Читать книгу Shadow Of The Fox: a must read mythical new Japanese adventure from New York Times bestseller Julie Kagawa - Julie Kagawa - Страница 13

4

Tanuki Tea

I hated lighting the candles in the main hall.

Two hundred and seventy-seven. There were two hundred and seventy-seven candles that had to be lit, individually, around the room. Every evening, before sundown, so the monks could hold their nightly meditations. I don’t remember when it officially became my duty to light the candles; I suspected Denga or Nitoru had suggested the idea to Master Jin, the old monk who cared for the hall, to “teach me patience and dedication.” Certainly, you had to have both for this task. The main hall was enormous, with towering pillars and dark wood floors polished to such a sheen that you could see every flickering candle flame within. At the end of the hall stood the enormous green statue of the Jade Prophet, whose teachings all monks sought to emulate. There were no windows, and the only natural light came through the massive wooden doorway at the entrance, so the chamber was constantly dark and quiet. When all the candles were lit, they created a hazy orange glow throughout the room, transforming the hall into a surreal haven of shadow and dancing lights.

But it took forever to light them all.

I sighed, lowering the candlestick to gaze mournfully around the room. So many more to go. I hadn’t even reached the thirty or so candles on the altar. If only there was a way to light them all at once...

I paused, and a grin spread across my face at the idea. Actually, I could light them all at once. I was kitsune, after all. Kitsune-bi was fire, wasn’t it? Heatless, magical fire, but much easier to manipulate than normal flames. The monks wouldn’t like it, of course. Nitoru and Denga definitely would not approve, but then, they didn’t approve of anything I did.

I blew out the candle in my hand, then set it on the floor. Rising, I half closed my eyes, brought my open palm before my face and called on my magic.

A ghostly, blue-white flame sputtered to life between my fingers. It flickered and danced harmlessly against my skin, casting eerie shadows over the walls and pillars, growing steadily larger until I cupped a glowing sphere of foxfire. For just a moment, I saw my shadow on the wall of the temple: a human figure with pointed ears and a bushy tail rippling behind it.

Raising my head, I flung my hand out in an arc, and kitsune-bi scattered in all directions, tiny flames that flew across the room like falling stars. Lowering my arm, I observed my handiwork smugly. The hall now glowed with blue-white foxfire, luminescent flames that hovered on the end of candlewicks. In my opinion, it was much prettier than ordinary fire, though it did give the chamber a rather eerie, ghostly feel.

But more important, all the candles were lit. And it was still a good hour until evening meditations. I was free until then. Dusting my hands, I headed for the exit.

Voices outside made me freeze. I sidled along the wall to the door and peeked through the frame. Jin was walking up the steps toward the main hall and worse, Denga was beside him.

Oh no. My ears flattened in alarm, and I backed swiftly away. If they caught me, I’d probably get a lecture: maybe on the value of patience and dedication to one’s task. Maybe they’d forbid me from using magic again. At the very least, they’d make me start over, lighting every candle one by one, under supervision this time.

Hiding place. I need a hiding place, quickly.

I hurried to the far wall and, with a whispered apology, ducked behind the enormous statue of the Jade Prophet, just as a furious shout rang from the entrance.

“Foxfire!” Denga’s footsteps stalked into the room, and I peeked from behind the statue to watch him. The kitsune-bi cast a flickering white glow over his outraged face as he whirled, gesturing furiously. “The demon girl lit the candles with foxfire! Of all the...” He sputtered with rage. “When I find her—”

“Now, Denga-san.” Jin’s voice echoed behind Denga, calm and amused. “She is just a child, after all, and a kitsune at that. She does not understand.”

“No.” Denga spun one more time, glaring around the hall, before he turned and marched back toward the exit. “This has gone far enough. It’s become perfectly clear that she is more fox than mortal, that her yokai nature is overshadowing her humanity. Something must be done. I’ll not stand for her pranks any longer.”

Jin blinked, watching him depart. “What are you planning to do, Denga-san?”

“Speak to Master Isao and convince him to put a binding on her,” Denga replied, making my stomach twist. His voice drifted up the steps as he left the hall. “Seal away that infernal fox magic for good. Before we wake up and find a true demon in our midst.”

My heart pounded. Jin watched Denga storm off, then sighed and began blowing out the kitsune-bi flames above the candles. He extinguished them one at a time, slowly and deliberately, his entire attention focused on his task. He would be done in a few minutes, but I did not want to stay here any longer, in case Denga returned with Master Isao and made good on his promise. Trying to slip out while Jin was in the room would likely get me caught, but I had one last, supremely forbidden, trick up my sleeve.

At the statue’s base, I knelt, dug my fingers between a certain board and lifted it away, revealing a narrow hole that led under the floor of the main hall. It was too small for a human, even a petite human, to fit through. But I wasn’t just human. I was also kitsune.

Closing my eyes, I summoned my power once more, feeling my heart start to pound with anticipation. Most fox magic was illusion and trickery, just as Denga had said. Images laid over truth, making you see and hear things that weren’t there. Flawless copies, but no more substantial than a reflection in a mirror. But there was one form that I could shapeshift into for real, though I was forbidden from using it without permission.

Today seemed a good day to break all the rules.

My body grew warm, and I experienced the abrupt sensation of shrinking rapidly, along with the familiar cloud of white smoke. When I opened my eyes, I was much closer to the floor. Sounds were sharper, shadows nearly nonexistent, and the air was alive with new smells: the musty earth, the sharp tang of metal and the hint of candle smoke still in the air. In the blurred reflection in the statue’s pedestal, a pointed muzzle and golden eyes stared back at me, a bushy, white-tipped tail curled around its legs.

Master Isao did not approve of me being a fox. You are human, he’d told me on more than one occasion. Yes, you are kitsune, but being Yumeko is much harder than being a fox. If you spend too much time in that body, someday you might forget what it means to be mortal.

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that and right now, it didn’t matter. Ducking my head, I slipped easily into the hole, glided beneath the floorboards and came out beneath the veranda. After making sure no monks, and especially Master Isao, were nearby, I headed into the garden, to the old maple tree leaning against the temple walls. Fox paws were quick and nimble, and the wood was very rough; I scurried up the gnarled trunk, dropped to the other side and escaped into the cool stillness of the forest.

* * *

Later that evening, I was sitting on a flat rock beside my favorite quiet pond, dangling my bare feet in the water, as I pondered what to do next. Jewellike dragonflies zipped over the mirrorlike surface, and small whiskered fish swam lazily below my feet, eyeing my human-again toes. The sun had warmed the rock, and a breeze whispered through the bamboo grove surrounding the pond. It was a good place to forget your troubles, and I often came here when life at the temple got too dull, or when I was hiding from Denga. Normally, the water, the breeze and the fish could erase my worries in no time. But today, I couldn’t forget what had been said in the temple hall.

Seal away my magic? Just like that? Make it so I couldn’t weave illusions, change my shape, or call upon my foxfire? That seemed excessive. I’d never actually hurt anything with my pranks, except Denga’s pride. And maybe a sliding panel or two.

I glanced at my reflection in the water. A girl with pointed ears and yellow eyes stared back, bushy tail curled behind her. She is more fox than mortal, Denga had raged as he’d stormed out of the hall this evening. Her yokai nature is overshadowing her humanity.

“That’s not true,” I told the kitsune staring back at me. “I’m still mostly human. At least, I think I am.”

“Talking to yourself, little fox cub?”

I glanced up. A squat old woman was making her way slowly around the edge of the pond. She wore a ragged robe, a wide-brimmed straw hat and tall wooden sandals that sank into the grass as she minced along the bank. In one gnarled hand she held a bamboo pole, resting on a shoulder; the other gripped a cluster of tiny fish dangling from a string. Her eyes glimmered yellow beneath the brim of her hat as she looked up at me.

I smiled. “Good evening, Tanuki-baba,” I greeted politely. “What are you doing out here?”

The old woman snorted and raised the cluster of fish. “Planting flowers, what does it look like?”

I frowned in confusion. “But...those are fish. Why would you be planting flowers, Tanuki-baba? You don’t eat them.”

“Exactly. Some of us actually have to work for our food, unlike some spoiled, naive half foxes I won’t name.” She eyed me from under her hat, raising a thin gray eyebrow. “But what are you doing out so late, cub? Those humans of yours don’t like it when you wander off.” She chuckled, showing a flash of yellow teeth. “Is Denga-san on the warpath? Did you turn the cat into a teakettle again?”

“No, not in a long time—it scratches me when I try to put a leaf on its head. But...” I shivered, clutching at my arms. The sun-warmed rock suddenly felt cold. “Denga-san was angry,” I told her. “More than I’ve ever seen before. He said I was more yokai than human, and that Master Isao should put a binding on me. What if Master Isao listens to him? What if he really does seal off my magic? I...” I faltered, feeling my stomach twist at the thought losing my power. “I can’t imagine having no magic. It would be worse than cutting off my fingers or plucking out my eyes. If that happens, what will I do?”

Tanuki-baba snorted. “Come,” she said, gesturing down the trail with the end of her bamboo rod. “I’ll make you some tea.”

I hopped down and followed the hunched form away from the pond, onto the narrow winding path through the bamboo forest. Her pole bobbed as she walked, and the tip of a bushy brown tail peeked from beneath the hem of her robe. I pretended not to notice, just as I knew she pretended not to see my ears and tail. It was an unspoken rule among yokai; one did not call attention to their...yokai-ness if one did not want be haunted, harassed, or cursed with extremely bad luck. Not that I was afraid Tanuki-baba would do so. To me she had always been a grandmotherly old yokai, and the stories of the tricks she used to play on humans when she was a young tanuki were always entertaining, if sometimes scary.

We emerged from the bamboo into a deeper, darker part of the forest. Here, ancient trees grew close together, intertwining branches nearly shutting out the sun. Thin streams of light cut weakly through the leaves, dappling the forest floor, and the air had a still, almost reverent feel. Curious kodama, the tree spirits of the forest, peered at us from behind leaves or followed us down the trail, their ethereal green bodies no larger than my finger.

Tanuki-baba led me along a familiar babbling brook, over a tiny arched bridge that was being eaten by toadstools and fungi, and toward a wooden hut that had been completely swallowed by moss. Long, long ago, she’d said, it had belonged to a yamabushi, a wandering priest who sought harmony and balance within nature, who could see and communicate directly with the kami. But that mortal had moved on or died, and the hut was now hers. Part of the thatched roof had fallen in and trees and brush surrounded it; if you didn’t know there was a dwelling there, you might miss it in the vegetation. The interior, as always, was a mess, with junk piled in every corner and along every wall.

“Sit,” Tanuki-baba gruffed, gesturing to a low wooden table in the center of the floor, the only clear space in the room. “I’ll make us some tea—assuming I can find the pot, that is.”

There were two or three teapots resting in different places throughout the clutter. I didn’t say anything, because my suggestions were always met with refusal. That teapot was cracked, or dirty, or had a family of birds living in it. No, the right teapot was here, somewhere, and only she could find it. I knelt at the wooden table until Tanuki-baba finally stumbled upon what she was looking for, an ancient and dinged iron pot, and yanked it out of the pile.

“Empty,” she sighed, peering in the top. “That’s good, I suppose. No mice this time. Means I have to fill it up, though. I’ll be right back,” she told me, waddling out again. “Don’t touch anything.”

I waited patiently, rolling little flames of kitsune-bi across the table surface, while Tanuki-baba filled the teapot, set it on the brazier and lit the coals at the bottom. She then bustled about the room, taking things from the clutter along the walls and muttering to herself. Finally, she returned to the table with the teapot, two chipped cups and a tray bearing the fish she had caught, still raw and unscaled, laid out in a row.

“Ahhh,” she sighed, settling onto the threadbare pillow opposite me. After several moments of shifting around and making herself comfortable, she took off her hat and tossed it in a corner, where it blended into the clutter. Politely, I dropped my gaze, careful not to glance at the round, furry ears that poked up from the top of her gray head. “Go on and pour the tea, cub,” Tanuki-baba ordered, waving a hand at the pot and cups. “At least make yourself useful.”

I carefully poured a thin green liquid into the two cups, then offered one to her. She took it with a crooked smile and set it down before her.

“You don’t mind if I switch forms while we eat, do you?” she asked, eyeing the tray of fish in the center of the table. “This body is more useful for tea-making, but I’d rather be comfortable in my own house.”

I shook my head. “Not at all, Tanuki-baba. Please do.”

She snorted, raised her head and shook herself. Dust flew everywhere, rising from her body like a cloud, swirling into the room. I sneezed, turning away from the explosion, and when I glanced back, a furry brown creature with a dark mask and a bushy tail sat where the old woman had been. I set a teacup in front of her, and she picked it up with two dark brown paws before raising it to her narrow muzzle.

“Ah, much better.” She put the cup down with a clink and snatched a fish from the tray, tossing the whole thing into her jaws before crunching down with sharp yellow teeth. “Now,” she continued, as I sipped my tea. It was far more bitter than I liked, but it wasn’t polite to say so. “Tell me then, cub. What kind of trouble have you gotten into with those humans of yours?”

Briefly, I told her about my trick with the candles this evening, and how it had infuriated the monks, particularly Denga-san. When I got to the part about Denga wanting Master Isao to seal away my magic, Tanuki-baba gave a violent snort and nearly knocked over her teacup.

“Ridiculous,” she growled, taking the last fish and biting into it with the snapping of delicate bones. “Binding a yokai’s magic, hah! It is blasphemous to even suggest such a thing. I wouldn’t put up with that sort of nonsense.”

“What should I do, Tanuki-baba?”

“Well, I know what I would do in that situation,” Tanuki-baba said, an evil look crossing her masked face. “But you’re probably too young for such chaos. And the solution is obvious, is it not? You need to leave.”

“The monks don’t like that,” I said. “They’re always very cross when I run off like this. I’ll probably get a scolding when I return tonight.”

“No,” Tanuki-baba growled. “You need to leave...and not go back.”

“You mean...leave the temple permanently?”

“Of course.” The old yokai gestured to the door of her hut. “Do you think the temple is the only place you can live? And that the monks’ way of life is the only one?” Her muzzle wrinkled. “There’s a whole huge world out there, cub. Full of wonder, riches, chaos and things you can’t even imagine. You’re wasting both your life and your talents, staying behind those temple walls, listening to humans drone on about morality. A kitsune is not meant to be caged. Don’t you want to get out there and see what you’re missing?”

Something inside me stirred, the yearning, intrigue and curiosity for the world beyond the walls rising to the surface again. I did want to know what was out there. I wanted to see the places Master Isao spoke of—the sprawling cities and tangled wilderness not meant for human feet. I ached to visit Kin Heigen Toshi, the great golden capital, and travel to the top of Finger of God Mountain, the highest peak in Iwagoto, which was said to touch the sky. I wanted to see samurai and merchants, nobles and peasants, geisha and bandits, and farmers and fishermen. I wanted to see it all.

And, in a tiny thought that I barely admitted even to myself, I was tired of always having my magic restricted. To practice fox magic only under supervision, or to be punished whenever I used it for pranks, jokes, or to get out of work. If I was truly free, there would be no limitations; I could use my kitsune powers however I wanted.

But to do that, I would have to leave behind the monks, the temple and the only life I’d ever known. And while the order of the Silent Winds temple was small, confining and rigid, it was also safe. I was just one kitsune, not even a full-blooded yokai. I wasn’t quite ready to be that brave.

“I can’t leave, Tanuki-baba,” I told the hunched figure across the table. “Where would I go? How would I live?”

Tanuki-baba blinked. “What do you mean, how would you live?” she snapped. “You’re kitsune, girl! You’d go where you want. You live however you like.”

“I’m only half kitsune,” I pointed out. “And I’ve been with the monks my whole life. I don’t know how to be a fox.”

“Don’t know how to be a fox?” Tanuki-baba threw back her head and cackled. Flecks of spittle flew from her narrow jaws as she laughed, shaking her head. “Poor little kitsune,” she mocked. “You’ve lived with these humans for too long, letting their mortality infect you.” She chuckled, giving me a look of exasperation. “You are a fox. You don’t have to learn how to be kitsune. You just are.”

“But—”

“And don’t give me any excuses about your ‘human’ side.” Tanuki-baba curled a lip, showing sharp yellow teeth. “Even a drop of yokai blood is enough to suppress any hints of humanity, if you want it to. You just have to choose to be more kitsune than mortal.”

Choose to be more kitsune? How did I do that? Was there a ritual for it? I thought back to what Denga-san had said this evening, about my yokai nature overshadowing my humanity. Was that what the monks were afraid of? Did they fear I would turn into a nogitsune, an evil wild fox that delighted in fear and chaos and preyed on humans whenever it could?

I swallowed hard. “But what if I don’t want to be more kitsune?” I asked, making Tanuki-baba frown. “What if I’m happy as a human and a fox?”

She sniffed. “Then you are a fool,” she stated bluntly. “And you are fighting a losing battle. It is very hard to be human, little fox. Even the humans themselves don’t do a great job of it. The mortal world is full of hatred, betrayal, sadness and death. Most yokai and kami alike find that it is too much for them. Everything the humans think they value—love, honor, empathy, compassion—we yokai need nothing of those, especially when they so often lead to suffering and despair. It is far easier to abandon everything that is human and just be kitsune. The world of spirits and yokai is far less complicated than the world of men.”

“I don’t understand, Tanuki-baba.”

“Of course not.” Tanuki-baba shook her shaggy head, but did not elaborate. “You are a cub, with no sense of the world. But you will learn. If you continue to try to balance your two natures, you will. And in time, when you finally experience what the human world is truly like, you will decide that being a fox is much less difficult than being human.” She glanced down at the table, nostrils twitching. “But now, our teacups are empty, and the fish is gone. That means it is time for bed.”

I rose and bowed to the ancient tanuki. One did not question the habits or behaviors of yokai as old as she. “I should go home,” I said, taking a step back. “The monks will probably be waiting with a lecture. Thank you for the tea and the conversation, Tanuki-baba.”

“Fox cub,” the old yokai called as I reached the door. I glanced back to see the squat, furry creature sitting in the squalor of her house, watching me with eyes that glowed yellow in the shadows. “You walk a thin line, little kitsune,” she said, and her voice was a warning, though I didn’t know from what. “The place between the spirit realm and the mortal realm is a difficult one, indeed. Remember, you can always give up your humanity if things become too hard. It is far easier for a kitsune, even a half kitsune, to abandon it than one who is fully mortal.”

I still didn’t know what she meant by that, so I simply nodded and left, slipping into the dim quiet of the woods.

Immediately, I knew something was wrong.

In the time I had spent in Tanuki-baba’s home, night had fallen, and the forest had gone deathly still. Instead of birdsong or the rustle of small creatures scampering through the undergrowth, an ominous silence hung in the air. The forest kami had vanished like they’d never been, leaving empty, lifeless woods behind. And a new scent was creeping through the trees, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The sharp, acrid scent of smoke.

I sprinted through the forest, retracing my steps past the hollow, the stream and the bamboo grove, until I reached the pond. The green-and-silver wall opened up, showing the night sky with a faded crescent moon overhead and a smear of crimson sinking into the west.

My heart twisted. A dark smudge was rising over the tree line, coiling and ominous, like a terrible black dragon. It snaked into the air, blotting out the stars, coming from the direction of...

“Home.”