The Fox's God (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

Yuki

T
wenty people—give or take a deity—didn’t make for a large camp, especially when everybody who could walk gravitated to the fire and the food kept warm over it. The scribe settled down last, grumbling about having to sleep on snow. Inari never showed. Yuki sat back to a tree, keeping the containment chest within sight even while he focused most of his attention beyond the confines of their camp. The surviving cultists had nothing to gain by attacking them, but anger could push people to illogical actions.

The night’s quiet was broken by nothing more than snores and Momo’s restless scurrying. Akakiba didn’t even wake when the squirrel sat on his face.

“Come here, Momo,” Yuki said. “I’m the one with the nuts.”

Wandering over, Momo sniffed at the nuts without interest. He moved on, twitching his way around camp and watching the world with his large black eyes.

Yuki’s smile died a sudden, hard death. “Are you looking for Sanae?” Maybe it wasn’t just people who kept looking for lost loved ones long after they’d gone.

If someone had sneaked up on the camp right then, he wouldn’t have noticed. Grief wasn’t about blame, however much Akakiba liked to pretend so. There was a hole in the world, the kind that never quite mended.

By the time the sun rose, there was a little less grief in the air and a little more life in its place. Men talked and joked, smiles flitting across their faces. Others organized necessary work—feeding the wounded, changing bandages, assigning watch rotations. The single remaining woman was nowhere in sight.

“Eat as much as you like,” the scribe said, projecting his voice. “We won’t need our supplies if we travel the alternate way.”

“I volunteer to not be the test subject for that,” Jien said. “Someone else can have the pleasure.”

“I already volunteered,” the scribe said wryly. “We have been discussing this and it is worth the risk.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“The fox and I. Where did you think we were last night? Touring the area to admire the views? I’m willing to try. There should be no problem.”

Yuki didn’t say anything, but he noticed the careful omission of Inari’s name. Was the scribe worried how the other men would react if the real Inari were presented to them this soon after the battle? Perhaps it was for the best; the last thing they needed was a confrontation.

No problems for people,
Inari said pointedly. She was looking at the containment chest.

“There’s no danger,” the scribe argued. “The monks assured me the swords are completely harmless as long as they are kept inside. Is it not so, Jien?”

Jien grimaced. “I doubt it was built for the purpose of surviving a trip through the spirit realm. Maybe Sanae could ask—oh.” His face fell as he caught up with his own words.

Awkwardness filled the air until Hachiro boomed, “We should attempt this feat! What’s the worst that could happen?”

The ensuing silence was of the “why did you have to ask that question?” kind.

“At a guess,” Yuki said, “the containment could fail and the swords might eat the entire spirit realm. The consequences for the physical world would be terrible.”

“Ah,” Hachiro said. “That would be unfortunate.”

“On the bright side,” Jien said, “we wouldn’t live to regret our mistake.”

The scribe tapped his chin in thought. He didn’t seem aware there was ink on his finger, ink he was spreading on his chin. “Perhaps if we move only one at a time. Beginning with one of the copies.”

Jien whined. “But then we might survive long enough to really, really regret it.”

Their group was given no specific task other than taking care of their own. Akakiba wandered off to poke through the shrine’s wreckage. He later came back reporting Inari’s remains seemed to have burned properly this time.

“Your hands,” Yuki said. “Give them here. I can see those burns. That is what you get for pawing through smoldering ruins.”

“They’ll heal.”

“How fast?” he asked bluntly. If Akakiba’s shifting ability was nearly gone, what did it mean for his healing ability? Bleeding red must have weakened him even further.

“I don’t know.”

“And that’s why I’m going to wrap your hands. Give.”

Akakiba surrendered his extremities to his care.

The sun had crawled a good distance across the sky when the scribe reappeared, face flushed as he announced to the world, “It worked!”

Let us begin,
Inari said.

Hachiro did a head count, coming to a perplexed halt towards the end. “We’re missing two.”

The scribe waved a hand. “Our guide and the lady have gone to investigate what happened to the cult’s survivors, those who fled. They will make their way back later.”

Akakiba and Momo went first, along with the containment chest in which remained only one glyphed sword. Yuki had somehow been nominated sword-watcher and the other two were waiting their turn at his feet. Jien and Aito went second, the latter unconscious in the former’s arms. The other wounded next, starting with the worst off. Hachiro went with the second copy, then the scribe, then anybody who was still left…

Each trip took longer than the last, but they continued until Yuki found himself waiting alone. It hadn’t been too difficult to ignore the creepiness of the dead forest before, when he had nearly two dozen people around him. When it was just him and the wind that shook skeletal branches, unease pooled in his stomach.

A noise, behind him. He whirled, ready to draw.

Inari stood head lowered, panting like a dog.
This is exhausting. Is there anything else?

“Just me and the last sword,” Yuki said. “Do you need to rest first?”

I would rather be done with it. Come.

How could he argue? Leaving this place far behind sounded wonderful.

He put the Soul Eater in the chest, latched and dragged it over. “Ready.” He knelt, like he’d seen the others do, to put a hand in Inari’s fur. Contact might not have been necessary, but why take chances?

The experience was much as it had been the first time he’d done this, with Domi. It felt like freefall, like when he’d jumped off the cliff into the sea, but worse because his organs wanted to stay behind. He breathed shallowly—was there air on this side of existence or did it only exist in the bubble Inari maintained around them both, keeping them—he hoped—safe?

It felt so…empty. Last time he’d been in the spirit world, the greyness had been alive with lights bobbing or zooming past. This time, there didn’t seem to be any spirit nearby. The ones he could perceive were far away, like the pinpoints of stars in the sky.

One of his hands was in Inari’s fur and the other was clamped firmly on the chest. The glyphs carved in the thick wood were glowing. Were they supposed to glow? Had it happened the previous times?

He said, or tried to say, “Look.”

Inari might have said something, but his ears didn’t seem to be working.

The glyphs flashed, once, bright and nauseating to look at, and he…fell? Rose? Which way was up in here?

Either way, the landing hurt.

Chapter Thirteen

Mamoru

H
e could hear voices coming his way. Angry voices. He couldn’t see through the vase imprisoning him, couldn’t peer at these people’s sparks. But the female voice was familiar, somehow.

“Let him out,” the familiar voice ordered, venom dripping from her words.

“Do it,” clan leader Takashi said.

Light flooded his tiny universe. It didn’t hurt his eyes—he didn’t have any—but his first instinct was to shy away from it. Direct sunlight wasn’t kind to spirits and was best avoided.

His second instinct, stronger and more urgent, was to escape. He rushed out—and saw his body, lying there on the floor. Or, at least, a body with a face eerily similar to his own. Did they hope to be able to torture him in flesh? Should he flee as a spirit?

“Mamoru, is that you?” Usagi knelt nearby, eying his indistinct form with uncertainty writ all over her lovely face. “We brought your body. I tried to feed it, but I think you’ll be hungry.”

There was something weird, if not plain impossible, about the entire situation. It would have taken over a week of travel for Usagi to get here. Surely he hadn’t been in the vase for that long! His body didn’t look wasted; there was no starvation gauntness in the face, no sign of muscles withering with disuse.

“I promise it’s safe,” Usagi said. “I’ll explain later.” Her gaze flicked to the Fox clan’s leader. Ah, she didn’t want to share information where the foxes could hear it. Finally, something logical!

If he couldn’t trust his clan-sister, he couldn’t trust anyone. He flowed in his body, luxuriating in the feeling of home. It was slipping into a hot bath during the worst of winter; it was finding a path after a day lost in the woods; it was drinking water after going without for too long.

He sat up, and his stomach growled. Usagi looked at the clan leader expectantly.

The mysterious woman sitting to Usagi’s right lifted an eyebrow. “Well?” she prompted. “Are foxes averse to showing hospitality?”

Ah, that was the familiar voice he’d heard. But
why
was it familiar? The woman was dressed strangely, her legs exposed from mid-thighs down. She spoke as if she were an important person, but her slightly-tanned skin proved she was no high lady, who would be afforded the luxury of staying out of the sun to protect her skin’s youthfulness.

“Bring food for our guests,” Takashi said. His voice was a murmur, but the guards at the door reacted as if they’d understood perfectly, passing the request to someone out of sight. Mamoru would have been jealous of such keen hearing if he hadn’t already noticed his own had gotten sharper.

The familiar woman reached out to touch Mamoru’s face. “How do you feel, cousin?”

Cousin? Childhood memories floated to the surface of his mind. “Aunt Marin?” She wasn’t his aunt by blood, but he always addressed older female relatives politely.

“You sound unsure.” She turned to a man Mamoru hadn’t previously noticed. He looked like a warrior monk with his spear and shaved head, but he dressed in plain, dark clothing like a commoner. “Have I aged so badly, Domi?” she asked of him, voice plaintive.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he replied. “You know you’re beautiful. He doesn’t remember because he was a child when he last saw you.”

“And a tiny child, too,” Marin said. “Very cute, but shy.”

“Aunt Marin,” Mamoru said again, more firmly. “What are you doing here? I heard you’d run away.”

Her lips flattened. “Is that what they said, after they tried and failed to kill me? Well, no matter. Usagi told me what happened to the clan. There’s hardly a need for me to seek revenge.”

Food came. Strangely, Marin didn’t seem to worry about poison; she dug in a bowl of rice and motioned for them to do the same. Mamoru emptied three bowls, forcing himself not to eat too fast for fear it’d come back up. His stomach felt like a bottomless hole.

The moment he put his chopsticks down on top of his last bowl to signal he was done, everybody else did too.

“Business, now,” Marin said. “Ask your questions, clan leader, and Mamoru will answer.” To him, she said, “I have rank. Don’t argue.”

He could have said that as an outcast, Marin no longer had any authority over him. It wouldn’t have been a good idea to spit in the face of an ally, though, especially one Usagi appeared to trust.

“Understood,” he said.

Takashi began with, “Who sent you?”

“Advisor Yoshida.”

“For what purpose?”

“To find out if you were likely to turn on us and join with the cultists, the ones trying to resurrect Inari in the north.”

“What have you reported so far?”

“Little.” He hesitated, continued warily. “There was a conversation about the possibility of Inari being awakened before the slayers got there and whether or not she could be reasoned with.”

If the clan leader was upset, he didn’t show it. “Ah, yes, that. How did Advisor Yoshida react?”

“He said they’d considered the possibility, too.”

“In this alternate plan, were we still treated as allies?”

“He didn’t mention any details.”

Eventually, the clan leader ran out of questions. “Thank you for your help.”

Marin rose. “We’ll be going, then.”

“A moment, please,” an old monk said.

That one was a real
sohei
, wearing white clothes under a layer of sleeveless black, bracers protecting his forearms and leg guards holding the bottom of his
hakama
tight against his legs. The warrior getup looked silly on a man of his age, but perhaps nobody wanted to tell him so. He’d been sitting a little farther away, keeping quiet until now. Mamoru had assumed he was one of the foxes’ allies.

Sounding coldly angry, the old monk continued, “I wish to know who provided you with these spirit-trapping glyphs. We forbid their use for a reason.”

The clan leader regarded the
sohei
warily. “What will you do if we provide you with this information?”

“Kill them.”

Condensing in the shape of a fox, Grandmother Naoko sniffed haughtily.
Such bloodthirstiness. Worry not. Nobody betrayed your secrets; I stole them. I didn’t seek them out, but I came upon interesting records in your library.

“I see.” The anger remained; Mamoru could see it in the man’s tense body language and brief, meaningless answer.

What upsets you about these?

“We stopped using these glyphs to confine dangerous spirits because they’re worse when they eventually escape. The method creates monsters, crazed spirits that murder and murder. Others used these glyphs to capture good spirits and bend them to their will—for healing, for example. My lovely was trapped, once, long ago.” He paused, and then spoke deliberately, “These can also be used to capture bodiless foxes. I’m sure Advisor Yoshida would be interested to learn of this possibility.”

The clan leader tensed too. “Is this a threat?”

“No. It is a warning. We of the Great Temple protect the balance of the world. We will oppose those who upset it by all available means.”

Mamoru kept very, very still. This didn’t concern him and he didn’t want to be drawn in. Usagi might have felt the same, for she was also imitating a statue.

The man named Domi said, “Peace, Toshi. Anger is guiding your tongue. There are no enemies here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Marin muttered.

Domi caught her gaze. “You know where this started.”

Marin looked away.

“We did not wish to upset our allies,” clan leader Takashi said. “But understand, Master Toshishiro, that we must safeguard our secrets from beings such as he is and those who would employ them. You know our position is precarious.”

“Deal in good faith and you will always have us at your back,” Toshishiro said. “It might be helpful if you moved closer to Nara. Such attacks as you sustained would no longer be possible.”

“Would we be welcome in Nara? There are powerful lords in the area and our position as an independent samurai clan has always been precarious.”

“The emperor will owe you a boon if the mission ends in success. It is an idea to consider.”

To Mamoru, it sounded like the old monk wanted the foxes closer to watch them. No way was he going to speak his thoughts, though.

Perhaps we should stop giving the spies information to report,
Grandmother Naoko said wryly.

“They report to me, now,” Marin said, presumably speaking about Usagi and him. “Advisor Yoshida will have to find new spies.”

Mamoru side-eyed Usagi. He needed to catch her alone so she could tell him what in the world was going on.

To his surprise and relief, they were allowed to walk out the giant gates with all their limbs.

“Where to?” Domi said. “Back to Nara?”

Marin’s face grew stormy, dark and threatening. “I can’t believe you hid this power from me.”

Domi poked at the ground with his spear like a dejected child. “You said you’d forgive whatever my secret was if it helped rescue your cousin in time.”

“That was before I knew how big the secret was! I forbid you from using the ability again. We will walk back to the city like normal people.”

Mamoru watched them argue, completely lost as to what they were talking about.

“I’ll explain later,” Usagi murmured. She brushed her hand against his and it was enough.

At the base of the mountain, there was a village where Marin selected and purchased adequate supplies to sustain five people on the road.

“We’ll need a horse,” Marin said, looking at the oldest among them.

“Dear lady,” Toshishiro said, “I’ve been walking all my life. I will survive the voyage without difficulties as long as nobody expects me to run.”

“Very well, but old men and sick men don’t carry supplies,” Marin said firmly. “I will defend us if needed.”

Mamoru and Usagi looked at each other and picked up the loads, mainly of food and items to cook and eat it. Oh, and blankets. Did blankets mean camping out? Unpleasant. Unless… Perhaps Usagi would feel cold. Maybe she’d need someone to warm her.

Either way, being outside with Usagi was infinitely preferable to being trapped in a vase.