The Heart of a Fox

by T. Isilwath

  He stirred the stew diligently, not about to let it burn. Even though cooking was women’s work, he’d done his share of feeding himself. The villagers had assumed that he ate his kills raw, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. In fact, the stew smelled delicious and he had to force himself not to eat it.

  ‘I hope she wakes up soon because I’m getting hungry.’

  He had to admit that the fish she had prepared was just as good as the quail from the previous day. Although it surprised him that she would eat meat. Most of the humans he knew would eat fish and fowl, but would refuse the meat of a four-legged animal. When he caught the rabbit, he thought he would be eating it himself and had only offered it to her out of courtesy. He had fully expected her to refuse it and give it back to him. When she had accepted it, and even made it into a stew that she claimed would be their dinner, he had been rather shocked.

  ‘And she shares her food with me. With me, a half-demon. I…’ He paused and looked at his clawed hands. Like his tail and ears, his sharp nails were a sign of his shame and his mother’s disgrace. ‘How can that be? She even bowed to me when she asked me to help her with her speech. No one has ever bowed to me. Ever. Maybe where she comes from kitsune are worshipped. I know there are temples where kitsune serve the Rice God, Inari, and she knew me for my kitsune blood. Could it be that kitsunes in her homeland are sacred?’ He shook his head. ‘Then she should have known I was a half-kitsune and not a full-blood. Anyone who has ever seen a real kitsune would never mistake me for one. My father was a magnificent kitsune. I… I don’t look anything like him.’

  He sighed sadly, remembering the early years of his childhood when his father had still been alive.

  ‘I didn’t see him much. I know Haha-ue wanted to live with him, but he had always said she was better off with her family. I remember that Ojiisan was afraid of him. I don’t know why. He was always kind to me, and he wasn’t a dark kitsune. Not like that terrible Tamamo-no-mae who killed all those humans and sucked the life out of everything she touched. Haha-ue always said humans couldn’t tell the difference between Chichi-ue and the dark kitsune, but I always thought that was because they didn’t bother to try. Ojiisan never once tried to be nice to my father or to get to know him.’

  He poked at the fire absently. The stew was done, or at least it smelled done, and his nose was rarely wrong, so he was letting the fire burn to coals.

  ‘Then Chichi-ue was killed, and those horrible monks turned his skin into a drum. I have no idea what became of the rest of him, especially his six tails.

  Haha-ue didn’t know either. I don’t know how she even knew about the drum. I think my uncle may have told her. He came around once after Chichi-ue was killed, but he didn’t stay and he refused to take us with him. He left me and Haha-ue at the mercy of the humans. I wish I could hate him, but I can’t. He wasn’t as strong a kitsune as Chichi-ue was, and he only had three tails. He feared for his life, as we all do when the hunters come for us. And they do come. Only the strongest and smartest of us survive as long as my father did, and even the greatest of us have been felled by the hunters. All it takes is one mistake…’

  He shuddered. He didn’t like to think about it. He knew his time would come, and probably a lot sooner than his father’s had. He was a half-breed, hated by all, and not just human hunters were after him. It was why he had made the deal with the Shrine priest, Genkichirou, all those years ago. He had agreed to protect and provide for Genkichirou’s village in return for sanctuary and the permission to live in the forest nearby. He helped the villagers get rid of demons that got too close, participated in the yearly rice planting and harvest, and hunted for food in the winter. They agreed not to kill him and offered him the protection of the holy shrine.

  The agreement had held for 30 years and had been honored by Genkichirou’s oldest son, Ichiro, after the old priest had died. Ichiro had followed in his father’s footsteps and taken over the shrine, but he wasn’t as generous to Akihiro as his father had been. While Genkichirou had never been friendly, he had never abused their agreement, and he had always treated him with the benevolence one shows to a stray dog-which was better than most.

  The incident with the oni-gumo was an example of such abuse. Genkichirou would never have asked him to go out when the exterminators were so close. Their lot made no distinctions between malevolent demons and benevolent ones, but killed indiscriminately any demon that crossed their path. He had known the moment they saw him that they would come after him, and, of course, all the humans who had come with him had already run away, so he had no one to vouch for him. If Johrannah hadn’t interfered, he would have been killed.

  ‘And I doubt that they would have made me into a drum. They probably would have taken my tail and dumped my body somewhere to rot and be eaten by worms.’

  It was getting to the point where he hated going back to the village because their treatment of him was becoming worse and worse. The stripes from the last flogging the village headman had given him didn’t sting anymore, and he was certain that the marks were almost gone, but the mental pain had yet to fade.

  The beating itself hadn’t bothered him so much as the fact that he’d been punished for something he hadn’t done.

  He was well used to beatings. His grandfather had been very generous with them when he was a child, and he was almost immune to physical pain. But Hiroshi had beaten him for killing chickens, which he hadn’t done, and when it was discovered that a weasel had been the culprit, no one had apologized for wrongly accusing him. It seemed that even if he was not to blame for killing the chickens, he was guilty of not catching the weasel that was killing them, and thus the punishment was justified.

  Had Genkichirou been alive, he would never have allowed Hiroshi to beat him without cause, but Ichiro had said nothing in Akihiro’s defense. The priest did not have his father’s kind heart or his strong sense of justice, nor did he seem to understand that Akihiro let himself be beaten in order to maintain the agreement. If the villagers thought he could not escape any time he wished, that he could not snap the ropes or take the bamboo rod and shatter it into a thousand pieces with a single swipe of his claws, they were sorely mistaken.

  Like a dog that refused to bite the hand of an abusive master, he refused to fight the villagers. He didn’t want to be cast out. He needed what little protection his affiliation with the village afforded him, and the pain of the floggings was worth it if it meant that he could continue living nearby. Even though they abused him and despised him, he endured it because the alternative was certain death at the hands of the exterminators or larger, stronger demons. He was still young and weak by kitsune standards, barely more than a kit and not even full-grown. He had no chance against a bull-demon or worse, a dog or wolf-demon.

  Bull-demons were strong but stupid; dog and wolf-demons were strong and smart, and they could track by scent almost as well as a kitsune. If one of them came after him, he didn’t have a prayer if there wasn’t somewhere for him to go for protection. Genkichirou himself had once warded off a dog-demon with his holy powers, and few demons would approach the village shrine.

  But things had been very strained between him and the villagers ever since Genkichirou had died. Ichiro had never been happy that his father had entered into an agreement with a half-demon, and he honored it only because his father had asked him to. There was no respect or consideration from the new head priest, and even Ichiro’s children seemed to hate him now.

  There had been a time when he had looked out for the three kits, especially the youngest daughter, Suzuka. In her younger years she had been nice to him, until her father beat her and taught her how to look upon him as a tainted thing.

  Kaemon, Ichiro’s middle boy, had once been bitten by a snake. Akihiro had found him, sucked out most of the poison himself, and carried the boy back to the village as fast as he could run. The child had lived but there were those in the village who thought that he was responsible for the boy’s poisoning
.

  ‘Fools. I don’t have poison. All I have is illusions and the ability to shape-change, and I’m not very good at either.’

  He had also managed to create foxfire once, but he still didn’t know how he had done it. Being that he had been about to be burned to death at the time, he’d been under a great deal of stress. He’d been certain it was the end when he’d suddenly been able to create a burst of foxfire enough to push back the flames so he could escape. He’d never been able to repeat the spell, and he wasn’t about to put himself in burning building to recreate the circumstances he had been in.

  ‘All I am is all I have ever been: a lowly hanyou. I don’t have a fraction of my father’s power, and I doubt I’ll live long enough to gain any of it. All I can do is my best to survive as long as I can, and do what I have to do to stay alive.’

  Noise from the hollow caught his attention, and he realized that Johrannah had rolled over in her bedding. He waited to see if she would wake, but she did not so he returned to tending the stew. The fire was just about down to coals, and the stew was cooling on the rack.

  Now Johrannah, so far she was different. She treated him with kindness and gentleness. Even with their misunderstanding earlier about her telling him to sit, she hadn’t been cruel, and she’d been horribly embarrassed when she discovered that he had taken her command literally. To be honest, he hadn’t been all that upset about it. She had told him to sit, so he had sat. He wasn’t about to refuse her when she was responsible for saving his life.

  ‘Maybe I can stay here with her…’ he thought hopefully. ‘At least until it is time for her to go back to her home. Maybe I could even go with her when she leaves. If kitsune are worshipped where she lives, maybe they would be okay with a half-kitsune like me. Maybe if they found out that I was Kazehiro’s son…’

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and stomped on the idea before it had a chance to really grow.

  ‘No. They’d hate you. Why would they accept a filthy half-breed when there are real kitsune to be worshipped? You don’t even know why Johrannah is being nice to you. For all you know, she wants you to do something terrible in repayment for your life, or worse, maybe she needs you for some ritual that involves spilling your blood or sacrificing you to her gods.’

  Part of him didn’t really believe that. Johrannah had been nothing but kind to him, and he thought that he knew enough about humans to know when they meant him harm. He’d always been a good judge of character, and deep inside he felt that she was being sincere. He just didn’t know why and that was the source of all his trepidation. Very, very few humans had ever been kind to him, and, with the exception of his mother and small kits who didn’t know any better, those that had been kind soon showed their true colors.

  ‘Johrannah will too. She’ll make you trust her and then betray you just like the others. She’ll speak kindly to you then curse your name when her people come for her. She’ll deny you and despise you and cast you aside. No one treats a hanyou as anything other than the abominations that they are,’ he reasoned, the harsh voice of his grandfather echoing in his mind.

  ‘Haha-ue loves me,’ his child-self answered, staring up at the intimidating figure of the daimyo in his mind. His memories of his grandfather were dark and full of fear.

  ‘Your mother is a disgrace who should have cut you out of her womb and died for her shame,’ came the withering reply.

  But she hadn’t. She had birthed him on a stormy autumn night, and often told him that the thunder had muffled his newborn cries. The Lady Yukiko, youngest daughter of Takeda Nabumori, had raised him and protected him against his monster of a grandfather. Why she had mated with a demon, only she knew, but Akihiro often wondered if she had done it to prevent being sent off to marry an old man in order to gain her father another alliance through an arranged marriage. Once she had birthed a half-demon, no man had wanted her, and she had been able to stay in her father’s house until her mate’s death. Takeda had hated him, and his kitsune father, but he had never seriously harmed either his mother or him. Even his beatings, harsh as they were, did no permanent damage. It was as if the daimyo knew his limits and refused to cross them.

  What his grandfather would have done to them after the great Kazehiro had been murdered, he didn’t know because his mother had fled with him that very day. She had taken him and run, and she had kept running until they had traveled clear out of her father’s lands, across the border and into Musashi. She had sacrificed everything in order to keep him alive; doomed herself to a life of destitution and ridicule so that her son might live.

  Lady Yukiko, the shame of the Takeda clan, whose name would be erased from the family history, was the bravest woman Akihiro had ever known. She had been intelligent, beautiful and strong even unto the night of her death, and her last words to him as he held her hand and wept were: “Akihiro, I love you.” The fire popped, sending sparks and bits of ash bursting up, and startled him out of his thoughts. Roughly he wiped away a tear that had rolled down his cheek and shook away his memory.

  “Haha, I miss you,” he whispered.

  The morning passed in relative silence, and he stayed in the sacred grove, only leaving long enough to relieve himself and get a drink. Sometime early in the afternoon, he heard Johrannah wake and begin moving about the hollow.

  He stayed out by the fire-ring because she did not ask for him to come in, and waited for her to join him. When she did, she was carrying the straw from his bedding, and his heart sank as she tossed it on the coals and burned it. The straw made a lot of smoke and stunk of sweat and sickness, but soon his bed was nothing but ashes in the fire pit. For him, it signified that she was preparing to tell him to go, and his hopes of staying with her were solidly dashed.

  ‘Well, that’s it, isn’t it? There’s your answer, plain as day,’ he thought sadly, the sting of her rejection hurting him more than a physical blow.

  He hadn’t expected her to throw him out before the threads in his belly wound were removed. Although when he thought about it, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He had already been there for nearly four days, if the three days he had been sick counted, and for most humans that was four days too long.

  ‘I guess it wouldn’t be hard to take the threads out myself.’

  “Mou…” she said, stretching and giving him a smile. “I… slept long.” He lowered his eyes, unable to look at her. How could she smile at him when she had just destroyed his place in her sanctuary? It made no sense to him.

  “You said you were tired,” he murmured, focusing on his hands.

  “Hmmm?” she replied, then reached over to the cooled stew and took a taste. “Mmm. Yummy. Good dinner.”

  He gave a short nod even though he hadn’t tried any of it.

  “Ah, eat later,” she announced, and began ladling the stew into a clear sack which she then hung high in one of the trees.

  “Bears,” she explained at his questioning look, and he realized that she had hung the food up where bears couldn’t get to it.

  ‘Good idea. She knows exactly what she is doing out here.’

  “Akihiro, let’s go,” she told him, motioning for him to follow. She had picked up one of the nets she had taken from the exterminators and slung it over her shoulder.

  He stood reluctantly and trailed behind her, not wanting to know where she was leading.

  ‘Probably back to the road where she will tell you to go home.’

  “Akihiro?” she asked, and he noticed that he’d fallen quite a bit behind.

  “Ah. Yes. I’m coming,” he replied and stepped up his pace.

  She waited for him, giving him another little smile as he caught up. She looked uncertain and a little confused.

  “Belly wound hurt?” she questioned.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  ‘Should I have said yes? Would she let me stay with her if I was in pain?’

  He wondered about it, then decided that he wouldn’t
lie no matter how poorly she treated him. Honorable people never lied, and all he had was his honor, even if no one ever believed a half-demon could be honorable.

  Much to his surprise, however, she didn’t take him to the road. Rather she took him to an overgrown meadow full of tall grass that had yellowed in the sun. As he watched, she put down the net and spread it out. Then she took her long knife and began cutting the stalks, dropping them by the armload into the net.

  “Akihiro?” she said.

  “Huh? Yes?”

  She motioned for him to do the same: cutting the grass and putting it into the net. He obeyed, unsure of what she was doing, but unwilling to deny her.

  ‘She just burned a load of this…’

  He cut the stalks by slicing them with his claws, severing them about a hand’s width above the ground like she was doing, and dropped his arm loads into the net. Within a short while they had gathered a large pile of the stalks and she called a halt.

  “Good,” she announced, wrapping up the stalks and picking them up.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He blinked at her in confusion then followed.

  “Do you want me to carry that?” he asked, motioning to her that he would take the net.

  “No. Akihiro hurt,” she answered, giving him another smile.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Belly wound.”

  “It’s not that bad,” he argued a little peevishly. She had no qualms about sending him off with stitches in his belly, but yet she refused to let him carry her burden? It made no sense to him.

  “Mou,” she refused with a snort.

  ‘I don’t understand you at all.’

  They went straight back to the sacred grove where she dropped the net and opened it. Then she surprised him by carrying the straw into the hollow and piling it where the old straw had been.

  ‘She… she’s making me a new bed. She only burned the other because it was old and dirty,’ he realized as he knelt in the entrance of the shelter, staring at her as she draped a clean cloth on top of the new pile.