The Way of the Fox (22 page)

Akiko
stood, heart pounding. Off in the woods there were distant sounds. The girl backed away from the water, and flung herself down to hide amongst a pile of huge old stones. Rocks in the stream glimmered up at her like skulls, staring at her from countless jet black eyes.

Men were far off in the distant woods, heading in another direction. But suddenly the bushes nearby cracked and broke. A samurai in bright-laced armour burst out into the stream, the metal mask of his
helmet snarling like a demon in the dark.

Akiko jammed herself tighter down into the rocks, but the
horrifying samurai caught the flicker of motion. He saw the little girl and gave a snarl of triumph, then drew out his silver sword.

The man
seized Akiko by the hair and dragged her out into open ground. With a snarl of triumph, he threw the little girl down at his feet.

He
raised his sword to strike. Akiko screamed, covering her face with both hands.

A sudd
en ice-cold breath came from the darkness. Sparks flicked and crackled across the stones. The samurai turned – then gave a terrified shriek.

Something burst into and
then through him, blasting clean through his flesh. The warrior flung himself against the stones, writhing and jerking. He arched horribly, dying there, half in the stream, while some great, dark force whipped past him up above.

The little girl looked at the dead man. His eyes were staring at
her – dead pits of terror, screaming at her soul. Behind the metal mask, his mouth had frozen in a final screech of absolute, mind-numbing terror. Akiko backed slowly away.

Once again,
sparks crackled on the rocks nearby. The little girl turned and ran. She fled on and on and on into the darkness, trying to outrace the dead man’s gaze.

In the depth
s of the forest, something dark and deadly swept above the corpse, and then was gone.

Chapter 2

Twelve years later...

There are few things more perfect that a riverside beach
in springtime. A campsite beside a quiet, sandy shore, sheltered by cool green willow trees. Quiet waters flowing, and a warm springtime sun.

Life on the road was sweet indeed.

The Spirit Hunters had made an idyllic campsite beneath the willow trees. Dragonflies cruised above the river, morning sun flashing from their wingtips. Grasshoppers sprang merrily through the grasses, and all was right with the world. Backpacks were stacked, breakfast dishes had been washed. Now the tea kettle boiled for one last time before departure. On the broad sands beside the water, Sura had capped her long, razor sharp spear with a sheath, and was practicing her spear work. Tonbo worked with her – massive and patient - trying to temper her usual fire and polish her technique. They moved together – sword against spear, drilling with infinite care.

For the third time they repeated a sequence o
f movements. The sword cut for Sura’s waist. She rolled her spear over on top of the sword as she slid aside, and then advanced, trying to swirl Tonbo’s weapon around and around, and then out of the way. Tonbo kept up a growling commentary, gazing significantly at Sura’s trailing hand.

“Anchor it! Anchor the rear hand to the
tanden
line – to just above your belt! The body moves with the spear – all are one!”

The fox woman pulled back and tried again. She was in her ‘human’ form – though her long tail still flashed
and swirled behind her. Once again, she let her rearmost hand drift away from her torso. Once again, Tonbo gave a growl.

“You’re floating it.”

“I am not floating it!”

“You’
re floating it.” Tonbo slapped his left hip. “There! Keep it there. Now
tai sabaki
– dodge the strike. Keep your centre towards me – keep engaged! Suppress me with your centre – use your posture!” He intercepted the spear with a wooden stick he was using as a
bokken
. “Now circle around and around with the spear an extension of your centre. Swirl me aside... Lunge for the thigh. Good!”

The
entire sequence of movements was greatly improved. Training went on with the usual level of foxy chat and banter – the kitsune had apparently never adopted laconic self repression. Tonbo was well used to it, having trained with foxes since childhood. He gave a running commentary, coaching Sura and enjoying the interaction.

“That’s it! Yes
– centre, centre centre.”

The fox made a deft turn of her spear.
“Hey – I’m centred! I’m totally centred.”

“Ego centred, perhaps.”

The fox gave a great careless wave of her tail. “I’m a Taoist! What you call ego is simply a joyous reflection of the world! Can I help it if the myriad things all love me?”

“Hmmmph...”

A little hummock of grass sat on the riverbank nearby. Chiri had laid out as neat and soothing a tea ceremony as she could manage. She had fresh flowers – still growing beautifully here beside the river. The kettle boiled, and she had two excellent, hardy cups at the ready. The rat woman’s long, shimmering white hair flowed down her back. Bifuuko the air elemental and Daitanishi the rock elemental sat on their best behaviour, enjoying the grass and morning sun.

Simplicity, and sheer beauty: the purest elements of the tea ceremony.

Tea had long been known and enjoyed. Its sudden boom in popularity over the last two dozen decades had caused a great flourishing of arts and culture all across the empire. Tea gatherings drew artists, poets, socialites and gossips from all walks of life and brought them together in tea houses and tea shops – even in strange little tea gatherings beneath bridges and on river shores. Drinking tea beside a river shore was one of the great signs of the artistic avant garde, for river banks were places of transition – where elements mingled, travellers passed, and the lines between the eight worlds sometimes blurred...

Chiri
poured water and mixed the tea – her motions flowing with an effortless grace. Kuno sat and admired her, delighting in her quiet intelligence, feeling perfectly happy. The day seemed to be a time of perfect balance.

He looked down to where the two little elementals were investigating dandelions. They were nose to nose an
d admiring a snail. Kuno watched their interest, and inclined his head politely to Chiri.

“
I much admire your small companions, Chiri san.” He gratefully accepted a cup of tea. “Surely communing with the elemental spirits must take much formal study?”

The
nezumi girl smiled softly as she drank her tea.

“No, Kuno san. In general, it is entirely intuitive –
a calling of the heart. But there are great Shinto shrines where the art is refined and studied.”

“You have never wished to study at one of these shrines?”

“What would be the point? As Sura san would say – to place boundaries about the boundless, to impose rules upon the intuitive would seem to be quite foolish.” The nezumi girl looked off across the river, enjoying the sparkle of the water. “I have read, and I have wandered, Kuno san. Wandered in quiet study, feeling the way that the world breathes and sleeps and dreams. And as I grow, the elementals have come to me...”

“
Your skills and your erudition shine with a quiet light, Chiri san.” The samurai gave a most sincere bow. “It is reflected in the love of your two companions.”

Chiri was in her human form – pink eyed, pale skinned and slight. The rat blushed –
shy, embarrassed and mortified to discover that she was greatly pleased. She covered her blush by reaching forth and pouring yet more tea.

“Thank you, Kuno san.
It is my intention to be worthy of them.” Chiri breathed in the scent of tea – wonderfully refreshing and clear. “And what of you, Kuno san? Forgive my foolish ignorance, but I thought samurai were devoted mostly to military skills. Yet clearly, you have devoted much time and passion to the arts.”

“I have
spent much time studying under a poetry master.” Kuno was rather pleased at the memory. “I have heard some lament that the military arts have faded, and that the samurai seek to emulate the court. But my family believes that a true samurai must know more than merely swords or horses. We must be souls who appreciate the arts, and who contribute to culture – warriors of both the brush
and
the sword. Some of my classmates rose to become extremely accomplished writers, painters and theologists.”

The rat listened in fascination.
“Are all samurai so interested in the arts?”

“
Samurai come in many kinds, Chiri san.” Kuno set aside his cup. “Some are professional soldiers, some are merest ruffians. But the purest ones are those who live and die by the code.”

Chiri listened in absolute interest, and in absolute respect.

“Kuno san – I have heard many speak of the way of the warrior. I would greatly value hearing your own opinion. In your view – what do you see as being the tenets of the samurai code?”

Kuno
didn’t hesitate. Knitting his brows, he sat upright, every inch the warrior.

“
For the true samurai, there are seven guiding principals!” He struck at his thigh with his fingers with every point.

“Gi
– Honesty and justice.

Yu
– Heroic courage.

Jin
– Compassion.

Rei
– Polite courtesy.

Meyo
– Honour.

Makoto
– Complete sincerity.

Chugo
– Duty and loyalty.”

Kitsune Sura – rakish, stylish, raucous and fluffy – had come walking up from the riverbanks. Tired, she dropped herself into the grass nearby, reaching for a drink.

“Those are
your guiding principals?” The fox gave a dismissive wave.
“Chugo?
Why is brainless loyalty an attractive asset?”

Kuno rolled a
disapproving gaze towards the fox.

“
It creates a nobility of action. The samurai acts not for their own desires, but for higher cause. Therefore the samurai’s actions are born of high morals.”

The fox’s tail tip waved: Kuno had
not yet realised that this was a sign that she was deliberately baiting him. She rolled over in the grass, archly considering the handsome samurai.

“
Are you saying that unselfish motives have never caused harm?”

Kuno gave a sniff. “
I am saying that higher cause is a moral elevation!”

“
Higher cause? This whole ‘code’ thing has just been pushed on you by the powers that be! They’re just making it so that you’ll all be eager to do their dirty work!”

“
Do not speak of things you improperly understand.” Kuno straightened up his robes. “Foxes do not even
have
a sense of honour!”

Sura happily wav
ed her tail. “Of course we do! And if you haven’t figured it out, then there’s no point in telling you.”

Kuno gave the fox a frosty glare. “Do not try
to tell me that lying is noble or morally correct!”

“It can be!” Sura waved
her tail sinuously black and forth. “Rigid attitudes are nothing but trouble. Go with the Tao! Bend like grass in the wind. Do not crash against a rock – be water, and flow around it!”

“Moral codes are not
… not subject to rules bending and rhetorical pettifoggery.” Kuno kept his back very straight. “They simply are not!”

“Are too!”

“They are not!”

“They are too!”

Kuno was well and truly annoyed. “Moral codes must have rigid boundaries if they are to serve their function!”

“Every act, every phenomena is unique!
A moral code that judges inflexibly will clearly generate injustice!” The fox was enjoying herself immensely. “Surely you have questioned your own code?”

“I have no need to!”

“Well of course you need to!”

“I would not expect a fox to understand.”

Tonbo came stomping past. He swatted the fox upon the backside.

“Up!
Cease disturbing the natives.” He walked towards the stack of armour and backpacks. “Come. We should make a start.”

It was indeed time to move on. Chiri and Kuno finished their tea, washed out their utensils and walked back to the willow trees, making ready to spend another day upon the road.

Sura assisted Tonbo in donning his armour – a t
ask they had both performed together untold dozens of times. If one intended to battle monsters nose to nose, then armour was virtually a necessity. The only way to really carry armour was to wear it. Kuno’s ensemble was light, preserving his speed; Tonbo’s suit was more behemothic by far, and had been made by kitsune smiths who had decidedly not scrimped on materials. He clanked as he walked – although the man could run with astonishing speed when needed. Sura helpfully lifted up his pack, then slung his helmet at his back. She stepped back to admire the results, slipping her own bedroll carelessly over her shoulders.

“
There we are! Green and clanky. You look adorable. All ready for the road!” She bopped Kuno on one metal-covered arm. “Race you up the hill?”

Tonbo cast an eye at the fox.
Neither of the women wore armour – it was well known to interfere with the casting of magic. He shook his head, then thrust Sura’s canteen into her hand.

It held only water. Sura looked at the canteen and gave a sigh.

Still – the day was young! Something was sure to turn up, sooner or later.

Chir
i settled her weapons in her belt. Bifuuko nestled in her hair, looking like a beautifully delicate hair ornament, while Daitanishi the rock elemental opted to float at her side. The rat spirit jogged her pack up and down, aware that it was sadly lighter than it had been in the past.