Book II 十四 Part 14 (Fish)

Illustration by K. Ryan

Even when Shichi had been running, there was quite a distance from the village to the nearby creek. He had made the trip to fetch water dozens of times, paying no mind to the ache in his shoulders and the swelling in his heels. Over the past week, the villagers had shown promising signs of recovery. Their bodies, however, were still weak. Chiyo had gone to a nearby town to collect food, as most of the village’s provisions had been tainted. Gin’s leg had not yet healed, though Shichi doubted the nekomata would be willing to help anyway.

Shichi exhaled as the house came into view. With a shift of his back, he eased the wooden buckets onto the ground. He couldn’t help but notice the change in Izumi’s home. Somehow, with the departure of the moryo, the sky felt brighter. The windows in the house had been opened wide, allowing sunlight and fresh air through the halls. Gone was the lingering fog and odor of rot. Across the road, he could see two villagers chatting from their seats in front of a shop. Though the bustle had not yet returned, it was starting to feel like a village once again.

The shuffle of footsteps on the dirt road caught his attention, and he turned to see Chiyo approaching from the north. On her back was a carrier fashioned from wooden rods and straw, holding much more produce than a figure her size ought to be lifting. Under one arm was a large sack of rice and in the other, a gourd of sake. Though the food was for the townspeople, the rice wine was most likely for herself.

“Chiyo.”

“I’m back.” The kitsune grinned as she hefted the carrier onto the ground. It landed with a dull thud, sending up a puff of dust.

“You carried that all the way here?” he said.

Chiyo stretched, not-so-subtly flexing her arm in the process. “Yes.”

“Well, thank you. This will be quite helpful.”

“I was just sick of eating berries from the woods. You’d better cook all this into a proper meal tonight.”

“Of course.” Shichi knelt to sort through the cloth sacks of vegetables and beans. “Ah, did you ask for assistance, as well?”

“Uh, I tried.”

Shichi glanced up at her with a squint.

“When a kitsune says ‘Come with me, I promise everything will be fine,’ people tend to not listen,” Chiyo said. “I even used my trustworthy face.”

“Your trustworthy face.”

Chiyo grinned, baring her pointed incisors. The tengu only shook his head, turning his attention back to the food.

“Well, at least my smile is better than yours.” She folded her arms, leaning her weight back onto her heels.

“I’m sure it is,” Shichi said, lifting a string of silver-scaled trout. “Oh, you brought fish.”

“You can cook fish, right?”

Shichi rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “You know I can’t.”

“But these are fresh from Biwa Lake,” Chiyo’s voice rose in defense of her dinner. “You can’t get these anywhere else!”

From beneath the old cypress tree, Gin watched the two bicker. The nekomata was curled up in the shade, the speckled egg nestled against his side. In spite of his protests, he had been tasked with its care. He had spent the first few days threatening to roll it down a hill — or to simply eat it. Eventually, he’d given in to his responsibility. The quiet little egg was tolerable, unlike the two imbeciles he was watching.

Though he couldn’t catch every word of their conversation, he could hear the kitsune’s laughter. She gave the tengu a light shove, jostling the bucket he had lifted with both hands. Rather than push her back, Shichi responded with a laugh of his own. Gin scoffed at the sight, turning his attention elsewhere. He couldn’t understand them — the kitsune and tengu, carrying water, buying food, all for a group of humans that would never do the same in return. Even now, they had the nerve to laugh.

“How are you feeling?”

Gin’s head jerked upright, taken by the sudden voice. He hadn’t noticed Shichi approach.

“What?”

“I asked how you’re feeling.” Shichi crouched to meet the cat’s eyes. “Is there any pain in your leg?”

Gin’s ears flattened in irritation. “Can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?”

“You know that’s not true.” Shichi’s voice remained pleasant. It seemed he had quickly grown used to the nekomata’s sour disposition.

“Right. You need me to take care of your egg,” he said. “Some monk you are, having a child.”

Shichi blinked. “I’m not the father.”

“Then why on earth are you carrying this thing around?”

“I found it,” Shichi said. “It may not ever hatch, but we couldn’t just leave it alone.”

The tengu decided not to mention the part where Chiyo nearly had it for breakfast.

“So the mother abandoned it.”

“She loved this egg with all her heart,” Shichi said. He rested his palm on the shell, his eyes low. “But love isn’t always enough to keep people together.”

The cat sneered, unimpressed with the monk’s explanation. “If you say so.”

“It’s made it this far, perhaps it can go a little further. Let’s do our best.”

Gin made no response, only tucking his head back against his body. His eyes closed, making it clear he’d had enough of their conversation.

“Well, thank you for your help. I’ll call you for dinner.”

Shichi stood, dusting the front of his hakama before heading back to the house. Gin cracked an eye open to watch him leave, then shifted his gaze back to the egg. The pale green shell was covered in thin scuffs and nicks, including three long scratches. Gin’s glare softened. That night was still clear in his mind, how he had stolen the egg, how he had run his claws so callously over the shell. The monk was a fool. All this effort, all this concern, for an egg that might not even hatch.

Gin curled himself more tightly around the shell. It was warm against his side, mirroring the burn in his chest. For some reason, it ached. He closed his eyes, keeping the egg steady against his side. As foolish a task it was, he still had a job to do.

Inside the house, Shichi had returned to his own tasks. Though many of the villagers were well enough to leave, several had remained at the house for care. Izumi had done her best to tend to them, offering the food and medicine Shichi had prepared. Knowing what had caused their symptoms made choosing formulas much simpler. Though the herbs on his person was limited, he had fortunately stumbled upon a field of skullcap on his way to fetch water. As he lifted another root for skinning, a groan across the room stilled his knife.

Shichi looked up, noticing an elderly woman in a futon. She was clutching her abdomen, her skin beading with sweat. The monk tensed. For the last week, he had kept his interactions with the villagers to a minimum. Though he was their doctor, he was also a tengu. The woman’s vocalized agony, however, was too much to ignore.

Taking his needle set, he crossed the room. His feet stepped carefully past the other patients, not wanting to wake them from their rest.

“Is it your stomach?” he said as he reached her side.

“Where is Izumi?” The woman squinted up at him, her nose wrinkled in discomfort.

“She’s at her father’s grave.”

The burial had been completed several days prior. It had taken a great effort to remove and cleanse the body, and the well had been sealed off. A local monk had performed the rites. Somehow, Izumi had remained stable through the ritual. As the daughter of the late leader and the only able-bodied human in the village, it seemed she had no choice but to be strong.

“I want Izumi,” the woman said. “Not you.”

Shichi pushed down the sting, reminding himself of his task. “You’re in a great deal of pain. If you let me—“

She recoiled as he reached for her wrist. “Don’t touch me.”

“Please,” Shichi said. “I can—“

“Leave me be!”

“Stop that,” came a voice from the entrance. Shichi cringed, catching sight of Izumi in the doorway. It was only a moment, however, before he realized her words weren’t directed at him. The girl’s glare was locked on his patient, unyielding as she stalked across the room.

The woman gawked back at her. “Izumi.”

“Let him treat you.”

“But this tengu—“

“This tengu saved your life — all of our lives,” Izumi said. “Would you rather have died?”

“I’d just prefer it if you treated me,” the old woman said, her voice considerably softer.

“I’m not a doctor.” The girl gestured to Shichi, who was frozen in place. “He is. You can give him the respect he deserves, or you can keep your groaning to yourself.”

The fire waned from the woman’s eyes. They drifted from Izumi to the tengu at her side, still tight with pain. Finally, she sighed.

“Very well.”

Izumi said nothing more, only giving Shichi a nod before turning to leave. The room was silent. The girl’s words hung in the air, filling Shichi with a bizarre coupling of shame and gratitude. Focusing on keeping his fingers steady, he offered his hand to the old woman.

“May I take your pulse?”

She made no eye contact as he assessed her, nor did she look as he placed a single needle in the crease of her wrist.

“What do you feel?”

The woman took a moment before responding. “Warmth.”

He remained by her side for some time, preparing a drink to ease digestion and stimulate her appetite. It wasn’t until the doctor stood to leave that she finally braved a look at him.

“Thank you,” she said, stopping him in mid-step. Shichi stood a moment to soak in the simple phrase, then turned to give her a nod.

“You’re quite welcome.”

The majority of Shichi’s evening was spent preparing the food Chiyo had brought. Fortunately, the house had a rather large kitchen, leaving plenty of room for bubbling pots and wood fire. Stalks of chrysanthemum greens were chopped and boiled, softening beside speckled cakes of devil’s tongue. Chiyo was in her fox form, rifling through a sack of beans before Shichi interrupted her with a single word.

“Chiyo.”

“What?” she said, flicking a loose bean from her nose. He shook his head before returning his attention to the radish beneath his knife. Just as he began to consider asking the kitsune for help, an opportune voice came from the kitchen entrance.

“Do you need any help?” Izumi said, giving the fox a quick glance before returning her attention to Shichi.

“Yes, actually. Do you know how to prepare fish?”

“Of course.”

The girl took a knife, proceeding to gut the fresh trout. As the fish were placed over a low flame, Chiyo’s ears perked intently. Shichi shot her a warning glance and the fox lowered her head with a scowl. She would have to wait along with everyone else.

The scales browned as they were grilled, growing crisp as the fire crackled below. Though the two women were focused on the wafting, smoky scent, Shichi’s mind was elsewhere. It had been a long time since a human had stood in his defense. She hadn’t said much, yet her words had hovered in his chest the entire afternoon. His mouth opened, stilled, then moved again.

“Izumi.” His hand paused over his work. “What you said earlier, to that woman…”

Her eyes rose. “Yes?”

“Well, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

She turned the fish over with a pair of cooking chopsticks. “Yes, I did.”

“I— well, I can understand why they’re cautious,” he said. “I can try to return to my human form, if—“

“No.”

Shichi stared as Izumi placed the trout on a wide, ceramic dish. She wiped her knife clean with a rag before giving the tengu a stern glance.

“If they can’t look past your body,” she said, “then they don’t deserve your care.”

He found himself unable to speak, only nodding as she carried the dish out of the kitchen. Chiyo seemed to struggle with the temptation to follow the smell, finally resigning herself to remain at his side.

“Your human form?” she asked. “So you can change back?”

Shichi blinked, finally snapping out of his stupor. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you want to?”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “But it may be helpful someday. It made traveling easier, anyhow.”

“I guess you need some kind of life or death situation. Want me to push you down the well again?”

“That’s very kind, but I’ll try on my own.”

That night’s dinner was the heartiest any of the villagers had eaten in weeks. They joined from neighboring homes, all seated at rows of low tables. Steam rose from cast iron hot pots, each one filled with shallots, white mushrooms, and wheat noodles. There was more than the smell of food — chatter filled the room, ample enough to drown the sound of crickets past the open windows. Chiyo drank from the sake gourd she had brought, indulging in  her own reward for her labors.

Gin had remained sulking in a corner, unwilling to join the others at the table. The light of the hearth barely reached him, leaving his body shrouded in darkness.

“Gin.” Shichi crouched beside him, holding a plate of grilled fish. “How is your leg?”

“Still can’t walk. Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

“Fairly sure.”

“Well, it had better heal faster. The sooner I can move, the sooner I can leave you two behind.”

Shichi gestured to the table. “Why don’t you join us?”

The nekomata’s eyes narrowed, glowing green in the shadows. “No.”

“I’m not the best cook, but I promise the food isn’t bad.”

Gin made no response, only flopping his tails against the wooden floor.

“Well, I’ll keep a spot for you if you change your mind.” Shichi stood to join the others, leaving the cat to himself.

“So, Mr. Grumps wants to stay in his corner?” Chiyo said as he sat beside her.

Shichi placed the dish at the empty seat to his side. “He’s not ready. It’s been a long time since he’s been around others.”

“For such an old cat, he really is a big baby.”

“You know what it’s like to be wary of others.”

“I’m also a good judge of character. He’s awful at it,” Chiyo said, then gestured backwards. “Look, he has no idea how great we are.”

Shichi’s laugh shook his body, nearly causing him to drop the green onion in his chopsticks.

“Can’t we just leave him here?” the fox said. “I’m sure the village could use a cat to, I don’t know, catch mice.”

“I’d like you to be nicer to him, Chiyo. I know he’s a little strange, but so are we.”

The kitsune took a long drink from her gourd, then pulled it away from her lips with a sigh. “Speak for yourself. I’m perfectly normal.”

“You’re a talking fox.”

“You’re a talking bird.”

Shichi set his chopsticks down to give her a proper glare. “I’m not a bird, I’m a tengu.”

“Your feathers are puffing up.”

As expected, Chiyo made no effort to help clean once the meal was done. She continued to nurse her sake, watching the others gather dishes as she leaned against the wall. Gin was still curled up in the corner, his presence reminding her of Shichi’s request. She pinched the skin between her eyes, then made an attempt.

“You missed a good meal,” she said.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Good luck convincing Shichi of that.”

The nekomata’s eyes closed, tightening as he spoke. “Why is he doing this to me?”

“You wouldn’t leave him alone — now he won’t leave you alone. You brought this on yourself.”

“And why do you do it? How did he get you to follow him?”

“I do it because I want to,” she said. “And if you want to be sad and dirty in the woods, I don’t care.”

Gin’s eyes cracked open, wavering before he looked up.

“But he does,” Chiyo said. She finished the last of her drink, eyeing the inside before replacing the cork. Without anything to drink, she could think of no reason to continue speaking with the sour-tempered cat. The kitsune rose from her spot, leaving him with his thoughts.

Her eyes caught the table as she passed. The surface had been cleared of food, the wood now gleaming in the low light of the room. Only a single dish remained — a plate of fish. Chiyo scoffed, then left to prepare her bed.

It wasn’t long before the house went dark, its residents settled in bed with full bellies. Shichi lay at the edge of the main room, with Chiyo curled up at his side. The futon was thin, but he was grateful for the chance to rest his aching limbs.

Just as sleep began to overtake him, a noise caught his attention. His eyes cracked open, glancing sideways toward the table. It was Gin.

The cat was on the surface, eyeing the fish. After a few wary sniffs, he began to eat, carefully biting into the flaky trout. Once sated, Gin licked his paws and whiskers clean. Even in the dim light, his stomach was visibly fuller. The cat gave the dish one last look before positioning himself at the edge of the table. Without so much as a waver, he hopped to the floor, crossing the tatami with smooth, even steps. He returned to his corner, made a few dramatic stretches, then curled up once more around the egg.

Without a sound, Shichi closed his eyes and returned to sleep.