十九 Part 19 (Name)

It was strange being alone again. Despite their differing personalities, Chiyo’s presence had eased his heart. He reminded himself of the hunter on his trail, visualizing the blood on the kitsune’s white fur. No matter how guilty he felt for abandoning her, he would feel even worse if she were to be hurt again.

Part of him wondered if there was any point in running. It would be nearly impossible to act as a healer, to help people, if he was constantly being chased. He could never keep companions or dedicate himself to any one place. A thought drifted through his mind—to simply give up and allow Zaisei to have his prize.

Then, he remembered Sagiri’s words.

Dying is easy. I taught you better than that.

In spite of his circumstances, he had been able to help a woman with pneumonia. Even helping one person had made his journey worthwhile. As long as Chiyo was gone, and Zaisei couldn’t hurt anyone else, Shichi would simply have to do his best. If he could aid even one more person, it would make all the difference.

His pace had become even slower than before. Though the knife wound hadn’t been fatal, it still drew throngs of pain with each turn and step. The thrashing from the interrogation continued to ache, and his shoulder hadn’t healed enough to climb or lift. His body was covered in dirt and dried blood, his feathers in desperate need of preening.

Zaisei hadn’t seemed to catch up. Shichi wondered just how badly Chiyo had hurt the dog. Though her actions had most likely assured the tengu a head start, he couldn’t help but hope that Bou had survived. It seemed that the dog was Zaisei’s closest companion. It was a terrible thing, loneliness. Shichi wouldn’t wish it upon anyone—not even the hunter.

At that thought, Shichi stumbled, his foot catching on an outstretched root. He managed to catch his balance on a trunk, wincing as the cut in his side stretched open. He began to fantasize about the river back on the other island—about how nice it would be to submerge in water, to wash his wounds and rinse the journey from his body. When closing his eyes, he could almost have sworn that he could hear water. The faint sound of the surface lapping against stone, of ripples and sloshes. He could smell it as well—the minerals and steam warming the air around him.

After a moment, he opened his eyes. It wasn’t his imagination. Feeling hopeful, he pushed through a wall of sparse bushes toward the source of the sound.

As he stepped through the bare branches, his breath caught in delight at what lay before him. A hot spring sat nestled against a rock wall, its surface a clear, pale green. Columns of steam rose into the cold, and the surrounding plants draped sleepily over the banks. Shichi knelt near the edge, testing the spring with a dip of his hand. The water was fresh and scalding, contrasting intensely with the winter air. It was perfect.

He resisted the urge to throw his clothing into a heap, instead making sure to fold it properly before leaning the staff against a tree. He would be completely vulnerable in the water, but at least he could die clean. As he stepped in, he could feel the heat penetrating his skin, drawing forth a blissful wince. Mud and caked blood liquefied, dissipating into the green water.

Shichi took in a slow, deep breath. The air was warm against his face as he sunk lower, momentarily forgetting his troubles. The heat and minerals were doing wonders for his wounds, easing the bruises and washing away any evidence of injuries. Just as he began to wonder how long he could get away with resting, a sharp pain forced his eyes open.

“Ow!” He glanced down. There was a familiar face beside him, her small, pointed teeth clamped firmly on his arm. She snarled at him, glaring as she bit down harder.

“Chiyo, what are— ow!”

The kitsune responded, her words muffled by the flesh in her mouth. She still hadn’t released him.

“Ow, ow! I’m sorry,” he said, trying to tug himself free. “I’m sorry!”

After a moment, she opened her mouth, spitting out a few black feathers. She glared at him, her feet planted firmly on the mossy stone.

“What kind of idiot are you?” Chiyo hissed. “You left me!”

“I told you that I—”

“And my consolation prize was yams? You left me yams?” She snarled, looking as if she might bite him again. “And I find you here, taking a bath. It’s like you’re trying to get killed.”

“I get that a lot,” Shichi said with a sideways glance. He supposed that she had found him by scent. Whereas in the jail he had been hoping for her to use it, he now cursed the fox’s keen sense of smell.

“Well, I guess you are kind of dirty. We can bathe here for a minute before we go.”

“We? Chiyo, I told you . . . you can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want.” She stepped over to his folded clothes. “For example, leaving and taking your things with me.”

“Chiyo! Be reasonable,” he said, turning to lean over the water’s edge. She picked up his robe in her teeth, giving him a threatening glare.

“This is my problem, not yours,” Shichi said. This didn’t appear to be the right answer—she began to trot off, shirt in tow.

“I can’t do it.”

She glanced backward. “You can’t what?”

“I can’t let another person I care about get killed.” His hand balled into a fist. “Not for my mistakes.”

With a sigh, Chiyo spat the robe onto the ground and trotted back to his side.

“I won’t get killed. I’m much stronger than you are.” She gave him an unsettlingly casual smile.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome. So, how’s the water?” She looked over toward the steaming spring. It was difficult to tell that she had been in a fight the previous day. Unlike Shichi, she was in excellent shape—her eyes were bright with energy, and her fur was as smooth as ever.

“It’s fine.” He rubbed his forehead, then froze. “I . . . wait. Wait, where are your bandages?”

“I threw them away. I heal quickly.”

“What?” he said, pulling himself up onto the stone ledge. “Where? The bandage that was on your leg, where is it?”

“I don’t know, back in the woods?” She blinked in confusion as he hurried out of the water and redressed himself. Shichi hadn’t thought twice at the time, having been more worried about Chiyo’s wounds than of his sentimental attachment to Kana’s ribbon. He knew that since she was no longer a part of his life, it shouldn’t matter—but it did. His heart contracted, pounding in fear as he hurried back into the forest. The ribbon was his sole connection to her. It was all he had left—the only evidence that their time together had been real and not just a dream.

“Show me where.”

Still bewildered, Chiyo led him through the trees the way she had come. They passed one bandage after another. Apparently, she had casually discarded them as she walked, littering the forest with strips of cloth. Soon, they came across a stream, next to which lay a single white ribbon. Shichi hurried forward, crouching to pick it up in relief. He ran it through his fingers—parts of it were stained red from the fox’s wounds. It draped easily over his fingertips, wrinkling as he ran his thumb over its surface. Though it was years old, the material still felt soft to the touch.

“We can buy new bandages, you know.” Chiyo tilted her head. “I still have some money left from—”

“It’s a ribbon,” he said. “It belonged to her.”

It only took the kitsune a moment to make the connection to the story he had told earlier. She eyed him for a moment, then let her gaze drop to the cloth in his hands.

“That belonged to someone you love—someone you might never see again,” she said, her voice slow. “And you used it to wrap up a bloody wound?”

Shichi didn’t reply, only cringing at her accusation.

“Rude,” she said, flicking her tails in annoyance. “Well, go ahead and wash it. We’re short on time.”

He considered protesting, recalling that she was the biggest time-waster of the two of them, but let it go. He mumbled something about gratitude, or a lack thereof, and proceeded to rinse the ribbon in the stream. Blood made for challenging stains, and he continued to scrub it between his hands until the red had faded.

Noticing that he was finished, Chiyo turned back to their path. He stood for a moment, watching her as she walked away. Though he had almost lost the ribbon, and despite Chiyo’s thankless attitude, he couldn’t bring himself to regret using it for her.

Shichi made three more attempts to lose Chiyo in the woods. He tried walking through water to hide his scent, or moving backward to make false footprints. He put a terrible strain on his shoulder climbing a tree and nearly killed himself attempting to balance on a thin ledge, but the kitsune managed to find him each and every time. He began to despise her sense of smell, as well as his own incompetence.

“Oh, there you are.” She hopped out of the dry underbrush just as he was starting to feel confident. “I’m hungry. What do we have left?”

Shichi covered his face with both hands, groaning as she sat down next to him. It was impossible. She was better than the hunter, able to find him more quickly than he could even find himself. There was no use in trying to talk her out of it. Not only was she convinced that Zaisei was no match for her, but she had apparently made it her duty to keep Shichi safe. It would only be a matter of time before they were found, and Chiyo would have to fight once again.

With a sigh, he opened his satchel to examine their rations. There wasn’t much left. Only a few yams and dried mushrooms lay at the bottom of the bag, nestled next to a single poppy pod. Shichi froze as he stared at the pod, having forgotten that he still had one. He began to think, his eyes lingering on it.

There was only one way to end the hunt.

“So? Did you find anything?” Chiyo stepped over to take a look at the satchel. The moment she was close enough, he wrapped his hand around her snout. The sap worked quickly, robbing the fox of consciousness as she inhaled. Her eyes fluttered before she went limp, dropping into his hands like a bag of rice.

Gently, he laid her body beneath the cover of a bush. He held the leaves aside as he watched her sleep, hoping that she would forgive what he was about to do.

“I’m sorry, Chiyo,” he said, his voice soft in the morning air. “I wish I’d gotten to know you better.”

Shichi left the bag next to her, knowing that he would no longer need it. He pulled the ribbon from inside of his robe, wrapping it tightly around his wrist before knotting the ends. Picking up the staff, he remembered the day that Sagiri had handed it to him, trusting him to make it on his own. He wondered if she would be disappointed in him now.

Standing, he gave the kitsune a final look. He hoped, deep in his heart, that she would find a new companion. She didn’t deserve to be alone—no one did.

Silently, he made his way through the woods. He followed the path south, back where they had come from. Rather than buzzing with fear, his mind was strangely calm. He was at peace with his decision, thinking only of the chirps of morning birds. The air was crisp and cool, smelling of wet leaves and bark. Soon, he came across a bright clearing. Light streamed across the open area, illuminating the rows of trees that lined its borders. Specks of dust floated in the beams, drifting aimlessly between bare branches.

Finding the center, Shichi seated himself on folded knees. He laid the shakujo before him, leaving it straight on the ground. His eyes were nearly closed, cast down toward the earth as he began to meditate. With his mind clear, all he could do was wait.

Zaisei didn’t disappoint. It wasn’t long before his voice broke the silence, ringing through the chilled air as he spoke.

“What are you doing?”

Shichi didn’t reply immediately, only taking in a slow breath. His eyes remained focused on the ground, half-lidded and motionless. He could hear the hunter stepping forward. It was quiet enough to take in the subtle rustle of Zaisei’s clothing and the irritation in his breath. Finally, Shichi replied.

“You win.”

Zaisei’s eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks. His hands tightened into fists; he was furious at the tengu’s words—even more so at the wretched composure in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“No,” Zaisei said. “That’s not how this works.”

“I’m through running,” Shichi said, still avoiding eye contact with the hunter. His hands lay flat on his knees, unmoving as he spoke. “I give up.”

“No. No! You can’t do this!”

Shichi didn’t reply, paying little mind to the hunter’s growing tantrum.

“Get up!” Zaisei took a heavy step forward. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Get up!”

“I can let you hunt me,” the tengu said. “But I can’t let you hunt my friend. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“You can fight me! Defend yourself—kill me!”

“I won’t fight you.” Shichi’s words lacked any hint of emotion. His eyes closed, shutting out the sight of the furious human. The next thing he felt was a kick. There was a faint crack as Zaisei’s heel met his shoulder, still weak from being dislocated. It knocked the tengu off balance, toppling him to his side. He could feel the coarse earth on his palms, the tiny pebbles leaving marks on his skin.

The boot came down once more, striking his stomach with enough force to make him gag. Still, Shichi didn’t speak, not even giving Zaisei the honor of a glance. Breath hissing, the hunter grasped his prey by the collar. Shichi’s back hit the ground with a thump, momentarily cutting his breath short. Zaisei pinned him, leaning close enough to let the tengu feel his breath. It came forth in puffs as he shouted, rising visibly in the chilly clearing.

“Coward!” His hands shook as he fisted the robe. “You can’t do this to me!”

Shichi’s only reply was a slow intake of breath.

“I— I’ll kill the fox, as well. You won’t be helping her at all,” the hunter said between gritted teeth. “I’ll skin her alive!”

“No, you won’t,” Shichi said simply.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you’re a good man.”

Zaisei’s expression fell. He watched the tengu for a long time, unable to blink. He took a deep breath, his body shuddering as it filled with cold winter air. Slowly, he reached for a knife. There was only one left on the strap across his chest—the others had all been lost in their previous encounters. He pulled it from its sheath, drawing forth the sound of steel against leather.

Shichi focused on the warmth of the morning sun. He could hear droplets falling from tree branches, the wind rustling their bare twigs. He had always been afraid in the past—afraid to fail, to see his loved ones die, or to even die himself. Yet now, as he lay beneath the hunter’s raised blade, there was no fear in his chest.

There was a clatter as the knife fell, hitting the ground next to them. Shichi opened his eyes, glancing sideways at the blade that had been discarded on the frozen soil. The steel glinted, the morning light winking off of its surface. After a moment, Shichi glanced up, finally making eye contact with the hunter. The man returned his look with a glare, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Tell me,” Zaisei said, barely speaking above a whisper, “your name.”

“Shichi.”

The hunter paused, keeping their eyes locked as he thought.

“You’re a fool, Shichi.”

With that, he stood, freeing the tengu from his hold on the ground. Shichi straightened himself as he watched Zaisei walk away. Bou was waiting at the edge of the clearing, bearing a few bandages but otherwise intact. Zaisei ran his hand over the dog’s head, and then glanced back over his shoulder.

“ . . . the world needs more fools.”

With Bou at his side, the hunter turned, not waiting for a reply before returning to the woods. Shichi watched the trees, his body still while their long shadows disappeared. After a moment, he took in a slow breath, lowering his eyes to finish his meditation.

#

When Shichi found Chiyo, she was still asleep. Carefully, he removed the kitsune from the cover of the bushes and settled down next to her. It was rare to see her so quiet, and he decided to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Perhaps upon waking she might not even realize he had left. Just as the sun hit noon, he could hear her shift as she regained consciousness. Chiyo snapped upright, on the verge on panic before she noticed that the tengu was sitting beside her.

“Good morning,” he said, in the process of cleaning the head of his staff.

“You.” She glanced around before returning her eyes to his figure. “Didn’t you—”

“Yes?” Shichi said, looking up from his task.

“Don’t you ‘yes’ me, I can still smell poppy sap.” She snarled, wrinkling her black nose in discomfort. “And . . .”

The fox narrowed her eyes as she moved closer, sniffing his clothing with suspicion.

“And the hunter!” she said. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“Not far. I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore.” Shichi examined the sheen of the polished iron. He was still getting used to the idea of freedom—of not having to run, hide, or worry. Now they could continue on to the city at their own pace. Chiyo only stared at him, her head tilting to the side as she considered his words.

“Did you . . . kill him?”

“What?” The tengu nearly choked on his words. “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“You killed him, didn’t you? And now you’re trying to save face!” she said with a grin. “Some monk you are.”

“I didn’t kill anyone! I didn’t do anything.” Shichi wasn’t sure whether to be offended or to drop into a fit of laughter. He literally had not done anything, and somehow it had saved his life.

“A likely story.”

He raised his brow. “Chiyo, look at me. Do you really think I’m capable of taking down a seasoned hunter?”

The kitsune paused, giving the tengu a once over with squinted eyes. She focused on his thin limbs and various injuries, coming to a conclusion rather quickly. Her head shook in defeat.

“No, you’re right. You’re much too pathetic.” The kitsune sighed, flopping her tails in disappointment. The thought of a violent monk seemed to amuse her.

“Thank you.”

“Well, whatever you did, does this mean I have time to hunt now?”

“Whatever pleases you,” Shichi said. Before he could even finish his sentence, Chiyo had bounded off into the trees. He could hear her call out as she ran, her voice cutting through the forest.

“If you leave me again, consider yourself dead!”

“Understood,” he answered pleasantly in spite of her threat. He hoped, quite selfishly, that nothing would ever force him to abandon her again.