Book II 一 Part 01 (Care)

The forest was quiet. It was the most silence Shichi had heard in months, having spent the winter in the bustling city of Osaka. Though the air was still cold, the monk could sense the approach of spring. It was evident in the trees, stretching as they woke with pale green buds. It was good to be in the woods once more.

The fox on his shoulder flicked her ear, shaking a droplet that had fallen from the branches above. Chiyo had moved very little since morning, staying lazily curled around his neck. Occasionally, one of her three tails would flop as she napped, swatting the tengu’s beak without remorse. Even so, he had no complaints. The monk was grateful for her company, as well as the warmth her fur provided against the chill.

It had been nearly a day since they had left the city. Shichi had used all of his will to avoid looking back, not wanting to dwell on what he had left. Even the creeping feeling that they were being followed was not enough to draw his eyes behind. As much as he wanted to, he knew that he could never return to Osaka.

The trees towered over the narrow road, blocking the setting sun with a tunnel of branches. Unlike the main road, their path was winding and empty. After his brief arrest by the city police, the last thing Shichi wanted was to deal with more humans. Taking the main route would surely have brought its share of merchants, travelers, and guardsmen demanding paperwork.

As the sky grew darker, the woods changed. From the corner of his eye, Shichi saw glimpses of floating lights. They drifted between the trees like flames, casting a blue glow over the trunks. The forest was rife with spirits. The lights flickered gently, guiding them though the black corridor of trees.

“We should rest,” Chiyo said, sleepily glancing up. “It’s too dark to travel.”

“You’ve been resting all day,” the monk replied.

“But I want a bed,” she fussed, already longing for the futon she had left at Urameshiya. The inn had been their home for months, spoiling them with warm food and clean bedding.

“I suppose we should camp for the night, though I highly doubt we’ll find a bed in these woods.”

At that moment, the fox lifted herself. She perched higher, her eyes catching sight of a red post down the path. The wood was old and rotted, leaving only the base in the earth by the road.

“Actually,” the kitsune said, her eyes glinting. “We just might.”

“What do you mean?” Shichi asked, staring blankly at the pole.

“Turn here.”

“Into the forest? But the path is—“

“Just go. There, between the trees,” she interrupted.

The tengu sighed, his posture slumping as he gave in to his companion’s demand. They left the path, following a narrow passage through the tall cedars. For a moment, he was certain that he’d seen a pair of green eyes from the road. The sight faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him wondering if he had seen anything at all. It was pointless to dwell on strange sights in these woods — there was no telling what tricks spirits might play on a hapless traveler in the dark.

As they went deeper into the forest, the wooden posts became more frequent. It soon became apparent that they were more than mere poles — they were torii, crimson gates that arched over the walkway by the dozens. Lanterns floated along the way, leaving a trail of glowing lights snaking through the trees. The further they traveled from the road, the better the gates’ conditions seemed. Eventually, they came to a particularly tall torii, its paint vivid and pristine.

“Chiyo, where are—“

Shichi’s question was cut off by the sound of weapons. From the darkness came a slew of figures, encircling the pair with drawn swords. The monk froze, taking in a breath. Though they seemed human, it only took a moment of scrutiny to see the truth.

They were kitsune.

“Stop right there,” came a voice from the side. Shichi glanced over, his eyes falling on their leader. His form was human, yet his features betrayed his true self. The man’s eyes were narrow and, like Chiyo’s, lined with red. The kitsune’s gaze was locked directly on Shichi’s shoulder, or, more specifically, the fox perched there.

“Which clan are you from?” he asked, addressing Chiyo directly.

“So much for hospitality,” she muttered, unimpressed with the display.

“Answer me,” he demanded, his expression hardening.

“I’m not from any clan,” Chiyo replied with a shrug.

“I’m sorry if we’ve intruded,” Shichi said, holding up both hands. “We don’t want any trouble, we just—“

“And who are you?” the man snapped, finally making eye contact with the tengu.

“My name is Shichi — I’m a monk.”

At this, the kitsune paused. He gave Shichi a once-over before turning to an armed woman at his side. The two murmured for a moment, their words hurried and undecipherable. Finally, they seemed to come to an agreement.

“This way,” he said, gesturing down the path with his sword. “Don’t dawdle.”

It wasn’t until Shichi was poked in the back with the blunt end of a weapon that he stepped forward. He and Chiyo exchanged glances before following the band of kitsune further into the woods.

Before long, the dark path was illuminated by the lights of a village. The homes and structures were tightly packed, their beams painted in bright colors and roofs laid with cherry tiles. Strings of paper lanterns hung between the trees, casting light on the stone path that ran through the center of the town. Though the sun had set, the villagers were still quite busy. Some walked by in human form, their hands occupied with baskets and packages. Many others, however, remained as foxes, trotting through on all fours. While several had white fur like Chiyo, the monk noticed shades he had never seen before — there were cream, ivory, and silver kitsune, all with varying numbers of tails.

The activity in the village was abruptly halted by their presence. The villagers paused to watch the guards march past, two strangers in tow. Some began whispering to one another. Visitors were rare in their town and tengu were even more so.

The guards led Shichi and Chiyo to a rather large structure at the center of the village. It appeared to be a home, rising to two floors with an elegantly sloping roof. It had been built beside an ancient tree, its trunk as thick as an ox cart. Two of the guards stepped forward, announcing themselves at the entrance.

A moment later, the twin doors opened. A man emerged, his body draped in elegant robes. Shichi reeled at the sight of him, immediately recognizing his face. The kitsune’s black hair was set in a short top-knot, his features still smooth in spite of his age. Only a few pox scars blemished his cheeks, reminders of the ordeal he had gone through only a month prior.

“Naoki, this tengu claims that—“

“Shichi,” the man said, interrupting the guard as his eyes fell on the monk. “It’s you!”

At these words, the others lowered their weapons.

“Naoki. It’s an honor to see you again,” the monk replied with a pleasant bow. “You look well.”

“Thanks to you,” Naoki said, stepping back to gesture inside. “Please, come in. It’s quite cold out.”

Chiyo shot the lead guard a smug look as they were led into the house, receiving only a glare in response. They were immediately enveloped in warmth. There was a hearth lit in the center of the wide room, the fire crackling busily from the low pit. The decor was understated, leaving only a row of fox masks to accent the paper walls.

“So this is your village?” Shichi asked as he sat across their host at the chestnut table. Chiyo hopped down from his shoulder, shaking herself before taking a human form to join them. The guard had entered as well, but remained standing beside the door. His posture was stiff as he waited, his hands folded behind his back.

“Yes,” he answered with a nod. “It’s not as grand as the city, but you are welcome to whatever you need.”

“We’re just passing through,” Chiyo explained as an attendant poured her a cup of tea. “We need a place to rest for the night.”

“Certainly.”

“And also dinner.”

“Chiyo,” Shichi muttered, wishing his companion could muster some manners.

“Of course,” Naoki replied, unfazed by her blunt request. “Where are you traveling to?”

“Unfortunately, we had to leave Osaka,” Shichi explained, his eyes falling. “I’m not quite sure where we’ll go.”

“I see. Well, please stay here as long as you like.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“As for dinner, we were just about to—“

Naoki was unable to finish his sentence, cut off by an intrusive voice.

“Father! Is that a tengu?” asked a boy from the doorway. Shichi looked over to see two children, both in their fox forms. They were quite young, their ears entirely too large for their heads. The kits each had only one tail, both of which were puffed in excitement.

“Shouldn’t you be helping with dinner?” Naoki asked, suppressing a sigh.

“Are you the doctor tengu? Is your name Shichi?” the smaller boy asked as he approached Shichi, ignoring his father’s question.

“Yes, that’s right. And what are your names?”

“I’m Ken,” he said, already clambering up onto his shoulder. Apparently, Naoki’s children weren’t shy.

“My name is Kyo,” his brother added. “I’m older.”

“Boys, don’t bother our guest,” Naoki said, his voice hardening.

“It’s all right — I don’t mind,” Shichi said. He had grown quite accustomed to being kitsune furniture. Though Shichi was immediately endeared to the two children, Chiyo had very little interest in their presence.

“Father told us about you,” Ken said, settling on the monk’s knee. “His face was all puffy, like this, and he had itchy bumps, like a bunch of big mosquito bites. And he said that you gave him lots of medicines so he was okay.”

“That’s quite the summary.”

“Yes. You’re a phenomenal storyteller, Ken,” his father said before gesturing to the door. “Now go help your mother. Both of you.”

“But—“

“Right now.”

Both boys scowled, begrudgingly leaving the room beneath the glare of their parent.

“Their mother?” Shichi asked once the children were gone. “You mean…?”

“Ah, yes,” Naoki replied. “My wife, Hana. It was a miracle we found her.”

At the time Shichi had met the kitsune, his wife had been missing. Yasue, an impostor from a rival clan, had taken Hana’s place, her shapeshifting skills powerful enough to deceive each one of them. It wasn’t until the woman made an attempt on the tengu’s life that her lie had been unveiled.

“Truly?” Shichi said, his face brightening. “Where was she? What happened?”

“The other clan had taken her hostage. Luckily, we had Yasue to trade for her.”

“I’m relieved to hear so.”

“I knew,” Naoki said, his eyes focused on the tea cup in his hands. “Somehow… my heart knew that she was alive.”

The monk fell silent at his words. It had been clear that the man loved his wife dearly. Shichi wondered if it could be true — if one could really have such a connection with another. Love was a powerful force, one he couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“And what of your companion?” Naoki continued, his attention returning to Shichi. “The bandit who captured Yasue?”

Shichi’s expression fell. As much as it pained him to think of her, Aki hadn’t left his thoughts since that morning. It hadn’t even been a day since he’d last seen her, but it already felt like ages.

“The police have her,” he replied. “She… she turned herself in.”

“I’m very sorry. I would have liked to show her my gratitude, as well,” Naoki said, shaking his head. It was a fair statement — if Aki and her team hadn’t captured Yasue, they wouldn’t have been able to trade her for Hana. In addition, the bandit had been the one to save Shichi from the woman’s poison. If the doctor had died then, his patient would surely have followed.

“Father!” called Ken from the doorway, his large ears twitching.

“Yes?”

“Dinner is ready!”

Taking that as his cue, the guard at the entrance turned to leave the room. Just as his hand touched the door, Naoki spoke up.

“Where are you going, Taro?”

“It seems everything is in order here. I’ll leave you to your meal.”

“But we have a place saved for you. Go on, have a seat.”

Taro paused, seemingly taken by his leader’s invitation. Chiyo grinned at him, patting the empty spot beside her. With a sigh, the guard relented, removing his shoes to join them at the table.

Dinner was served shortly. Nothing at the table surprised Shichi; he had spent enough time with Chiyo to know the types of foods that kitsune liked. Noodles with fried tofu were served, sided with sekihan — rice that had been reddened with azuki. There were quite a few bodies at the table — Hana had taken a seat beside her husband while the two children had settled shamelessly close to the tengu’s side. Even so, there was plenty to be had.

“How do you eat without teeth?” Kyo asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. Even in his human form, he was rather small.

“I don’t really chew food,” Shichi explained, glancing down at the boy. “I just swallow it.”

“But father says you shouldn’t swallow things whole.”

“He’s right. You’re not a tengu — you don’t have a gizzard.”

“What’s a gazerd?”

“Kyo, why don’t you let him eat?” Naoki said. “I’m sure he’s hungry from traveling all day.”

“Oh, okay,” the boy replied, using his chopsticks to deposit a piece of fried tofu into Shichi’s bowl. “Here, you can have mine.”

“Thank you,” the monk said, his expression warming. “That’s very generous.”

Though the dishes served were varied and enticing, Shichi found himself unable to eat more than a few bites. His stomach twisted, angry with him for being so slow. He ignored the pangs, motionlessly gazing down at his meal.

Had Aki and Rinka eaten that day? It was possible they had only been fed a gruel of rice, if anything. He wondered if they were safe — if their captors had done anything for their wounds or provided protection from the cold. More than anything, he wished they were present — that he could know for certain that they were unharmed. While those around him chatted and ate, Shichi could do nothing more than sit in silence.

“That’s a sword, isn’t it?” Kyo asked, pulling the tengu back into the present. The child’s eyes were locked on the katana that was fastened to Shichi’s back, his curiosity vastly overpowering his manners.

“That’s right,” Shichi said, his voice soft.

“But you’re not a warrior, are you? Can you use it?”

“The boy makes a good point,” Taro said, speaking to Shichi for the first time since they’d arrived. “What does a doctor need with a sword?”

“It isn’t mine,” Shichi admitted, turning his attention to the stern-faced guard. “I’m holding it for someone. Until… until I see her again.”

“Ah. And you’re familiar with the proper care of a blade?”

“Proper… care?” Shichi murmured, already embarrassed with himself.

“I see,” Taro replied, his expression flat. “Then perhaps I can show you after supper.”

Shichi looked back up, blinking in surprise. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“For a friend of Naoki’s — not at all.”

Spirits lifted, Shichi finally managed to bring his attention to his meal. It was then that he noticed the pile of mushrooms that Chiyo had placed in his bowl. Apparently the kitsune was more concerned about Shichi’s stomach than he was.

It was only when dinner had ended that Taro spoke to him again. He approached the tengu in the sitting room, kneeling beside him with a small wooden box.

“May I see it?” the kitsune asked, gesturing for the katana. Carefully, Shichi removed the weapon from his back, using both hands to place it in Taro’s palms. With trained motions, the guard pulled the blade from its sheath, his eyes scrupulously following the length of steel. The yellow lamplight reflected off its surface, highlighting the sharp ridge.

“It’s quite old, but this is a fine sword,” Taro said after a moment of examination.

“How much is it worth?” Chiyo asked from the corner she was lounging in. She had returned to her fox form, looking quite comfortable on the floor. Shichi shot her a look, receiving a shameless smile in return.

“We’re not going to sell it,” the monk muttered, still glaring at her.

“I was just asking,” Chiyo said with a shrug.

Taro ignored their exchange, keeping his eyes on the weapon as he offered it back to the monk.

“You’ll need the right tools to care for it,” he explained, lifting a small wooden box to remove the lid. “It must be oiled regularly, to prevent rusting.”

“How often?”

“If you ever use it… which I doubt will happen, you should clean it right after. If not, once every few weeks will be sufficient.”

From the wooden box he pulled a cloth, as well as a powder ball and oil. The kitsune explained each step in detail, motioning to allow the tengu to try it on his own. Shichi had clearly never held a sword before. The closest he had used was a naginata, and that was limited to a few isolated moments when Sagiri had insisted he attend weapons training. He felt like someone holding a child for the first time — awkward, and quite concerned about breaking something.

“And be careful not to touch the blade at this point,” Taro continued as the monk wiped the steel for the second time.

“This seems like a lot of work,” Chiyo said, rolling over to rest her head on her paws. “Is it really worth the trouble?”

“I have to take care of it,” Shichi replied, his tone firm. “She asked me to.”

His eyes dropped, lingering on the weapon in his hands. His features softened as he recalled the exact moment, wishing it could have lasted just a bit longer.

“…It was the last thing she said to me.”

It was then that he wondered if he would ever hear her voice again, or if those would forever be her final words on his ears.

Not long after, an attendant showed Shichi and Chiyo to a room. The monk kept the wooden kit in his hands — luckily, Naoki had been generous enough to donate it.

“Can we sleep in your room?” Ken asked from the doorway, his head lifted with hope.

“Of c-“

“No,” Chiyo interrupted. Apparently, she was completely unaffected by their bright eyes and tiny, pink noses.

“But we-“ Kyo started, but was quickly cut off.

“I don’t share my bed,” she said, perching halfway up the tengu’s head. Shichi almost thought to mention that she shared a bed with him all the time — after a moment, however, he realized that he was the bed.

“Leave them alone, boys,” Naoki called from the hallway. “Come on — in here.”

Dropping their heads in dejection, the children slumped out of the doorway. Chiyo hopped down to shut the door behind them, relieved that their father had called them off.

“This isn’t so bad, right?” she asked, flopping onto her back over a soft futon.

“I’m surprised you led us here,” Shichi said, gingerly setting the sword down on a long table. “I thought you didn’t trust other kitsune.”

“I don’t,” she admitted. “But it’s better than sleeping on cold dirt.”

“I suppose,” the tengu replied, still gazing down at the sword. Chiyo was silent for a moment, watching him thoughtfully.

“You miss her, don’t you?” the kitsune finally asked.

“Of course,” he answered. “I miss all of them.”

“But she’s the one you’re thinking about.”

Shichi took in a slow breath, his eyes low as he considered her words.

“She must be in a cell now,” he murmured. “Without a bed — without warmth.”

“It was her choice,” Chiyo said, managing to sit upright. “She knows she did the right thing. That will bring her comfort that no bed can.”

The monk turned to look at his friend, taken by her remark. It was only then that he remembered she was a century older than him — it was rare that Chiyo’s words matched her age. His expression softened as he let the meaning sink in. Perhaps she was right.

“She can handle it,” the kitsune added. A moment later, she yawned, exposing her small, sharp teeth. “Now let’s sleep. I’m tired.”

Soon, the entire house was dark. Chiyo had curled into a ball, taking her rightful place on the tengu’s chest. Shichi, however, found himself unable to sleep. He looked up at the wooden ceiling as the wind rattled the windows. Despite Chiyo’s words, he couldn’t help but worry. The constable, Tagosaku, had been the one to take the bandits in. Though he was cold, he was an honorable man. He couldn’t have gone back on his word.

Could he?

Shichi closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. He listened — to his breath, to the wind and the creaking of the old house. After a minute, his body eased, feeling truly warm for the first time that night.

He knew — somehow, he knew that she was all right.