Foxwife

Hiromi Goto

Do not venture into the forest when the sun shines through falling rain. This is when the kitsune hold their wedding ceremony. It would be wise not to disturb them.

Yumeko stood in the stern of her small punt. The tan waters were quiet, only the buzz and whine of marsh insects filled the air. She held her paddle loosely in her coarse palm. The morning sun, penetrating shifting layers of clouds, cast a hazy light. To the north, a cluster of punts bobbed on rougher waters. She would not be joining them. When the girls and women mended nets and wove riddles between sisters and neighbors, Yumeko’s name was never called. She cast her nets alone.

Yumeko stared up at her neighbor’s domehouse. Perched on wooden stilts it rose high above the waterline. Her hard palm squeezed around her paddle. It was so difficult to ask a favor from Ikenaka, but she had little choice. With her cronemother sick, and her heartmother far away in the capital selling last season’s bloodfish, Yumeko could barely manage. Ikenaka’s home was perfectly thatched, Yumeko noted bitterly. Their own domehouse would be reclaimed by the swamp if her heartmother didn’t return soon. Yumeko didn’t know if her family could bear any more shame. Was it shameful, she thought, to be this unlucky? How long could she bear their censure?

Until the Swamps dried up, her cronemother always laughed harshly.

A wet thud smacked into the small of her back, drops of water flying. Air whooshed from her lungs.

Coughed. Choked for air.

Clanless!

She dropped her paddle. Desperately groped for her gore knife.

“You’re too late,” a voice boomed. “If I was a beast or one of the Clanless, you’d be long dead and dissected!”

A dripping oar held loosely in her hand, Ikenaka stood short and solid in the middle of her own punt. The two boats bobbed closer together. The boards creaked loudly. A whisper in the moist air, a warm drizzle of rain broke through the rays of sunlight. Droplets slid down Yumeko’s face, seeped between her lips.

A hot wave boiled in Yumeko’s chest. Rose up her throat, to her eyes.

Ikenaka spat into the brown water. “I told Numa not to curse you with such a careless name! And look at your lot in life now, heh! Yumeko. Dream child! What nonsense! If your feet are not firm in your punt, you will drown!”

Yumeko swallowed the lump of pride. She bowed her head grimly. “Thank you for your lesson, Ikenaka Obachan,” she gritted. “I will take more care!”

“You,” Ikenaka muttered. “You are One-who-Never-Learns. No matter how many lessons you are taught. Like your heartmother before you. No sense. No luck. You would be wise never to marry. Look at your poor cronemother, from a good clan, that one, nothing but ill luck since she knotted into your heartmother’s home.” The old woman’s voice dropped. “I would have had you banished for what you did to my nieces!”

Yumeko hung her head. There was nothing she could say. It had been Yumeko’s childish plans that had taken them far, far, into the center of the swamp. Lost in the Mists-that-Never-Lift. For three days. Until Tsuchi couldn’t bear the screaming monkeyfrogs any longer. And had plunged into the waters… Kaze would have plunged after her twin sister if Yumeko had not tied her to the bench. On the fourth day they had been saved.

But the cost…

Yumeko would be paying the price for the rest of her life.

The rain, which had stopped, started drizzling again. Despite the warmth, Yumeko shivered. Strange weather, she thought, blinking the wet from her eyes.

Ikenaka’s rough hand smacked her shoulder. Yumeko flinched, the small punt rocking.

“What do you want?” Ikenaka said grimly. The wrinkled skin hung heavily around her dark eyes.

Yumeko swallowed hard again. “I’m going out for bloodfish. Farther than the markers. We are over-fished and my nets are empty. Could you look in on Kiri while I’m gone?”

Ikenaka blinked her small black eyes. Her rigid shoulders dropped. “Has she eaten yet?”

Yumeko shook her head, her cheeks burning. It was shameful not to be able to feed her cronemother properly.

“I’ll take some sweetrice cakes.”

Yumeko bowed her gratitude.

Ikenaka’s hard hand clamped Yumeko’s wrist. She held so hard that blood purpled in Yumeko’s hand. She didn’t try to pull free. Met the old woman’s eyes.

“Dream girl,” Ikenaka hissed. Her voice was low but the tightly coiled strength in her voice made Yumeko quake. “I gift you with another lesson. See how the sun shines through the rain? Stay in the waters. But don’t go ashore. And don’t go into the woods. Bad luck weather. Bad luck day.” Ikenaka dropped Yumeko’s wrist. And expertly swung her paddle back into the lock. Weaving the figure eight pattern, she cut through the weeds and water with hardly a ripple.

Yumeko rubbed the red marks on her skin. “Why,” she called out. “Why is it bad luck?” And why did Ikenaka mention forests? Yumeko was going into the swamp, not toward the shores.

Ikenaka slashed her free hand diagonally through the air. Silence!

Yumeko sighed. Picked up her paddle to move into deeper waters well beyond the floating markers.

Yumeko bit her lip to keep back a jubilant shout. Arms weary, she gently lifted the heavy, wet scoop mesh. The muscles in her arms twitched and jumped and sweat rolled down her face, stung her eyes. Her bucket was full to the brim with bloodfish and she’d even caught two large eels! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen eels at the floating markets. She should have brought more buckets. But there was plenty to fill their bellies and enough left over for trade. She would come back this way tomorrow and the day after. It was so peaceful. So far from her people and their unforgiving looks, their harsh words….

Yumeko cupped her hand and scooped a bloated fish. Without water to hold its form, the transparent body was a shivering lump. A tiny heart fluttered inside the bulbous red mass. Yumeko tipped back her head and slid the bag-like fish into her mouth. She held it whole for a moment. The soft skin was cold and the fish quivered feebly against her tongue, the inner lining of her cheeks. She bit down. Salty liquid, rich and oily, burst inside her mouth. She was almost dizzy with hunger and relief. She gulped and gulped. Licked the salty juices from her lips. Kiri, she thought guiltily. Here she was eating while her cronemother waited, alone and hungry. But no, Ikenaka had said she would share her some food. Yumeko had caught plenty. She could eat a few more and then start back. The sun was several hours from the horizon and more clouds were scudding over the swamplands. Yumeko smiled, the oily juice of bloodfish staining her teeth pink.

The sudden screech of a monkeyfrog shattered the quiet. Yumeko jumped and the punt rocked beneath her feet. She looked all around, her heart booming inside her ears. That was a big one, she thought, nervously. But she couldn’t see the subtle, rounded bulges of their heads breaking the water.

Yumeko carefully slipped her hand into the bucket. Two green ribbons of eels writhed between the fragile, bloated red bodies. The second biggest, Yumeko decided. I’ll save the biggest for Kiri.

The punt heaved.

The stern burst upward. Impossibly, out of the water.

Yumeko windmilled her arms. Swinging wildly for her center of balance. The skies shifting ninety degrees. Our bloodfish, Yumeko could only think as she slow-motioned through the air. The eels—

She sank heavily as the water poured into her waders. She might as well have been tied to anchors. The cold water sucked air from her body. She plucked at the buckles and ties with numb fingers. Her hands growing weaker and weaker. So cold. Her lungs burned. She looked upward. One arm raised. Tried to kick her feet. But they barely moved. The dim afternoon light receded into tan, umber. Darkness. So deep, she thought feebly, Numa’s going to be mad when she comes home.  … No!

Yumeko would not leave the world like this. Fodder for monkeyfrogs. A tragic story told to children as a warning against foolishness.

Her gore knife! She groped at the sheath, clasped the handle. She swung her arm slowly in the torpid liquid and sawed at the straps of her waders. The leather finally gave and the deathly weight sank away from her like stone. In her loincloth and short tunic, she kicked with all the air she had left. Desperate. Lungs on fire. Lights burst wildly around her in the inky waters. The need for air burned, seared her senses. Could barely stop from opening her mouth. She kicked desperately. And as she rose, the black depth grew slowly lighter. Tea-brown growing tan. But water tricked the eyes. What looked close was always farther. She wouldn’t make it.

Yumeko breached the surface, mouth wide, gasping, choking. She floundered and, in her desperation for air, dropped her gore knife. When the panic for oxygen subsided, the cold penetrated. Teeth clattering, she scanned her surroundings. A blanket of mist hung over the water though she could see the brightness of the sun waxing and waning above it.

Mist.

What had flipped her punt?

Yumeko’s eyes darted. Whatever it was, it had been big. Her empty hands treaded water. Empty. No gore knife. She wanted to cry.

The punt had disappeared in the mist. Or sunk. Panic closed on her esophagus like a noose. What unknown beast lurked in the deeps of the swamp’s Belly?

She would succumb to the cold then drown if she didn’t move.

A patch of mist felt warmer and brighter. Sluggishly, then more methodically, Yumeko swam toward the light.

She retched. The pain of the water forced through her nostrils was a white explosion behind her closed eyes. Coughing, pink froth slid down her chin. She dragged herself over stones. Stones, like the edge of a lake. Not like a swamp. They were warm. Yumeko pressed her face into the smooth rounded contours, bile stinging her throat. Yumeko blinked. Blinked. The mist pooled over the water, but not over the land.

Fat droplets of rain fell through the golden light of the evening sun. They plopped heavily onto the stone beach, on Yumeko’s outstretched legs and arms. The droplets turned into a light drizzle. The sunlight turning rain into honey. She stared emotionlessly down the length of the beach.

In the distance was a sharp, sound. It was familiar…but so out of place. She could not say where she’d heard it before.

The sound rang again, a farther echo retreating.

For a moment Yumeko didn’t move.

Cronewives. Telling tales. Small, taut drums during the Autumn Moon Festival.

“Help!” Yumeko croaked. She staggered to her feet, fell back down on one knee. The sound was coming from an enormous forest just beyond the beach of stones. Through the glinting raindrops, the trees stood wet and resplendent.

The ceremonial drumbeats grew fainter and fainter.

“Cronewives!” Yumeko croaked. Licked at the rain on her lips to moisten her mouth. “Cronewives!” she shouted and broke through rough branches. Broad leaves clung, slick and cold against her skin. Between the trunks of trees, Yumeko caught glimpses of a train of figures dressed in sumptuous clothes.

The drums stopped beating. Yumeko panted as she crashed through the undergrowth. Perhaps she was disrupting a ceremony. Sometimes cronewives left their heartwives for seasonal rituals. Her own cronemother had gone away twice that Yumeko remembered. They won’t mind, Yumeko babbled to herself. They won’t mind when they realize I’m in trouble.

Yumeko burst through the last stand of trees into a beautiful tableau. The air was thick with an uncanny silence. The golden rain cast a beautiful light.

The long row of people stood as if frozen. Gowned in vibrant robes and silken waistbands the like of which Yumeko had never seen, some wore tall black hats; some held long staffs or spears in their pale hands. She stared at the column, at their very stiff backs. Six of the figures stood shouldering a thick, polished pole. From the pole was suspended a large, square, woven basket. A curtain that covered a small window in the center of the basket twitched, then was still.

The tiny hairs on Yumeko’s body rose, rippled, shivered. The last rays of red-gold sunlight played upon her skin. A patter of rain.

The figures snapped their faces toward her, a single motion, the sound of the stiff cloth rubbing against cloth swelled like a sudden deluge. Tawny eyes glittered fiercely in the copper-furred faces. Long pointed muzzles full of sharp white teeth.

They’re wearing masks … just masks.

A blur of gold and red. She didn’t even have time to cry out. Four guards clamped their human hands around her arms, her wrists, the nape of her neck. Their animal breath was sweet and sharp. She stared into their well-toothed jaws. They look so real, she thought. She gaped at their large triangular ears atop their heads. A white blur. Pain snapped sharply against the side of her face.

“Your foul gaze has ruined this wedding ceremony,” a beautifully melodious voice murmured. “Sully us further and you will eviscerated.”

Yumeko retched dryly. But she kept her eyes on her bare feet.

The rain stopped. Yumeko began to laugh. “Bad luck weather,” she croaked. “Ikenaka said. Bad luck.” Her guard slapped her again. Yumeko swallowed her hysteria and it sank, a rock in her belly.

The procession resumed its path through the forest, though the guards kept Yumeko well behind. Yumeko thought she heard whispering. Someone giggled. A voice barked, harsh and angry. Silence resumed. They played the drums no longer.

“They must be a secret theatrical group from the capital,” Yumeko whispered to herself. “Performers for the nobles, perhaps. Numa said. All manner of people live in the capital …”

There was a cough. Coughing. Tittering. Some of the creatures snickered behind hands held over their muzzles, others clutched their well-dressed middles and guffawed until tears rolled down their pointed snouts.

Yumeko stood stiffly. Her ears burned. She could bear no more shame. Enough that her own clan hated the sight of her. But to be laughed at by these—these—

“Humans,” a creature laughed in her face. “What ridiculous things the human imagines to console themselves! How you have survived so long in this world is a joke of the gods.”

It was more than she could bear.

“And what of you!” Yumeko hissed. “You have the look of the Clanless. Banished to this remote place. With no home nor hearth you have no place in this world!”

The laughter stopped.

The guards raised their spears, ready to cut her down. But a creature barked from the head of the column and strode toward them.

“Be silent,” she snarled, her voice deep. Tiny flecks of white speckled the deep red fur on her snout. Her eyes were golden, and the pupils large and black. “You know nothing. Our realms have existed long before humans walked upon this earth. And they will exist long after humans are gone. Your ancestors once called us gods. Now we are forgotten. But our powers and traditions remain our own. Speak nothing until you know enough to speak.”

Her voice resounded with such power that Yumeko could barely breathe. It took all her self-control not to cower. The leader marched back to the front of the procession and they continued through the forest.

And as they marched for hours into the growing night, Yumeko uttered nothing.

A swollen, orange moon shone through a small window. The square of light fell on Yumeko’s face and she frowned wearily. Batted at the glow, then opened her eyes.

Somewhere, a soft trickle of water slid over rocks. A night bird cooed, a dark and sad sound.

A bubble of hysteria tried to breach Yumeko’s lips but she bit down.

How long they had marched, she didn’t know. She couldn’t even remember coming to this place. The scent of mold rose from the damp straw matting. Just like her domehouse. Her cronemother. Kiri would be distraught.

Yumeko pushed herself up. Her head spun. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing the nausea to pass. When the rolling motion stopped, she rubbed her eyes.

A sweet, high-pitched giggle.

Yumeko spun towards the sound and promptly fell over.

The giggle turned into laughter.

“What do you want?” Yumeko muttered into the musty tatami. She slowly turned her head and stared at the square of mat lit up by the richness of the moon. The rest of the room lay in darkness.

A slender hand pushed a round, porcelain cup into the square of moonlight. The thick sleeve fell back from the wrist and rode up slightly, revealing a finely boned wrist, a thin arm.

“You must be thirsty,” a soft voice whispered from the shadows.

Thirst roared into Yumeko’s consciousness. She scrabbled for the cup and gulped the contents.

“Rather ill-mannered. Humans used to be more gracious.” There was a pause. “But one supposes that it’s just a reflection of their difficult times.”

Yumeko didn’t know how many were in the room. Was there only one who spoke to herself or were there many?

“Would you like some more?” the melodious voice asked.

Yumeko nodded. “Please,” she muttered. She held out the small cup though she would have stuck her head into a stream and gulped like an animal if she could.

Two slender hands graciously poured the contents of a slim porcelain bottle into the cup. Yumeko stared. The hands were so human. So lovely. Her own hands were scratched and coarse. The color of chestnuts and lean with hard labor. Yumeko drank more carefully then set the cup on the tatami. “Thank you,” she murmured.

The voice giggled. Pleased. “It can learn manners,” she said. “Clever,” she whispered.

Yumeko cleared her throat. “I cannot see you in this darkness.”

“Oh! So thoughtless,” the sweet voice chided herself. There was a rustle of many cloths. A luxurious sound. It whispered across the surface of the mat in a slow stately manner. The creature glided into the square of moonlight and slowly, slowly kneeled down, sat graciously back on top of her heels. Beautiful hands resting on one thigh. Gold and green threads glinted in her robe. She held her head downward, face shyly cast away from Yumeko’s gaze, her dark black hair a thick curtain.

Yumeko gulped. How horrible, the human hair on the animal’s head. Monstrous. Monstrous.

She slowly raised her head, her shiny black hair parting, sliding to reveal her face. Pale, moonlight skin. The bright red lines of her lips. Gentle sloping cheekbones. Her low bridge of nose. A tawny color glinted between her heavy eyelids half-closed. Her eyebrows were completely shaved off. Small black dots were painted high on her forehead. She was the loveliest woman Yumeko had ever seen.

The woman smiled.

The inside of her mouth was black as night.

Yumeko shuddered. Her teeth chattered, clattered and she couldn’t stop.

“Oh!” the woman breathed. “You are cold.” She worked something at her waist and then drew off a golden overrobe. She was dressed in layers. The robe beneath was the color of dried blood. The young woman glided to where Yumeko lay curled upon the mat and draped the silky clothing over her.

The robe held the heat of the woman’s body. The silky brocade smelled of clean animal fur.

“Are you a prisoner too?” Yumeko whispered.

The beautiful young woman sighed and shifted her weight. No longer sitting formally upon her folded knees, her waist twisted slightly as she glanced at Yumeko from the corners of her eyes.

“You ruined my wedding ceremony.” The young woman slowly blinked.

Yumeko gulped. The woven basket with the small curtained window. The young woman must have been inside it.

“I cannot be wed until the sun again shines through falling rain.” The beautiful girl sighed rather deeply. “And who knows when that shall be?”

“I’m sorry,” Yumeko managed. Then couldn’t help herself, “Aren’t you glad not to wed one of those—”

The young woman swiftly pinched Yumeko’s cheek. Hard enough to bruise.

“You are slow-witted,” the long-haired girl said sadly. “The Teacher gifted you with a lesson and yet you have heard nothing.”

Yumeko’s face burned. She held back her retort. For Yumeko was a prisoner and had no way of knowing if the girl cared for her own kind any longer. Who knew what her position was among the animal-headed outcasts? Yumeko rubbed her cheek with the soft inner lining of the robe.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said gently. “Did that hurt?”

Yumeko didn’t answer.

“Don’t be angry,” the girl smiled. The black cavern of her mouth. “I’ll tell you my name,” she teased, “if you tell me yours.”

Yumeko said nothing.

“Ohhhh, this one is sullen,” the beautiful girl whispered. Turning her face aside. “All these years I’ve waited for my hero and I end up with a slow-witted swamptoad.” She made a move to rise to her feet.

Yumeko rolled quickly though her head spun and clutched at the girl’s sleeve.

“My name is Yumeko.” Her heart pounded. “Are you a prisoner as I am?” she asked again hoarsely.

The beautiful young woman delicately tugged her sleeve out of Yumeko’s dirty clasp. She smoothed the cloth with the palm of her hand.

“Yumeko,” she said slowly. “How dreamy.”

Yumeko pulled back.

“Truth be known,” the girl carelessly said. “I hold no affections for my bridegroom.” She rose gracefully to her feet in a fluid motion, as if her legs weren’t made of bone and muscle. She glided to the window and stared out into the night. The direct light of the moon was not lovely upon her face. With her lips slightly parted, the black maw of her mouth seemed like the opening to an eternal pit.

Yumeko held her breath.

The young woman sighed, then, turned to stare intently at Yumeko’s face. The moon haloed the young woman’s hair long hair with a blue light. Yumeko couldn’t see her expression. Could only hear the cool tones of her voice.

“It’s an arranged marriage, you see,” the girl whispered. “The kitsune hold great powers but their powers are maintained through traditions. I do not want to marry and I will not be bound by rules. The fox faery do not look kindly upon kin who break tradition.”

“Kitsune,” Yumeko muttered. “I have never heard of such people.”

The beautiful young woman turned and spoke to the moon. “You see. She knows very little. What am I to do with the little I am given?” She pressed three slender fingers against her red lips.

Yumeko’s face burned. She wanted to smack the young woman’s face. Instead, she turned her back.

The girl was upon her before Yumeko had heard her move. An icy breath crystallized the air beside Yumeko’s ear and gooseflesh rippled down her spine. She shuddered to think how close that black mouth was to her face. Her throat.

“Yumeko,” the girl breathed, “I’m going to gamble with your life and mine.”

Yumeko scuttled away from the girl’s uncanny breath. “My life is not yours to gamble,” she said bravely.

The beautiful girl giggled, her voice like chimes in the wind. “You’re so very amusing. The kitsune, this very moment, discuss what is to be done with you. You’ve trespassed into their domain. You’ve disrupted a wedding ceremony. And then to insult them. You’re very lucky you’re still alive!” The last was hissed violently into her ear. The girl’s mouth seemingly spreading wide, even wider. Her teeth. The deathly maw of her mouth. Each tooth was painted black….

Yumeko shuddered convulsively. “I’m sorry,” she rasped. All she could manage.

The girl gracefully draped her slender arm along Yumeko’s back. “Oh,” she murmured, contrite, “it is I who am sorry for speaking harshly. I would like us to be friends. You see, I do so desperately want to be away.” The girl smiled horribly.

Yumeko didn’t pull away.

“My name is Hotaru….” She trailed off. She sighed again, but, this time, her shoulders sank from their casual assurance. Her arm slipped from Yumeko’s back and she stared at the straw matting. “I’m frightened,” Hotaru whispered. Without affectation. “The only way this might work is if you trust me.” She traced the thread in the tatami with her forefinger. A rim of dirt was caked beneath her nail. Yumeko stared at the imperfection and some the rigid tension in her spine dissolved.

“I don’t trust you at all,” Yumeko said, slowly, “But I will form a partnership with you until we’ve escaped from this place. Hotaru.”

Hotaru’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. Yumeko didn’t know if they glinted with mirth or sorrow.

“Well,” Hotaru blinked, “choose not to trust me but you must believe what I say, else your disbelief will be our ruin and I would be better fated to wait for another.” The beautiful girl shivered. “So many years wasted already.”

“Why didn’t you run away by yourself?” Yumeko asked. Curious.

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Hotaru snapped.

Yumeko flinched. Then willed herself to breathe. “If this partnership is to succeed, you speak to me with some respect. You must not pinch me. You must not speak to yourself as if I’m not here. You must not expect me know things you hold as common knowledge. Do you agree?”

“So,” Hotaru’s small painted eyebrow spots rose even higher on her forehead. “As you say,” she acquiesced.

“Tell me where we are. Where is the fox faeries’ domain? How can we flee?” Yumeko sat, with her knees drawn to her chest, facing the lovely girl.

“The kitsunes inhabit an island located in the middle of what you call the swamp. It’s surrounded by mist that beguiles and bewitches. In that mist, there live communities of trollrats and monkeyfrogs. Though these creatures have no powers they are closer, in nature, to our kind than yours. Some of the fox faeries hunt them for food. Some consider them to be unclean. If we manage to flee the foxes’ den, we still have to get through the perils of the mist.”

Yumeko’s eyes widened.

“The odds are not in our favor,” Hotaru shrugged. Then giggled with some of her earlier posturing. “But the risks make us look heroic, mmmmm?”

“And what if we stay?” Yumeko asked.

“I, I will be wed without my consent. You will die. Or, you will be left to beg for death.”

Yumeko gulped. “When do we leave?”

“The foxes are deciding your fate tonight. They will sleep during the day. We leave midday tomorrow.” Hotaru slipped her hand into her sleeve and pulled out a pale rice cake. “It’s not much, but it was the best I could do. Eat this and drink the rest of the water. Tomorrow I will signal you with the swampsparrow’s song.”

Yumeko snatched the delicate rice cake, then paused, remembering the girl’s comments about manners. “Thank you,” she said.

Hotaru smiled and a small dimple dipped in her round cheek. She stepped out of the moonlight and her form was lost in the darkness. Yumeko stared until her eyes watered.

“One more thing,” the melodious voice whispered. “No matter what you see, do not make the mistake of underestimating the danger. Death can be found in the most benign places. Do not be tricked by the appearanceof things. Look to their essence.”

Yumeko, unable to control herself, stuffed the whole rice cake into her mouth. She chewed the salty sweetness almost swooning with the flavors, the soft texture.

Hotaru sighed in the darkness.

A whiskof sound. Yumeko stopped chewing and tilted her head. “Hotaru?” she mumbled through the food in her mouth.

No one answered.

Yumeko shivered. Chewed quickly and swallowed. Yumeko drank the remaining water then curled into a ball in the corner closest to the window. She had no idea how they would make their escape. Hotaru, she thought. Firefly.

I do not trust you.

The sun glared, overbright, on Yumeko’s face. “Kiri,” Yumeko croaked. “I caught so many bloodfish.” Yumeko dragged her arm over her eyelids and sat up. The night’s events clicked rapidly through Yumeko’s mind like beads on an abacus. She toyed with the idea that she was feverishly deluded. A silky robe slithered from her torso.

Yumeko scrabbled to her feet. The day was bright. How long had she slept? What if she’d missed Hotaru’s signal? Yumeko stood next to the window. The tiny hut was in a small, grassy, glade. Enormous hemlock and cedar trees grew on the outskirts. She gaped. They must be thousands of years old. She had never seen their like. None near the domehouses were even half as large.

There was no sign of the kitsune.

The hut was rudely made; large cracks of sunlight shining between the boards. Yumeko quietly darted from wall to wall. She could see no guards around her prison. And there were no other houses. Where did the kitsune sleep? Yumeko sat in the middle of the tatami, her knees drawn to her chest. Just because she couldn’t see them didn’t mean she wasn’t watched. Otherwise, why put her in such a flimsy shelter? She could push over a wall if she really tried. And Hotaru had said she was frightened…. Yumeko was not used to the strange girl’s ways. She was erratic, unpredictable. And possibly violent. If someone like Hotaru feared the fox faery, Yumeko didn’t want to know what they had planned for her. And the talk of magic. She must mean rituals, Yumeko thought. Like the cronewives practiced.

Pweee chikka chik.

The call of the swampsparrow!

Yumeko’s heart pounded.

Pweee chikka chik.

Casting a quick glance at the overcoat, she didn’t pick it up. It would stand out in the woods and the weight was unwieldy. Flight now.

Yumeko scanned outside the window. No one. She gingerly crawled up and over, dropped softly to the ground. Which way? Where was Hotaru? She couldn’t stand in front of the hut, waiting for her! Crouched low, she peered cautiously at the grass. The hut must have had a raised floor. Because from the ground outside, Yumeko couldn’t see the forest that surrounded the glade. The tall grasses towered well above her head. Maybe Hotaru was watching her and would follow after. She hoped.

Scurrying, she darted into the yellow-green stems. This is too easy, she thought. Where are the guards? Tall grasses soon hid her form, but she didn’t feel safer for it. For what hid her also hid others. Her heart tripped loudly in her eardrums. Where had the bog-rotted bird signal come from? She stopped short.

What if the bird song had come from a bird?

Yumeko clamped both hands over her mouth. She could barely contain her laughter.

The tall grass in front of Yumeko shivered. Hotaru slipped through the blades with barely a ripple, a small cloth bundle in her hand. “Silence, swamptoad!” she snapped. “You could be heard from ten ri away! I didn’t signal and yet you flee. I don’t have all of our supplies. Where is the overcoat?” Her quietly hissed words were like a dash of cold water.

In the brightness of day, the white powder on Hotaru’s face was less ethereal, more tawdry. Creases underneath her eyes belied an age far greater than her sweet voice had suggested. The round eyebrow dots painted high on her forehead were so distracting. Yumeko stared.

“Overcoat!” Hotaru repeated. Gave Yumeko a quick shake.

“I left it behind. It’s too heavy,” Yumeko answered.

“Fool! When they see you are gone, they will know you’ve left with me!”

“Won’t they realize that anyway?” Yumeko retorted.

“Any time they spend looking for clues is to our advantage. Moh! There’s no point in talking! Follow me. Make no sounds.”

Hotaru slid through the grass as if she was air. Her feet, Yumeko noted, were bare. Though Hotaru created a small path for her, Yumeko still lumbered through the grass like a swampbuffalo. She had never thought of herself as clumsy, but every blade she touched rustled, every leaf crinkled. She could feel Hotaru’s back bristling with annoyance. The tips of the grass bobbed slowly back and forth above their heads. Yumeko’s heart pounded. She hoped the fox faery were tired and slept soundly. The silence around them was thick. As if they were the only moving creatures upon the earth.

Hotaru suddenly stopped. Yumeko almost bumped into her back. Yumeko, slightly taller than her new ally, peered over her shoulder. Her heart plummeted.

They were back at the hut.

“Curse it!” Hotaru hissed. “They’ve bewitched the glade.”

“Bewitched?” Yumeko repeated. “Like magic?”

Hotaru spun around. “You know not even that!” And then, her face crumpled. Tears tricked down her face, ruining the white powder. Yumeko stared, horrified.

“What have I done?” Hotaru moaned. “All for nothing. And next they will take my ears.” She squeezed tight her painted lips, but her shoulders shook with her sobs, her hands falling helplessly. The cloth bundle landed next to her dirty feet.

Awkwardly, Yumeko picked it up. The girl was so unstable. Vicious one moment, vulnerable the next. And while she wept, they were wasting precious time. Would the fox faery really cut off Hotaru’s delicate ears?

Hotaru gasped.

Yumeko crouched. Ready to flee. Certain they had been discovered. Yumeko glanced at the girl. She was looking down at the ground.

Yumeko followed her gaze.

Three animals stood in a half circle. No higher than her knees, their thick fur shone reddish gold. Large pointed ears perched on top of their triangulated heads and their muzzles narrowed and tapered to a point. Just like the kitsune-masked soldiers who had captured her. But these creatures weren’t humans. They were only animals standing on four slender legs, on tiny paws. Their large bushy tails held upright. Tense. Perhaps they were pets. Or guard animals. They would make a wonderful winter coat, she thought. Yumeko glanced up at Hotaru’s ashen face. The girl wove ever so slightly. As if she might swoon.

Maybe she had an exaggerated fear, Yumeko thought. Like how Numa was frightened of tiny spiders. Yumeko reacted as she normally did when she was bothered by animal pests or children.

“Sssssssssssssssssss!” Yumeko hissed and swung the cloth bundle with all her might. She walloped one of the creatures in the rump and glanced off the heads of the remaining two. They yelped and darted into the trees.

The trees….

The glade, the hut…all disappeared. As if they had never existed. Yumeko gaped at the trees that towered above her. The sun cast beams of golden light through the canopy. A squirrel chattered. In the distance, a crow rasped, low and hoarse. A stream trickled with liquid music.

“You’re unbelievable,” Hotaru said, wonderingly. “You drive away the kitsune with only a cloth bundle.”

“Kitsu—what?” Yumeko squeaked. “Those doglets are the fox faery?”

Hotaru shook her head.

“Where’s the hut? All the grass?” Yumeko spluttered.

“They were never here,” Hotaru said carefully.

“You mean we’ve never been in danger?”

Hotaru grabbed Yumeko’s arm as she ran down a faint trail. “We’ve never been out of it,” she hissed. They darted through the trees as if demented Clanless were right behind them. Yumeko couldn’t see anything of the fox faeries or the doglets, but she didn’t stop running. She hoped Hotaru knew where she was going.

It felt like they ran for hours. Yumeko’s bare arms and legs were scratched from branches, her face smudged with dirt and sweat. Long runnels of face powder trailed down Hotaru’s cheeks but she didn’t pant. Yumeko had thought the girl had painted her brown face to look white, but if anything, her true complexion was whiter than the make-up.

“Stop!” Yumeko managed. “Can’t run.”

Hotaru glanced back at her. A strange expression flickered across her face.

“What?” Yumeko’s voice, jagged. Afraid of the answer.

Hotaru shook her head. Her long black hair still rippled. Glossy. “Humans tire easily,” she murmured.

Yumeko frowned, still gasping for air. “What do you mean, ‘humans’? Like you’re not one yourself …”

Yumeko swallowed hard. No matter how she tried to shape some reason out of the events that had happened, nothing was as it seemed. The vertigo threatened to toss her to the forest floor. If there even was a forest. And Hotaru. What manner of creature was she? Who knew what lay beneath all the paint, all the clothing.

The strange girl tilted her head to one side, listening. Then she nodded and motioned for Yumeko to sit down. Yumeko dropped to the moss and panted noisily.

Hotaru laughed. Without her usual condescension. Yumeko smiled at the happy sound. She stared at the girl’s eyebrow dots high on her forehead. They hadn’t trickled away with her sweat.

“Must you stare?” Hotaru said snippily. “If you must know, the two bushy caterpillars above your eyes distract me to no end but do you see me gawping at you whenever there’s a still moment?”

“Keh!” Yumeko sniffed.

A branch snapped somewhere in the distance. They both held their breath. But birds still chirruped in the trees. They lowered their guard. “How much farther must we run?” Yumeko said wearily. “Are we closer to the swamp? And what then, when we get there? Are there supplies in the cloth bundle?”

“You have so many questions and no answers of your own.”

“Could you stop that?” Yumeko snapped.

Hotaru flinched. Then she raised trembling hands to pat at her hair, smoothing down the glossy length. She lifted her head. Her light brown eyes were flecked with gold and bronze. “I’m sorry,” Hotaru said, soberly. “It has been years upon years since I have spoken with someone who might not hold ill intentions.” Her voice dropped. “The kitsune behave on whim and fancy. They might love you and they might kill you. You just never know.” Hotaru’s words blurring fiercely. “Nothing is ever what it seems. They are wise and just. They are heartless and cruel. I no longer know how to behave.”

Emotion welled at Yumeko’s eyes. How long had the girl been a captive? Yumeko cupped Hotaru’s small white hands. They were icy and Yumeko clicked her tongue, rubbed gently with her coarse palms. “Don’t worry,” Yumeko said. “We’ll flee this place. We’ll get back to my clan, then, we can begin a search for your people. Perhaps in the capital.” For Yumeko had never seen a person dressed or painted like Hotaru. Numa had said all manner of strange people inhabited the great city.

“You are kind,” Hotaru whispered.

A sharp bark cut through the forest. Followed by another. Hotaru whimpered. “They have found us,” she said hoarsely.

The afternoon turned into night. Suddenly and completely. As if a switch had been turned. The hair rose along Yumeko’s spine and she clamped hard on Hotaru’s hands.

“Is it a storm?” Yumeko asked desperately. “A storm has blown in,” she pleaded. Hotaru’s face was a wan grey mask in the darkness.

Yelps and barks, from all directions, drew nearer.

“No storm,” Hotaru gulped. “The fox faery are trying to bewitch us. The afternoon sun still shines. We just can’t see it.”

“How can we fight them?” Yumeko moaned.

“I have so little left,” Hotaru whispered low and fiercely. She pulled her hands out of Yumeko’s desperate grip. “Listen. I’m going to create a light. It’s all I can do. You must follow this light no matter what happens. You promise me!”

Yumeko nodded. Then realized it was too dark for Hotaru to see her. “I promise,” she whispered.

A rustling of cloth. The small bundle of supplies was pressed into Yumeko’s hands.

“You must keep this with you. I am nothing without it.” Hotaru’s voice broke.

“I will guard it with my life,” Yumeko swore.

The barks turned into growls.

Kachi! Kachi! Kachi!

The sound of rock striking rock.

A small bluish light floated in the pitch black. Like a flame it flickered, bobbed, rippled. Then it started weaving away. Like a firefly.

Hotaru, Yumeko thought wonderingly. Firefly. That’s why. Yumeko stumbled after the pale blue light. At first she tried to toe out tree roots, outcroppings of rock. But wherever the small flame went, the path was clear. Yumeko ran less cautiously. Clutching the bundle to her chest, she began to sprint.

And even as she fled the growls that seemed to snap at her heels, doubts bloomed inside her.

Swampfire, a cronewife’s voice hissed. Swampfire is the unsettled souls of banished murderers and thieves. Follow swamplight and you follow death.

Yumeko shrugged the thought away.

Don’t follow her. She is erratic, cruel. She leads you to the edge of a cliff!

Yumeko whimpered. But she still chased after the light.

“Hotaru is the mad one in their community. Everything she has said is a lie!” A voice hissed next to her ear. She batted at the voice. Felt nothing.

The sun, Yumeko chanted to herself. The sun is shining but I can’t see it.

“Yumeko!” her cronemother cried. “You left me again.” Kiri lay crumpled at the foot of a tree, her body twisting, writhing in pain. Blood ran out of both empty eye sockets and the gaping holes turned accusingly to her daughter. “The Clanless attacked while you were gone. Help me.” Her wrecked cronemother raised one feeble hand.

Yumeko faltered. “Kiri,” her voice broke. But the pale blue light flared brighter. Bright enough for her to notice. Why would her cronemother be the only one lit up when all else remained in darkness?

Yumeko sprinted even faster after the firefly light.

“How can you,” her cronemother called out. “Your own cronemother,” she started weeping. The sound almost tore Yumeko’s heart in two. But she didn’t stop. “Curse you!” Kiri screamed.

Yumeko sobbed as she ran, tears streaming down her face.

The black night air was ripped apart with the sound of rending cloth. Headless children tumbled to the ground, giggling from the mouths in their bellies. Their sibilant voices paralyzed and Yumeko desperately clamped her hands over her ears. Spiders, the size of domehouses, clambered down the trees, their shiny chitinous armor clattered, stinking of phosphorous and ammonia. The monsterspiders reached with their eight legs, with curved, clawed hands to tear Yumeko into pieces. Babies without faces crawled along the ground. Their fat bodies translucent and red with bloody juices. They looked like bloodfish.  … Yumeko clasped her stomach. Retched.

“Yumeko,” a sweet voice whispered. “Yumeko.”

Her head turned slowly, as if tugged by invisible strings. Her feet growing so heavy she could barely lift them. Even as her mind screamed for her to flee, she turned back. Toward the voice.

“Ho-ta-ru?” Yumeko mouthed, the words stretching in dream distortion.

No.

Kaze swung gently from a rope tied around her neck. Her purple face tilted in an impossible angle, her body hung loose, almost boneless. Yumeko’s teeth started clattering. She desperately tried to catch sight of Hotaru’s bobbing light again, but she couldn’t move. Horrified, she stared at the rope that ended in midair. Kaze, her friend, hanging for all eternity.

“Yumeko,” Kaze sighed, her mushy lips still moved long after the word was spoken. “I’ve missed you, Yumeko. I don’t blame you, you know. It’s not your fault that we lost Tsuchi in the Mist. You didn’t make me kill myself.”

Snap of branch stepped by a heavy foot. A figure came lurching toward them. With horrible determination. A faint glow of recognition in her bulbous eyes.

Tsuchi. Tsuchi, who had plunged into the swamp. She had been preserved in the

water. Her copper skin striated with black marking. The marks writhed, slipping in and out of Tsuchi’s water-swollen body. Eels, Yumeko realized in horror. Baby eels…

“Look,” Kaze sighed. “We’re altogether again. Let’s play like we used to.”

Yumeko crumpled. Desperately she squeezed her eyes shut. “No more,” she prayed into the earth. “No more.” She covered her head with her arms, pulling her body into an instinctive fetal curl.

With a howl of glee, the specters fell upon her.

The monsterspiders snicked pieces out of Yumeko’s paralyzed body and the headless children gleefully licked her with tongues that unrolled from their stomachs. Kaze and Tsuchi stroked her head lovingly as the faceless swollen blood babies tried to open her mouth.

“Stop!” a word tried to penetrate the force that surrounded her. The monsters paused and Yumeko dropped one arm, sluggishly turned her head. Her eyelids felt as if they were sewn together. With the last of herself that was intact, she tore the threads that kept her eyes shut. Screamed.

A pale blue light wove all around her. Darting with a dizzying fury. Sound roaring, whining, shrieking, the specters flew off Yumeko’s body and burst into pale yellow flames. So many and so fast, she couldn’t count them, the spheres of light dodged, leapt, chased after the small blue flame. They pounced on it from many sides, as if to extinguish it.

“Hotaru,” Yumeko croaked. She could do nothing. Nothing but witness the fury of the burning specters.

The blue firefly, unable to fight back the strength of numbers, desperately zigzagged between the trees. Small yellow flames joined together, merging their light into a large ball of fire. The glow crackled with electric snaps. The enormous flame chased the blue light, now wan and tiny. She would be consumed, Yumeko thought, horrified. The blue firefly was losing ground. The movements slowing as it wove between tree trunks, branches.

“Here,” Yumeko cried. “Come to me!”

The blue light angled up, up, high into the false night. Yumeko’s heart throbbing as the light grew fainter, fainter. The sphere of orange flames roared ever closer.

Then, the blue firefly stopped. Mid-air. Then fell. Slowly at first, then gaining greater momentum. Hotaru’s light plummeted straight downward, into Yumeko’s outstretched hands.

“Come to me!” Yumeko cried again. Lurched to her feet. Cupped hands raised above her head.

Hotaru’s light raced downward. Landed in the sanctuary of Yumeko’s palms.

The ball of orange flames crackled furiously, just a heartbeat away. It filled Yumeko’s sight. In the last second, Yumeko clasped the firefly to her chest and closed her eyes as the orange fire consumed her from the head down.

The flames splashed around her, surrounding her upright form. Her hair rose with electric crackle, her exposed skin tingling madly.

The flames didn’t burn.

Yumeko opened her eyes. She could see through the fire. Filtered orange and yellow, trees flickered as if she was seeing them from behind a curtain of water.

A circle of foxes. Sitting on their haunches. They stared intently at the girl standing with her hands clasped to her chest. The largest of the foxes tilted her head quizzically.

Do you know enough to speak now?A voice echoed in Yumeko’s mind.

Outrage, anger, hate, swelled inside Yumeko. They flared briefly, then faded.

Why do you do this? Yumeko thought wearily.

The large old fox stared, unblinking. Then tilted her head the other way.

Because we can.

The flames, that surrounded her, vanished. No longer dark, it was afternoon again at the edge of a great forest. The forest with all of the chirps and creakings of their language. She stood near a shore surrounded by brown water. Just beyond the waterline floated a heavy mist.

The old fox lifted her speckled muzzle and barked once, sharp. The foxes broke their circle and disappeared into the trees as if they were never there.

A warm weight in Yumeko’s hands.

She looked down.

A small white fox.

She still breathed.

“Hotaru?” Yumeko quavered. The small creature stirred, tried to raise her head. Managed to open her eyes. They were warm brown, streaked with gold and bronze. Small round black spots of fur were high on the fox’s head. Yumeko couldn’t see past her tears. She blinked desperately.

“They’ve left,” Yumeko managed. “We’re free.” Yumeko could almost catch a strand of reason in this if she weren’t so very tired. “We’ve come to the edge of the island.” She stared fiercely at the misty waters.

On the shore was her punt.

Hotaru sighed deeply, then closed her eyes.

Yumeko walked to the small boat. Round stones crunched, overloud, beneath her bare feet. The shore was damp with the mist.

The small cloth bundle sat on the bench near the prow. Yumeko shifted the small fox into the crook of her left arm as gently as she could. The exhausted animal didn’t wake.

Her heart tripped. The small white fox didn’t have a tail.

“Hotaru,” she whispered.

Hotaru had said she was frightened. That the kitsune had said they would next take her ears. Her beautifully pointed ears were still on her head. Why had they let her go? Perhaps they thought she had earned it. Yumeko didn’t know. Perhaps she never would.

Yumeko, holding the white fox against her, pushed the punt off the shore. She wanted to be off the island. She sat on the bench as the sluggish water lapped them deeper into the mist. With her right hand, she untied the knots of the cloth bundle. There was no food or water. Only two worn scrolls. Folded red cloth. And something white. Yumeko reached with trembling fingers.

A small white tail. Not the bushy thickness of an adult, but thin and short. The tail of a kit. Yumeko carefully re-wrapped the cloth bundle.

She stood in the stern of the punt and clasped the oar with her right hand. In the crook of her left, she cradled the sleeping fox with fierce tenderness. As Yumeko swung the oar in the twisting figure eight motion, she began to speak softly. “I live near the eastern shores of this swamp. We live in domehouses that stand on stilts above the brown water. My cronemother is Kiri and my heartmother is Numa. You will be a guest in our home for as long as you wish it.”

The punt disappeared into the mist.

Hiromi Gotois a Japanese Canadian writer who currently calls British Columbia home. Her novel, The Kappa Child, was the 2001 winner of the James Tiptree Jr. Award and was on the final ballot for the Sunburst Award and the Spectrum Award. She also published a children’s fantasy novel, The Water of Possibility, that year. Her first novel, Chorus of Mushrooms, was the recipient of the regional Commonwealth Writer’s Prize for Best First Book, and was co-winner of the Canada-Japan Book Award.

Hopeful Monsters, a collection of short stories, will be released with Arsenal Pulp Press in the Spring of 2004. Goto is the mother of two children and recently adopted a rat from the SPCA.

Author’s Note

The kitsunecontinues to slide elusively between realms magical, natural and human. In Asian mythologies, the fox faery has left a long and meandering trail of deceit, grace, violence and acts of great beauty. The complexities of the kitsune can beguile. A writer can become lost in seeking to know her. And in a sweep of a tail, a delicate leap, what you thought you saw is gone. The only sign of her passage is a droplet of water falling from a leaf. The brief glint of sunlight.