二十六 Part 26 (Snow)

With a steadier schedule, Shichi had returned to his routine of waking up before dawn. Normally, Chiyo remained sleeping well through the morning, but that day he awoke to find her standing by an open window. The sky was still dark; only the faintest glow of distant color told him that the sun was on its way. A frigid breeze swept through the room, causing the kitsune’s white hair to flutter against her temple.

“Chiyo, close the window.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “It’s freezing in here.”

“Come look,” she said, ignoring his request. It was too early to react with interest—though his body had awoken, his curiosity was still sound asleep. Inhaling deeply, he smoothed his sleep-tousled feathers and made his way toward the window. He glanced outside, taking a long moment to realize what he was looking at.

“It’s snowing,” he whispered.

“Mm,” Chiyo said with a nod. “It’s rare in Osaka. Pretty, isn’t it?”

The kitsune spoke the truth. Sheets of soft white had settled over the rooftops, glinting against dots of lantern light. Far to the east, the rising sun highlighted the pale coating in gold and copper. The snow fell in wisps, slowly dancing with each shift in the air. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, fell half-lidded as he grew lost in the scenery.

Then, they snapped open.

“My herbs!” He hurried away from the window to grab an armload of blankets from a low shelf.

“You’re not seriously going to put blankets on—” Chiyo said, but the tengu had already darted out of the room.

Ignoring the bitter cold, Shichi hurried to cover the delicate young plants. His knees sunk into the snow as he cleared away the layer that had settled over the saplings. Positioning the thin sheets, he set them above the herbs on short bamboo poles. Large white flakes settled over his body as he worked. They speckled against his dark feathers, reminding him that he was not dressed properly for outdoor work. It mattered little—if the saplings were smothered, he would have lost weeks of work.

He was nearly finished when the sound of the door caught his attention. He glanced back to see two familiar figures standing beneath the covered walkway, their silhouettes dark against the cascade of falling snow.

“Already awake?” he asked, turning back to his work. His breath clouded as he spoke, slowly dissipating into the icy air.

“We wanted to see the snow,” Rinka said, looking up at the sky with bright eyes. It was only natural; tengu nearly always lived in mountains. Snow was familiar to their kind.

“She wanted to see the snow.” Aki looked considerably less excited than her companion.

“Ah, of course,” Shichi said. “It’s nice, but not for the garden.”

“I think you take better care of those plants than you do of yourself,” Aki said, leaning against a wooden beam.

“That’s not true,” he said as he tied the corner of a blanket to a short pole.

“You’re wearing underclothes in the snow.”

The monk had been trounced—he was indeed dressed in clothing only suitable for bed. He cleared his throat, focusing his attention on the string he was knotting.

“Did it snow often at your temple?” Rinka held out both hands to catch the flakes. “We had it all the time in Furubashi.”

Shichi didn’t have a chance to respond. Aki let out an irritated sigh, turning back toward the door.

“You two can sit out in the cold and be nostalgic,” she grumbled. “I’m going back to bed.”

The door slid shut with a loud clack, leaving Shichi and Rinka alone in the garden. She didn’t look at all surprised by her leader’s behavior.

“Is she always so angry?” Shichi asked, his eyes still on the door.

“She has a lot to be angry about.” Rinka stepped forward to sit on the edge of the walkway. Her feet sunk into the snow, leaving sandal-shaped imprints.

“You’re from the same village, aren’t you? You must have gone through the same things.”

“Yes,” she said. “But Aki has . . .”

Rinka trailed off, hesitant to continue.

“Has what?” Shichi momentarily forgot his task. Days had passed since his conversation with Aki in the bath. Several things had been left unsaid—things that had tugged at the back of his mind. Just as Rinka opened her mouth, another voice cut through the air.

“Shichi!” Fumie called from inside the inn. There was a terrible urgency in her voice; something told him this would be more than a request to clean the floors. He hurried to the door, giving Rinka an apologetic nod as he passed.

Inside, he found the innkeeper alongside two figures—both kitsune, and both in their human forms. The woman was apparently more skilled than Chiyo; her hair was perfectly black and the only red on her face lay on her lips. The man, on the other hand, could barely pass as human. His face, almost entirely covered by a thick scarf, was long and foxlike. The tips of his tails poked out from beneath his robe, betraying his true self to anyone who might notice. His disguise wasn’t the only issue—the kitsune could barely stand, requiring his companion to hold most of his weight with her arms.

Shichi quickly moved to help support him. “What happened?”

“He’s been ill for a few days, but his fever grew worse this morning,” the woman said. “Can you help him?”

“Let’s get him to a room.”

With some effort, the man was brought to an empty room on the second floor. Shichi hurried to lay out the bedding, gently easing his patient onto the soft surface. He washed the dirt from his hands, then knelt to examine him.

“I’ve been poisoned,” the kitsune said, his voice muffled by the scarf. “I know it.”

“No one’s poisoned you, love. You’re just sick,” the woman said gently.

“I-it’s the other clan. They’ve been trying to kill me for years,” he continued, ignoring her words.

“Please forgive him,” she said, glancing up at Shichi. “He’s a bit paranoid.”

“It’s all right,” Shichi said with a shake of his head. “You— ah, what may I call you?”

“My name is Hana,” she said. “And my husband is Naoki.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Naoki. Please try to relax.”

The kitsune gave a reluctant nod, wearily closing his eyes. As Shichi pulled up the man’s sleeve to check his pulse, his body froze. The tengu exhaled, eyes locked on his patient’s wrist.

“Fumie,” he said, attempting to keep his voice steady. “I need you to leave the room.”

Her eyes softened in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s smallpox.”

The innkeeper stiffened.

“And don’t let anyone else enter. Do you understand?”

Fumie nodded quickly, backing up through the entrance. The door shut, leaving him alone with the two kitsune. Shichi closed his eyes for a moment. He had only dealt with smallpox in theory—through books and memorization. It was an epidemic that ran rampant in human towns, spreading through filth and poor living conditions. The disease had never come near the temple.

“S-smallpox?” Hana said, a tinge of panic rising with her voice. “But there’s no cure for—”

“Don’t worry,” Shichi said gently. “In the right conditions, he should be able to overcome it on his own. I have some herbs to alleviate the itching. We’ll just need to keep him comfortable and hydrated.”

“I see. That’s a relief,” she said with a hopeful smile.

Moving quickly, Shichi gathered the necessary medicines and supplies from his room. Chiyo followed him into the hallway, not pleased that she was being ignored.

“What’s going on in there?” she asked, craning her head to peek as he opened the door.

“Stay out,” was all he said before shutting it behind him. Chiyo frowned, muttering to herself as she turned to the stairs. Perhaps a warm meal would make her feel better.

Shichi immediately set to work. Using a sea sponge and a mixture of burdock root, the tengu set to washing his patient’s skin. The rash was already in its later stages, rising into fluid-filled pustules. Once he had removed the scarf, Shichi could see that the lesions covered the man’s face, clustering on his cheeks and limbs.

“May I ask where you’re from?” Shichi said as he wiped the sweat from the kitsune’s brow with a cloth.

“A village,” Naoki said, “north of here.”

“Are the others sick as well?”

“Only I.”

“Have you traveled recently?” Shichi said. “To a place where people might be infected?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” The kitsune exhaled slowly. “Only this clinic.”

Shichi glanced upward, not sure what to make of the man’s answers. Such a disease was spread through people—through close contact with the infected. Who could he have contracted it from?

“How odd . . .”

He tended to the ailing yokai through the afternoon, providing a steady supply of hot yarrow tea to keep him hydrated. Hana remained silent, watching intently from the side as he worked. It was only when his patient had fallen into a deep, comfortable sleep that Shichi thought it safe to retire to his room for a short rest. He cleansed himself thoroughly, not daring to risk spreading the disease throughout the inn.

Though weary, he avoided the temptation to sleep, instead focusing on reorganizing his cache of medicine. He had to be ready for any complications that might arise. Despite his outer confidence, working with such an unfamiliar disease filled the tengu with worry.

“Are you going to come down for dinner?” Chiyo asked, making a neat bow at the front of her hakama.

“Not right now,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment, looking toward the window before continuing. “So, your patient is a kitsune?”

“Yes,” Shichi said. “And his wife.”

“You should be careful,” Chiyo said, her tone oddly firm.

He gave her a puzzled look over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t trust kitsune. They’re tricky.”

“I trust you,” he said with a raised brow.

Chiyo gave a faint smile, shaking her head as she made her way to the door. “Big mistake.”

Just as she slid it open, a presence in the doorway startled her into a backpedal.

“Good evening,” Hana said, giving her a light bow.

“Er, Shichi is busy now.” Chiyo neglected to return the gesture. The woman had caught her off guard, which was not a state Chiyo was fond of. Before the tengu could correct her, Hana replied with a gracious smile.

“Actually, I wanted to speak with you.”

“Me?” Chiyo replied, blinking.

“Yes. As a fellow kitsune, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

Chiyo’s expression lost any hint of amusement, dropping to a flat stare.

“What . . . kind of favor?” Chiyo asked. She did nothing to hide the suspicion in her tone.

“My husband is understandably miserable. I was thinking that some sweets with azuki would brighten his spirits.”

“Well, I don’t have any,” she said. It was true—red bean desserts never lasted long in the inn. Chiyo always made sure to eat them before anyone else.

“I thought not,” Hana said, her smile never faltering. “But there’s a shop across the river that makes excellent mochi. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I would go there myself, but I can’t bear to leave his side.”

“But it’s so far away,” Chiyo said, unfazed. The journey would take an hour each way and, at the moment, she was much more interested in having a proper dinner downstairs.

“It would mean a lot to us if you could fetch some,” the woman said hopefully.

“No, sorry,” came a blunt reply as she attempted to slip between the other kitsune and the doorway.

“Chiyo.” Shichi gave his friend a disappointed glare. “Don’t be selfish.”

“I don’t do errands for strangers,” the kitsune said, folding her arms.

“Then do it for me.”

Her chest rose as she took in an angry breath, her expression screwing up into a scowl. She glared back at the tengu for a while, then at the other kitsune in the doorway.

“Fine,” she muttered, and left without another word. Shichi let out a faint sigh.

“I apologize for my friend. She isn’t always so cold,” he said, shaking his head.

“No need.” Hana invited herself into the room. The door shut softly behind her, barely making a sound as it closed.

“It must have been difficult—traveling so far in the snow,” Shichi said as he closed a small bag of bellflower root.

“It was all we could do. Naoki had heard about you from his cousin and insisted on making the journey,” she said, sitting down next to him on her knees. Her kimono fell in folds beneath her, its fabric made of an elegant, plum-colored silk. She reached to push a piece of hair behind her ear, the rest of it neatly tied up with a comb.

“To be honest,” she said, “I tried to convince him not to. I thought that trekking through the cold would only make him worse. But it looks like we did the right thing. I’m quite grateful for your services.”

“I’m happy to help,” Shichi said with a nod.

“Naoki is the head of our clan,” Hana added. “He has quite a bit of power. I promise you’ll be well-paid.”

“I appreciate it, but please save your gold for something else.”

“I see.” Her voice quieted. “Well, in that case . . .”

The kitsune pulled forth an embroidered bag, loosening the cord that fastened the mouth. From inside she pulled a sachet of tea leaves, their color a rich, mossy green.

“This is tea from our village,” Hana said. “It’s well-known in this region—the taste is quite special. Will you accept this, as a show of my gratitude?”

Shichi looked up from his herbs, his interest piqued by her offering. A fine cup of tea was one of the greatest pleasures he could think of. Surely it would be rude to turn away such a gift.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’re very kind.”

Her expression brightened at his answer. With smooth movements, she began to prepare a serving for each of them, using the recently heated tea pot to pour water over the leaves. With a polite nod, she offered the filled ceramic cup. Curls of steam rose from the rim, beckoning him as he accepted it. It had an unusual fragrance, making him even more curious of its taste.

“We’re blessed to have you,” she said, pouring some for herself.

“It was you who braved the cold to come here.” He raised the cup to take a drink. “I’m grateful for your trust.”

The moment he finished speaking, his expression hardened. The tea was bitter, stronger than any he’d ever had. It was more than just the taste—it tingled in his mouth, making his tongue numb. The liquid was acrid as it went down his throat, and a burning sensation followed all the way to his stomach. He took in a sharp gasp, unable to help but drop the cup to the floor as he clutched his throat.

“Well done,” the kitsune said with a dry smile, setting her own cup down on the table. “You surprised me with your skill. I was hoping you would be incompetent.”

His eyes flickered upward, wide with distress as he fumbled with her words. The pain was spreading, his abdomen gripped with the sensation of blistering coals. It felt as if he were being burnt from the inside out.

“W-what?” He gagged, struggling for breath.

“I can’t have you healing him. Not after I’ve come this far.”

“Who . . . who are you?” the tengu asked, choking forth each word. It was then that he began to shake, grasping his own robe as he curled forward. The spilled tea had begun to soak into the tatami, its poison seeping into the straw mats.

“Not that poor fool’s wife, though I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now,” the kitsune answered, wiping her own teacup clean and setting it back onto the table. He let out a pained gasp, finding it harder to breathe with each passing second. Gingerly, she leaned forward, grasping his beak shut with long, white fingers.

“Sshh, don’t fret,” she whispered, her breath like dust against his ear. “The pain will stop in an hour or so, when you die.”

When his only reply was a muffled groan, she got to her feet, making her way toward the drawers of herbs along the wall. She emptied a box of turmeric, replacing it with a different root from her bag.

“You really should have studied your herbs more carefully,” she said. “Such an amateur error, mistaking one plant for another in your tea.”

Shichi’s breath caught as he realized what she was doing. Not only had she poisoned him, but she was going to get away with it. He couldn’t find the energy to scream. Inhaling itself was difficult enough—he couldn’t possibly call for help now. He could already feel his heart slowing. Soon, it would stop, and no one would ever know what had truly happened to him.

The kitsune took one last look at him before leaving, shaking her head at his pathetic state. He lay helpless on the floor, choking against the caustic throes that were spreading through his body.

Her lips curled in amusement as the door slid shut behind her. “Now who’s going to heal my poor husband?”