Shadow Of The Fox: a must read mythical new Japanese adventure from New York Times bestseller Julie Kagawa

“Hello, Suki-chan,” said an eerily cheerful voice somewhere behind her. “Did you finally wake up?”

Suki craned her head back. Lady Satomi stood a few paces away, her hair unbound and tossed by the wind, the sleeves of her red-and-black kimono fluttering like sails. Her eyes were hard, and her lips were curled in a tiny smile. Gasping, Suki flopped to a sitting position, wanting to cry for help, to ask what was happening. Was this some terrible punishment for disappointing her mistress, for not cleaning, fetching, or serving to her standards? She tried pleading with her eyes, hot tears leaking down her cheeks, but the woman only wrinkled her nose.

“Such a lazy girl, and so fragile. I cannot abide your constant weeping.” Lady Satomi sniffed and moved a few feet away, not looking at her anymore. “Well, be happy, Suki-chan. For today your misery will come to an end. Though it will mean I must acquire yet another maid—what is it with all these serving girls running away like mice? Ungrateful wretches. No sense of responsibility at all.” She gave a long-suffering sigh, then looked at the clouds as lightning flickered and the wind picked up. “Where is that oni?” she muttered. “After all the trouble I went through for suitable compensation, I shall be very cross if he does not arrive before the storm.”

Oni? Suki must’ve been hearing things. Oni were great and terrible demons that came from Jigoku, the realm of evil. There were countless stories of brave samurai slaying oni, sometimes armies of oni, but they were myths and legends. Oni were the creatures parents threatened wayward children with—don’t wander too close to the woods or an oni might get you. Listen to your elders, or an oni will reach up from beneath the floorboards and drag you down to Jigoku. Scary warnings for children and monstrous foes for legendary samurai, but not creatures that walked Ningen-kai, the mortal realm.

There was a blinding flash, a boom of thunder, and a great horned creature appeared at the edge of the courtyard.

Suki screamed. The gag muffled it, but she kept screaming until she was out of breath, gasping and choking into the cloth. She tried to flee and fell hard against the stones, striking her chin on the rock, but she barely felt the pain. Lady Satomi’s lips moved as she gave her a withering look, probably chastising her shrillness, but Suki’s mind couldn’t register anything but the huge demon, for it could only be a thing of nightmares, prowling forward into the torchlight. The monster that shouldn’t exist.

It was massive, standing a good fifteen feet overhead, and just as terrible and fearsome as the legends described. Its skin was a dark crimson, the color of blood, and a wild black mane tumbled down its back and shoulders. Sharp yellow tusks curled from its jaw, and its eyes glowed like hot coals as the demon lumbered forward, making the ground shake. The tiny part of Suki’s brain not frozen in terror recalled that, in the stories, oni dressed in loincloths made of great striped beasts, but this demon wore plates of lacquered armor; the red shoulder pads, thigh guards and bracers of the samurai when they rode into battle. True to the myths, however, it carried a giant, iron-studded club—a tetsubo—in one hand, swinging it to a shoulder as if it weighed no more than an ink stick.

“There you are, Yaburama.” Lady Satomi lifted her chin as the oni stopped in front of her. “I am aware that time in Jigoku doesn’t exist, and it is said that one day is akin to eight hundred years in the mortal realm, but punctuality is a wonderful attribute, something we can all aspire to.”

The oni grunted, a deep, guttural sound emerging between his fangs. “Do not lecture me, human,” it rumbled, its terrible voice making the air shiver. “Calling on Jigoku takes time, especially if you wish to summon an army.”

Behind the demon, spreading around him like a colony of ants, a horde of smaller monsters appeared. Standing only a few inches above the knee, their skin different shades of blue, red and green, they looked like tiny oni themselves, except for their huge flared ears and maniacal grins. They spotted Suki and began edging forward, cackling and licking their pointed teeth. She shrieked into the gag and tried wiggling away, but got no farther than a landed fish.

The oni growled a warning, deep as distant thunder, and the horde skittered back. “Is that mine?” the demon asked, glowing crimson gaze falling on Suki. “It looks tasty.” He took a step toward her, and she nearly fainted on the spot.

“Patience, Yaburama.” Lady Satomi held out a hand, stopping him. He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth slightly, but the woman didn’t seem disturbed. “You can have your payment in a moment,” she went on. “I just want to make certain you know why you were summoned. That you know what you must do.”

“How could I not,” the oni replied, sounding impatient. “The Dragon is rising. The Harbinger of Change approaches. Another thousand years have passed in this realm of horrible light and sun, and the night of the wish is nearly upon us. There is only one reason a mortal would summon me into Ningen-kai at this time.” A look of amused contempt crossed his brutish face. “I will get you the scroll, human. Or a piece of it, now that it has been scattered to the four winds.” The burning red gaze slid back to Suki, and he smiled slowly, showing fangs. “I will do so, after I collect my payment.”

“Good.” Lady Satomi stepped back, as the first drops of rain began to fall. “I am counting on you, Yaburama. I am sure there are others who are scrambling to find all the pieces of the Dragon scroll. You know what to do if you meet them. Well...” She opened a pink parasol and swung it over her head. “I leave it to you. Enjoy.”

As sheets of water began creeping across the courtyard, Lady Satomi turned and began walking away. Suki screamed into the gag and threw herself after her mistress crying and begging, praying to the kami and anyone else who would hear. Please, she thought desperately. Please, I cannot die like this. Not like this.

Lady Satomi paused and glanced back at her with a smile. “Oh, don’t be sad, little Suki-chan,” she said. “This is your proudest moment. You will be the catalyst to usher in a whole new era. This empire, the whole world, will change, because of your sacrifice today. See?” The lady tilted her head, observing her as if she were a whimpering puppy. “You’ve actually become useful. Surely that is enough for someone like you.”

Behind Suki, the ground trembled, and a huge claw closed on her legs, curved talons sinking into her skin. She screamed and thrashed, yanking at the ropes, trying to writhe out of the demon’s grip, but there was no escape. Lady Satomi sniffed, turned and continued on, her parasol bobbing through the rain, as Suki was pulled toward the oni, the minor demons shrieking and dancing around her.

Help me. Someone, please, help me! Daisuke-sama... Abruptly, her thoughts went to the noble, to his handsome face and gentle smile, though she knew he would not be coming. No one was coming, because no one cared about the death of a lowly servant girl. Father, Suki thought in numb despair, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.

Deep inside, anger flickered, momentarily snuffing the fear. It was terribly unfair, being killed by a demon before she could do anything. She was only a servant, but she had hoped to marry a good man, raise a family, leave something behind that mattered. I’m not ready, Suki thought in desperation. I’m not ready to go. Please, not yet.

Clawed fingers closed around her neck, and she was lifted up to face the oni’s terrible, hungry smile. Its hot breath, smelling of smoke and rotten meat, blasted her face as the demon opened its jaws. Mercifully, the gods decided to intervene at that moment, and Suki finally fainted in terror, her consciousness leaving her body the moment before it was torn in half.

The scent of blood misted into the air, and the demons howled in glee. From Suki’s mangled body, unseen by the horde and invisible to normal eyes, a small sphere of light rose slowly into the air. It hovered over the grisly scene, seeming to watch as the minor demons squabbled over scraps, Yaburama’s booming roar rising into the night as he swatted them away. For a moment, it seemed torn between flying into the clouds and remaining where it was. Drifting aimlessly higher, it paused at a flash of color that gleamed through the rain, a pink parasol heading toward the doors of the castle. The sphere’s blue-white glow flared into an angry red.

Zipping from the sky, the orb of light flew soundlessly over the head of the oni, dropped lower to the ground and slipped through the door to the castle just before it creaked shut, leaving the oni, the demons and the torn, murdered body of a servant girl behind.

2

The Fox in the Temple

“Yumeko!”

The shout echoed over the garden, booming and furious, making me wince. I’d been sitting quietly by the pond, tossing crumbs to the fat red-and-white fish that swarmed below the surface, when the familiar sound of my name bellowed in anger rang from the direction of the temple. Quickly, I ducked behind the large stone lantern at the edge of the water, just as Denga stalked around the opposite bank, his face like a thundercloud.

“Yumeko!” the monk shouted again as I pressed into the rough, mossy stone. I could picture his normally stern, placid face turning as red as the temple pillars, the flush creeping all the way up his bald forehead. I’d seen it too many times to count. His braided ponytail and orange robes were no doubt flapping as he spun, searching the edges of the pond, scanning the bamboo patches surrounding the garden. “I know you’re here somewhere!” he raged. “Putting salt in the teapot...again! Do you think Nitoru likes having tea spat right in his face?” I bit my lip to stifle the laughter and pressed against the statue, trying to be silent. “Wretched demon girl!” Denga seethed, as the sound of his footsteps turned from the pond and headed farther into the garden. “I know you’re laughing your fool head off now. When I find you, you’ll be sweeping the floors until the hour of the Rat!”

His voice drifted away. I peeked around the stone to watch Denga continue down the path into the bamboo, until he was lost from sight.

Blowing out a breath, I leaned against the lantern’s weathered body, feeling triumphant. Well, that was entertaining. Denga-san is always so uptight; he really needs to try out new expressions or his face will crack from the strain. I grinned, imagining the look on poor Nitoru’s face when the other monk discovered what was in his teacup. Unfortunately, Nitoru had the same sense of humor Denga did, which was none at all. Definitely time to make myself scarce. I’ll steal a book from the library and go hide under the desk. Oh, wait, but Denga already knows that spot. Bad idea. I cringed at the thought of all the long wooden verandas that would need a thorough sweeping if I was found. Maybe it’s a good day to not be here. At least until this evening. I wonder what the monkey family in the forest is doing today?

Excitement fluttered. A dozen or so yellow monkeys lived within the branches of an ancient cedar that rose above all other trees in the forest. On clear days, if one climbed to the very top, one could see the whole world, from the tiny farming village at the base of the mountains all the way to the distant horizon. Whenever I found myself at the top of that tree, swaying with the monkeys and the branches, I would gaze over the multicolored carpet stretching away before me and wonder if today would be the day I’d be brave enough to see what lay beyond the skyline.

I never was, and this afternoon would be no different. But at least I wouldn’t be here, waiting for an angry Denga-san to shove a broom into my hands and tell me to sweep every flat surface in the temple. Including the yard.

Drawing back from the statue, I turned around...and came face-to-face with Master Isao.

I yelped, jerking back and hitting the stone lantern, which was bigger and heavier than I and obstinately refused to budge. The ancient, white-bearded monk smiled serenely under his wide-brimmed straw hat.

“Going somewhere, Yumeko-chan?”

“Um...” I stammered, rubbing the back of my head. Master Isao wasn’t a large man; thin and spindly, he stood a head shorter than me when he was wearing his wooden geta clogs. But no one in the temple was more respected, and no one had such control over his ki as Master Isao. I’d seen him chop a tree in half with a flick of his hand, and punch a giant boulder into rubble. He was the undisputed master of the Silent Winds temple, able to quiet a room of strong-willed ki practitioners just by appearing. Though he never raised his voice or appeared angry; the harshest expression I’d ever seen him make was a mild frown, and that had been terrifying.

“Ano...” I stammered again, as his bushy eyebrows rose in patient amusement. No use in lying, Master Isao always knew everything about everything. “I was...going to visit the monkey family in the forest, Master Isao,” I confessed, figuring that was the least of my crimes. I wasn’t exactly forbidden to leave the temple grounds, but the monks certainly didn’t like it when I did. The amount of chores, training and duties they imposed on me when I was awake indicated that they tried to keep me busy whenever possible. The only free time I could get was usually stolen, like today.

Master Isao only smiled. “Ah. Monkeys. Well, I am afraid your friends will have to wait a bit, Yumeko-chan,” he said, not sounding angry or surprised at all. “I must borrow your time for a moment. Please, follow me.”

He turned and started around the pond, heading toward the temple. I dusted off my sleeves and fell into step behind him, down the bamboo trail dappled by sun and green shadows, past the singing stones where the breeze hummed playfully through the holes worn into the rocks, and over the red arched bridge that spanned the stream. A drab brown bird flitted to the branches of a juniper tree, puffed out its chest and filled the air with the beautiful, warbling song of a nightingale. I whistled back at him, and he gave me an indignant look before darting into the leaves.

The trees opened up, the foliage falling away, as we walked past the tiny rock garden with its meticulously raked sand, and up the steps of the temple. As we entered the dim, cool hall, I spotted Nitoru glaring at me across the room, and dared a cheeky wave, knowing he would not approach while I was with Master Isao. I’d probably be sweeping the steps until next winter, but the look on the monk’s face was worth it.

Master Isao led me through several narrow hallways, passing individual rooms on either side, until he slid back a door panel and motioned me through. I stepped into a familiar room, small and neat, empty but for a large standing mirror on the opposite wall and a hanging wall scroll beside it. The scroll depicted a massive dragon soaring over a raging sea, and a tiny boat tossed by the waves beneath it.

I masked a sigh. I’d been in this room a few times before, and the ritual that followed was always the same. Knowing what Master Isao wanted, I walked lightly across the tatami mats and knelt in front of the mirror, the only one in the entire temple. Master Isao followed and settled himself beside it facing me, his hands in his lap. For a moment, he sat there, eyes serene, though it felt like his gaze passed right through me to the wall behind my head.

“What do you see?” he asked, as he always did.

I looked at the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me, a slight girl of sixteen winters, straight black hair falling, unbound, to the center of her back. She wore straw sandals, a white sash and a short crimson kimono that was tattered in places, especially the long, billowy sleeves. Her hands were grubby from kneeling at the pond talking to the fish, and dirt stained her knees and face. At first glance, she looked like a ragged but perfectly normal peasant girl, perhaps a fisherman’s or farmer’s waif, kneeling on the floor of the temple.

If you didn’t happen to notice the bushy orange tail, peeking out from behind her robes. And the large, triangular, black-tipped ears poking up from the top of her skull. And the glowing golden eyes that very clearly marked her as not normal, not human at all.

“I see myself, Master Isao,” I said, wondering if, this time, it was the right answer. “In my true form. Without illusion or barrier. I see a kitsune.”

Kitsune. Fox. Or half kitsune, more accurately. Wild kitsune, the foxes that roamed the hidden places of Iwagoto, were masters of illusion magic and shapeshifting. While it was true that some kitsune chose to live as normal wild animals, all foxes possessed magic. Kitsune were yokai, creatures of the supernatural. One of their favorite tricks was to take human form—usually in the guise of a beautiful woman—and lure men astray. To the naked eye, I was an ordinary human girl; no tail, pointed ears or yellow eyes. Only in front of mirrors and reflective surfaces was my true nature revealed. Lacquered tables, still water, even the edge of a blade. I had to be very careful where I stood and what I was around, lest an acute observer notice the reflection on the surface did not quite match the girl in front of it.

Or so the monks warned me. They all knew what I was, and made certain to remind me of it often. Half-blood, demon child, fox girl: phrases that were part of my everyday life. Not that any of the monks were cruel or heartless, just practical. I was kitsune, something not quite human, and they saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

I glanced at Master Isao, wondering if he would tell me anything different this time, any hint of what he really wanted me to say. We’d played the what do you see? game numerous times in the past, and none of my answers—be they human, demon, fox or fish—seemed to satisfy him, because I’d always find myself right back here, staring at the kitsune in the mirror.

“How are your lessons progressing?” Master Isao went on, giving no indication that he’d heard my answer, or if it was the right one. I very seriously doubted it.

“Fine, Master Isao.”

“Show me.”

I hesitated, casting about for a suitable target. There weren’t many to be found. The mirror, perhaps. Or the wall scroll. But I had already used both in the past, and Master Isao wouldn’t be impressed with the same tricks over and over again. This, too, was a game we’d played often.

I spotted a yellow maple leaf, caught on the end of my sleeve, and grinned.

Picking it up, I twirled it between fingers and thumb, then carefully put it on my head. Kitsune magic needed an anchor, something of the natural world, to build an illusion around. There were stories of very old, very powerful kitsune who could weave illusions out of thin air, but I needed something to attach the magic to. Focal point in place, I half closed my eyes and called on my powers.

Since before I could remember, magic had come naturally to me, a gift from the yokai side of the family, I was told. Even when I was a toddler, I had shown impressive talent for it, floating little balls of kitsune-bi, the heatless, blue-white foxfire, through the halls of the temple. As I’d gotten older and my magic had grown, a few of the monks thought Master Isao should put a binding on me, sealing away my power so I wouldn’t hurt anyone, or myself. Wild kitsune were notorious troublemakers. They weren’t inherently malicious, but their “pranks” could range from merely annoying—stealing food or hiding small items—to truly dangerous: spooking a horse on a narrow mountain path, or leading someone deep into a marsh or forest, never to be seen again. Better that I didn’t have that temptation, at least according to Denga and a few others. But the master of the Silent Winds temple had adamantly refused. Fox magic was part of a kitsune’s life, he said, something as natural as sleeping or breathing. To deny it would do more harm than good.

Instead, I practiced my magic every day with a monk called Satoshi, in the hopes that I would learn to control my fox-given talent, and not the other way around. The monks had been skeptical at first, but I knew Master Isao trusted that I would not use my powers for mischief, so I tried not to give in to temptation. Even though some days it was very hard not to disguise the cat as a teapot, or to make a closed door look open, or to turn a log invisible in front of the steps. Fox magic was nothing but illusion and trickery, Denga-san had seethed on more than one occasion, usually on the tail end of a prank. Nothing useful could ever come of it.

That might be true, I thought, as the heat of the fox magic rose up inside me. But it certainly is a lot of fun.

A ripple went through me, like my body was made of water that someone had just dropped a pebble into, and a puff of white smoke engulfed me from the ground up. As the tendrils of smoke dissipated, I opened my eyes and smiled at the image in the mirror. Master Isao stared back at me in the reflection, a perfect replica of the man sitting beside the mirror, if you didn’t count the rather smug grin on his weathered face. And the white-tipped tail behind him.

The real Master Isao chuckled and shook his head. “Is this what you and Satoshi have been practicing?” he asked. “I shudder to imagine the day ‘I’ suggest Denga-san should go and catch a monkey.”

“Ooh, do you think he would? That would be hilarious. Um, not that I would ever do something like that, of course.” Reaching up, I plucked the maple leaf from my head, and the illusion frayed apart, fox magic scattering to the wind, until I was just me once more. Twirling the leaf in my fingers, I wondered how much trouble I’d be in if I did disguise myself as Master Isao and told Denga to go jump in the pond. Knowing the monk’s fanatical devotion to his master, he would do it without question. And then he’d probably kill me.

“Sixteen years,” Master Isao remarked in a soft voice. I blinked at him. That was new. Normally by this time, our conversation would be over and he’d be instructing me to return to my duties. “Sixteen years to the day that you have been with us,” he went on, almost wistfully. “Since we found you outside the gate in a fish basket, with nothing but a tattered robe and a note pinned to the cloth.” Forgive me, but I must leave this child in your care, the letter said. Do not judge her harshly, she cannot help what she is, and the road I walk is no place for innocence. Her name is Yumeko, child of dreams. Raise her well, and may the Great Dragon guide your steps, and hers.

I nodded politely, having heard this story dozens of times. I’d never known my father or my mother, and hadn’t given either of them much thought. They weren’t a part of my life, and I saw no point in worrying about things I could not change.

Though there was one very hazy memory, from when I was just a toddler, that continued to haunt my dreams. I’d been wandering the woods outside the temple that day, hiding from the monks and chasing squirrels, when I’d felt eyes on me from behind. I’d turned and seen a white fox staring at me from atop a fallen log, yellow eyes glowing in the shadows. We’d watched each other for a long moment, child and kitsune, and even though I was very young, I’d felt a kinship with this creature, a sense of longing that I didn’t understand. But when I’d taken a step toward it, the fox had disappeared. I’d never glimpsed it again.

“Sixteen years,” Master Isao continued, unaware of my thoughts. “And in that time, we have taught you our ways, steered you down what we hoped was the right path, trained you to seek the balance between human and kitsune. You have always known what you are—we have never hidden the truth. I have witnessed both the fox’s cunning and human compassion within you. I have seen callousness and kindness in equal measure, and I know you are balanced on a very thin edge right now, one of yokai and human. Whatever you choose, whatever path you wish to take, even if you attempt to traverse them both, you must decide for yourself, soon. It is almost time.”