by Zoe Marriott
The king’s whiskers trembled. She looked down at her paws, and her head lowered until her muzzle almost touched the grass. At first I didn’t understand. Then I gaped like an idiot. She was bowing. She was actually bowing to me.
“I will grant what you ask. I do so swear, on the name of my line and the honour of my people.” She straightened up slowly and fixed her eyes on me again. Spellbound, I couldn’t force myself to look away. “Your Shinobu spoke the truth, you know. You are truly the equal of any in this realm.”
While I struggled to come up with some reply to that, she climbed to her feet and pointed her nose to the steps. “Go on now, Yamato Mio-dono. Walk the path you have chosen. May the gods learn to fear your wrath.”
“Right,” I muttered. “No pressure then.”
I began the short climb to the apex of the hill. The Kitsune didn’t fall silent as I came into view on the crest of the throne – if anything, they got louder. I wished I had a megaphone, or my father’s ability to emit a piercing whistle that threatened the eardrums of anyone within fifty yards. How was I supposed to convince them of anything if I couldn’t even get them to shut it?
I saw movement on the hill a little below me. It was Hikaru. She stood up, threw her shoulders back and bellowed, “Silence!”
Her voice, magically amplified, echoed off the walls like thunder. The gossipy chatter of Kitsune voices cut off instantly. I wasn’t sure if that was shock, interest or sheer affront. But they did stay quiet.
Hikaru looked up at me, gave me a thumbs up and then disappeared into a tangled whirlwind of copper and gold and white. A second later she reappeared as a fox, sat down and turned her face up to me, waiting.
Show time.
My hands clenched around the hilt and saya of the sword. It responded with a deep crackle of energy that flamed out of the mouth of the saya in blinding, rainbow-white flames. Quickly I lifted the sword into the air above my head. I held it in both palms so that all the fox spirits could see the glow of its power and recall what had happened the last time I unsheathed it here. That should keep their attention.
“You know me,” I said. My words boomed, and I jumped. I sounded like that guy releasing the kraken in the Clash of the Titans movie. Hikaru was magically increasing my volume. I glanced down again and saw her widen her eyes at me. Just go with it.
“A few days ago, some of your number marched with me to fight the Nekomata at Battersea. I killed the monster and brought every one of your people home alive. And since then, I have defeated and banished the Shikome, whose taint is fatal to you, and been named a daughter of the Kitsune by your great king.”
Damn, now I just sound like a big-headed prat. Where am I going with this? Some of the Kitsune stirred restlessly as the silence lengthened, and I hurried back into speech.
“In just a week, the mortal realm has seen more of the terrors of the Underworld than in a thousand years before that. None of these events are unconnected. They are the opening…” What’s that word? What is it…? Ah! “Salvos of a deadly battle in a conflict which has raged for centuries, and which is about to break into open war and spill into the human world. A war between the father and mother of the gods. And it will be terrible.”
I paused for breath and to organize my thoughts. This time the fox spirits didn’t fidget.
“Tonight, Izanami and Izanagi will clash somewhere in London. In their madness and their fury, they will turn the city into a smoking crater. It will not be long before the entire human world is swallowed by shadows and blood…”
The blade let out a fierce buzz in its saya, flaring with new light. Several Kitsune startled visibly. My arm was aching. I lowered the sword, feeling its flames caress my skin as I held it diagonally across my body, as if I was ready to draw the blade at any moment.
“You might ask, what has this to do with you? The human realm is not your realm. Humans are not the business of the Kitsune. But your people are already a part of this battle. You have already fought against the Nekomata, and you have lost some of your own to the Shikome’s taint. We may inhabit separate realms, but none of us are isolated. The first time that I visited the Kitsune Kingdom, one of your people explained to me that what happens in one realm inevitably influences the fate of the others. And tonight, the future of the entire world of humans hangs in the balance.
“If the mortal realm is turned to ashes, what will happen to the beautiful spirit realm? Do any of you really know? And when Izanami and Izanagi have finished breaking our world and can find nothing else to destroy there, what will prevent them from bringing their war here?
“We have one chance to stop them. One chance to prevent the destruction of London. Tonight, we can march into battle and teach the gods to fear us, as they have forced us to fear them for so long.”
The blade buzzed once more, sending out a starburst of fire that danced around my body. I sucked in a deep breath, raising my sword into the air again. “Who will fight with me?”
I stood still, breathing hard, as the flames slowly died away around me. There was complete silence. If a single fox spirit had scratched a flea, I swear I would have heard it in that moment.
“I will,” said Hikaru, standing. Her voice rang out, beautiful and lonely, like a heron crying in a wilderness.
A long pause. Then a deep brown fox, with a grey-streaked muzzle and four tails, stood up on the bottom tier of steps. “I will.” I recognized her voice and belatedly realized that it was Araki.
Another fox, a three-tails with smoky-grey fur and a splotchy white bib on his chest, stood up. I recognized him at once: Hiro. “I will!”
Well, it was nice to be supported, but Hiro and Araki were both soldiers. They would have fought with us anyway. Anyone else? Anyone? Come on…
On the step directly ahead of me, the king slowly and gracefully got up onto four paws. Her tails crackled with blue lightning as she lifted her muzzle and cried, “I will!”
A shock wave of reaction travelled around the curved walls of the amphitheatre.
Below the king, a red three-tailed fox jumped up. “I will!”
“I will!” A large black fox with five tails.
“We will! We will!” Three creamy-coloured foxes, right at the top of the bowl – a two-tails, a six-tails and a seven-tails.
“We will!” The voices filled the green bowl. Everywhere I looked Kitsune were standing. More than two thirds of the fox spirits were on their feet. My mum and dad were up, too, holding hands. Jack hopped around furiously, air-punching, while Rachel grinned. Shinobu’s face was grave, but his dark eyes shone.
I did it.
We had our army.
When we returned to the spirit realm after defeating the Nekomata, the Kitsune had celebrated our victory with music, food, dancing and general revelry. It turned out that, when they had time, they traditionally celebrated the decision to go to war in exactly the same way.
In the few moments it took the king to transform back into her human form, they’d spread out colourful, beautifully embroidered cloths and fat silk cushions on the grass, and conjured up heaped silver trays and crystal bowls of delicious food and steaming golden goblets of drink. Faerie dancing music, sweet and liquid, invited even the most heavy foot to tap. Dozens of Kitsune took up that invitation, in both human and fox forms, twirling into wild, intricate shapes in groups of three or six or nine, between the picnic blankets and up and down the tiers of the amphitheatre. The bright fox lights that had bobbed high among the silver leaves of the trees had been dimmed and summoned down to hang in the air just above everyone’s heads, like Chinese lanterns strung up at a party.
I thought it was a shame that Ebisu couldn’t be here to enjoy this. It cast the little picnic on the floor of his shop into a pretty sad light.
The fact was we had just over seven hours to kill before we walked out into the mortal realm to fight. Nowhere was it written that those hours must be spent in my current preferred pastime of quiet brooding. It was likely at least that so
me of the Kitsune would die with me tonight. Die clearing a path for me, watching my back, or protecting my family from harm. They could go wild if they wanted.
I just couldn’t quite summon up the energy to take part.
I sat a little way back from the rim of the amphitheatre, close enough to hear the festivities, but hidden from them by the peaceful shade of the spirit realm’s trees. Everyone was well taken care of down there. When I’d slipped away, Hikaru had been exerting every foxy wile to get my dad to dance with her, and my mum had already given in to Hiro’s flirtatious ways. Jack and Rachel were happily stuffing themselves with food.
And Shinobu…
“Here you are,” he said, sitting down beside me, cross-legged. “This feels familiar.”
Right on time. I turned my head and looked him over. “You didn’t bring me Kitsune wine and peaches this time.”
“No. If you want to eat and drink, I think you should join your family down there,” he said.
I shrugged. “I’m not really hungry.”
He shifted a bit closer, without quite touching me. A cackle of giddy laughter – whose, I had no idea – echoed up to us, and made us both smile.
“They’re having fun.”
“But you are not. Are you already letting go of them? Of life?” There was no judgement in his voice, only sadness and curiosity.
“I don’t know. I have a lot of feelings right now.” I reached out and ran my little finger lightly along his, where it rested on his thigh. “Jack and I were supposed to go to the ice rink next week. I was looking forward to that, even though I can’t skate for toffee. And now I won’t get to find out what that surprise Christmas present that my dad was teasing me about is. I hope they’ll still have Christmas this year, even after … you know. I haven’t bought any presents for Dad, because I was angry, and now I won’t get the chance. You always think you’ll have time.” I shook my head at myself. “I sound like an old lady.”
Shinobu touched my hair. Silence stretched between us, made all the louder for being full of words we didn’t say. Just when it was about to become unbearable, Shinobu broke it.
“Will you dance with me?”
I blinked at him. “I … what? Like a sword dance? You think I ought to practise for the fight?”
“No.” He grinned suddenly. “A real dance, like the others down there. The music is playing; we are alone; we have a little time. We have never danced a real dance together, you and I.”
And if we don’t now, we never will.
Again, the words were unspoken, but I could see them in his eyes.
“Um. OK.” I got to my feet and brushed off my legs and the seat of my leggings, watching awkwardly as he did the same. My hand went back to check the hilt of my sword, and then I caught at the release of the harness to pull it off, before leaning down to carefully place the blade in a little notch in the mossy earth.
Shinobu’s grin widened. “You are nervous.”
“Pfft. No.”
“You are. Why? You love to dance.”
I jerked my shoulder. “That’s different. It’s not … not like couple dancing. I don’t know how to do that stuff.”
“I have never danced with anyone else. We will learn together.”
He held out his arms to me and I went into them, arranging us based on my not-very-extensive viewing of “Strictly Come Dancing”. His left hand went to rest on my waist, and I put my right on his shoulder. Our free hands clasped and I held them out to the side. “I think that’s about right.”
Shinobu twisted his arm, bringing our clasped hands to rest against his chest, fingers entwined above his heart. “This is better.”
He stepped back and I followed. He turned and I turned with him. Moving on instinct, anticipating each other the way we would in a sparring match, we drifted into a quirky kind of waltz, turning, turning, almost floating around the stillness of the massive trees. The music seemed to grow louder, the sound of pipes and violins rippling around us. It was as if we had our own private, invisible orchestra. Our bodies moved as one, melting together like thunderclouds in a storm.
My head drooped to rest on his shoulder. “This is nice,” I whispered into his neck. He shivered.
He drew me closer as I kissed the base of his throat and then the pulse thundering under his jaw. We kept dancing as I found his lips and kissed him. We danced on as our arms went around each other. Our feet tangled and our breathing grew rough. Still dancing.
Suddenly my back came to rest against the warm, smooth bark of one of the trees. Shinobu’s entire body pressed against the whole of mine, the slow movement of the dance somehow translated into another kind of movement. Something urgent. Unstoppable.
If we don’t now, we never will…
“Mio,” he whispered into my mouth as our lips met and parted and met again, breath mingling, hands stroking and clutching, hearts pounding like one heart. “My beautiful Mio. My love…”
I gasped his name as I slid one hand into his hakama and the other into his hair and pulled him down with me to the soft, mossy earth between the twisted tree roots. “Stop talking.”
CHAPTER 22
TICK TOCK
Okaasan and I sit on the smooth cedar of the porch, in the shade, surrounded by piles of young willow branches and dried rushes. Summer’s heat is coming, and the long sleeves of our light cotton yukata are tied back to keep us cool and free our hands to work on intricately plaited willow baskets. My hair straggles untidily around my face in sweaty strands. Okaasan’s face shines with moisture, and now and again she stops to dab at it, but her hair and serenity are as flawless as always.
I will never be like that, I think. I will never be perfect in any way, let alone every way. Why would someone want an impatient, scrawny, bad-tempered girl like me? No wonder Shinobu—
A piece of willow snaps between my tense fingers. I swear loudly as the sharp fragment whips across my palm, leaving a slowly deepening welt.
“Where did you learn that word?” Okaasan’s voice is dry. “Or need I ask?”
Otousan sometimes gets a little impatient when he instructs me in kenjutsu. Right now I can hear the muffled echo of his shouted instructions to Shinobu in the dojo, the familiar sound mixing with the peaceful whirring song of the cicadas and the rhythmic drip and pock of the bamboo tipping fountain.
“Let me see.” Okaasan takes my hand in hers and inspects it. Her soft white fingers are like silk compared with my tanned, scarred skin. “No damage done. This time. Be more careful. Your father will cry if you cannot hold a bokken.”
He is more likely to bind up my wound and tell me to fight through the pain like a true warrior. But Okaasan does not need to know that. She already thinks that Otousan takes my training too far.
“What is the matter?” she asks, taking up her basket again as I pluck restlessly at mine, trying to pull out the damaged part without ruining the rest. “Are you and Shinobu-kun at odds over something?”
I sigh. How does she always know? “He does not want to approach Otousan about… He says I am too young. He is only a year older than I am!”
“Nearly two years. And perhaps you are both too young. You are not yet sixteen, Mi-chan. You both have a whole lifetime ahead of you that you have not yet glimpsed.”
“We won’t change our minds,” I say. “Not about each other. And not everyone lives to be Old Hoshima-sama’s age! I want to know happiness as soon as possible, and make the most of it – for however long or short a time that may be.”
She smiles faintly, her eyes on the pattern she is deftly weaving around the basket rim. “Have you fought about this?”
“No.” I pause. “Not really. You know how he is. He just goes all stubborn and refuses to talk. Like a rock. A big stupid rock.”
“Such sweet words for your beloved.” Okaasan’s voice trembles with laughter.
“It is best to know your future husband’s flaws,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.
“I am sure
that Shinobu-kun will speak to your father when he thinks the time is right – and in the meantime,” she goes on before I can interrupt, “you will increase both his and your father’s respect for you if you act with grace and patience, like a good daughter, instead of hissing like a feral cat whose mouse has been stolen.”
I glower down at the wreckage of my basket. If I were ever to act with grace and patience, both my father and Shin-chan would check my forehead for a fever.
A drop of sweat rolls down the side of my face and I swipe at it with my forearm. Warm wind stirs the cherry trees – only just bare of the last of the sakura – and sends their leaves sighing overhead.
The noise of sighing gets louder, taking on a strange, eerie note. Okaasan works on, undisturbed, but the basket drops from my fingers and I rub at my arms, feeling gooseflesh rise.
I never had a mother, a soft, singsong voice murmurs.
All around me a dense, grey mist begins to rise. It rises from the wood of the porch, from the trees, from where my mother sits finishing her basket. The very fabric of the world – no, of my memory – is dissolving. The golden light of the early summer day grows dim and dark as if storm clouds had swallowed the sun in an instant. The sounds of the insects, my father’s voice, the smell of my mother’s soap and my own sweat … everything fades away, wrapping my senses in empty darkness and cold.
I know what is happening, I realized. This is a dream. A dream of a life long, long ago…
I stared at my mother – my first mother – for as long as I could, trying to fix every detail of her beloved face in my mind. “Farewell, Okaasan. I love you.”
Then she was gone.
The chill sank into my bones. I pulled off the cloths that bound the sleeves of my yukata and pulled the sleeves down to cover my arms. Grey fog boiled up around me. It choked my throat, sharp and grainy like crystals of ice.
