The Fox's God (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Sanae

W
ithin the dead area, the area where nothing living remained, they found an abandoned village. Walls leaned at angles and roofs sagged where they hadn’t already collapsed. Doors were missing and the holes they left were like gaping maws with only darkness inside.

Momo’s eyes didn’t mind this lack of light so Sanae prodded him to go wander through the nearest homes. They were in a state of relative cleanliness because they were almost completely empty and because there were no small animals or bugs left to make nests. The rot and damage to floors and walls was due to the snow melting rather that the activities of wild critters.

The third house was in better shape, partly because the door had remained closed against the elements. Momo had been able to squeeze in. Sanae nudged Momo aside long enough to claim the building by scratching the word FOX in the snow outside the door. They’d climbed up all day and the temperature was colder here, as if this part of the world denied the imminent arrival of spring. Hm, then again, spring wouldn’t truly come here. Nothing would grow, no birds would sing, and no new life would be brought forth.

The rest of the party was clumped together, everybody either peering into houses suspiciously or watching the higher peaks surrounding them, all of them covered in snow and skeletal dead trees.

“We wait for our contact,” the scribe said.

“What happened to the villagers?” Yuki wondered.

“They left years ago,” the scribe said, perhaps choosing to answer to distract everybody from their uneasy fidgeting. “Neither forest nor ground could provided them with sustenance anymore. We don’t know where they all went, but a few were frightened enough to find a way across the sea. The strange rumors they brought with them reached our ears. Without them, we may not have realized there was something here we needed to investigate.”

“Didn’t anyone here find out? Local lords?”

“This island is sparsely populated, especially in this mountainous area. Other than the inhabitants of a few tiny villages like this, nobody was in a position to notice or care about the spread of a strange disease affecting entire forests and frightening animals away. We suspect they purposefully chose a remote area, but we don’t think they knew exactly how far-reaching the effects would be.”

“A stranger,” someone said.

Indeed, a person’s shadow detached from the forest. Whoever it was did not have a lamp, navigating solely by the light of moon and stars. Everybody went still and silent, waiting to find out if this person was the “contact” they awaited or unexpected trouble that needed handling.

“Identify yourself,” the scribe requested.

“I am the emperor’s eyes.”

“Is this village still a safe place for camp?”

“I believe so.”

“Find suitable lodging inside the buildings,” the scribe said. “Follow the normal guard rotation, but be sharper than usual. We are close to the enemy. After the meal, the three sword-bearers are welcome to meet with me for planning.”

The group dispersed in near-silence. They were close, the scribe had said, and everybody reacted as if the enemy was lurking behind the nearest trees.

Sanae led the way to the house she’d chosen. There was old, dry wood stacked in the corner, perfect for starting a fire with the lamp Jien was carrying.

Aito rubbed at his arms, where his familiars hid beneath the fabric. “Sanae,” he said. “Could you go and find out who this ‘contact’ person is?”

Jien smirked. “It bugs you to be unable to spy on people, huh?”

Move over, Momo, we have to go play spy.

Chattering at Aito to signify “I’m going, I’m going,” she scurried out the door. The scribe had pragmatically picked the most central house, even if it didn’t have a door, presumably so he’d be easily found. Alternatively, he might have made his choice to be closest to the area where the two men in charge of food were setting up the big cauldron capable of cooking enough rice for everybody. Even a scribe could be motivated by hunger.

The scribe and the “contact” were kneeling together on remarkably intact bamboo mats, a lamp on the floor between them.

“How is your health?” the scribe asked.

“About as good as expected,” the contact said wryly. His face seemed youthful, but he moved like he had pain in his joints, and he looked tired. “I will be happy to leave this place before it kills me.”

“Your sacrifice honors you.”

“I will be honored when you stop them.”

“We will. Our sword-bearers are somewhat peculiar, each in their own way, but they are strong. You will meet them soon.”

“I look forward to it.”

They continued with chitchat until food was served. Whatever they said afterwards, Sanae didn’t know, because the smell of food was pulling Momo in the other direction. She couldn’t argue with the hunger in their shared belly, the same way nobody else could argue with Momo’s begging face.

“You’re terrible,” Akakiba said when it was his turn to face Momo’s large and liquid eyes. He nonetheless shared the mushroom. She’d have bitten him if he hadn’t; there was nothing for a squirrel to forage out here!

Akakiba ate quickly, bowl lifted high as he shoveled the rice-and-mushroom mix in his mouth with the help of chopsticks. Done, he vanished out the door with a simple, “I’ll find out what the plan is.”

Sanae invited herself along because she could.

Between the three sword-bearers, the scribe, and the contact, the building they met in was quite full.

“This is the man who has been keeping an eye on the cult for us,” the scribe said, “sacrificing his health and comfort so we might know the enemy’s habits and numbers.”

The man looked pained by the praise. “We made a mistake. The time estimate was too generous. I fear they will achieve their goal within days, now, not weeks. The activity in the temple has grown exponentially.” He paused, looking to the others. “I assume you do not know the details. Because living in this area sucks the life out of people, the temple had been growing emptier and emptier as the fanatics weakened and died from prolonged exposure. The guards and the higher-ups are an exception. They’re rotated in and out often, to keep them alive. But in the past week or so, I’ve realized they were all coming back at once. The temple is full again.”

The scribe hummed thoughtfully. “They’re risking their lives because they want to witness the resurrection event. The timing is unfortunate, but we may yet find success.”

“Easy to say for the man who doesn’t fight,” Akakiba said.

The scribe replied with an irritated look. “I am here to record events as they unfold. I will be in as much danger as anyone. But yes, I am too optimistic, considering the world’s salvation rests in the hands of brutes like you.”

“Victory is our only option,” Hachiro said, lifting his chin and striking a heroic pose. “The world indeed needs us.”

Even her grumpy brother didn’t argue.

“My partner will help in any way she can,” the man said.

“Who?” Akakiba inquired.

“Her name isn’t important. She went to the cult claiming she was from this village and that a fox had led her to their door. They took her in and she relays what information she can safely get to me. She should still have the poisons she brought in.”

Whoever the woman was, she was almost certainly a
shinobi
. The man might be one, too, if he’d been spying this long without getting caught.

With an almost apologetic side-look at Akakiba, Hachiro said, “We were told there was a fox in the area. Is it still here?”

“Ah, yes. I’ve seen her more often lately, as if the greater activity at the temple attracts her. I have no idea why she comes here when no other animal does.”

“Whatever she’s doing, it isn’t spying for us,” Akakiba said, annoyed. “Maybe somebody in there feeds her.”

The other men prudently dropped the topic and went on to discuss numbers, route of approach, and the temple’s layout. Sanae left them to it, in favor of doing a round of the area. She had the best night eyes in the company; she should put them to contribution. It truly wouldn’t be a good time to be discovered by the enemy.

Not a thing moved, whether living or not. Even the wind was dead. The guards seemed suitably attentive. She wouldn’t trouble them, not tonight.

Back in their chosen sleeping place, the boys were drinking tea to warm up. The room was comfortable for a squirrel—fur coats were wonderful—but she lapped a little tea out of Yuki’s cup anyway, for the taste and because “drinking” snow wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Yuki tipped and held the cup at an angle until she was done drinking, because he was that kind of person. There were many reasons she liked him, other than the fact he made her brother happy. Granted, it could be hard to see the happy under the grumpy, but she had sharp eyes. Their closeness was visible in the way Yuki purposefully scooted closer so he could oh-so-casually lean into Akakiba, and how Akakiba pretended he didn’t notice, but still shifted to accommodate the contact.

Jien didn’t tease them, which might be a sign he valued his life enough not to anger them both at the same time. He was also busy picking twigs off the ground to drop them in the neck of Aito’s clothes. Aito presently couldn’t notice anything, his eyes distant as he rubbed at an arm full of ink and spirits.

All in all, a normal evening with her weird boys. It was nice.

The ground began to sway. Again.

“Put the fire out,” Akakiba said, himself reaching for the lamp.

Jien emptied the teapot onto the fire.

The ground continued to move; everybody eyed the shabby walls and, without consulting each other, stepped outside to wait it out.

A stone throw’s away, a house collapsed on itself. Somebody shouted, possibly from within.

“I think somebody’s inside,” Jien said, taking off.

Before they got there, Hachiro shook himself free of the collapse as if none of it weighted more than a feather. “Can’t we even sleep peacefully?” he complained. “This is the third shake in as many days!”

“It’s true they’re growing frequent,” Jien said. “It’s a bad omen.” He sounded too cheerful to believe it.

Aito grumbled. “Stop tickling me.” His tattooed familiars were supposed to stay hidden under his clothes, but they were now creeping up to his neck and face, presumably because they wanted to see what was going on.

Rebuilding the fire required a foray into the forest to find wood that wasn’t tea-soaked. Dead wood was easy to find when everything was dead, but squirrel paws couldn’t carry anything. Sanae kept watch for the others instead. Creepy as it was to be in a dead area, she’d grown somewhat used to the emptiness. Or she thought she had. Sometimes she paused, head cocked to the side to better listen, but there was nothing to be heard other than the rising wind. It was weird how she kept getting the impression somebody was calling her name.

The boys settled down to sleep; they needed to be rested for tomorrow. It was understood she would be on night watch. Not so much because of the emperor’s men anymore—Hachiro had sworn to Jien he’d not turn on them unless they turned on him first—than because they couldn’t afford to be caught by surprise by anything or anyone.

Even if she’d had a human body instead of a nocturnal squirrel one, Sanae wouldn’t have been able to sleep. The moment of truth was so close now, so close. Would they meet a god? Would they kill it?

Akakiba rose in the middle of the night, detangling himself from Yuki’s arms. Sanae noticed because she was warming herself inside at the time, near the fire’s embers.

“What is it?” Yuki murmured sleepily.

“Body necessities,” Akakiba said. He stepped out, closing the door quickly to avoid unnecessary loss of heat, but not quickly enough to prevent her from grabbing onto his clothes and climbing up.

“I don’t need a guard,” he said, shooing her off. “Go do something squirrel-y.”

She didn’t go far; sticking close to Akakiba made Momo feel better. The squirrel didn’t like the dead forest and not only because there was nothing to eat. Still, Sanae prodded him to climb up a tree, claws scrambling against bark, and to look for trouble. Everything was quiet.

Finished, Akakiba took a step towards camp before pausing and turning around.

Was the wind calling his name, too?

He looked up at her. “Do you hear something?”

Uh oh. If they both heard the same thing, it must be real. What did it
mean
?

She chattered, trying to convey a positive. She dove into the air, spreading her limbs so furry flesh stretched like wings on either side, and Akakiba caught her, depositing her on his shoulder.

“It’s only calling to us. Nobody else is listening to the wind. Does that mean it is truly Inari, and not some other entity?”

Akakiba started walking, following the voice. Sanae tugged on his ponytail with tiny squirrel fingers, trying to make him read her mind. Going alone in enemy territory was a terrible idea. Yuki would be angry, and the others wouldn’t be impressed. She probably would have gone anyway, but since her reckless attitude had already cost her a body, she didn’t want to see her brother following in her footsteps.

“Stop pulling out my hair,” he said. “You can go back, if you like.”

Momo, for his part, didn’t want to go anywhere alone. He was content going for a walk in the woods with Akakiba.

Ahhh, squirrels. They didn’t understand much. Sanae let go of her brother’s hair and, squatting on his shoulder, made the grumpiest noise a squirrel could produce.

The call felt very close, as if someone was calling her name aloud.

Then, the call stopped. Akakiba must have noticed the silence—he stood still and looked into the dead woods. Sanae watched too. There wasn’t anything to see.

Oh, except a fox, there…

What was a fox doing here?

She yanked on Akakiba’s hair and pointed.

“Lady Inari?” Akakiba hazarded.

Huh, since when did her brother address strangers politely? Had he realized that being insufficiently polite to a potentially god might have a negative effect on his short-term health?

Can’t my own children recognize me?
the fox said.
I called and called and nobody came. Are you the last of my line?

Sanae yanked on her brother’s hair frantically. Oh, how she wished she could talk! This fox claimed to be Inari! Did the reference to her children mean what she thought it meant?

Thankfully, Akakiba’s thoughts had apparently run in the same direction. He kept his tone flat, almost uninterested, but he must also be dying of excitement inside. “What do you mean by ‘your children’? Is that a figure or speech or—”

I birthed the first of you myself. Have I truly been forgotten?

“There was a first lady who founded our clan, yes, but nobody ever said she was named Inari.”

I bore a human name at the time. That body is long gone, but the rest remains.

Hostility crept in Akakiba’s tone, lending it sharpness. “You mean you possessed a human and lived as her. Who was she, your victim?”

Who—oh. You mean before. She was my high priestess, before she became me and I became her.

That must mean mind melding, Sanae deduced, just as she had experienced it with Yuki. She tugged on her brother’s hair some more, as if it might help him understand what she was thinking.

“I’m not dense,” he said, poking at her irritably. “I remember Kin.” She nipped his finger in retaliation, while he addressed Inari again. “Wouldn’t it kill the human? If you’re the all-powerful goddess Inari, you couldn’t possibly fit into a human body, or a fox’s body, without destroying it.”

True. To achieve unity with a human, I had to split my mind from the rest of me. From my body, if you will. That part of me sank into slumber. What could be called Inari’s mind entered the priestess’s body. After, there remained only the part of me that we became together.