by A. L. Knorr
"Truly, you did not do your daughter's beauty justice," Kito said, in a voice that was surprisingly soft.
My eyes flashed up to Kito and back down to the floor. My heart plummeted. His eyes had been on Aimi with these words.
"Had I been given daughters and not sons, I would be thankful for girls such as these," Kito said. His shadow fell over me as he stood in front of me. “Don’t be afraid to look me in the eye.”
I looked up and my eyes made contact with his. Gray, with a ring of brown around the pupil. My neck ached at the angle it needed to take to look up at him.
I fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. I clutched at my forearms under the sleeves of my kimono, trying to warm my ice-cold hands.
"You are very small," Kito said.
I said nothing. A woman who was too small was not as desirable in the rural areas like ours. Our family was descended of the samurai class, which was my saving grace. I would never be required to take on the back-breaking labor of a farmer’s wife, but the job of childbearing fell to every woman, and the bigger, stronger women could bear more babies and would be more likely to have big boys.
"Toshi tells me you esteem one another, is this true?" he asked, his eyes darting around my face in search of the truth.
My lips parted to answer but my father got there first. "Akiko is the youngest, it is Aimi we agreed to this morning." His voice was gentle, wanting to correct the mistake without embarrassing Kito.
"I know," replied Kito, his eyes never leaving mine. "What do you say, girl?"
My heart pounding so loud in my ears it nearly drowned out my own voice, I found my courage. My father had offered Aimi, not me. This might be my only chance to fix it.
"I do not just esteem your son," I said, my voice trembling. "I love and respect him." My voice grew stronger at the look of pleasure on Kito's face. "I would follow him anywhere, give him many children, and use any resource at my disposal to further his position."
"Akiko," my mother said quietly, admonishing me.
"No, I like a girl who can speak her mind when asked." Kito stepped back. "I am a descendant of an onna-bugeisha. I know the value that it is possible for a woman to bring, and the men of our age ignore this at their peril. I want a wife with a spirit like Tomoe Gozen for my son."
"If I might," Aimi spoke, and Kito's eyes tracked to her. "I believe I am a better match for your son. I am older, stronger, wiser in the ways of our village politics, and able to counsel Toshi into a place of great respect."
"This is most unusual," my father said, bewildered. The situation had gone in a direction that none of us had expected. Daughters were never asked for their opinions.
Kito turned toward Aimi. "Are you saying Toshi would be undeserving of this respect without you at his side?"
Aimi hesitated. "No, of course not. I meant no offense. Only that I can offer Toshi something more."
My eyes were on the floor, but I didn't need to look at her to know what she was trying to convey. I could tell from the tone of her voice. She'd apologized, but her voice was loaded with secrets. Aimi was Kitsune, a creature of power, capable even of nudging fate if she felt inclined. She was a being that humans with a taste for risk tried to trap and enlist to their cause.
But I was a creature of the Æther, too, capable of... and there my thoughts stalled. Capable of what? That was the problem, I didn't know yet. Anger filled my mouth with bitterness, but my fear was stronger. Aimi was attempting to sway Kito's preference with words. How far would she go? Would she use her power to alter this outcome into her favor? I turned my head to look at Aimi, but she kept her gaze on Kito.
Kito made a long thoughtful grunt in the back of his throat. "But you do not love him."
Aimi opened her mouth to respond when Kito raised a hand. "More importantly, he does not love you." He turned away from both of us. "Excuse me for this unexpected turn of events, Okaasan. I exchanged words with my son this afternoon." Kito dropped his chin on his chest, thoughtfully. "I speak of love but I am no sentimental fool. I was once in a similar position. I know the value of true affection. I would have a wife for my son who sees him the way my wife sees me. If you are not opposed—"
My father was appeased by this show of deference. He nodded. "I am not against the match."
The two men grasped forearms and it was finished.
My mother ushered us from the room as the men discussed a few details. My legs trembled and I thought for a moment I would collapse. It had not yet sunk in. Was I really to be Toshi's bride?
When we were in the bedroom Aimi and I shared, my mother glared at both of us. "Not another word until he leaves," she said under her breath. She slid our door shut and left Aimi and I standing there alone.
I felt out of breath. A confusion of emotions threaded their way through me. Elation at the outcome, anger with Aimi, but also a cold rationalization. I might have done the same thing had I been in her shoes. After all, our father had chosen her for Toshi, not me. In a way, I had stolen him from her.
Aimi knelt down and crawled onto her sleeping platform. Without bothering to take off her kimono, she lay down on her side facing the wall.
With some difficulty, I changed into my sleeping shift, put away my kimono, and went to my own bed. I lay down with my back to her.
Chapter 8
The Ryozen Museum was an L-shaped, two-story building nestled among green shrubs and graced with elegantly curved, pagoda-inspired roofs. It did not look like a place with state-of-the-art security, which made me feel a little better, but the weight of what I was about to do still pressed heavily on me. Inside this building lay the key to my freedom. All I had to do to have my tamashī back was steal an antique short sword.
I stood on the street looking up at the museum entrance. In my purse was a color printout of the blue wakizashi in its sheath. It wasn't great quality but it was the best I could get from a frozen video screenshot.
My heart pounded in my ears, blocking out the sound of footsteps, conversation, honking, and traffic.
Daichi had never asked me to steal for him before. And in my life before Daichi captured my tamashī, I had never stolen. My parents had raised me to keep my hands off things that weren't mine. Now I was going to steal from the state, from my country, from this museum, and from the Japanese people—my people.
I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and walked up the steps to the entrance. I passed through the doors and approached the ticket booth. The noise of the street was shut out and the sound of my footsteps was muffled by a strip of carpet leading to a set of turnstiles.
"Ticket for one, please," I said to the woman working at the booth. I paid four hundred yen for my ticket and inserted it into the turnstile. I passed through the metal bar and went inside. The museum was impeccably clean and quiet. Banners hung on the walls advertising displays.
I took a pamphlet from a stand behind the turnstile and opened it out to see a map. Displays were unhelpfully labeled 'Men Who Changed Japan,' and 'Shoguns at Tokugawa's End.' I frowned. Nothing on the map directed me to where I would find swords. A silent wander down a carpeted hall lined with glass display boxes had me chewing my lip nervously. Anything of value was enclosed behind glass, and the artifacts had not been organized by category but by year. Daichi had not given me any clue as to how old the wakizashi was, so it seemed as though I would have to comb every display to find it.
My eyes tracked the curved shapes of katanas – the long samurai swords, and wakizashi, but they were few and far between. I kept wandering, keeping my pace slow and my face serene. If there was video in this place, it wouldn't help to have me recorded as rushing from sword to sword.
I took my time and combed every display with the thorough eye of a sleuth. Only when I was satisfied that the blue sheathed wakizashi was not on the ground floor level did I head for the second floor.
Hushed voices reached my ears from the upper level and I took the stairs at the end of the display. A few couples stood near
the glass cases, discussing the artifacts in front of them. A woman in a museum uniform stood near the top of the stairs. I nodded to her as I passed, holding my ticket where she could see it. She gave me a polite smile.
I passed a rusting metal shell from the Boshin War and stopped to read the label, playing the interested citizen. I moved on slowly, taking in the art, armor, and reading the stories, making my way toward the entrance to the next room and the only display I hadn't yet combed. I passed through the doorway. A man with a white beard in a janitor’s uniform bumped my shoulder as he walked by me.
"Excuse me," I said.
He turned and said, "Pardon me."
In my periphery, I thought he stopped there in the doorway. I kept walking, my back to him. As I turned to face another display, I caught him in the corner of my eye. He was staring. My heart rate went up a notch. I did my best to ignore his probing eyes.
My anxiety grew as I moved along. The short sword didn’t seem to be on the upper level either. I examined the map to be certain that I hadn't missed any of the displays. I walked back and forth so many times I lost count.
Our wakizashi was not here.
My fingers felt ice cold and I shoved my hands into my pockets to warm them. Daichi and I hadn't discussed what we would do if the sword wasn’t here. I chewed my lip, my mind racing. I would have to ask the museum staff. What else could I do? It would damn me later, but by the time they put my seemingly innocent request together with the missing sword, I would be long gone.
I made my way back to the woman in the museum uniform, passing by the janitor, who still seemed to be keeping an eye on me.
"Excuse me?" I smiled as I approached her.
"Yes?" She stood and stepped closer to me, pleasant, ready to help.
"I came to see a particular wakizashi..." I retrieved the printout of the weapon from my purse. "It is a really beautiful artifact and I was so hoping to see it, but I haven't been able to find it. It was in your promotional video. Can you direct me to where it is displayed?"
She pulled a pair of glasses out of the inner pocket of her jacket and put them on. She took the page and looked at it. Her smile disappeared and a line appeared between her eyes. "This sword was retrieved by its owner. I'm sorry but it's no longer part of the display." She said the words bluntly and handed the page back to me. She took a step back, removed her glasses and tucked them into her pocket. Her eyes shuttered, but not before I saw a flash of fear. She clasped her hands behind her back.
"Before the scheduled date?" I pressed. My stomach dipped with anxiety. "They were supposed to be on display for another week. I came especially to see this wakizashi."
She gave a sharp shake of her head. "I'm sorry. It can sometimes happen. We are grateful to our sponsors for allowing us to display their treasures." She sounded like an automaton. "If, for some reason, they need to retrieve their items early, that is their right. Now, if you'll excuse me."
She turned on her heel and walked briskly away, pulling the hem of her jacket down sharply.
"Wait, please," I said, following her. "Who is the owner?"
She didn't look back, and instead increased her speed and exited the display area.
Worry multiplied in my gut like a split-open sack of baby spiders, its creatures running in all directions. Her reaction was not at all normal. What had happened to the sword? Why would its owner remove it? Did they somehow know I was coming? I shook my head at this impossibility. Daichi was relying on my success; he wouldn't tell anyone of our plans, and I couldn't have spilled our plot even if I had wanted to.
Movement caught my eye. The janitor appeared in the doorway behind me. His expression was so strange, like he was trying hard to recognize me, like he thought I might be someone who meant something to him once. We stared at each other. I studied his face, but no, I didn't know this man. I was sure of it.
He took a few steps closer, his face going through a remarkable transformation. Curiosity to suspicion, suspicion to shock, shock to joy. He stopped a mere foot away, his upper body swaying toward me slightly. His dark eyes never left my face.
"Can I help you?" I asked. The look on his face frightened me, almost like he'd found a long-lost friend or family member.
"Akuna Hanta," he whispered. His eyebrows were up, his eyes fully alight. It was not a question. There was a surety in his face. He knew what I was.
I froze in shock, then gave a sharp intake of breath and scanned the room. The other museum patrons were locked in their own conversations and paid us no mind.
"How do you know what I am?" I whispered.
"Forgive me, I overheard your conversation with Mrs. Okina. You are looking for the wakizashi? The one with the beautiful blue sheath," he said, stepping even closer.
"Yes." My heart was drumming like the hoofbeats of a runaway horse. Alarm bells were going off in my head so loud I could hardly think. How did this man know me? My instinct told me to run, but my command told to me grab this lead with both hands. "Why, do you know where it is?"
He looked around, eyes darting about the room as though we were about to make an exchange of illegal contraband. He shoved a hand into his pocket and retrieved a crumpled receipt. He plucked a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled something on the back of the scrap. It was then that I noticed that he was missing the end of his right pinkie finger.
"Come here. Tonight. Come alone. It is my place, and there it will be safe to talk." He shoved the crumpled paper into my hand, and dropped the pen into his pocket. He dipped a small bow. "Please. I need to help you."
"Who are you?" I asked, breathlessly. Just then another museum staff member appeared at the top of the stairs. He frowned at us. It probably looked like one of his cleaning staff was harassing a patron.
The janitor tapped his index finger on the paper. "My name is Inaba. Come tonight. For dinner." He turned away, giving a surreptitious glance at the staff member and disappearing behind a door marked staff only.
I opened the crumpled page. A simple address. Nothing else. I blew out a breath. I need to help you. Strange choice of words. Why need? And why was it not safe to talk here?
Chapter 9
As Toshi and my wedding drew closer, Mother spent a lot more time with me. She taught me how to make a tea ceremony for my husband, how to manage a household, when to shop for the best cuts of meat, how to speak to the tailor to tell him how I wanted my family’s clothing to fit, how to choose the best fabrics for each kind of outfit, and what a husband would expect on our wedding night. Every conversation held me in thrall, and my mother's vague description of the way babies were made left me blushing and anxiety-ridden. If the way horses and dogs did it was any indication, I wasn’t so sure I was up for the duty, even with Toshi. My mother reassured me, with a pink face, that sometimes it could be simply wonderful.
One day as we walked home from the tailor after a fitting for my wedding kimono, we passed Toshi and Kito in the street going the opposite direction. Toshi had a basket fastened to his back and I could hear the clink of metal as he shifted his load. We acknowledged each other with deferential nods and continued on our way. Before Toshi passed out of my vision, I saw a big grin break out on his face and I couldn't help but smile myself.
"Stop grinning like a fool," my mother said quietly. "There are already enough young women jealous of you; you don't need to gloat." Her words were stern but her voice was gentle.
I pressed my lips together. I glanced around the street and noticed the eyes of several people on me, mostly the calculating stares of women close to my age. I hadn't been gloating, but I saw her point. "Sorry, Mama."
"My dear, Akiko," she said as we passed through the busiest part of town and the crowd began to thin. "Are you certain that marriage is what you want?"
I came to an abrupt halt, shock widening my eyes. I thought that I had heard her wrong. For young women of our time, marrying well was the ultimate achievement; there was nothing else. For my own mother to ask me if it was what I wanted
was impossible, unthinkable, beyond reason.
"Mama?" was all I could manage. I was walking slightly behind her, as was our custom, and I craned my neck to see her face.
Only the side of her face was visible and she showed no signs of having made a joke. She remained silent until we arrived home.
"You are Akuna Hanta," my mother began as we boiled water for tea. "For whatever reason, the Æther has chosen to gift you with this power. Are you certain that your role in this world will be fulfilled if you marry Toshi? Or any man?"
"But I love him," I said. "I do not understand what I am to do if it is not to be a loving wife."
The look on my mother's face told me that she didn't know either, and she was at a loss for how to council me. All any mother would want for her daughter was a man like Toshi, but I was no normal daughter. She sat down across from me on the floor.
"Is this not what you want for me?" I asked, examining her face for some revelation.
"I did," she admitted. "Up until the day you first took the form of a bird, it was all I wanted for you."
I poured the hot water into our cast iron kettle and set it on the table. Pulling down two cups, I joined my mother at the table and we waited for the tea to steep.
"When your father found Aimi, she was cold, naked and hungry. She didn't know how to speak, and she had nothing and no one."
"Did Father know what she was?"
"Not at first," she said, stroking a few wisps of loose hair back from her face. "Kitsune are something that we are told about as children. They may or may not be a fairy tale, and the legends of them bringing either great fortune or great destruction to the families or men who take them in are just that, legends."
"But legends come from somewhere," I said. These were words I had heard my father say many times in the past.
Mother nodded. "Most people dismiss Kitsune as myth, your father and I included. But as we nursed Aimi back to health, and saw her intelligence and how quickly she learned to speak, we began to have our suspicions. Your father's business had been struggling and soon after taking her in, everything seemed to go right and we became much more prosperous. When I was approached by a large black fox in the garden one summer day, I knew without a doubt that I was looking at our adopted daughter. She never had to tell us in so many words, what she was. She knew when we were ready to see her in her true form, and it wasn't even a shock. Before Aimi came into our lives, marrying a daughter to someone like Kito's son would have been impossible, a dream. But after..." She trailed off.
