by T. Isilwath
He pushed his dour thoughts away and concentrated on the task at hand. It didn’t matter what the villagers thought of him, or if any of them realized the value of the work he performed. What mattered was his vixen and her health, and he had to gather the ingredients for the medicine. Joanna’s life depended upon it, and he poured all of his efforts into getting to his destination.
The trip took longer than he thought it would, but he still managed complete his task within the same day. It was late when he arrived, well after nightfall, and the fire in Joanna’s firepit had burned down to cooling ashes. The hollow was dark and silent, telling him that his vixen had retired for the night.
Padding on silent feet, he slipped into the shelter as the sweet balm of Joanna’s scent soothed his fears and welcomed him home. He was exhausted, and his demon-blood was closer to the surface because of his weariness, but he tried to keep it under control. The fox rejoiced at being back where it belonged and urged him to reconnect with her by curling around her like fox mates did.
Rejecting the compulsion to slip into bed with her, he resolutely moved to his own blankets only to find that she had finally finished the deerskin shirt she had been making for him. She had placed it on top of his bed, spread out neatly for his inspection and approval. The garment slipped over the head the way hers did, and it had the same rounded collar. He picked it up with trembling fingers and held the softer-than-soft leather to his cheek.
It was the first garment anyone had ever made for him. While his mother had been adept at embroidery and fine-work, her skills as a seamstress had been sorely lacking and all of his clothes had been second-hand. The shirt might be rough hewn and utilitarian, but it was still made with love and care, and he noted that she had even added a couple of decorative notions to the neckline and sleeves by sewing thin, red colored ribbon at the collar and wrists.
The sight and smell of the simple shirt brought him to tears, and he was too tired to hold them back. All of his life he had been shunned by humans and demons alike, able to rely on only his mother and left alone once she had died.
Now in the span of a few short months, he had received more help and kindness from humans than he’d ever had in all his seventy-four years. He was overwhelmed and he clutched the shirt to his chest, hugging it tightly.
Just a short distance away, Joanna mumbled something in her sleep, and he carefully set the shirt down before going to her side. She was curled up in her sleeping bag, her long hair weaved into a loose braid that still sent tendrils of hair across her pillow in orphaned wisps, and he reached out to brush one stray lock away from her face. As he did so, he leaned over her and took in a lungful of her scent. In an instant he was lost.
‘Mine,’ the fox claimed.
Still dizzy from the wonderful smell in his nose, he silently agreed. ‘Yes.
Ours. Ours to treasure. Ours to keep and love.’
‘Protect and guard,’ the fox insisted.
‘And save,’ he added, feeling the medicine bundle inside his kosode.
His demon-blood drew closer to the surface, and he, exhausted and intoxicated by her scent, allowed the fox a looser rein. He was filled with the need to touch her, and his hand rested lightly on her shoulder, the warmth of her skin radiating into his palm. He could feel the pulse of her heart under his fingers, and his own heart sought to match its rhythm. As he sat beside her, basking in the euphoria of her heat and smell, his vixen sensed his presence and slowly woke.
“Akihiro?” she asked softly in the darkness.
“Yes,” he answered, lightheaded and woozy.
She turned her head to look his way even though he knew she could barely see him, and her eyes searched for him in the dark. “Is it morning?”
“No. It’s still dark and dawn is still a long way away,” he said, lulled by the music in her voice.
He could see her smile at him and smiled dreamily in return. His heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he once more touched the precious bundle of medicine tucked against his breastbone.
“Did you get the medicine?” she said quietly with loving fondness.
“Yes,” he confirmed, leaning close to her.
Just as she always did, she knew what he wanted and was willing to give what she could. His fox blood yipped with joy as she pulled back the corner of the sleeping bag in silent invitation. Never one to deny her anything, especially now that his instincts were urging him to touch her, he accepted the unspoken offer and crawled into her bedding, dragging his favorite blanket from his bed.
Instead of allowing her to hold him, however, this time he wormed his way behind her, tucking her into the curve of his body and placing one arm around her waist. If the intimacy of their position bothered her, she showed no sign and he buried his nose into the wealth of her hair.
“You can tell me about it in the morning,” she murmured faintly.
He nodded against the back of her neck and sighed, nipping her skin lightly and laving the bite with a small lick. He heard her chuckle softly as she drew the sleeping bag up to cover her shoulder, and he obeyed the implied request, bringing the covers up to drape over the both of them and making sure that she was protected from the night’s chill. He pulled his blanket over them as well, making up for the fact that the sleeping bag was too small for the both of them when zipped, and therefore it needed to be left open.
They were pressed together, her back to his front and he was surrounded by the wonder that was Her. His soul settled and calmed as he felt her drift off to sleep in his embrace. If he had been more awake and aware, he might have been amazed by how easily she accepted his touch and cuddled against him, but his conscious mind was steadily shutting down. Pulling her close, he snuggled into her warmth and joined her in the land of dreams.
Chapter Sixteen
The first sign of the impending autumn was a change in the earth’s energy patterns. Even if her insulin pump hadn’t read September 17th, Joanna would have known that the summer was ending because the forest was filled with the frenetic energy of the inhabitants getting ready for the coming lean season.
Back in her time it had been Michael’s birthday on the 14th, and the eleventh anniversary of 9/11 had come and gone. She had made special offerings and said special prayers on those days in remembrance. Had she been home, there would have been a solemn service on the 11th and a small party on the 14th, then she would have bid Michael goodbye as he left for his annual retreat.
Michael was an autumn baby, and it often rained on his birthday, but every now and then the Cloud People would bring a hurricane his way. Elisi always said it meant that Spirit was giving the earth a good cleansing just before the winter, and that Michael should take heed and see what needed to be washed away in his life. He usually disappeared for a few days after his birthday for an annual cleansing and meditative solitude. She was never invited on those trips, but she understood his need to be alone.
She wondered if he had gone on it this year, or if he had stayed in hopes that there would be word of her. The thought of him waiting to hear news brought tears to her eyes, but she brushed them away. There was nothing she could do for him from where she was, and there was no sense in agonizing over things she couldn’t change.
All around her, the forest and animals were caught up in the rush to gather food and find dens before the cold arrived. Everywhere she walked, she could feel the building urgency and the push to have everything ready before the lean season. It was a sensation she recognized and welcomed because it meant that winter would be there soon.
There was a good reason that her Cherokee name was Sings in Winter. She was a winter baby, born in the first week of February, and she loved the colder months. In the Cherokee tradition, birthdays were a season, not just a single day, and hers was celebrated throughout the winter. Elisi would speak of her love for her granddaughter and the achievements of Joanna’s grandfather. Other Elders close to them would celebrate her adoption into the Long Hair, and share their memories with
her, while Michael had always made it a point to remember the exact day and give her a gift. Once he’d even gone so far as to throw a surprise party for her, although the Cloud People decided to crash the celebration by making it snow.
In fact, after she had moved to North Carolina, it almost always snowed on her birthday, and the occurrence was so predictable that it had become somewhat of a running joke. Many members of the small traditional community knew to ignore the weatherman if he said that February 5th would be clear, because something would always happen overnight, and the morning would dawn cloudy and heavy with moisture. Even if all that fell was a very light dusting, her birthday mornings were usually white, and it had snowed an un-precedented ten inches on her 18th birthday.
She’d spent the first thirteen years of her life with only minimal exposure to snow. As a Southern California girl, snow could only be found in the upper parts of the state or the mountains, and not near Monterey where her family lived. As such snow was a novelty seen only on rare occasions. It wasn’t until after she had moved to North Carolina that she had truly experienced snow, and she vividly remembered her first snow storm.
It had been mid-December, and it had only snowed four inches, but she could still recall being mesmerized by the snowfall. She’d gone out in it, almost hypnotized as she tracked single flakes on their journey down to the ground, and she’d stayed out until Elisi called her back inside after an hour. But even then she’d stayed by the window, watching the storm from Elisi’s living room.
Michael had come over after dark, knowing that it was going to be her first snowfall, and he’d watched with her until the snowfall petered down to flurries.
Afterwards the sky had cleared, and the almost full moon had illuminated a world covered in white. Michael had taken her outside, and she’d been stunned by the hushed quiet and the crisp, biting feel of the air. She remembered being almost afraid to disrupt the pure snow by marring it with her footprints.
The night had been so clear, and everything had been so perfect, that she’d almost forgotten her own personal tragedy until she’d commented that she would have to tell James and Sarah about the snow, but then she’d suddenly remembered that they were dead. Michael hadn’t said anything as she cried, standing silently in the snow as the tears ran down her face. He had just stayed with her, and stood quietly by her side, until the tears had started to burn from the cold wind. But despite the pain of remembering, she still thought that snow was the most beautiful part of winter, and from that day on she’d loved snow. Now she always celebrated the coming of winter, and the return of the winter white.
Japan did get snow, especially in the northern regions, but Tokyo usually only had one or two small snowfalls every year because of its location and proximity to the ocean. Knowing what she knew about the ozone layer and global warming, she wondered if the area she was living in now would get much snow. She had asked Akihiro how much snow fell every year, and he had seemed to indicate that the snowfall was not that significant compared to the mountains, but being that they didn’t measure snowfall in the same units, she couldn’t really tell. He did say that snow could cover the ankles on occasion, so that meant that this part of Japan could get a decent amount in a single storm.
Right now snow was not the worry on everyone’s minds, however. It was the typhoon season, and if any big storms were going to come ruin the rice harvest, now was the time. Akihiro was on double alert to scent and watch for any impending thunderheads on the horizon that spelled trouble, and the village was depending upon him to warn them ahead of time. Having lived in North Carolina for over ten years, she knew all about hurricanes and the devastation they could wreak upon the land. While western North Carolina rarely took the brunt of a full hurricane, it did get the nasty thunderstorms and heavy rains they left behind. Flooding was a huge problem in the lowlands and roads often had to be closed because of high water.
Now living in Feudal Japan (because it was pretty obvious that she was sometime in the tumultuous Sengoku period), it struck her how much her people depended upon technology to predict the weather. The people living in this era had no radar or satellites to send them pictures of potentially deadly storms.
There was no weatherman on the six o’clock news spouting off about the short and long range forecasts, or Stormchasers risking life and limb to bring the public up-close-and-personal footage of the latest tornado. All they had were their own instincts, their knowledge of the natural signs, and Akihiro’s heightened fox senses. But even Akihiro’s kitsune senses could only give them a day or two advance warning before a major typhoon hit.
So far, the season had been relatively quiet. Two storms had come in off the ocean that had brought some heavy rain, but they lacked the devastating high winds and tidal surge of a typhoon. Akihiro had warned the village of the coming rain then weathered out the storms in the grove with her. He spent nearly all of his time with her now, and only made appearances in the village when he was scheduled to be there. Soon, however, he would be bringing in the rice, and she would see little of him until the Harvest was over.
He tried to reassure her that he would hardly leave her side once the rice was in, and promised to keep her supplied with food and firewood once the cold months arrived. He fussed and fretted that her hollow under the tree wasn’t enough to keep her warm and safe, and she knew he had plans to build her a more suitable shelter, but she was trying to discourage him from going over-board. In truth, she doubted that she would live to see winter in its full fury.
It saddened her a little to think that she wouldn’t be around to see her first Japanese snowfall. Already her insulin supply was dwindling towards the end, and she knew she would be lucky if she had enough to last until October. The herbal infusion Akihiro had made did seem to be helping with her blood sugar regulation, but it appeared to be one of those things where the benefits were long term. She’d been taking the medicine brewed in green tea for about three weeks, and she was starting to notice a more significant effect on her blood sugar the longer she took the herbs. With luck, she could begin reducing the amount of insulin she used every day and thus extend her supply. The results were promising even though she didn’t know how the medicine would do once she no longer had any insulin at all.
Akihiro diligently kept her supplied with all of the ingredients for the medicine, and she knew he was eagerly awaiting the time when he could go in search of the maitake that would complete the priest’s suggested treatments.
The best time to hunt for the mushroom was in autumn, about two to three weeks after the rice harvest. Akihiro would have to go into the mountains of the northeast to look for it, and he would probably be gone for a few days. She wasn’t looking forward to being alone that close to running out of insulin, but it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully by the time Harvest came, the herbs would be taking up almost all of the slack, and she wouldn’t feel so apprehensive about being on her own for a short while.
Today they were on a foraging expedition. She knew Akihiro had gone over to the abandoned homestead to look for some late summer bitter melons and a few leftover cucumbers while she searched for wild herbs, fruit and roots.
He said that he would join her by a stream that ran near the old hut once he was done, and she made her way to the familiar rendezvous spot. Here the trees were much younger than the ones that lived in the grove, and she suspected that a fire had once come through and burned the older growth. Being younger, they tended to be a bit more excitable than their more mature brethren. The shift in the winds had them riled up, and they were filling her head with their chatter.
:Wind blows. Cold comes. Soon,: they said as a collective. :Tree-friend must be ready. Sleep time comes. Gather food. Make place to rest. Soon. Soon.:
“I know,” she answered aloud, slightly annoyed by their incessant babble as they prattled on and on.
The impending change in seasons was making her restless, plus she had a bit of PMS because her subcutaneous birth control had finally r
un out. Of course she was also out of feminine products to deal with her “monthly” so she had to find a suitable substitute, and it wasn’t as if she could ask Akihiro if he knew what the women of this age used. Prior to going on birth control, her cycles had been erratic, but she’d been on some form of synthesized hormone for ten years, so she had no idea what to expect now that her body was on its own.
The whole situation had her more touchy than normal, but she was trying not to take it out on Akihiro who was wound up enough with her insulin running out. He seemed to sense her irritability, however, and was walking a little more cautiously around her. She was grateful for his sensitivity, and willingness to make concessions for her, because her own stress levels were rising as well, and she needed a little more tolerance from him. As always, he seemed happy to do whatever she needed of him and often anticipated her wishes before she even voiced them. She knew some of it came from his ability to smell changes in her scent, but much of it came from his uncanny talent of remembering everything and putting the memory to good use when making decisions.
Because the trees were giving her a headache, she blocked them out as she checked around for mushrooms and edible berries. It was early for them, but there might be a few to be found if she looked carefully enough. Once Akihiro joined her, they planned to do some net fishing for carp since they were getting a little low on fish. Akihiro told her that soon the autumn swordfish would be putting on fat, and would be especially good to eat, so that probably translated into another trip to the beach. They’d gone once more since their first trip, and she looked forward to going again. So far it seemed that no one had discovered their secret stretch of sand, and both times they’d been left completely alone.
Growing up in California, she’d often wondered what it would be like to have her own private beach where she didn’t have to share the sand with anyone except a few sea gulls and the occasional turtle. Her and Akihiro’s trips to the rugged Boso coast proved to be as close to that dream as she would ever get, and she loved the idea of returning there one more time before she died.
