Page 32 of Shadow of the Fox

It took only a second to realize what he was saying. “O-Oh,” I stammered. “Of course.” Gingerly, I took the salve from him, ignoring the way his muscles tensed as my fingers brushed his. “Do you have bandages as well?”

He handed me a roll of thin white cloth, then turned and unceremoniously pulled his arms through his loose shirt and jacket and shrugged out of them so that they fell around his waist. Thankfully, he was facing away from me, so he didn’t see my face heat like a teapot left on the brazier too long. The monks at the temple would often train or meditate bare-chested, so I was used to seeing male upper bodies, but they’d all been so familiar I’d never given any of them a second thought. Kage Tatsumi was a different story. The late afternoon sun slid over the warrior’s broad shoulders and back, revealing taut skin and lean, hard muscle.

And scars. Dozens of them, crisscrossing his shoulders and raked across his back. Some were almost faded away, some were deeper and much more vivid. I reached out and barely stopped myself from tracing a trio of scars slashed vertically down his right shoulder blade. A moment later, I shivered when I realized what they were.

Those are...claw marks.

I shook myself and pulled back my arm. The gash from the kamaitachi was a thin, straight slice from the top of his shoulder blade to the bottom of his ribs. Blood had already seeped from the cut and down his skin, staining the edges of his shirt.

After dunking a square of cloth in the tiny stream, I hesitated with a quiet breath, then began dabbing the blood from around the wound. Tatsumi slumped forward with his hands on his knees and his head bowed. He didn’t make a sound or twitch a muscle, even when I moved from the blood to the gash itself, wiping it clean before smearing the green salve into the wound as gently as I could. His muscles were tight, like steel bands under my fingertips, as if he expected me to jab something into the cut at any moment. Or, perhaps he was just bracing himself for the pain. I remembered what he’d said to me at the ryokan, his confusion when I’d protested his harsh treatment of my own wound. When he’d asked if I had never been punished for showing weakness.

When the wound was treated, I wrapped bandages around his chest and shoulder, wincing as I tied them off. “All right,” I said, drawing back. “I think that will do.”

“Arigatou,”he murmured after a moment’s hesitation, as if still waiting for the worst to come. I watched him pull up his shirt and haori and shrug into them without so much as a grimace, and wondered again at the scars across his back and shoulders. The witch had called him the Kage demonslayer. Why did he hunt and kill such dangerous creatures?

“Tatsumi,” I ventured, knowing the dangers of prodding this edgy, dangerous human but unable to help myself. “Have you...fought a lot of demons?”

“Yes.”

“Is it for vengeance?” I thought of the oni, casually massacring a temple of monks, leaving death and destruction in its wake, and my blood boiled. “Do you hunt them for revenge? Did a demon kill your family?”

“No.”

“Then, why...?”

“Yumeko.” His voice wasn’t harsh or angry or threatening, but the bleakness in it caused a shiver to creep up my spine. He turned so that he faced me on his knees, purple eyes intense.

After placing his sword on his left side, he fisted both hands on his thighs and bowed his head, as I knelt there in silent amazement.

“Forgive me.” His voice was solemn, completely serious, as if he were addressing a daimyo, not a lowly peasant girl. “You saved my life, but I cannot answer your questions. I have been sworn to secrecy by my clan, and they would punish us both if I disobeyed their orders. Please choose another way that I might repay my debt.”

“Tatsumi-san...” Guilt flickered; I certainly hadn’t been expecting that. “I...you don’t owe me anything,” I said, though he remained motionless with his gaze on the ground. “I was trying to save us both, after all.”

“The witch would have killed me.” Tatsumi’s voice was flat; he still hadn’t moved or raised his head. “The code of the Shadow Clan demands compensation. A life for a life. I’m in your debt until I can repay you.”

I nodded. “All right,” I said in a quiet voice, as the seriousness of the declaration dawned on me. Master Isao had taught me about the ways of the samurai, how their code was everything to them, their entire way of life. To casually dismiss or ignore a debt was a huge insult to their honor, an unforgivable crime that could end either in the death of the offender, or with the disgraced warrior taking his own life. “Then I’ll hold you to that promise, Tatsumi,” I said, “until you can save me in return.”

He lowered his head in a silent bow, and we continued through the gully without speaking.

* * *

Later that evening, after we’d finally gotten out of the ravine, it began to rain. I grimaced, setting my jaw as sheets of water soaked us through the branches, drenching my hair and seeping past my clothes. Tatsumi walked on, seemingly uncaring of the cold and wet. I found myself wishing for my conical hat and mino, a rain cloak made of tightly woven straw, which I’d had to leave behind at the temple.

The rain continued, sometimes slowing to a cold drizzle but never letting up completely. As the light began to fade, we took shelter beneath an old, arched stone bridge. A pair of oak trees grew close to the bridge, and several gnarled roots snaked along the ground beneath the arch. Perched on a root, I watched as Tatsumi dug a hole, filled it with branches and somehow lit a small fire. It crackled cheerfully and drove away some of the chill, and I groaned as the warmth hit my skin and began thawing my clammy fingers.

“Here,” Tatsumi said quietly, and dropped a single rice ball into my hands. Murmuring my thanks, I watched him walk to the other side of the campfire and sit down to stare into the flames.

There was a shimmer in the darkness, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Looking up, I saw a tiny, pale green figure, no larger than my thumb, watching me from atop a root a few feet away. It wore a round mushroom cap on its head, and its eyes were like black pits under the brim.

Tatsumi saw what I was looking at, and his hand went to his sword. “Tatsumi, no,” I warned, holding out a hand. “It’s a kodama, a tree kami. It won’t hurt us.” He relaxed, dropping his hand from the hilt, and I offered the kodama a smile.

“Hello,” I greeted softly, as the tiny kami tilted its head, watching me. “Please excuse us, we’re just passing through. We’re not disturbing your tree, I hope?”

The kodama didn’t blink. It watched me a moment more, then padded forward and hopped onto a stone, staring at me with pupilless black eyes. A faint sound rose into the air, like the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. I nodded.

“I understand. We will stay to the path, and we’ll be careful not to tread on any new plants or trees. You have my promise.”

“You can speak to the kami.” Tatsumi’s tone didn’t question, though it sounded faintly surprised. “How?”

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