The Fox's Mask Read online

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  The Fox’s Mask

  Book One of The Kitsune Trilogy

  Anna Frost

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  An imprint of

  Musa Publishing

  Copyright Information

  The Fox’s Mask (The Kitsune Trilogy Book 1), Copyright © Anna Frost, 2012

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

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  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

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  Musa Publishing

  633 Edgewood Ave

  Lancaster, OH 43130

  www.musapublishing.com

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  Published by Musa Publishing, October 2012

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  This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

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  ISBN: 978-1-61937-236-8

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  Editor: Ellen Brock

  Cover Design: Kelly Shorten

  Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  For my fearless first reader Faren

  and for the infinitely supportive Mr. Frost.

  Prologue

  Akakiba — Three years ago…

  FLAMES DANCED IN THE DARK of a moonless night, reaching up to the stars as they devoured the shrine. Akakiba stood silent, the weight of failure on his shoulders. Demon blood dripped from his katana’s blade, but it was little consolation to slay a monster after the damage had been done.

  No help would be forthcoming, either. The shrine’s isolation on the mountainside saw to that. It hardly mattered since it would be impossible to extinguish such a raging fire no matter how many hands were lent to the task. The forest denizens were lucky: it had rained incessantly over the last few days, and the soaked forest was unlikely to be engulfed in flames.

  The boy stood a few steps away. His home was burning and, with it, his dead father. Disheveled hair cast shadows on his face, masking his expression, but his rigid posture and clenched fists spoke clearly of his pain.

  Fearing he already knew the answer, Akakiba asked, “Do you have any other family?”

  The boy shook his head mutely.

  Akakiba shifted, lifting his curved blade to wipe the blood on his sleeve. His kosode was already torn and bloodied against his chest—an additional stain hardly mattered. Returning the weapon to its sheath, he turned away. It was his fault that this young boy was left fatherless, bereft of the only family he’d had. Though unwillingly, Akakiba had drawn the demon here. What could he do to redeem himself?

  “Come with me,” he offered.

  What he would do with the boy, he hadn’t the faintest idea. Just like the younger sister he had left behind when he fled his clan’s ancestral home, this boy was at the delicate in-between age, no longer a child yet still a few springs from adulthood.

  Bearing nothing but the clothes on his back, the boy followed him into the darkness. Behind them, the flames danced on.

  Chapter One

  Akakiba

  “JUMP!”

  The warning left Akakiba’s throat unbidden, and he was glad it went unneeded. Yuki had already propelled himself high above the ground, barely avoiding the demon claws that meant to rend the flesh from his legs. The young man landed easily, swinging his sword back into a defensive position as he faced his oversized opponent. His eyes shone with far too little fear and far too much eagerness for Akakiba’s taste. He knew about the overconfidence of youth: at eighteen years of age, he’d only recently learned to overcome it.

  Akakiba twitched but held his ground; his hand closed tightly on his sheathed sword. He’d promised not to interfere, and this demon was, after all, only a minor one. At fifteen, Yuki was old enough by the clan’s standards to join the hunt. Although members of the Fox clan were trained to fight from a young age, and Yuki hadn’t come to it until twelve, the boy’s uncanny affinity for the art of the blade made up for lost time. The proof was before Akakiba now.

  Yuki’s enemy presented itself as a hulking bear-shadow with unnaturally large fangs and claws. It stared with scarlet eyes. It was a show, a shape meant to strike fear in human hearts.

  “Mind the weapons,” Akakiba often told him. The instruction seemed to have taken root, for Yuki’s gaze continuously tracked the claws.

  Uttering a deep growl, the creature charged. Nimbly, Yuki evaded by darting behind a pine tree as thick as he was. The claws flashed and bit deep into the wood; the tree groaned and oh-so-slowly began to collapse sideways.

  Yuki must have expected this opening, this brief instant when the demon was distracted by the tree, for he swung around the pine and brought his sword up.

  It was a good strike, slicing the demon cleanly in two. Stabbing hits were of no use against such creatures. One had to cut them to ribbons until they could no longer hold their shape and evaporated into nothingness.

  The demon came together again, both halves reuniting seamlessly. There was stamina in this one. Akakiba swallowed the urge to shout a warning. Yuki was neither blind nor dumb and hadn’t taken his eyes off the monster. His blade was up and ready for round two.

  The demon hovered, perhaps beginning to feel fear as it became clear Yuki was no helpless human.

  Akakiba turned his gaze to their surroundings, his usual caution at last overriding his worry. Where there was one demon, there might be more. It wouldn’t do to get caught by surprise.

  All was silent; beasts large and small had fled the vicinity, and the lake’s waters were calm and undisturbed. The forest road they’d been following all day curved near the lake, where they had found the demon harassing a dragon of female coloring. Yuki had immediately laid claim to the kill and went in recklessly.

  The dragon in question had long fled to the safety of the water, and Akakiba prayed she would survive to lay more eggs. Dragons had grown fewer in the last decades, and every female was precious.

  A cry returned his attention to the ongoing fight. Yuki stumbled back from his adversary, blood staining his kosode on the right side.

  Akakiba nearly drew his weapon but managed to rein in his protective instincts. Intervening now might forever damage Yuki’s confidence in his sword.

  Yuki’s knee touched the ground. A fall? No, a feint. The foolish demon rushed at what looked like an opening, and its opponent sliced off its limbs. Yuki rose without a pause, pushing his advantage before the demon could re-form properly. The human slashed and hacked wildly, his method imperfect but the results quite acceptable. The demon shrieked, unable to withstand so many wounds, and faded like smoke on the wind. The glyphs inscribed on Yuki’s blade glowed softly, ensuring the demon’s utter destruction. This one would never return.

  Akakiba stepped forward, uncurling his painfully stiff fingers from his weapon. When he spoke, his voice was even and untroubled, “Not bad for a first slaying. How’s that wound?”

  “It’s not serious,” Yuki said, kneeling down and peering at the gash. “It bleeds, but it hardly hurts.”

  “The rush of battle often dulls pain. Let me have a look.”

&nb
sp; Yuki dutifully wiped his sword and returned it to its sheath as Akakiba knelt and parted the torn fabric, inspecting the wound. It was shallow enough not to be life-threatening, but it was long, and blood loss was always a danger. Infection too, but that was a low-ranking concern at the moment.

  “We’re out of bandages,” Yuki said, “but we need to bind this.”

  “Your kosode will have to do.”

  Yuki winced as he shrugged off the clothing, proof the pain had finally hit. His face took a decidedly pale tint.

  Tearing up a piece of clothing to make bandages was harder than it looked and led to irregular shapes, but it did the job all the same. Yuki’s lower torso was soon well and tightly wrapped. Akakiba produced a vial from the pouch hanging at his waist and emptied it into Yuki’s mouth to dull the pain. He knelt in the long grass. “Get on my back.”

  “It’s not that serious. It’s nothing but a flesh wound, isn’t it?”

  “The last thing I want is for you to tear it open any further. Now.”

  “This is shameful,” Yuki murmured even as he gave in and let himself be carried away like a child.

  Akakiba suspected Yuki was far more distressed by the wound than he showed. Otherwise he would have complained much more at this indignity. Akakiba remembered his first severe wound: he’d thought he was going to die. The difference was that his wound nearly had killed him. He had the deep scars to prove it.

  Yuki was heavy on his back, slowing his pace, but it was better than making a wounded man walk. He’d carried heavier men before, other wounded comrades. He took a moment to find the trail and started on it again.

  “There’s a healing spring nearby,” he said. “The wound may not even leave a scar.”

  “I want a scar,” Yuki protested sharply. “If I must suffer a wound, I should get something to show for it.”

  “Scars aren’t supposed to be a good thing. They just show how often you’ve made a mistake and taken a hit. My father would say I’m incompetent since I’ve got three times as many scars as he does.”

  “Your father? You never talk about your father.”

  “You’ve never asked.”

  “I didn’t want to be rude.” Yuki paused, but the silence did not last. “I heard that in the Fox clan, the first slaying of a demon serves as a coming-of-age ceremony.”

  “Is that why you rushed in like an idiot? But yes. It does. Welcome to adulthood. How does it feel?”

  “So far? Painful.”

  “Serves you right.”

  He’d hardly gone ten steps before Yuki’s head came to rest on his shoulder. A smile tugged at his lips, but he repressed it.

  He walked until his own exhaustion became too severe to ignore, his feet stumbling. He moved away from the path and into the relative safety of the forest to find a suitable resting spot, careful to avoid low-hanging branches. He laid down his now sleeping burden on a bed of tall grass and lowered himself down beside him, grateful for the warm night and the absence of wind. It seemed early in the spring for such warmth, but he didn’t mind being spared the duty of making and tending a fire.

  Sliding an arm under his head to serve as a pillow, Akakiba spent a moment listening to the sounds of animal life going about its business in the darkness; there was buzzing, rustling, yipping, fluttering, hooting, and one sharp cry as some unfortunate critter became dinner for another. Secure in the knowledge that no danger was near—animals went dead quiet when they sensed demons on the prowl—he allowed sleep to carry him away.

  Bird songs woke Akakiba too early for his taste. He nonetheless forced himself up and began to brush his clothes free of ants and other enterprising bugs that investigated his clothes.

  “Morning.” Yuki still laid on his back, an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun rays filtering through the gaps in the canopy.

  “Did the pain wake you?”

  “It’s not that bad.” The denial, spoken weakly, wasn’t convincing.

  “You’re white.”

  Yuki closed his eyes. “You don’t have to be so blunt.”

  “You don’t have to be so proud. It’s no use complaining after you’ve died, is it?”

  Yuki snorted, sounding more like his usual self. “Don’t exaggerate. I’ve seen you walk with worse.”

  “It could be dangerous if it became infected or if you bled too much. You know that.”

  “I know I like it better when you’re the one injured and I’m the one taking care of you.”

  Akakiba winced. Yuki often washed and bound his wounds, it was true. But taking care of other people’s injuries was quite different from taking care of one’s own. Humans were prone to denial about how serious their wounds were, and that was dangerous.

  After a moment of watching Yuki ignore him out of wounded pride, Akakiba took out the remaining rice crackers, leftovers from a roadside meal the previous day, and forced them on his wounded companion. He frowned at the red that stained Yuki’s makeshift bandages but didn’t bother to look underneath. Demon wounds were always remarkably clean. The touch of spiritual energy kept even flies away. They could get infected, yes, but only if the wounded was grossly negligent. Well-covered, the injuries healed cleanly and quickly. Blood loss was the main concern—the reason he was adamant about keeping Yuki off his feet. The less blood he lost, the faster he would recover.

  “We’re not far,” Akakiba said, putting a knee on the ground so Yuki might get on his back. “Climb on.”

  The sun rose higher and higher, accompanying them on their journey. Akakiba walked onward steadily, growing used to the weight and the strain. Had Yuki taken on weight or was it he who had grown soft? Once, he’d carried a grown man up a mountain overnight. The moronic monk had broken his ankle running away from angry women he had watched bathing in the forest. Akakiba hadn’t known the cause of the injury at the time and wouldn’t have bothered to help the man if he had.

  The trail widened, meeting and joining with another, and there were soon noticeably fewer rocks in the path. This spoke of frequent use by villagers, of people who cared to spend time tending the road. Because he’d once traveled through this area, Akakiba knew there was indeed a village nearby and, even closer, a healing spring. It was in a demon hunter’s best interest to know the location of as many healing springs as possible because the spirits residing in them could heal fatal wounds. There were even tales of especially strong or benevolent spirits bringing the dead back to life, but Akakiba thought those tales exaggerated. Death was final for everyone—animals, humans, and spirits alike.

  The healing spring was well-hidden. The trail he followed up to it was almost invisible, with so many roots running across it that he was in constant danger of tripping. This healing spirit was shy and rarely seen. To protect her from strangers, the villagers had never created a man-made path. Anyone who didn’t already know the spring’s location couldn’t have found the animal trails used to reach it.

  The sound of running water gave him a burst of energy to finish the climb. He stopped when he found himself standing on the edge of a pool of clear water nested in a rock outcrop. A stream ran to and from the pool, keeping its water clean and fresh.

  With his help, Yuki undressed and awkwardly settled in. Blood seeped, coloring the cool water.

  “Should I say something?” Yuki asked. “This is the first time I’ve visited a healing spring.”

  “Let me.”

  Akakiba reached up and removed one of his necklaces. He always wore them, not out of vanity, but for the express purpose of bribing spirits—or people—should the need arise. Few were the spirits or humans who would help for no reward.

  “Good spirit, I bring you a gift. Please take this necklace and be kind to my wounded friend, who needs your help.”

  He dropped the offering into the water and watched it sink. There were no other objects at the bottom of the pool, which meant that either the spirit hid her offerings elsewhere or that she had a preference for offerings of food and sake. Why did sp
irits like offerings of drink and food when they could enjoy neither? Perhaps they merely enjoyed the value they represented. Who could say with spirits?

  They waited for a long time, Yuki resting in the water, Akakiba crouching on the rocks. Wind rustled in the trees, water gurgled over the stones, and birds sang vigorously, but no spirit manifested itself. Yuki voiced no complaints, but his chattering teeth said it was time to go.

  “You should come out.” Akakiba removed his blue kosode and placed it on Yuki’s shivering shoulders. This left him bare-chested, but it was no hardship in the fair weather. It wasn’t proper not to wear a second layer, an underwear layer, but he never did, because he lost enough kosode in a year to clothe an entire clan. Demons had no respect for his clothing.

  He gazed at the clear water, seeking a sign and seeing none. If there was a spirit, he couldn’t feel it.

  “Maybe she’s gone,” Yuki said.

  “Could be.” Hearing footsteps, he turned. Someone emerged from the forest. Nearly bald and leaning heavily on a walking stick, the newcomer seemed too old and frail to go about climbing steep trails.

  “Good day, old man,” Akakiba said politely.

  “Good day, young ones. You’re looking for the White Lady, aren’t you? She won’t come. She hasn’t come in a long time.” Leaning on his stick, he gazed at the pool.

  “How long?”

  “Perhaps three years now since we last saw her. She used to dance around the pool at night. We know she’s still here, because the water can still soothe pain. It no longer heals, but it can provide an easier end when the time comes. Perhaps she’s grown old herself, the poor girl. She’s been here longer than I have.”

  Akakiba nodded. It was not the first time he’d heard such a thing. Everywhere he went there was a new tale of a good spirit gone missing. Spirits died like any other creatures but not in this manner and not in such numbers.

  “I see. Might you have a healer in your village? My young friend is wounded. I’d hoped your White Lady could help, but if she can’t, we’ll need to find assistance elsewhere.”