Book II 五 Part 05 (Raven)

The only thing louder than the rain was the sound of Chiyo’s laughter. The fox was completely overcome, collapsed on the muddy ground as she cackled at Shichi’s predicament.

“I-I thought you were adorable before,” she snickered. “But this is just too much.”

“This isn’t funny, Chiyo,” Shichi said, still trying to figure out how to probably keep balance. Somehow, he managed to sit upright, his entire body fluffed in agitation. It was difficult to maneuver without arms — he no longer had the form of a tengu, now looking exactly like a common raven.

“Yes it is,” she retorted. “Look at you. You’re all puffy and wet and… and your grumpy bird face is—“

“Th-the egg!” Shichi interrupted, taking a panicked look around. “Where is it?”

“Over there,” Chiyo said between her laughs. “In your clothes.”

Shichi took one step forward before tripping over himself. His wings flapped uselessly as he tried to right himself, getting his feathers even muddier in the process. His cry of frustration came out as a squawk, causing the kitsune to double over in yet another laughing fit.

He lay for a moment in the mud, finally finding the motivation to try again. This time, he managed to put one foot in front of the other, stepping up to the pile of clothes that had once covered his body. Sure enough, the egg lay nestled in the folds of his robe. He brushed his beak against it, turning it to ensure that It hadn’t been damaged. Luckily, it was still in one piece.

With a sigh, he rested his head on top of it, wishing that he were large enough to keep the rain from its shell. It was then that Chiyo’s laughter subsided.

A moment later, she was at his side. Now in her human form, she was big enough to gather up both egg and bird in her arms. He slumped in her hold, ignoring the droplets running off of his beak.

“Let’s get out of the rain, okay?”

By the time they made it back to the cave, they were dripping with rainwater. Chiyo set him beside the fire, leaning his staff against a wall before working to restart the flame. The raven lay flat on the cave floor, a mere bundle of wet, black feathers.

“Don’t be sad, Shichi,” she said. “It’s not permanent.”

“How can I change back?” he asked, looking up at her hopefully.

“She gave you the power,” Chiyo explained as smoke began to rise from the scraps of kindling. “Why don’t you turn back yourself?”

“Easy for you to say. You’re a kitsune.”

“Well, yes,” she said. “But it can’t hurt to try.”

“How?”

“Just think about the form you want,” she explained, glancing around until she found a tiny green leaf at the mouth of the cave. She examined it briefly, then placed it neatly atop his head.

“What’s this for?” Shichi asked, cross-eyed as he gazed up at the leaf.

“They help with transformations,” Chiyo answered. “They’re more for young or inexperienced kitsune. I, of course, don’t need them anymore.”

“Of course,” he repeated. He took in a breath, his small ribcage expanding as he focused on his previous form. Closing his eyes, he visualized himself with a proper body — with arms, hands, and fingers. He thought for a long time, his eyes tightening as he tried to call on whatever magic the jorogumo had placed in his body. Minutes passed, yet he could feel no changes in his form.

After a while, he exhaled, letting the leaf fall from his forehead. “It’s no good.”

“Shapeshifting takes practice,” she said with a shrug. The fire was now crackling between them, warming the air as she removed her wet jacket.

“I don’t have time for practice. How am I supposed to help anyone like this?”

Shichi shook his head, loosening the droplets from his feathers and inadvertently causing them to fluff even more.

“I’m useless,” he added, turning his attention to the fire.

“Well, you were kind of useless before, too,” she said, laying her clothes out to dry on a flat stone.

“Thank you, Chiyo.”

“Anytime,” the kitsune replied, going through their bag of provisions once more. After a moment, she fished out a long, white cloth. Kneeling beside the egg, she began to loop the fabric across her chest, tying it at the shoulder like a sash.

“What are you doing?”

“If I have to carry this stupid thing, I want to use as little effort as possible,” she explained, placing the egg in the makeshift sling. It sat snugly in the cloth, nestled against the warmth of her body. Shichi didn’t comment on her use of the word ‘stupid,’ shocked by her willingness to carry the egg herself. He had foreseen himself doing everything in his power to convince her, and now she had done it of her own accord.

Eventually, the rain began to die down. By the time it stopped, they were both fairly dry. Chiyo redressed herself, draping Shichi’s amber-colored robe over her shoulders. The rest of his things were placed in the bag, tied firmly to the sash at her waist. With new intent, the bird began to step forward, bobbing as he approached the mouth of the cave. Though he now had a basic sense of walking, he was still moving at a snail’s pace.

“Ugh, you’re so slow,” Chiyo groaned, taking a knee and offering her arm. “Come here, you big idiot.”

Shichi stared at her for a moment, taking a moment to realize what she was doing. He then hopped forward, perching on her arm as she lifted him to her shoulder.

“All right,” she said, cracking the joints in her hands. “Let’s go.”

The afternoon faded into evening, allowing the sun to cast an orange glow over the rain-soaked forest. Osaka was long behind them now, no more than a memory in their journey. Absently, he wondered what Aki would think of him in this form — or even worse, his master. Few things would say ‘I’m a failure’ better than returning to her as a bird.

“Watch the claws,” Chiyo mumbled as Shichi’s feet gripped particularly hard on her shoulder. He loosened his hold, lowering his head apologetically.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“And you’re pretty heavy for a—“

“Don’t you dare complain about carrying me,” he interrupted, unable to help but fantasize about pecking her — just once or twice, lightly.

“I’m just saying,” Chiyo said. “Why don’t you just fly?”

“Fly?”

“You’re a bird. Birds fly.”

Shichi fell silent, watching the road pass below them as he considered her words. “But I can barely walk. Surely, flying is more complicated.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to try.”

“Actually, I think it could hurt quite a-“

“Ah, here,” Chiyo interrupted, using both hands to place him in a low branch. “Go ahead.”

Shichi stared at the ground. Though he wasn’t very high up, it seemed quite far. He wondered if his bones were more fragile in this form. Just how much of a fall would it take to kill him? Hesitantly, he spread his wings. The wind passed through his feathers, sending a pleasant chill up his back. Flying — it did seem quite nice. Perhaps Chiyo was right.

He gave his wings a few experimental stretches, getting used to how they moved along his body. Taking in a breath, he crouched to leave the branch.

A moment later, he was on the ground. He had fallen like a rock, making a few weak flaps before plummeting to the road. Shichi shook his head, ignoring the throbbing in his skull. He had to try again.

It was only after the sixth attempt, when his head had plopped into a patch of muddy road, that his frustration boiled to its peak.

“I can’t!” he growled, shaking the mud from his feathers. “I can’t do this. I can’t do anything right!”

His body was rising and falling with his breaths, his feathers dirtied and crooked with his efforts. Chiyo stared, unmoving from her place on the road. She had never heard him shout in such a way before.

“I couldn’t save Kazu,” he panted. “I couldn’t help Aki. I can’t even take care of an egg. I—“

“You’re fine, Shichi,” Chiyo said, finally finding her voice. “We’ll try later.”

“But I—“

“It’s okay. Come here,” she said, kneeling to offer her arm once more. He lowered his head, taking a moment before hopping up. Carefully, she stood, using her sleeve to wipe the mud from his head. Shichi said nothing, wishing that she hadn’t seem him lose his temper. It wasn’t like him — perhaps he had become a beast in more ways than one.

Eventually, the moon replaced the sun, a half-crescent in the sky. The pair found an open space beside a rock ledge, settling down for their last meal of the day.

“Do you smell that?” Chiyo asked, picking up her head to sniff the air.

“I can’t smell much of anything,” Shichi admitted as he poked at a dried plum with his beak. “Not in this form.”

“It smells like humans,” she said, her eyes wandering. “There’s probably a village nearby. We should find it in the morning.”

“Find it? Why?”

“Well, now that you’re not a tengu anymore, we don’t have to hide. We can get some more provisions for our trip.”

He hadn’t thought of it before, but she was right. Any humans they encountered would likely assume he was a pet. He and Chiyo might even be able to enter human shops and inns. At least, after everything he had been through, there was one benefit to being a bird.

“Since you don’t need as much food now, can I eat your share?” Chiyo asked, already looking inside the bag.

“No.”

“But you don’t even—“

“No, Chiyo.”

“Fine,” the kitsune said, exhaling as she returned to her fox form. After a few lazy stretches, she found a proper spot by the fire to curl up for the night.

“Ah, wait,” Shichi said, glancing at the bundle beside him. “The egg.”

“What about the egg?” she replied, opening one eye.

“I’m not big enough to keep it warm.”

“All right.”

There was a pause between them. He cleared his throat, realizing that Chiyo had no intention of offering.

“Well,” Shichi continued. “I was hoping you might—“

“No.”

“Chiyo, it has to—“

“No, Shichi.”

His feathers stood on end as he realized what he had gotten himself into. It was imperative that the egg stay warm through the night. In his bird form, it was nearly as large as he was — she was the only one who could manage it.

“All right, I’ll let you have the mikan,” he sighed, recalling the citrus fruits Chiyo had been eyeing from the first day they’d searched the bag. “Two of them.”

“All four,” Chiyo said, not moving from her place by the fire.

“Done.”

Soon, the fox settled back into her spot, her belly a bit more full. Chiyo’s body lay curled around the egg, enveloping it with the warmth of her fur. Shichi sighed; at least there was one less thing to worry about. He took his place beside her, taking a moment to remember how birds slept. Closing his eyes, he turned to tuck his beak over his wings. It was surprisingly comfortable. Within seconds, he drifted off, a wedge of black beside the snow-colored fox.

It didn’t take long for Shichi to discover another facet of his new form. Rather than sleeping soundly through the night, he found himself waking repeatedly. As a bird, his body was constantly on the alert, assuring that his rest would be intermittent at best. The first disturbance had been a cricket and the second, an owl. After the third, he fluffed in irritation, burying his beak into the feathers on his back. Surely, there was nothing to worry about. Chiyo was still beside him, as was the-

The egg.

With a start, he sat upright. Chiyo was indeed laying beside him, now sprawled on her back. The egg, however, was nowhere to be seen. The bird’s chest rose in fear. Panicking, he hopped to his feet to scour the surrounding area. His form was silhouetted by the crackling campfire as he darted from one bush to another, hoping that it hadn’t rolled too far. As he searched further, the fire faded in the distance and soon he had lost sight of the camp completely. This, however, was the last thing on his mind. He shook off a few leaves as he pulled his head from the underbrush, trying to think through the terrible thumping of his heart. Then, he spotted them — footprints.

No, they were paw prints. It hadn’t been a human that left them — it was a cat. Shichi’s yellow eyes widened in the dark and he darted forth to follow the trail through the trees. Unfortunately, as a bird, his night vision wasn’t any better than before. His thin legs stumbled over stray branches and nervous adrenaline was all that kept him moving forward. It was only when he caught a pair of glowing, jade eyes that he came to a halt.

“So slow,” hissed the beast of a cat before him — it was the nekomata. At his feet lay the egg, still bundled in the sash Chiyo had made.

“Please, give it back,” Shichi begged, craning his neck towards the creature. Where the cat had been big before, now it seemed impossibly large.

“What, this?” the cat asked, placing a paw on top of the egg. It wobbled beneath the weight, sending Shichi’s feathers upright in worry. “I knew you would come after it.”

It was now obvious what he had planned. The only way to avoid the kitsune would be to draw Shichi away from her. It was too late to go back for help and he was too far to call for her.

“If you want me, you can have me. Just… just return the egg.”

“I’ll return it when you’re dead,” he snarled in response.

“Gin, please!”

At this, the nekomata froze, his eyes piercing through the blue night. He twitched, startled by what he had heard.

“H-how do you know my name?” he asked, momentarily forgetting to be menacing.

“I… it doesn’t matter,” the bird replied, shaking his head. There was no time to explain the dreams he’d been having. “I’m begging you — don’t harm it.”

By then, the shock had left Gin’s expression, replaced by something more foul. His ears flattened in irritation and his paw tightened around the shell, allowing his claws to scrape over its surface.

“No,” was all he said, the word dripping with venom.

The clearing was filled with a sudden cry of anger. There was a harsh flapping as Shichi leapt forward, his vision red with the sight of the scratched shell. The raven’s claws grasped onto the nekomata’s face, digging into the fur as he flapped to keep his balance. Gin roared, shaking his head in a mad attempt to loosen the bird. Feathers flew left and right, but Shichi’s grip only tightened.

“Give it back!”

“No!”

As the nekomata threw his head sideways, Shichi’s claw slipped, digging into the flesh of Gin’s eyelid. The cat screeched in pain, the sudden jerk tossing the raven to the dirt below. Shichi hit the ground with a thud, a cloud of dust rising from his wake. Blinking off the dizziness, he looked up to see that the beast was still thrashing, too distracted by his bleeding eye to mind the bird. Keeping low, Shichi hooked his beak onto the sash, dragging the egg out of harm’s way. He had just made it out of the clearing when he heard that rumbling voice once more.

“Monk!” Gin howled. “Don’t you dare run from me!”

The nekomata was searching frantically, a stream of red dripping from his left eye. Pointed teeth snapped together as he caught the scent of his prey. The bird’s spine stiffened. He was trapped. Even if he could fly, he wouldn’t be able to lift the egg. Frantically, he glanced around, hoping that Chiyo had heard the commotion and would bound in at any moment. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem that the kitsune was coming.

It was then that he noticed them — lights. They were small, faint lights through the trees. It must have been the village that Chiyo mentioned earlier. His pulse raced with hope; this was his only chance.

Eyes narrowed, he began to drag the egg through the trees, flapping and staggering over the forest floor. He could hear the beast coming, its enormous body snapping twigs and branches as it forced its way through. Luckily, the woods were full of old, tangled growth, making it easier for a small form to move through than a large one. It seemed that Gin was too caught up in his rage to think of transforming.

As the lights grew closer, Shichi could make out the shapes of houses down the slope. His tiny heart seemed as if it would beat right out of his chest, pushing him further towards safety. So caught up was he in fleeing that he didn’t notice the drop of the terrain, only realizing when both he and the egg toppled over the grassy ledge. He clutched the shell instinctively, wrapping his wings over the bundle as they tumbled and scraped down the slope. His body hit the bottom with a thud, the egg rolling just out of reach as he struggled to right himself.

A roar returned his eyes to the forest. The nekomata burst through the trees, catching sight of his target at the base of the hill. Just as Shichi began to back up, a different sound caught his attention — humans.

“A nekomata!”

“Hurry, get it! Before it hurts someone!”

There were scrapes of metal as the villagers began to take arms, grabbing farming tools and knives to defend themselves from the attacking yokai. The raven on the ground went utterly ignored as they ran past, their shadows fleeting by as he pulled the egg against the side of a house.

Gin didn’t move at first, paralyzed by the sight of humans. Another shout from a farmer snapped him to his senses. The nekomata hissed and turned tail, darting back between the thick trees of the forest. Their voices faded as they pursued the cat uphill, until finally there was nothing but silence.

Shichi’s entire body felt as if it were burning. Panting, he pulled aside the cloth sling, checking the shell for cracks or fractures. Aside from Gin’s faint claw marks, it had somehow made it through unscathed. His eyes fluttered shut as he collapsed on top of it, draping his wings to protect it from the chill in the air. The heat from below calmed his anxious breathing; it was all that mattered to him. Even after everything the egg had been through — somehow, it was still warm.