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Midsummer, balmy and quiet. The rains came and went, sometime in a torrent, sometimes only enough to water the gardens over hours on end. My blood had come in, merciless in the pain it dealt. Because if it, I kept to my room, curled up in bed as I tried to wait it out without complaint. Yua had come to check in, giving little sympathy but refrained from any lecturing.
I stayed in my night gown, trying to make myself sleep until it was all over.
I heard my door slide open. Likely Yua with something to help. As cold as she presented, she didn’t let things go ignored. I wouldn’t have called us friends, but I also wouldn’t have called her unkind.
A cool hand rested against my forehead. Not Yua. I turned over in alarm, wide eyed.
“Lord Kwan?”
He recoiled his hand, slow. “Yua said you were feeling unwell.”
I blinked, calming. “Not in that way, my lord. It’s... a woman’s ailment.”
He tilted his head, taking his time to decide what to do. Standing, he walked away. “Regardless, the herbal tea will help with pain.” He gestured to a teapot, its spout steaming, and a cup beside it.
The door closed, quiet.
When I summoned the strength, I followed his advice and poured myself some of the tea. A strange scent to its yellow-green color caused my nose to crinkle. But he’d said it would help with pain. And mine was so bad that I lost most of my appetite.
The taste made me shudder and want nothing to do with it. Determined, I swallowed in fast, large gulps. The warmth of it raced to my stomach, which growled its complaint like my tongue had.
Of everyone at the estate, I didn’t think he’d be the one to come with concerns about my health.
****
In the following week, Syaoran delivered a package to my room. I hadn’t finished with breakfast, listening to everyone else shuffle around with some unusual whim. He bore his usual warm smile, fox ears pointed high. With a hint of mischief in his voice, he instructed that I go to the stables in an hour.
A note came with the paper-wrapped parcel. For Hisa. The same as it’d been on the note for my dress.
Opening it, it wasn’t exactly a new dress. There were more pieces than previously. A pair of pants, I realized, with several layers of billowing silk to replicate the look of the skirt part of my dress. Two more blouses and a jacket piece, and another overlay bit of silk that confused me. It stood to reason that they all belonged together for some purpose or specific event. I couldn’t fathom what or why, but I had just under an hour to figure it all out.
It took nearly the full of the hour.
I layered the bouses and jacket, the same as I would with my dress, but didn’t quite know what to do with several tie off ribbons on the jacket. In fastening the pants, it became a bit more clear that they were meant to go over the blouses but under the jacket, and the odd, extra ribbons were meant to anchor to the pants piece. Except, that wasn’t entirely correct. The final piece was meant to be anchored to one part of the jacket and sit over the pants, looking more like a complete dress.
I rushed out as quick as I dared, not wanting to dirty myself before I even arrived. Whatever guest or reason I was expected to show up in this particular outfit, I wanted to make a good impression.
The horses were out and saddled. All of them.
“What’s going on?” I asked, not really expecting anyone to answer.
Yua stood beside a dappled mare, dressed similarly. My mind raced to piece it together, and I became horrified. Did they expect me to ride? I’d never even sat on a horse—and these were larger than Lan’s old nag.
“Hisa.”
I jumped at the voice. Gi, beaming with excitement. “Why are the horses saddled?”
He laughed. The answer was obvious, but my mind denied it. “Lord Kwan wants to take a ride. And he appointed me as an accompanying guard.”
“He’s taking guards?”
“It’s more a formality than anything. But I’m not arguing against it—it’ll be the first time in seventy years that I’ve taken a ride.”
“Seventy years,” I repeated. Sometimes I forgot that the spirits were eternal. Seventy years might seem like less than a decade, less than a single year perhaps.
“Normally, three of us would be appointed. But he sent for you to come, and there’s not a seventh horse.”
I shook my head, my dread coming into fruition. “I’ve never ridden. I don’t know how!”
“Hisa,” called Lord Kwan. He stared in my direction, expectant.
Timid, I approached to answer his summon. My throat tightening, and any voice I had was reduced to a whispering squeak. “Lord Kwan, I—”
“You’ll be taking Susa,” he gestured to a black mare. “Gi will assist you getting in the saddle.”
I shook my head in terror. The horse was enormous. “I can’t! I don’t know how!” I retreated into myself, wanting to curl up right then and there to cry.
Lord Kwan stopped, blinking at me while I trembled horribly. “Susa will do most of the work.”
I shook my head again, defiant in my fear. “I’m scared... If she bucks and throws me, or I fall...” I remembered Raeden in that moment, and how he’d been thrown after a wasp stung the belly of Lan’s horse in the midst of teaching my brother. He’d broken his arm and dislocated his shoulder. He screamed so horribly that it made me afraid to even ask to learn to ride.
Lord Kwan studied me, releasing a quiet, pensive sigh before mounting on Saburo. “Gi. Help her up here.”
“What?” I didn’t have the time to understand what he meant, let alone object. Gi came swift to obey, placing his hands on my waist and hoisting me up.
“Get your leg over,” directed Lord Kwan as he took hold of me.
I was all awkward and fidgeting, seated right in front of him—between his thighs—and holding fast to the pommel of the saddle. Yua came up beside us, already on her horse, and motioned for me to fix my garment to cover my exposed leg.
“Inform Kazuo that we will need his company as well,” said Lord Kwan. “It wouldn’t be right to leave Susa behind.”
Gi bowed his head in a smooth, quick motion, hurrying to carry out his command.
I watched, pressing my brow together and unable to sit comfortably. My legs were spread farther than they’d ever been, and I tried not to touch any part of Lord Kwan. Were the rise of the pommel not in the way, I’d scoot up further.
He put a hand on my belly, sliding me back in place, though my own hands refused to relinquish their grip. “You will fall that far up.” He placed his hand on my shoulder next, correcting my posture. “Keep your back straight for balance.” And then to my hip. “Don’t make yourself rigid. We won’t be riding fast. Feel the way he moves and allow yourself to move with him. You’ll hurt yourself otherwise.”
I tried to follow his instruction, ignore his breath brushing past my ear, and overcome my fear. My fingers refused to budge.
“I won’t let you fall,” said Lord Kwan. “Syaoran suggested bringing you to overlook the lake.”
“The lake?” I repeated shakily. It took a few seconds to remember one of the conversations we’d had outside the walls.
“He was adamant that you should come,” said Lord Kwan. “The two of you have grown close.”
I tried to look at him, over my shoulder, only able to catch sight of his chin, silk shirt, and locks of black hair like ribbons on his chest.
“When you get used to it,” said Sayoran, his own stallion pawing at the ground with anticipation, “that’s when you’ll want a horse of your own. The feeling is freeing. Just you and him.” He patted his mount, keeping that smile to comfort me.
“It’s been forty-seven years since we last rode out,” said Yua. “They’re excited to get out as well.”
“How long do horses live for?” an odd question, I knew. Lan’s horse was more than twenty. But to reach almost fifty was something else. They all looked relatively young.
“They’re spirits too,” said Syaoran with a laugh.
I felt foolish in that moment. Of course they wouldn’t be normal horses. Not for a Juneun.
Once our escort guards mounted up, we left the estate in a soft trot, picking up the pace only a little once we left the outer wall. Even so, I still went rigid and felt it was too fast. I teetered this way and that, my fingers a vice-grip in their chosen spot.
Lord Kwan scooted me back again, correcting my posture with a touch. “Relax. Keep your muscles loose so you can feel the way he moves under you.”
That was easier said than done.
“You won’t fall. Saburo tells me you’re quite fond of him.”
“He told you? How?”
“The same as when he suggested to have you in the saddle with me.”
“But, he didn’t say anything.” Try as I might, I couldn’t relax, or look over my shoulder to see Lord Kwan’s eyes. He said nothing more, leaving me to replay the scene and look for what I missed. My conclusion being that it was a special way a spirit like Saburo communicated with Juneun and other spirits. A silent understanding.
The mountain was dotted with shade and sunlight. We went where no path existed, yet Saburo behaved as though there were one, however treacherous it might be. I found myself leaning back at times, pressed into Lord Kwan’s torso. He said nothing about it.
We reached the top just past midday, though it may as well have been the next day for how tired I felt. Lord Kwan dismounted first, helping me down—and I needed the help. My legs had become too stiff and sore to do what I wanted, and it pained me to even move them. When my fingers released the pommel of the saddle, they left indents in the leather, and grew small blisters on my skin.
When I finally touched ground again, my legs gave way. Lord Kwan caught me, staying placid in his manner.
It was Gi who came over and asked what was wrong.
“My legs hurt,” I said, trying not to cry with the pulsing pain. “Everything hurts.”
“It’s to be expected if you’ve never ridden,” said Syaoran. “And we’ve gone a few hours at that. Not to mention you stayed rigid, and made your who body tense the entire way. There’s a lot of fatigue.”
Lord Kwan said nothing, looking from Syaoran to myself with his usual stone expression. To my surprise, he acted patiently. Taking my hands in his own, using his other to keep me standing, he raised my blistered skin closer to his face and blew gently. The dry tenderness subsided. Letting go, I pulled them back to inspect. Hardly a show that they were ever there.
His cool hand then brushed down the length of my body, passing over my thighs and shins twice. It wasn’t a rapid disappearance, but I noticed the pain ebbing away. He held me a few seconds more before finally saying anything. “Now?”
“It’s still hurts a lot,” I kept my eyes down, fascinated, until some small part of me reminded myself that I’d forgotten all manners. “But it’s a lot more tolerable now, my lord. Thank you.”
He stared, as he always did when measuring what someone said, and brushed his hand from my belly to my ankles once more. “Can you walk?”
I tested a step. “I think so. Enough to keep up.”
He said nothing more, letting me go and leading Saburo by the reins to wherever he delighted.
“A lot of us forget how delicate humans are,” said Gi. “We never really worry about fatigue or injuries thanks to Lord Kwan.”
“To Lord Kwan only?”
“It takes a powerful Juneun to use healing magic.”
That much puzzled me. When I think of what it meant to be powerful, I thought of a warrior’s strength. I never considered the ability to heal others as being a pinnacle of power. It was a strange concept, how the spirits revered healing magic while humans valued physical capability. Stranger still was thinking how effortlessly Lord Kwan performed healing magic, after I’d seen him in a state where he couldn’t recognize his own friends.
Following, I awed at the scenery. Lord Kwan selected the most marvelous spot to view the crater of the mountain and the lake within it.
“This place used to be a volcano,” said Syaoran. “Almost four hundred years ago, now. Maybe a little over.”
Again, I was surprised. I never knew Mount Tora was a volcano. A swell of questions flooded my mind. Had it erupted before? Was it safe to live at the base of it now? Would it erupt again? My concern must’ve been obvious, because he smiled with a chuckle at me.
“It’s perfectly safe. The mountain responds to Lord Kwan’s presence. It respects the rest of us being here, but it will slumber while his soul resides somewhere on the mountain. No matter what tremors a Kurai might cause, it’ll stay asleep.” He stretched up and outward, basking in the soft sunlight.
It wasn’t quite as hot here, I noticed. This time of year would be sweltering in my village; and while it was as balmy, the heat wasn’t nearly so unbearable. I’d helped to set up for a luncheon, unable to stop looking over at Lord Kwan as he stood a short distance away staring at the lake. That same, intense stare he gave so often, studying the scenery.
I realized then that I’d met him almost a year complete, yet I knew very little about him at all. He was a quiet person. So often, our conversations revolved around village life and how humans perceived things and carried on in their roles. A few times, it’d been more personable questions directed at me, but I scarce knew anything about my jailer. The day Feng left was the only time I’d seen him so relaxed, and divulged a fragment about himself and his thoughts.
I may have thought him a heartless person on first meeting, naïve as I was to not understand the ceremony of everything. But he’d not proven himself a terrible monster of a man. He tried to be compassionate in his own way, and he was hard to understand, but I wouldn’t say he was a bad person. Someone weighed with troubles and responsibility sounded more accurate. And maybe it made him lonely.
If we did grow to be friends, I’d make the promise to visit him, simply to keep him company for a short while. The worst that could happen at that point was him getting annoyed and commanding that I make no more visits.
But maybe that was more cruel. As I watched his easy posture around Yua and Syaoran—relationships that spanned across centuries—my visiting to keep his company in a mortal life might cause more pain than comfort.
After eating, I helped the guardsmen put things away. Or, I tried to. I was more in the way than anything, interrupting practiced movements. Syaoran and Yua had walked on with Lord Kwan, leaving the guards to mind the horses as they grazed, and myself to wander a little bit away.
If the trek to get here wasn’t so far and so rough of terrain, I’d come here again once I was free. But I knew a host of animals wouldn’t care for my trespassing, and I’d likely get lost in trying to find my way back. For the moment, I pretended otherwise. I pretended that I was free, and made the trek safely up on my own.
“Hisa,” called Syaoran. “Come here, and grab a basket!”
I looked from my friend to the shimmering lake, taking in the cool wind. Clouds were slowly ushered in, and more rain with it. I didn’t want to leave my spot, but my curiosity coupled with my obligation pulled me away.
We walked under the shade of a copse of trees, navigating to a small peach grove. Large, firm, and beautifully colored to show their ripeness, I wanted to bite into them greedily. We’d come up this way for the scenery, and to collect the fruit of this grove. It was special, I somehow knew. The peaches bigger and more fragrant than whatever wild ones I’d find near my village. Eventually, I’d filled my basket and couldn’t pick it up again with how heavy it was. Gi took it. The accompanying guards carried a basket in each arm, as though it hardly weighed a thing.
Lord Kwan continued to pick, examining the peach in his hand with something I thought resembled admiration in his stoic gaze. With only Syaoran, Yua, and myself left in the grove with him, he bit into it.
“What do you think?” asked Syaoran, a lightness to his tone.
Lord Kwan, in the most inelegant fashion I’d seen from him yet, licked up the droplets of juice running down his hand. After some consideration, he answered. “They’ll make a fine wine.”
He seemed ordinary in that moment, even with his silken clothes and stony expression. Somehow, he appeared completely comfortable. I was glad of it, and wasted no time to follow his example in plucking up a peach of my own to eat. Like Lord Kwan, juice ran down my hand and arm, and I didn’t care about anyone watching as I slurped it up. It was one of the sweetest peaches I’d ever tasted, making me determined not to let even a drop of it go to waste.
Yua looked about to scold me, quickly giving up in favor of having a peach of her own to eat more delicately.
I enjoyed the quiet company, and the conversations that meant little of anything. There was a kind of comfort in it, of being allowed to be myself, and not a human servant. As I sat there, taking ambitious bites of my peach, and watching Syaoran and Lord Kwan behave similarly (if not mildly more restrained), the day replayed in my mind.
A memory sprung up. Cool hands. Healing hands. And the Juneun I didn’t know from years ago, curing the pox. I made to ask when some of the peach’s juice slid to the back of my tongue. I coughed, embarrassed, trying not to choke on the rest in my mouth.
My suspicion would need to wait. They’d given a fast concern, refraining when I quickly explained the problem in a strained voice. After I recovered myself, the guardsmen returned.
We didn’t head back, however, not right away. Instead, we detoured further down the opposite side of the mountain. While Yua carried herself competently, I struggled in my sandals. Noticing, Syaoran offered his hand to help me keep balance. I still slipped now and again, crashing into him. After the third time, he teased that I must want to be closer to him.
A part of me did, though not so publicly or clumsily.
The ground evened out, and he let go of my hand to walk on ahead. My feet started picking up pace for a few steps, not wanting to be parted from him.
A blanket of kudzu lay in our path, coating every boulder and tree and open space. Syaoran cast a spell, some form of fire magic that looked cold and ghastly. The woody, vining plant shriveled up and recoiled, only for the untouched parts to reclaim the space instantly.
Syaoran’s ears flopped down. “Feng really left a mess for us.”
Yua huffed, stepping forward. She held up three fingers, touching the ends of her thumb and pinky to form a spell casting sign. Muttering a chant, the vines shivered. Rather than move out of the way, or whatever she was trying to do, they grew thicker. She scoffed, her face marred by a deep scowl. “It’s eating magic.”
“So, we’ll have to wade through it,” said Syaoran, though he didn’t sound excited by the idea.
Neither was I. My mother had warned me never to walk through kudzu. All sorts of things hid under its dense leaves, and its woody lower stems made it difficult to trek.
He offered a hand to Yua. “I think I can keep it at bay long enough to take the next step.”
She sighed, reluctant, but accepted the gesture. They walked close, hand in hand, as the vines gave way for only a second.
I marveled at the magic. While it didn’t fix anything, I felt I understood a bit more about it. My brain tried to put things to scale. Feng must’ve been a powerful Juneun as well if Syaoran’s magic couldn’t do much about it. Though that hardly seemed to impress Lord Kwan as he studied the plants and observed Syaoran’s tact.
He looked to me, offering his hand.
From deep seeded instinct, I shook my head with fierce denial. “I’ll wait here for you, my lord.”
“I will keep you steadied,” said Lord Kwan after a thoughtful moment.
“It’s not that, my lord. It’s—what if there’s snakes or spiders? Or a hornet’s nest?”
He cocked a brow, measuring my fear. It seemed silly to him, perhaps, to worry about these things when I’d be beside him. He stepped over, looking down at me. Not with his usual intensity, but something of an understanding in his eyes. “I will keep you from danger.”
I expected he’d offer his hand again. Instead, he scooped me up, as though I were light as a sparrow. I gasped at the unexpected, reflexively clinging to his shirt.
“I won’t let you fall,” cooed Lord Kwan.
I looked back to his face, placid, and then to my hands, convincing my fingers to let go. His every stride was smooth, that I hardly felt us moving at all. His feet didn’t sink to the bottom of the thick blanket of vines either; no more than if he were walking the supple grass of the courtyard.
“You are a puzzle,” said Lord Kwan. “Afraid of snakes, but befriending Feng. Appearing on my door as a presumed boy, and not the slightest insult enough to correct. An admiration of Saburo, yet afraid to ride. The willingness to duck behind my shrubs, but not to cross wild kudzu. Taking a pet, only to set it free. A young woman, but keeping a child’s toy.”
I shied at the last contradiction.
“What kind of human are you?”
I looked up, blinking and bewildered. “Only myself, my lord. I never thought of what sort of human I ought to be.” When he gave no reply, I tried to think how to better explain myself. “I only know how to be myself. It never occurred to me that I could try to become like someone else.”
He stayed silent a while, with Syaoran and Yua a short distance ahead. Before I could try again at my explanation, he finally spoke, keeping his eyes forward.
“I understand.”
On the other side of the kudzu, stone tiles surrounded a painted statue atop its dais. Magic or not, the plants respected this sacred place. Light filtered through the branches that kept high on their ancient trees. The statue was a tiger, painted red and black, white and gray, orange and gold, and regal in its pose. It wasn’t life-like at all, but that didn’t detract from its majesty. It seemed as timeless—eternal—as a Juneun. It had been there forever, and would be there forever.
Lord Kwan stepped forward, placing a hand on the large, bronze bell at the foot of the statue. An echoing ring came from it. Not terrifyingly loud, or the sort that vibrated through my bones. Rather, it felt like it was waking something. A moment passed, and another, Lord Kwan resumed his place beside us.
A fierce roar, quickly shifting into a growling complaint. I swore I saw the statue shift, and stepped in front of the others out of instinct. As though my small, powerless body could deter a tiger, magic or ordinary. I’d put myself in front of Juneun spirits, with magic I could never fully fathom; they weren’t children that I needed to keep together in the forest.
The sound of chuffing, and a low, moaning growl.
“As soon as Gumiho is felled, I will,” said Lord Kwan, answering without waiting.
There was a conversation I wasn’t privy to. While I shouldn’t have minded it, I felt annoyed. Syaoran placed a hand around my arm, coaxing me back.
Chuffing.
“It is in my charge, Dareun.”
Growls.
“I would invite your blessing all the same.”
I looked to Syaoran for cues, seeing that he stood still and proper. When I looked to Yua, it was more of the same. I felt out of place, and unaware.
“It is my decision what to do,” said Lord Kwan, sounding as though he were negotiating something. “You know the particulars if you watch these lands so closely.”
A threatening sound emitted from the statue. Lord Kwan’s stony expression crinkled, just for a second. A wince.
“I keep nothing in my house so vile.”
Syaoran’s fox ears twitched, a look of dread on his face. Until I’d come to rescue my brother, I’d assumed, like everyone else, that all fox spirits were Kurai. The sort that delighted in chaos and misery. A burning feeling started in my gut. Since I’d arrived, Syaoran had been kind—a friend. If the tiger, spirit or something else, accused him of anything terrible, it was wrong. In my heart, I knew it was wrong.
“Everything is kept safe from Gumiho’s reach,” said Lord Kwan, a tone of finality in response to the other half of a conversation.
Another low, whining growl.
“Do I have your blessing or not?” asked Lord Kwan, irritated.
Silence. Then a resounding roar. Lord Kwan appeared to accept whatever transpired, with Syaoran and Yua looking both troubled and relieved.