against each other’s faces.

His arm burned, blood dripping down its length. His muscles trembled. He didn’t have enough brute strength, curse it!

Unless…

If he could draw upon that strange power he had experienced during the forest fire incident, even just a little, perhaps he could win. He tried calling for it, pleading with it.

Please help me.

Strength rose, making him feel bigger, stronger. He twisted his wrists violently, and the sword went flying. Akakiba looked stunned, then calculating.

“I see,” he said. He pulled out his second sword, the short one. His empty hand curled strangely, as if he fancied he had claws instead of nails and could use them to fight. His eyes were turning red. That couldn’t be good.