The Fox's Quest (4 page)

Sanae reappeared when they stopped for food and rest. She didn’t coalesce into a fox and didn’t come closer than necessary, appearing as a bright flicker between the trees.

You have it! What is it?

“It’s a strange sword,” Akakiba replied, almost shouting to be heard. “The Great Temples would know what to make of it. We’ll bring it to them so they can neutralize it.” If the monks didn’t know how, then nobody did.

I’d better get away; this is too close for me. I’ll tell Father.
It popped out of existence.

Yuki looked at him. “If you don’t believe she’s truly your sister, why are you telling her vital information?”

Akakiba opened his mouth and found he couldn’t frame a coherent reply. He’d somehow slipped and treated the spirit as his sister. His poor dead sister, who wouldn’t come back to life simply because he wished it.

What a cursed fool he was.

Chapter Six

Jien

J
ien sat cross-legged before the writing table, painstakingly writing down the names of those Aito considered “suspicious persons to investigate.” The list included anyone of a rank sufficiently high to have known of the energy-siphoning sword’s presence in their temple, along with most of the sword makers.

Jien shook his cramped hand. “Why am I doing the writing? I’m terrible at it.” The Great Temples ensured their wandering
sohei
had minimal skills in writing and reading, but Jien rarely had reason to practice. His brush lines were unsteady and his
kanji
leaned every which way.

“I never learned the skill,” Aito said stiffly. “I couldn’t focus sufficiently.”

“Lucky.”

“That’s not what people say when they hear about an illiterate monk.”

Jien paused. Monks, along with priests and samurai, were expected to be learned men. Yuki had surely learned the basics from his father. Akakiba—well, he could
probably
read. But it wouldn’t have been entirely out of character if he’d refused to learn these skills because they wouldn’t help him slay demons. The man was obsessed.

Samurai could be forgiven shaky literacy since they did most of their thinking with their sword. For monks, who were supposed to be wise and able to pass on their wisdom, literacy was of greater importance.

“Even monkeys fall from trees,” Jien said, using the idiom that meant “nobody’s perfect.” “I can’t get familiar spirits; you can’t write. That’s how it is.” He glanced at his scroll and the disgraceful scrawls on it. “Are we done? I’m running out of room.”

“That should be all.”

“That’s hardly comforting, when ‘all’ means dozens and dozens of names. Where do we begin?” They considered the matter in silence until Jien suggested, “Can’t your familiars act as spies to overhear incriminating conversations?”

“What do you think I have been doing these past months? The matter is too old for that tactic to work. The guilty party or parties have no reason to speak of it.”

Jien drummed his fingers on the writing table, scowling at the list as if it might shrink to please him. “If your hunch is correct, the sword is now in the hands of a possessed person. I see two possibilities: either we have a traitor who sold the blade for money or there’s a possessed spy within our midst. It would be easier if the culprit was possessed, wouldn’t it? With the dragons they now put at the gates, he’d be caught sooner or later.”

“Unless he deserted,” Aito said. “Everybody who went missing in the year after the theft was investigated as best as possible, often with my participation, but a wise spy would have waited longer before vanishing. We would have marked him down as missing in action and forgotten about it. The last three names on the list belong to such missing persons; they’ll be hardest to investigate.”

“Let’s be optimistic and say our hypothetical possessed thief and spy is still here gathering information. Has anyone taken to staying in the temple since they began guarding the gates with dragons?”

“Some of the elders never go far. And—”Aito’s head jerked up. “The trainees. They’re forbidden from leaving the grounds.” A monk’s training took ten years, meaning a trainee could have performed the theft all these years back and still be here. “They also have no or little contact with the monks who have dragons. If one of them were possessed, we might not notice.”

“A trainee working with the blade makers would have had the opportunity to learn of the blade,” Jien added, growing excited. “How can we find out which trainees were training with the blade makers at the time of the theft?”

“I need to consult my teacher,” Aito said as he rose to his feet. “He has access to the records and we can trust him.”

“Who do you mean?”

“Toshishiro. You would know him as Crazy Toshi.”

Jien’s eyebrows climbed up. “I thought he was insane. He’s always talking to himself, isn’t he?”

A smile fleetingly lit Aito’s face. “In truth, he’s always talking to his familiar spirit. He forgets not to do it aloud. He’s the reason I was sent to this particular temple. Until I came, he was the only
sohei
in the order of the Great Temples with a familiar spirit. The knowledge is usually kept from the lower ranks, however. Hence the nickname.”

“Ahh, it all makes sense now. We always wondered why the teachers bowed to him so deeply. We thought he’d been a war hero.”

Aito was already half out the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Rest from your journey while I visit him. We have much to do tomorrow.”

Left alone, Jien retrieved and laid out two futon. The room was spacious enough for two, a sign Aito was granted more respect than his mere rank accounted for. Jien could have obtained a tiny room of his own, but knowing there was a traitor out there made him inclined to stay close to a trusted ally. He remembered old Tadashi’s fate, murdered in his guest room by people he thought friends.

He lay down, thinking to rest his eyes until Aito returned with news—and awoke with a start to the sound of a ringing bell.

“What?” He looked round fuzzily.

Aito was already dressed and putting away his futon. “It’s the call for morning prayers, Jien.”

“I know that! But how is it morning already? I was just resting my eyes!”

“Hurry. It’ll draw attention if we’re late.”

Skipping prayers in favor of sleeping in was an enticing idea, but Aito was right that any absence or tardiness would be noted.

Jien grudgingly acquired an upright position, along with a fresh set of clothes Aito wordlessly thrust at him. “Oh, you got me a new set? Thank you.” It was the right size, too.

They went to join the hundreds of monks kneeling in the prayer hall, arriving mere moments before the abbot came in wearing ornate ceremonial vestments to begin the ceremony. The sun was yet sleeping under the horizon at this hour. Light was provided by delicate paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling and a cluster of candles sitting on the altar alongside a variety of ritual objects. The scent of incense was thick in the air.

Jien fell easily into the chants, years of daily practice having burned them in his mind so deeply he could chant while sleeping—which was almost what he did. Occasionally, a bell rang and cymbals were struck, contributing to keeping him somewhat awake until the end.

Afterwards, he went to duck his head into the temple’s cold pond to try to wake up his brain. “Ugh. I forgot quite how early mornings are here.”

“The trainees won’t leave us a thing if we’re late,” Aito said.

“Let’s go, quick!” The trainees’ collective appetite was a credible threat to everybody else’s breakfast. Jien knew it because he’d once been one of those ravenous beasts.

Rows upon rows of cushions and lacquered trays propped up on four legs waited in the refectory. The meal was standard temple fare, meaning it involved no fish or meat. Each person received pickled vegetables and fermented soybeans on a bed of rice. Should the meal prove unfulfilling—as was often the case with trainees—second servings were allowed. Gluttony wasn’t encouraged but depriving future
sohei
of the food they needed to grow strong would be counter-productive.

It was impossible to speak of their plans in this crowded place, but Aito’s absent look hinted he was communicating with his bonded spirits, presumably to watch the trainees.

Jien ate quietly, keeping an eye on Aito. His face was impassive but that meant nothing. He could have been tracking a whole host of demons-possessed men without looking any different.

They lingered over fragrant tea, waiting until everybody else had filtered out to attend to their duties.

“Anything of interest?” Jien inquired, voice pitched low.

Aito’s eyes focused on him. “I’m following the trainees. I believe I sense a touch of dark on one of them.”

Jien understood. “Right. The reason we didn’t see through the possessed woman we traveled with is that she looked ‘merely touched.’ We won’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes. And if he’s not possessed, I would like to know how one of our trainees came in contact with demon energy. The boys aren’t allowed outside the grounds and demons certainly can’t come here.”

They drifted out of the refectory and shifted the conversation to safer subjects, such as the likelihood of rain from the gloomy sky above. They traded nods with those monks they passed but were approached by none. It was probably Aito’s reputation keeping them shy.

“Hey,” Jien said as something suddenly occurred to him. “Why is it people can acquire a taint from contact with a demon but not from contact with a white spirit? You’re in contact with several of them but your aura looks normal to me.”

“My best theory is that it has to do with the degree of physicality,” Aito answered, so promptly it was evident he’d given it thought before. “White and neutral spirits rarely focus their energy in such a way as to be able to touch the physical world. If you tried to touch a familiar spirit, it would be like touching mist. Black spirits, which we call demons, tend to focus their energy as strongly as they can in order to simulate a physical body. It allows them to interact with the real world and to injure us in battle. That energy concentration may be what leaves a mark.”

“You forget that white spirits touch people to heal them. Shouldn’t that leave a stain?”

“You misunderstand how the process works. The spirit itself doesn’t touch the person. What it does is manipulate ambient energy so it is focused on the human. A sudden dose of spiritual energy can heal wounds, for reasons unknown. It’s possible the spirit sacrifices some of its own power or life-force to do it, as legends say, but that, too, is unknown.”

In other words, it was implausible for the trainee to have been tainted by a white spirit. That left the unpleasant options. Jien adjusted his grip on his spear and rolled his shoulders, readying himself for action. It wasn’t entirely polite to go about armed with the temple’s grounds, but neither was it conspicuous.
Sohei
whose task it was to wander the roads were notoriously obsessive about their weapons.

“Let’s go and meet this kid,” he said. “Do you have his location?”

“Training in the courtyard with the others. His name is Saji.”

Aito supplied an excuse to the monk overseeing the trainees’ workout while Jien cornered the boy they wished to interrogate. Boy, for though he was past the coming of age ceremony, trainees were considered boys until they finished their training. This one must be on the verge of receiving his very own spear for he looked to be the oldest of the pack.

“Hey, Saji,” Jien said, resting a hand on the trainee’s shoulder. “I want to ask you something. Over here.”

Looking apprehensive—and likely trying to recall if he’d said or done something especially idiotic in the last several days—Saji nonetheless followed him around the corner of the closest building. Jien didn’t want the other trainees eavesdropping, as he knew they would if they were given half a chance. Trainees were curious like monkeys.

Aito arrived moments later, announcing, “There’s no one in earshot.”

“Good.” Jien eyed the trainee critically. His face was average at best, his nose slightly crooked and his eyes too far apart, and his build was thin, not quite as muscled as a
sohei
was expected to be. That was understandable in light of the fact this boy was meant to become one of their sword makers, who did not fight but stayed in the temple to produce the blades demon hunting required. “Listen, kid. We can see your aura is demon-touched. Mind explaining how that happened?”

He was ready for lies, for an attack, or for an attempt to bolt.

He wasn’t ready for Saji to lose his color and prostrate himself on the ground babbling, “It wasn’t me! The demon did it! I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it! I would have if I could! I’ll never sleep with my mouth open ever again!”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down there. What demon? When?”

Through the boy’s hysterical babbling, they gathered the salient facts: a demon had possessed him, stolen his knowledge, and popped right out again.

“It’s like it had done it before,” Saji said. “It got inside me so easily! I woke in a panic and it was already too late. I had a cold at the time and I was so tired… It read my memories, about the glyphs and the relics we have. When it found out about the sword, it dug through my mind looking for details. I didn’t know much though, so it left. By morning I was certain it’d been a nightmare.”

“How do you know the sword was stolen, if it wasn’t you who did it?”

Saji huddled tighter, voice anguished. “I went to look, later. The sword wasn’t there. If I’d told someone right away, maybe they could have stopped the theft. After, it was too late and I was scared. My mother would never recover if I were kicked out. She’s so proud I got accepted.”

Jien looked at Aito, who replied with a faint sigh. Clearly, it sounded like truth to him too.

“Now we’ve no clue who the thief is or where the sword got to,” Jien grumbled.

“We’ll look further into this,” Aito said. “We’ve already confirmed the nature of the entity behind the theft; that’s no small deed. The foxes must be told.”

“I’ll send a letter.” Jien nudged the trainee with his foot and spoke in the most threatening voice he could muster. “What do we do with this one? He let the sword be taken.”

After a brief moment, Aito appeared to catch on. He hummed audibly, as if he were considering the question. “He’s a mere trainee.”

Jien rubbed his chin theatrically. “True, true. Perhaps we’ll let it go if he proves he can hold his tongue about the matter.”

Saji huddled on the ground. “I’ll tell no one! I swear on my vows!”

“You’ll tell no one who has no business knowing,” Jien corrected sternly. “If a highly ranked monk asks specifically about the matter, you must be truthful.”

“I’ll tell them! I swear on my vows!”

Aito turned away, saying, “Jien, please take the time to purify him. I want to go and see if anyone else has a similar taint.”

Jien understood the unspoken part: perhaps the demon had used another person—another body—to conduct the theft. It was worth looking into. They might yet unravel the mystery.

Busy with the boring task of scrubbing Saji’s aura free of taints—it largely involved ducking the fool trainee’s head in the pool and chanting mantra—Jien didn’t realize the other problem with the situation until later.

He went to Aito in alarm. “If Saji’s taint was so faint nobody but you could see it, it couldn’t possibly have lasted for years!”

“You’re correct,” Aito said, unruffled.

“Wait…” He worked it through. ”You mean the demon came back in his mind to spy? Recently? And Saji never noticed? Where did that impossibly smart demon come from?” A thought hit him like lightning, unexpected and unpleasant. “If the demon comes again, it’ll find out we spoke to Saji about the missing sword!”

“We’ll know it has come again because Saji will be tainted once more.”

“You mean we’ll know that it knows that we know it stole the sword?”

Aito paused, possibly trying to make sense of the question. “Ah, yes.”

“I see. The demon won’t realize we expect it to come again because you let Saji believe the demon only took him once. Clever.”

“A known spy can be an asset. We may be able to pass on wrong information to it and its friends if it becomes necessary.”

“Poor kid. He’s a pawn in our game and we can’t tell him.”

“I’ll ask my teacher to watch over him. He’ll be in no special danger.”

Jien wasn’t convinced. The game was quickly growing fraught with danger and nobody’s safety could be guaranteed.

Suddenly, Aito whirled. His eyes focused on a seemingly empty spot—wait, was that a patch of mist? It swirled in a tighter and tighter pattern and finally took shape as a fox with an excessive number of tails.

Spear extended and aimed at the apparition, Jien prodded the expert with his free arm. “Aito, what’s that? One of your familiars?”

“No.”