Page 26 of Shadow of the Fox

As the wind died down, I looked at the stranger, watching as he straightened and slipped the weapon over his shoulders again. Seigetsu-sama, the witch had called him, a suffix reserved for those of the highest station. Did that mean he was a lord, perhaps the daimyo of one of the Great Clans? I wouldn’t have thought that I would meet someone so important in the back alleys of Chochin Machi, but I didn’t know much about the outside world. Perhaps he was taking an evening stroll around town...without the company of his samurai and bodyguards. It seemed unlikely, but, whatever his reasons, I did know that his timing was impeccable.

“Ano...”I stammered as the stranger glanced up, those lazy golden eyes pinning me in place. For a moment, I felt almost naked beneath them, all my secrets laid bare. Shaking myself, I offered a smile. “Thank you.”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “You’re welcome,” he stated simply. “And consider yourself lucky. I don’t make a habit of saving oblivious half foxes from angry kamaitachi, but tonight I thought I would make an exception.” He regarded me with cool amusement. “You know why Kazekira was after you, yes?”

How did he know about the scroll? Come to think of it, how did Kazekira? I swallowed hard, feeling the narrow case hidden in my furoshiki. “I really have no idea.”

One silver brow arched. “You’re going to have to lie better than that if you want to survive, half-breed,” he told me. “There are many out there searching desperately for the scroll, who will do anything to acquire it.” I tensed, and he chuckled, shaking his head. “You can relax. I have no interest in the Dragon’s wish, or you. But I will offer this bit of advice—don’t tell the demonslayer about Kazekira.”

My ears pricked. He knew about Tatsumi, as well? Whowashe? “Why?”

His eyes, golden and mesmerizing, bore into mine. “Because, little fox, powerful kami-touched witches don’t randomly attack ordinary peasant girls without reason, especially in a town or city. The demonslayer knows this. If you tell him you were assaulted by a wind witch with kamaitachi familiars, he’s going to want to know why she was after you. And what will you tell him then?”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Good point.”

Shaking his head, the stranger started to walk away but paused again, watching me from the corner of his eye. “You will likely see Kazekira again,” he warned. “If you do, and the demonslayer somehow gets himself into trouble, remember this.” He raised a hand, the last three fingers held up, long and elegant. “Kamaitachi always come in threes. Their loyalty to each other is unbreakable, and if one is threatened, the others will do whatever it takes to save their brother or sister. Remember that, and ask yourself why Kazekira has only two familiars. Sayonara.”

Before I could reply, he strode down the alleyway and vanished into the darkness.

* * *

Walking was painful. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself along the wall of the alley, feeling the wound throb and pulse with every motion. Gingerly, I pulled up the hem of my robe, expecting to see a mess of blood smeared across my skin and dripping to the ground. I found the gash easily enough, a thin straight cut right above my knee. But, though it looked fairly deep, it wasn’t bleeding.

As I limped toward the main street, there was a blur of shadow, and the bright edge of a sword suddenly blocked my path. Freezing, I looked up into Tatsumi’s cold, unamused face.

I shrank from him as he pressed forward, his terrible blade casting his face in a faint glow as it hovered between us. Hitting the wall, I winced as the movement sent a flare of pain through my leg, making me gasp.“Ite,”I whimpered.Ouch.

Instantly, the blade at my throat lowered a few inches, and Tatsumi frowned at me. “You’re injured,” he stated, his cold fury thawing a bit. “What happened?”

“I...um... I was attacked,” I stammered. Remembering what Seigetsu had said, I thought quickly. “I was going to get us a room at the inn, but then there was this strange wind and...something hit me. I ran, and it chased me here.”

“Where is it now?”

“It was invisible,” I went on, making his eyes narrow. “Or it was too fast. I didn’t see anything when I was cut. But I did look up once and there was this...this weasel thing with knives growing from its legs, perched on the corner of a roof.”

“Kamaitachi? Here?” Tatsumi took a step back and scanned the alley, his gaze sweeping the rooftops. His sword flared, almost in excitement, but the shadows surrounding us were empty.

“Kama...itachi?” I repeated, as if this was the first time I’d heard it. “What are they?”

“Sickle weasels,” Tatsumi answered, not taking his eyes from our surroundings. “A type of yokai that travel on the wind. The stories say that there are always three of them, and that they have a particular way of defending their territory—one knocks you down, the second cuts you, and the third applies medicine to the wound so you don’t bleed to death. This all happens near-simultaneously, so the intruder doesn’t know he’s been injured until later when the wound starts to bleed.” He tore his gaze from the rooftops and glanced at me, appraising. “In reality, kamaitachi produce a type of secretion and coat their claws with it, so when they strike you, the gash doesn’t bleed right away. But they’re usually found farther north—I’ve never heard of one attacking someone in a city. Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“A weasel with giant knives growing out of its legs? I am very certain.” I was glad that he seemed to believe me. I didn’t dare tell him about Kazekira. Better that this was a strange yet random yokai attack, and I the clueless, hapless visitor who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “They weren’t very nice weasels,” I grumbled, wincing as my leg throbbed again. “Are kamaitachi always this cranky, or was I just unlucky tonight?”

Tatsumi sighed, sheathing his sword. “Can you walk?” he inquired, not looking at the leg where the kamaitachi had slashed me. I nodded and pushed myself off the wall again. Pain flared, and my leg nearly buckled, but I clenched my jaw and limped after Tatsumi.

On alert for yokai and sudden winds, I followed him back to the ryokan. Tatsumi walked slowly, setting a pace that I could easily keep up with, though his hand did not stray far from his weapon. I scanned the rooftops, shadows and crowds of Chochin Machi for a figure with long hair floating on the wind, but if Kazekira and her sickle weasels were close, they were staying out of sight.

Back at the ryokan, we left our regular shoes at the entrance as was custom and found our room. Curious to see what the inside of a ryokan looked like, I stepped eagerly through the frame, but found a normal room on the other side of the door. It was elegant in its simplicity, with warm tan walls, thick tatami mats and a small alcove with a single ayame-iris in a vase. There were no beds, as it was too early for the futons to be pulled out of the closet, so a low table sat on the floor in the center of the room. A tray with a teapot and cups had been placed on the table, steam curling gently from the spout.

Tatsumi shut the door, removed the straw sandals the inn had provided for interior use and placed them by the door. I followed his example, and he nodded to one of the pillows at the table. “Sit down,” he ordered, without any explanation of why or what he was going to do. I did as he instructed, gingerly lowering myself onto the blue pillow, clenching my jaw as my leg throbbed with the movement.

Tatsumi knelt at the end of the table, reached under his obi and drew out a packet of colored paper that could fit in the palm of my hand. He placed it on the table and opened it carefully, revealing small amount of what looked like green dust. As I watched, fascinated, he poured hot liquid from the teapot into a cup, then carefully trickled a few drops onto the powder.

“What...is that?” I asked.

Ignoring me, Tatsumi mixed the green dust with the water until it became a paste. Picking up the entire square, he held it gently in his palm and looked up. Glittering violet eyes met mine, and my stomach turned over.

“Where did the kamaitachi cut you?”

---