Book II 十七 Part 17 (Claw)

A single day passed, each minute dragging like a boulder through the mud. Shichi had once again foregone a meal, undeterred as the girl began to cry. Even when her tears evolved into a tantrum, he did not waver, ensuring a night of well-earned stomach pains. The ache in his gut was trivial. He had spend a lifetime bending to others, yet this was one place where he would rather break.

In response to his defiance, Hime had kept him locked in the tea house for the day. He longed to return to the manor, not in search of food, but for another chance to speak with Yuu. He wondered, if an opportunity to escape arose, if he would be willing to leave without seeing her once more.

It was evening when the entrance latch rattled open. The guard outside made no effort to stoop and only his legs were visible through the small door.

“Out,” was all the man said. Shichi complied, greeted by two blades as he exited the tea house. Shichi resisted the urge to sigh. It seemed nothing in the jinya could be done without an gratuitous dose of theatrics.

Once in the house, he could smell the meal before he could see it. The scent was amplified by his hunger, forcing his stomach to curl below his ribs. He was led into the familiar dining room, where Hime and a woman were talking by the door.

“Here he is, Mother,” Hime said, her eyes bright at the sight of her pet. “Isn’t he lovely?”

The girl’s mother was dressed in silk, her hair positioned with various accessories. Her brows had been entirely plucked, leaving only two carefully painted circles above her eyes. A row of blackened teeth was visible between her lips, contrasting the white of her skin. Her eyes ran impassively over the tengu before she turned back to her daughter.

“He’s rather grim, isn’t he? Wouldn’t you like a more attractive pet, like a horse or a—“

“I don’t want a horse.” Hime’s voice rose, her lips twisted into a scowl. “Anyone can have a horse — even farmers. Don’t I deserve something special?”

The woman gave a faint smile. “Of course you do. Just make sure he’s dressed properly before your father sees. His clothes are quite drab.”

“I’ve already had the tailor prepare a new set.”

“Very good. Now enjoy your supper, my palanquin is ready.”

Shichi didn’t look as the woman left, keeping his eyes on the far wall. It seemed the girl’s parents were quite aware of her hobby.  Unfortunately, the only qualms they had with keeping a tengu captive was his apparent lack of charm.

“Are you going to behave today?” Hime asked. Her attention was now set on Shichi and her voice had darkened considerably.

He said nothing, only blinking as he stared forward.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll find a way to make you eat.”

Hime gestured and an attendant stepped forward, holding a stack of clothes in his arms. Even folded, Shichi could see silver embroidery over the elaborately patterned fabric. The black cloth gleamed in the light of the dining hall, seemingly meant to mimic the sheen in his feathers. The girl lifted the jacket by the collar, letting it tumble open before him.

“For you.” She gave a coy smile. “Though you don’t quite deserve it.”

Shichi avoided looking at it. “No thank you.”

“Take it. That haori you’re wearing is just awful. I’ve never seen a color so ugly.”

His throat tightened, trapping the air in his chest. It had only been a few months ago that he’d received the jacket. It had been his last day in Osaka, the day he had lost two friends and said goodbye to another. Fumie, the innkeeper, had placed the gift in his hands. He could recall the fondness in her voice, the affection he felt as he imagined the nights she must have spent sewing it.

“Do you like the color?” Fumie had said. “It matches your eyes.”

Shichi’s fingers tensed, then fisted at his sides.

“Take it off,” Hime said.

“No.”

“I said take it off.”

“I won’t.”

The girl’s eyes flared. The hem of her kimono swept the floor as she stepped forward, stopping only inches from his face.

“Do as I say.” Her words hissed from between clenched teeth. “You’re mine.”

For the first time that day, Shichi looked at the girl. There wasn’t the faintest hint of submission, not even a flicker of movement in his eyes.

“No,” he said, his gaze steady. “I’m not.”

An infuriated cry filled the room. Her small hands swiped his collar, crumpling the fabric as she attempted to tear it free. Without thinking, he grasped her wrists, struggling to keep her fingers away. She was stronger than she looked, ripping the seam at his shoulder with her bare hands. The threads stretched, then split, revealing a layer of black feathers beneath. The sound of torn fabric amplified in his ears, echoing until it was the only thing he could hear. Shichi’s eyes snapped open. His restraints fell, forgotten as he swept her hands away in one deft movement.

“Ow!”

Shichi froze. Her voice wrenched him out of the moment like a dash of cold water. The guards at the door had moved in an instant, their weapons now flanking the tengu’s throat. He paid them no mind, only staring as Hime recoiled before him.

“You,” she said, clutching her arm to her chest. Slowly, she pulled back her hand to reveal a single cut. Blood beaded along the skin before dripping down to her elbow. “You scratched me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his nerve falling to a heap in his gut. “I-It was an accident.”

Her eyes were now wet, threatening to overflow with tears. “I just wanted to give you a gift.”

“I—“

“How could you?”

“I’m sorry,” Shichi said once more, having lost the very last shred of will in his heart.

“Shall we kill him?” a guard asked, his sword brushing the feathers on Shichi’s neck.

The girl hummed in thought. Slowly, she lifted her hand, examining the crimson that had stained her fingertips. After a bit of thought, her expression shifted. A smile drifted over her lips as she reached forward to touch Shichi’s face.

“Perhaps not. I am kind-hearted, after all.” Streaks of red trailed down his beak as she stroked him. “But one thing bothers me.”

He made no effort to remove her hand, only watching as she pondered his fate. She gazed back at him, then let her eyes fall to his hands.

“Those claws of yours,” she said. “They’re rather sharp, aren’t they?”

Shichi dared not reply. He swallowed, feeling as if a knot had fixed itself somewhere in his throat.

Hime turned to the guard. “Remove them.”

The men complied without question, taking the tengu by the arms. When the implication of her command clicked in his head, Shichi snapped out of his guilt-induced daze.

“Wait,” he said, tugging against their hold. “You can’t—“

The guards didn’t let him finish, wrenching him backwards and out of the room. Hime watched as he was taken, her eyes half-lidded and her smile never faltering.

Shichi found there was no use in struggling. It had been days since he had eaten and he had barely the will to stand. The guards led him outside, through the garden and into the stables. The air was heavy with the scent of horses and straw. One guard forced the tengu to his knees as the other browsed the various tools on the wall. Shichi’s eyes followed the human’s hand as it trailed over a hoof pick and an oil brush. A set of shears hung near the door, long and formidable as they waited to be chosen. Shichi’s pulse quickened as the guard neared the instrument. He had never cut his claws before, only filed them down, and could only imagine what might happen if they were trimmed too closely.

Yet, oddly enough, the guard’s hand passed over the shears. They went ignored as he reached for the last tool on the wall, one Shichi hadn’t noticed until that very moment.

It was a set of iron pliers.

He immediately jerked away from the guard’s hold, only to be thrown down over a long, wooden bench. A chorus of thumping filled his skull as his heart pushed forth his last shreds of energy. The guard pinned Shichi with his upper body, using his weight to restrain the tengu against the bench. Shichi panted for air. His limbs began to burn, aching as he attempted to use strength he simply didn’t have. It was no use — he was too weak to escape.

The standing guard tossed the instrument indifferently, catching it by the handle. “Hold out his arm.”

The man tightened his hold, pinning his outstretched wrist to the end of the bench. Shichi’s eyes, wide and dilated, caught the gleam of lamplight on the old pliers. They creaked as they opened, hinting at the weight of the iron. A shudder ran up from deep inside his chest.

Shichi could feel a hand clamping over his own. There was a faint tick as the pliers closed around the claw of his smallest finger.  His pulse intensified, heating every inch of his skin, deafening him with each pound. Each gasp dried his tongue further. His voice longed to come forth, yet he swallowed his words. He would not beg. No matter the fear, nor whatever pain he might face, it was one thing he could not do.

The claw ripped forth with a wet snap. His scream filled the stable, startling the horses in their stalls. The nail was tossed to the floor, leaving an arc of red droplets.

“Keep him quiet,” the guard said. His companion shifted his weight, using one hand to pin Shichi’s beak shut. The tengu shivered as he felt the pliers close around the next claw. His head began to buzz, swarming with pain and flashes of white.

The next claw was thicker and took more force to tear free. Shichi’s cry was muffled, barely reaching the walls as another claw clattered to the floor.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t be there anymore — in the stable, at the mercy of a child. His thoughts began flickering. If he focused on the moment, on the wooden bench, the blood, and the pliers, he would surely go mad. Shichi scoured his memory, longing to be somewhere, anywhere, but that very place.

A color filled his mind. It was green — a lush, warm green. He could see light filtering through trees and could hear Sagiri scolding him for becoming distracted. The smell of incense lingered in the air and his fingers were smudged with ground medicine.

The image shattered as the next claw was severed from the root. He lurched against the guard, gagging as his scream faded. Tears rimmed his eyes. He dared a glance down, counting three blurred shapes along the floor — three claws.

There were seven left.

His eyes closed once more, bringing him back to the place in his memory — to the forest outside his temple, to the place he could never return to. He focused on his master’s voice, of a time she had asked him to re-sweep the infirmary hall. It wasn’t a special memory, nor one from any significant day. Yet somehow, at that moment, it was all he cared to think of.

#

Shichi couldn’t recall how much time had passed. It seemed to have stopped, neither coming nor going as he stared at his hands. The walls of the tea house groaned against the wind outside. His fingertips had been crudely wrapped, the strips of linen soaked with red. These couldn’t have been his hands. Even as a human, even when his flesh was fair and his nails flat, he could still feel them — still sense the creases of skin and the textures beneath. Now, there was only a dull pain, a numbness that throbbed through his knuckles and every bone in his fingers. His claws were gone.

His hands shook, frail as he curled his fingers. The simple action was enough to sting his nerves, sending a fresh flood of pain up through his skin. He took in a weak breath.

There was a sound at the door. Shichi made no effort to look, only straightening his fingers under a flat gaze. Cool air filled the room as the door opened and a single figure crouched to enter.

It was Hime.

She seated herself across from him, setting down a lacquer tray with both hands. The room was silent as he continued to stare down, making no indication he was aware of her presence.

“I’m sorry they did that,” she said, her hands clasped in apology. “I didn’t mean for them to hurt you.”

Shichi turned his hands, watching a thin trail of blood run down to his knuckle.

Hime sighed, sliding the tray closer. “I brought you some food. It’s a castella — the ingredients are from a far off country. I’m sure you’ve never had one before, so I thought you might like to try.”

When there was no response, her voice grew even softer.

“Please look at me,” she said. There was a sense of desperation in her voice, one that usually would command Shichi’s attention in an instant. Yet in hearing it from her lips, he felt nothing. He lowered his hands, his stare gliding to the boarded window. Hime took in a sharp breath, then lost control.

The dishes on the tray clattered as she swiped them away. Bits of cake littered the tatami and ceramic shards lay in pieces in their wake. Shichi stiffened in reaction, but somehow managed to avoid looking.

“Fine!” Hime was heaving, her teeth bared as she spoke. “Stay hungry. I hate you —you can starve for all I care!”

There was a scuffling as she left, slamming the small door shut behind her. It latched shut with an echoing clack.

Shichi slumped against the wall, his next breath shuddering from his throat. The wind outside hadn’t stopped, its cries the only sound left in the old tea house.

An hour passed before he moved again. There was a metallic scrape as the door was unlocked and his chest tightened in dread. Once more, he looked away from the entrance, hoping that the girl had not come to talk. The visitor’s voice, however, did not belong to Hime.

“Shichi.”

He straightened, turning toward the sound with a light heart. “Yuu.”

“I heard—“ she said, then paused. “I heard what happened. Are you all right?”

She knelt beside him, draping a thin blanket around his shoulders.

“What am I saying? Of course you’re not all right.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Shichi.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, already feeling warmer. He hadn’t noticed how cold he was until then. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have some more bandages. They said I could bring you some.”

His expression softened. He was glad that she had found an excuse to come by. Carefully, he offered his fingers, allowing her to remove the poorly-done wrappings from earlier. She stilled at the sight of his fingertips, momentarily holding his hands in her own.

Yuu’s eyes tightened before she spoke. “I—“

“It’s all right,” he said.

For a moment, she looked as if she might protest, but soon shifted her attention to cleansing his wounds.

“It’s strange,” Shichi said, then winced. “Usually I’m the one doing this.”

“I wish I had some medicine to give you. This was all they would allow.”

Shichi quieted. He hadn’t even thought of medicine, having been too distraught to consider infection. Until Yuu had said his name, he had been completely lost in himself.

For a while, he watched her work. Her movements were fluid and she seemed to be making every effort to avoid additional pain. It was a small gesture, but one he could not appreciate more.

“You’re wearing bracelets,” he said, finally noticing the glint of gold on her wrists.

“I had to perform a dance for guests. I was—“

Yuu paused, realizing his blood was already staining the new bandages. She closed her eyes tightly, considering her words before continuing.

“You’ve got to leave this place.”

Shichi looked down at their hands, then caught her eyes once more. “Come with me.”

Her eyes flickered, showing only a hint of pain before returning his gaze. “I… I can’t.”

“But why?”

“I know I’m a servant here,” she said. “But I’m also a woman. If I leave, I’ll lose that. I’ll lose everything.”

Shichi took in a slow breath. He could understand her hesitation. Even so, the thought of another tengu being trapped, like he was, like Aki was, brought a bitter sickness to his stomach.

“You wouldn’t lose anything with me,” he said. “But I can’t speak for all people. I don’t know what awaits you outside.”

Yuu dipped her head, taking a moment to digest his answer. “I understand. I’ll leave the door unlocked when I go. At the hour of the ox, the guards change shifts. You can escape then.”

“Won’t you be in trouble?”

“I don’t belong to her. The girl’s father won’t hurt me.”

Shichi sighed, then nodded. For a moment, they sat in silence, avoiding one another’s eyes.

“This will be the last time I see you,” Yuu said, her voice soft.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “But it’s your choice.”

Her eyes fell, only partially hiding the sorrow behind them. After a moment, her expression brightened and she turned to sort through her basket.

“I almost forgot,” she said, lifting a handful of wrapped rice balls. “Onigiri. I thought you might be hungry.”

Shichi’s stomach awoke with a start, nearly leaping up into his ribs. Even the scent of plain rice was enough to stir his sleeping hunger.

“Yuu,” he said, making sure to catch her gaze. “Thank you.”

“I should really be the one thanking you.”

Shichi blinked, unsure of what she was referring to. “But I haven’t done anything for you.”

Gently, Yuu took his hands one more. Her thumbs brushed lightly over his knuckles, careful not to graze his wounds.

“Yes,” she said, her words as soft as her touch. “You have.”

#

The hour of the ox was approaching. Shichi knelt, peering through the hole in the paper screen. The wooden gates that provided access to the jinya were visible through the bushes, no more than fifty paces from the tea house. Yuu had long since departed and she seemed to have kept her word. He had not heard her latch the door upon her exit.

The gates were protected with a guard at each side. Shichi would normally have attempted to slip through the dark to scale the wall instead, but such a feat required claws. He had done his best to ignore the burn of his wounds, yet each shift of his hand sung with pain. The fresh bandages Yuu had so carefully applied were now saturated, crimson stains blossoming around each fingertip. It was only an hour ago that the bleeding ceased. He considered it a blessing that it had stopped at all, or escape would have been the least of his concerns.

There was movement across the garden. A pair of men with dogs approached the gate — the new shift. Yuu had told him to leave during the shift change, but Shichi could see no discernible advantage. The gate was still properly guarded. As he began to wonder just what she had in mind, he saw her.

Yuu had stepped outside with a tray in both hands. Indistinct words were exchanged between her and the men before they each took an offered cup. She lowered a bowl for the dogs, gave a quick glance toward the tea house, then returned to the main hall. Only a minute passed before the guards began to rub their eyes, and another few before they collapsed against the posts of the gate. Whatever she had placed in their drinks, it was strong.

One thing was certain — she had always been capable of escaping on her own.

The door to the tea house opened with a simple nudge. Shichi slipped out, keeping himself low as he made his way to the entrance. The leaves of a flowering bush grazed his shoulder and he cringed at the sound. Every muscle in his body was tense, ready to bolt at the slightest threat. Yet, as he came to a stop in front of the doors, no threat came forth. The men and their dogs were slumped on the ground, as harmless as sacks of rice. Shichi reached for the door. The surface was smooth under his palm, the only thing standing between this prison and freedom.

The entry creaked open. The street came into view, wide and lonely in the night air. He took in a quick breath. There was only one thing left to do — step out.

Yet, as he stared at the empty road, he found himself unable to move. He was forgetting something. Yuu wasn’t with him, but that was her choice. He was still wearing the collar, yet he was certain Chiyo would know a way to remove it. There was something else — something important. His hand went to waist, to the spot where his bag normally hung. It was, of course, gone.

As was Aki’s sword.

Shichi glanced toward the main hall, then back to the road. Yuu had gone through a great deal of trouble to arrange his escape and the same chance would not come again. He willed his limbs to move, reminding himself of just how close he was. Hime was unstable. There was no telling what she might do to him next. Now. He had to go now.

His legs wouldn’t budge. Shichi couldn’t focus, unable to think of anything but Aki and the last time they’d spoken. She had been left behind as he’d stepped through the gates of the guard station — gates like these. He had promised himself he would take care of her sword when he’d lost her.

He couldn’t lose her twice.

With a deep breath, he turned to cross the courtyard. He recalled one guard instructing another to place the bag with his shakujo. Fortunately, he had seen the staff leaning on a wall in an inner room. Unfortunately, that room was Hime’s.

His eyes caught movement by the storehouses and he ducked in the shadow of a statue. He’d almost forgotten about the other guards that patrolled the grounds. Shichi would have to go quickly. It was only a matter of time before the sleeping men by the gate were discovered. The moon was only a sliver, barely defining the figure as he crossed the walkway between two buildings. A moment later, the man disappeared behind a wall. Shichi steadied himself, then darted to the door.

The halls were dark. A creak rose from an old floorboard beneath his heel and he froze in place, listening. For a moment, he held his breath, not daring to make another sound. No shuffles came forth, nor did any hint of life. The entire household was asleep.

Shichi continued down the corridor, counting doors until he found Hime’s. The feathers on his neck rose, betraying the dread he felt upon seeing it. What might happen if he woke her? What if she was already awake? He knelt by the door frame, listening for signs of activity. There was only silence.

With a slow breath, he slid the door on its frame. Through the thin crack, he could see her form on the wide bed at the center. Even in the dark, her slow breathing was evident. Strings of long, dark hair hung loosely over her pillow. She was asleep.

He slid the door fully open. The dry scrape of wood on its track had never seemed so loud. With a steadying breath, Shichi entered the room.

His staff was in the corner, placed next to a long chest of drawers. The tatami whispered under his feet, the straw fibers taut and crisp. Shichi gazed from the chest to the sleeping girl, then back. His heart was hammering so powerfully that he almost feared it might wake her. Still, she hadn’t moved. He took another step, then crouched beside the drawers.

The first held only clothing, the silken garments shining even in the gloom of night. In the next was a set of hair accessories. As he opened the third, his breath caught in his throat. There was his bag, deceptively small and emblazoned with a single eye. Beside it lay a silver key.

The desire to test it on the collar was fleeting. There was no time. He collected the items from the drawer, closing it with a final look over his shoulder. The girl was still asleep, too immersed in her dreams to notice his presence. Shichi grasped the rings of his staff, then slipped out of the room.

Once in the hall, he let out a heavy breath. Now, there was only the simple matter of walking out. He could only hope the unconscious guards at the gate hadn’t been noticed. He kept his pace slow, not wanting to trip in the dark or make any other unnecessary noises. The next sound, however, didn’t come from his feet.

The floor creaked behind him.

Slowly, Shichi turned. A figure stood swathed in shadows, disheveled hair falling in loose strands around her face. Her eyes glinted in the weak window light, locked unnervingly on his. Hime had awoken.

“Put those back,” she said, her words rasping against dry lips.

Shichi took one breath, then took off in a sprint. The hall felt twice as long. Slats of light slid over his form as he ran, reminding him of just how many windows he’d passed.

“Stop!” Hime’s voice carried through the corridor, bouncing off the walls. The exit was open, beckoning him with a view of the courtyard. It was only paces away.

A scream pierced the air. He could feel it in his bones, ringing inside his skull. Cool wind hit his face as he broke the threshold, finally free of the endless hall. He made only one step further.

A force collided with him from the side, throwing his body to the entry floor. His staff toppled down, its rings clattering with impact. Shichi pushed against the guard that had grappled him, only to have his arms pinned forward.

“Let go of that bag.” The man was speaking through clenched teeth, twisting the tengu’s wrist to emphasize his command. Shichi’s fist only clutched harder. His fingers shuddered around the bag, their wrappings loosening with his grip.

The guard’s voice rose. “Let go.”

Shichi cried out as his wrist was crushed, his fingers spreading in reaction. The bag and key slipped from his hand, tumbling down the stairs until they came to a stop on the ground. All he could see were his own fingers, blood running in trails from the tips.

The hem of a nightgown drifted past. Hime descended the stairs, crouching to pick the key up from the stone walkway. She examined it for a moment, then blew a speck of dirt from the handle.

“There,” she said. “No harm done. Let him up.”

The guard loosened his hold, allowing the tengu to sit upright. Shichi resisted the urge to tend to his fingers, making every effort to ignore the relapse of pain.

Hime’s eyes fell to her captive. “How did you get out?”

His thoughts immediately went to Yuu. Without her, he couldn’t even have left the tea house. Though she had made his escape nearly effortless, he had still managed to fail. Shichi closed his eyes, silent.

Seeing that he had no intention of responding, she shifted her attention to the guard.

“Did anyone visit the tea house after I left?”

The man gave a brusque nod. “Yuu, the servant.”

Oddly enough, this seemed to delight the girl. A wicked intent crossed her face, one which troubled Shichi to his core.

“It seems she forgot to latch the door.” Hime locked eyes with the tengu once more. “Mistakes should be punished, don’t you think?”

A hint of rage flashed in the back of his mind, an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to. He forced down the strange sensation, reminding himself of his center.

 “She’s not yours to punish.”

“Actually, I spoke with Father this evening. I thought you could use a companion.” Her lips spread into a smile. “He said I could have her.”

Shichi froze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The pain in his hands, the escape, everything was forgotten as a terrible chill ran over his body.

Hime only hummed to herself, tapping her jaw in feigned consideration. “I’ll have to do something about her claws, too.”

“You mustn’t,” he said, somehow finding his voice. “I beg of you.”

She folded her arms. “You have quite the nerve, making demands after what you’ve done.”

“I’ll do anything you ask,” Shichi said without thinking. Thought wasn’t necessary. He couldn’t let anyone, especially Yuu, go through the same torment he had.

“Do you swear it?”

“I swear.”

Hime paused to soak in his answer. He could only watch as she toyed with his fate — Yuu’s fate, in her thoughts. Though young, the girl seemed like a giant above him. Finally, she let out a sigh.

“Very well, she won’t be punished,” she said. “But you will.”

Shichi felt the warmth returning to his skin. Whatever punishment Hime had planned for him mattered little. Yuu was safe.

Hime gestured to the guard. “Lock him in the tea house. No food or contact for two days.”

The man nodded, taking Shichi by the arms and yanking him to his feet. The tengu made no resistance, allowing himself to be lead back to the garden.

“One more thing,” Hime said, forcing the guard to pause. Shichi glanced back to see Hime tucking the key into her sleeve. The girl met his eyes, her smile drifting into a grin.

“If you run away again, I’ll kill her.”