Book II 四 Part 04 (Spider)

It was a dreary afternoon at the old farmhouse. The sky was heavy with clouds, leaving gray shadows over the empty fields. The only movement inside was that of a cat, his form small and gray as he peered into his master’s room. She had been crying since the morning and no amount of attention could ease her tears. Making one last attempt, he curled up beside her knees, resting his head on the silk of her kimono.

“Oh, Gin,” she sighed, running her hand over his back. Outside, the rain intensified, turning from a drizzle to a downpour. The cat flicked his ears, unable to hide his agitation.

“Don’t you be upset, too,” she murmured, scratching behind his ears. In an instant, he calmed, sleepily closing his eyes. The trance lasted only a moment — there was a knocking at the entrance.

They both looked towards the sound and the woman rose to see to the door. It slid open to reveal a man, his body covered with a straw raincoat. He wore a wide sugegasa, the hat’s brim hiding his eyes as he spoke.

“It is good to see you again, though I am sorry it had to be in these circumstances,” he said in a gentle voice, bowing before the woman.

“Thank you for making the trip here,” she replied, mirroring his gesture. Her voice was barely audible above the rain. “Please, come inside.”

Gin had seen the monk once before — even so, the ringed staff startled him, its chimes taking the cat by surprise. Fur on end, he backed up behind the wall to watch from a safe distance.

“Your father was an wonderful man,” the monk said as she took his raincoat. “And now he will watch over you, as an ancestor.”

“It brings me comfort to think so,” she replied, her eyes low. “Do you need a moment to rest? It’s quite a way from the temple.”

“I’m all right. We can start the ceremony as soon as—,“ the man started, but paused as his eye caught the cat peeking past the wall.

“Is something wrong?” the woman asked, watching the monk with worry.

“That cat… he was here the last time I visited, wasn’t he?”

“I believe so.”

“That was over a decade ago. How old is he?”

“About twelve,” she replied, growing uneasy.

The monk’s eyes widened, locked speechlessly on the cat’s face. Gin stared back, wishing he knew why he felt so uneasy.

“It isn’t safe to house such an old cat.”

“You don’t mean—“

“I do,” the monk said, his tone solemn. “He’ll start changing soon. You had best be rid of him before it starts.”

“A nekomata? But Gin would never hurt anyone.”

“That matters little. He won’t be the same — he’ll turn on you.”

“But… I couldn’t,” she whispered, clasping her hands. “He’s all I have left now.”

“There has already been such misfortunate on your home,” the monk continued. “I beg of you, do not allow any more to befall you. You must remove the cat.”

The sound of rain grew louder, the patters echoing along rumbles of thunder. The droplets hit the earth in waves, running down the straw roof to cascade down to the earth.

A moment later, Shichi awoke. He could still hear the rain, yet there was no farmhouse — no cat, nor its master. His eyes tightened before opening and he glanced up to see the mouth of a cave. That was right — they had found a shallow cave the previous night. It was a lucky discovery, as it had just begun to rain when they’d happened upon it.

Ahead of him lay Chiyo, her body curled up beside the fire. It was nearly dead, down to its last few sparks in a pile of ashen wood. With a sudden realization, he glanced down, his eyes catching the egg tucked against his side. It was steady in the crook of his arm, its shell warm with the heat of his body. The egg — it was still safe.

The tengu sighed, looking back towards the torrential rain outside the cave. Perhaps it would be best to rest until it subsided — the cold would do no good for the egg.

It was then that Chiyo stretched, her small white toes extending as she rolled onto her side. With a yawn and a shake of her head, she picked herself up off the ground.

“Good morning, Chiyo.”

“Not really,” she replied, yawning once more. “It’s still raining.”

“I had a strange dream,” Shichi blurted before he could forget. “Again.”

“Again?” Chiyo asked, giving the monk a backwards glance.

“About a cat. I nearly forgot the first time…”

“A cat? You mean like the one that tried to kill you?” she asked, nosing through the bag he had left by the fire. He had finally allowed her to start eating their provisions, under the condition that she show some self-control.

“I suppose,” the monk said, his eyes falling on the egg in his lap. “It was just a normal cat. But… he had the same eyes, and the same color. Perhaps I’m thinking about him too much.”

“Maybe,” Chiyo said as she discovered a mouthful of rice crackers. “But he could be doing it to you.”

“He — the nekomata?” Shichi said, blinking at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they can influence dreams. They like to scare people like that.”

“They don’t seem influenced. I think… I think they’re just memories.”

“Maybe he’s so fixated on you that he’s doing it unconsciously. But that would mean he’s nearby — he’s still following us.”

“You think so?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s no match for me and he knows it,” the kitsune said before biting down noisily on a cracker.

Shichi quieted. He couldn’t get the strange cat out of his mind — literally. Even so, there as nothing to be done. In an attempt to distract himself, he returned his attention to the egg. Slowly, he turned it in his hands, examining the dark speckles that covered the shell. Why would humans want to steal eggs? It couldn’t be to extinguish their population, otherwise they would have simply destroyed them. Shichi hoped he and Chiyo would find another village soon. Surely, there were parents somewhere who would be willing to take it in.

“So, when is that thing going to hatch?” Chiyo asked.

“If it does, it will be in the rainy season,” he explained. “So we have a few months to find it a home.”

“If? It doesn’t look damaged to me.”

“It’s not,” the tengu replied, shaking his head. “But eggs are sensitive and need attentive care. Only one in four actually hatch… and that’s in a normal home. I wouldn’t really call our situation ideal.”

“What, you don’t like sleeping in caves?”

Shichi looked at the kitsune with faint amusement, too weary to give her anything more.

“It was already out in the cold when you found it,” he continued. “Eggs shouldn’t be exposed for so long. If it does hatch, the child may have complications.”

“Sounds like a hassle,” she replied, licking crumbs off of her paw. “But doesn’t your name mean ‘seven?’ Don’t you have a bunch of other siblings?”

“My parents had eight hot eggs. Only three hatched — including myself.”

“Ah,” Chiyo replied, meeting his eyes.

“And what about you?” Shichi asked, returning her look. “Do you have any—“

He paused in mid-sentence, his attention turning towards the mouth of the cave. There was a sound coming from the forest, one distant and haunting. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was simply the rain, or something more. After a moment it was clear — there was music coming from outside.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered.

“Mm,” she replied with a nod, staring in the same direction.

It was a stringed instrument, its melody sharp and trembling. Each strum echoed through the rainfall, high and strong like the hoofbeats of a deer.

“It sounds like a biwa,” Shichi said, still fixated on the sound.

“Maybe it’s a local,” Chiyo offered.

“They might know where there’s a tengu village,” he said, his expression turning hopeful.

“I don’t know. Something about it sounds… strange.”

“The sooner this egg finds a home, the better,” he said, wrapping it in a piece of long cloth. Once it was snug, he placed it carefully back into his jacket. Hopefully, he could keep it from getting wet.

A moment later, they had both emerged into the rain. The droplets hit their backs like stones, wetting their clothes as they hurried through. As the two yokai moved through the trees, the music grew louder. They were getting close.

Tucked within a grove of pine was a wooden gazebo. Rainwater streamed down the angled roof, cascading down the raised fringe. Beneath it sat two figures — one was a man, a human who appeared to be some kind of traveler. The other was a woman, dressed in a long silk kimono as she played the lute before him. Her crimson sleeves draped along the wooden floor, long and silken amongst the many layers of her robe. Her hair was just as long, a river of black flowing down to her knees.

“Oh, they’re human,” Chiyo muttered from their place behind a large tree. The monk didn’t respond, looking closer to examine her long fingers and the dull gaze of the man at her side. His eyes were hollow, half-lidded as he leaned into the sound of her music. It was as if nothing else existed to him — nothing but the plucks of the woman’s instrument and the red color of her lips. A flicker of movement drew Shichi’s attention away. His eyes locked on the threads that were slowly binding their way around the man’s body. The pale strands hung over his frame, slowly tightening as the man stared on.

“No,” Shichi whispered. “She’s not.”

Chiyo’ blinked as she made the same realization, her eyes following the glistening silk that was winding over the man’s limbs. The monk was right — she was no human. It wasn’t the first time she had seen a spider yokai, though she had never witnessed one preparing its next meal in person before.

“A jorogumo,” she said under her breath. “Well, too bad for him.”

Just as she began to turn away, Shichi shifted forward.

“Shichi,” the kitsune hissed, narrowing her eyes at the tengu.

“She’s going to eat him,” he said, returning her glare.

“So what? That’s none of our—,” she started, then stiffened as he moved from the safety of the trees. “Shichi, no!”

He ignored her, stepping past the trunks of the young pines towards the gazebo.

“No!” she repeated, moving only a second too slow to catch him. It was too late — he was already out in the open. The tengu stopped at the base of the gazebo, lifting his head towards the figures above. Rain dripped down the side of his face as he raised his shakujo, his fingers gripped firmly on the wood of the staff. A moment later, he brought it down, thrusting the base into the wet earth. The iron rings clattered together, filling the air with an echoing chime. The music screeched to a halt, shattering the spell like a dropped mirror. For one dreadful moment, the clearing was utterly silent.

Finally, the human closed his eyes. Slowly, he took in a breath, filling his lungs as if it were the first time. It was only when his eyes reopened that he seemed to have fully waken.

“What was—,” he began, then paused as he noticed the silken threads that had begun to bind his torso. “A-Ah…”

His eyes became saucers, trembling as he tore the strands from his arms, shuffling backwards and stammering incoherently.

“Please,” the woman in the kimono said, her voice soothing. “Don’t fret. It’s just—“

“J-jorogumo!” he cried, staggering as he got to his feet. His shoes pounded down the stairs, splashing mud across Shichi’s legs as he flew past. He continued to sputter and shout, the sound fading as he fled deeper into the forest. It seemed that, for the time being, he was safe.

“You.”

Hesitantly, Shichi looked back towards the gazebo. The woman’s eyes were piercing through him, the strands of her hair rising with anger. One by one, jointed spider legs emerged from the folds of her kimono. Her body rose, lifting onto the arachnid frame. While her top half was still deceptively human, her bottom half was clearly not. Her legs clicked along the wood as she headed towards him, an arrow locked decidedly on target. Somehow, he remained in place, neither blinking nor breathing as she towered over his form.

“Why would you do that?!” she snapped. “That was my dinner!”

“Dinner?” Shichi said, lowering his brow. “That was a person.”

“What, a human? Hah!”

Shichi sighed. He was growing tired of explaining that humans were people.

“That was my first meal in a week,” she continued, bringing her face closer to his. Her eyes were flashing gold, glowing beneath the dreary haze of the rain.

“Surely, you can eat other things,” he replied, using his free hand to search through the satchel at his side. “We have plenty we can share with—“

“That’s our food!” Chiyo shouted, finally making her presence known. The monk ignored her, pulling a vegetable from the bag as an offering.

“What is that, a carrot?” the woman scoffed. “Don’t be a fool. Spiders don’t eat carrots.”

“Yeah, Shichi,” the kitsune said, folding her arms. “Spiders don’t eat carrots.”

“But it’s—“

“Enough!” she shouted, knocking the vegetable from his hand as she shoved her face against his own. He could feel her breath on his beak, her black hair blocking his view to the side.

“I should kill you,” she hissed, her voice clicking.

“Get in line, lady,” Chiyo said, seemingly unconcerned with the death threats to her companion.

“Please don’t,” Shichi said, holding up both hands as he leaned away. With every inch that he backed up, she pushed in closer, finally reaching to grasp his face with her hands. Her fingers were pale and spindly with long nails that dug into his flesh.

“I’ll do you one better,” the woman seethed, the glow in her eyes intensifying. An aura enveloped her body, rising from her limbs like steam. It happened in the blink of an eye — a terrible, seeping cold snapped through him, stealing his breath and rearranging his insides. He felt as if he were being sucked through a whirlpool, unsure of which way was up or down. He was almost certain that he could hear Chiyo growl, her feet scuffling nearby, but couldn’t see her past the glow.

A moment later, his body dropped to the ground. There was a scuttling as the spider left the clearing, the red of her kimono disappearing beyond the trees.

“Nh,” Shichi groaned, tightening his eyes as he attempted to reorient himself. Chiyo’s body was some distance off, apparently knocked away during the fuss.

“Shichi?” she called, turning towards the sound of his voice. “For a second, I thought she was actually going to—“

Chiyo stopped speaking as she looked at him. She could only stare, her pupils shrinking at the sight of him.

“What?” he said, shaking his head to fight the pounding inside.

“Y-you’re…”

Once his eyes focused, he glanced down at himself, trying to figure out what was robbing the kitsune of speech. It took the monk a long time to put together what he was seeing. No longer did his robe fit, nor any other item of clothing. In a panic, he lifted his hands to ensure that all of his fingers were intact.

“A-ah,” he gasped, his chest filling with cold air. There were no fingers to look at, nor were there any hands at all. All he could see were his own black feathers. No, not just feathers — wings.

He cried out in surprise, fumbling over his own thin legs to topple sideways on the rain-soaked ground.

“Shichi, you’re—“

“No,” he stammered. “No, no!”

“You’re a bird!”