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

My heart pounded. Jin watched Denga storm off, then sighed and began blowing out the kitsune-bi flames above the candles. He extinguished them one at a time, slowly and deliberately, his entire attention focused on his task. He would be done in a few minutes, but I did not want to stay here any longer, in case Denga returned with Master Isao and made good on his promise. Trying to slip out while Jin was in the room would likely get me caught, but I had one last, supremely forbidden, trick up my sleeve.

At the statue’s base, I knelt, dug my fingers between a certain board and lifted it away, revealing a narrow hole that led under the floor of the main hall. It was too small for a human, even a petite human, to fit through. But I wasn’t just human. I was also kitsune.

Closing my eyes, I summoned my power once more, feeling my heart start to pound with anticipation. Most fox magic was illusion and trickery, just as Denga had said. Images laid over truth, making you see and hear things that weren’t there. Flawless copies, but no more substantial than a reflection in a mirror. But there was one form that I could shapeshift into for real, though I was forbidden from using it without permission.

Today seemed a good day to break all the rules.

My body grew warm, and I experienced the abrupt sensation of shrinking rapidly, along with the familiar cloud of white smoke. When I opened my eyes, I was much closer to the floor. Sounds were sharper, shadows nearly nonexistent, and the air was alive with new smells: the musty earth, the sharp tang of metal and the hint of candle smoke still in the air. In the blurred reflection in the statue’s pedestal, a pointed muzzle and golden eyes stared back at me, a bushy, white-tipped tail curled around its legs.

Master Isao did not approve of me being a fox. You are human, he’d told me on more than one occasion. Yes, you are kitsune, but being Yumeko is much harder than being a fox. If you spend too much time in that body, someday you might forget what it means to be mortal.

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that and right now, it didn’t matter. Ducking my head, I slipped easily into the hole, glided beneath the floorboards and came out beneath the veranda. After making sure no monks, and especially Master Isao, were nearby, I headed into the garden, to the old maple tree leaning against the temple walls. Fox paws were quick and nimble, and the wood was very rough; I scurried up the gnarled trunk, dropped to the other side and escaped into the cool stillness of the forest.

* * *

Later that evening, I was sitting on a flat rock beside my favorite quiet pond, dangling my bare feet in the water, as I pondered what to do next. Jewellike dragonflies zipped over the mirrorlike surface, and small whiskered fish swam lazily below my feet, eyeing my human-again toes. The sun had warmed the rock, and a breeze whispered through the bamboo grove surrounding the pond. It was a good place to forget your troubles, and I often came here when life at the temple got too dull, or when I was hiding from Denga. Normally, the water, the breeze and the fish could erase my worries in no time. But today, I couldn’t forget what had been said in the temple hall.

Seal away my magic? Just like that? Make it so I couldn’t weave illusions, change my shape, or call upon my foxfire? That seemed excessive. I’d never actually hurt anything with my pranks, except Denga’s pride. And maybe a sliding panel or two.

I glanced at my reflection in the water. A girl with pointed ears and yellow eyes stared back, bushy tail curled behind her. She is more fox than mortal, Denga had raged as he’d stormed out of the hall this evening. Her yokai nature is overshadowing her humanity.

“That’s not true,” I told the kitsune staring back at me. “I’m still mostly human. At least, I think I am.”

“Talking to yourself, little fox cub?”

I glanced up. A squat old woman was making her way slowly around the edge of the pond. She wore a ragged robe, a wide-brimmed straw hat and tall wooden sandals that sank into the grass as she minced along the bank. In one gnarled hand she held a bamboo pole, resting on a shoulder; the other gripped a cluster of tiny fish dangling from a string. Her eyes glimmered yellow beneath the brim of her hat as she looked up at me.

I smiled. “Good evening, Tanuki-baba,” I greeted politely. “What are you doing out here?”

The old woman snorted and raised the cluster of fish. “Planting flowers, what does it look like?”

I frowned in confusion. “But...those are fish. Why would you be planting flowers, Tanuki-baba? You don’t eat them.”

“Exactly. Some of us actually have to work for our food, unlike some spoiled, naive half foxes I won’t name.” She eyed me from under her hat, raising a thin gray eyebrow. “But what are you doing out so late, cub? Those humans of yours don’t like it when you wander off.” She chuckled, showing a flash of yellow teeth. “Is Denga-san on the warpath? Did you turn the cat into a teakettle again?”

“No, not in a long time—it scratches me when I try to put a leaf on its head. But...” I shivered, clutching at my arms. The sun-warmed rock suddenly felt cold. “Denga-san was angry,” I told her. “More than I’ve ever seen before. He said I was more yokai than human, and that Master Isao should put a binding on me. What if Master Isao listens to him? What if he really does seal off my magic? I...” I faltered, feeling my stomach twist at the thought losing my power. “I can’t imagine having no magic. It would be worse than cutting off my fingers or plucking out my eyes. If that happens, what will I do?”

Tanuki-baba snorted. “Come,” she said, gesturing down the trail with the end of her bamboo rod. “I’ll make you some tea.”

I hopped down and followed the hunched form away from the pond, onto the narrow winding path through the bamboo forest. Her pole bobbed as she walked, and the tip of a bushy brown tail peeked from beneath the hem of her robe. I pretended not to notice, just as I knew she pretended not to see my ears and tail. It was an unspoken rule among yokai; one did not call attention to their...yokai-ness if one did not want be haunted, harassed, or cursed with extremely bad luck. Not that I was afraid Tanuki-baba would do so. To me she had always been a grandmotherly old yokai, and the stories of the tricks she used to play on humans when she was a young tanuki were always entertaining, if sometimes scary.

We emerged from the bamboo into a deeper, darker part of the forest. Here, ancient trees grew close together, intertwining branches nearly shutting out the sun. Thin streams of light cut weakly through the leaves, dappling the forest floor, and the air had a still, almost reverent feel. Curious kodama, the tree spirits of the forest, peered at us from behind leaves or followed us down the trail, their ethereal green bodies no larger than my finger.

Tanuki-baba led me along a familiar babbling brook, over a tiny arched bridge that was being eaten by toadstools and fungi, and toward a wooden hut that had been completely swallowed by moss. Long, long ago, she’d said, it had belonged to a yamabushi, a wandering priest who sought harmony and balance within nature, who could see and communicate directly with the kami. But that mortal had moved on or died, and the hut was now hers. Part of the thatched roof had fallen in and trees and brush surrounded it; if you didn’t know there was a dwelling there, you might miss it in the vegetation. The interior, as always, was a mess, with junk piled in every corner and along every wall.

“Sit,” Tanuki-baba gruffed, gesturing to a low wooden table in the center of the floor, the only clear space in the room. “I’ll make us some tea—assuming I can find the pot, that is.”

There were two or three teapots resting in different places throughout the clutter. I didn’t say anything, because my suggestions were always met with refusal. That teapot was cracked, or dirty, or had a family of birds living in it. No, the right teapot was here, somewhere, and only she could find it. I knelt at the wooden table until Tanuki-baba finally stumbled upon what she was looking for, an ancient and dinged iron pot, and yanked it out of the pile.

“Empty,” she sighed, peering in the top. “That’s good, I suppose. No mice this time. Means I have to fill it up, though. I’ll be right back,” she told me, waddling out again. “Don’t touch anything.”

I waited patiently, rolling little flames of kitsune-bi across the table surface, while Tanuki-baba filled the teapot, set it on the brazier and lit the coals at the bottom. She then bustled about the room, taking things from the clutter along the walls and muttering to herself. Finally, she returned to the table with the teapot, two chipped cups and a tray bearing the fish she had caught, still raw and unscaled, laid out in a row.

“Ahhh,” she sighed, settling onto the threadbare pillow opposite me. After several moments of shifting around and making herself comfortable, she took off her hat and tossed it in a corner, where it blended into the clutter. Politely, I dropped my gaze, careful not to glance at the round, furry ears that poked up from the top of her gray head. “Go on and pour the tea, cub,” Tanuki-baba ordered, waving a hand at the pot and cups. “At least make yourself useful.”

I carefully poured a thin green liquid into the two cups, then offered one to her. She took it with a crooked smile and set it down before her.

“You don’t mind if I switch forms while we eat, do you?” she asked, eyeing the tray of fish in the center of the table. “This body is more useful for tea-making, but I’d rather be comfortable in my own house.”

I shook my head. “Not at all, Tanuki-baba. Please do.”

She snorted, raised her head and shook herself. Dust flew everywhere, rising from her body like a cloud, swirling into the room. I sneezed, turning away from the explosion, and when I glanced back, a furry brown creature with a dark mask and a bushy tail sat where the old woman had been. I set a teacup in front of her, and she picked it up with two dark brown paws before raising it to her narrow muzzle.

“Ah, much better.” She put the cup down with a clink and snatched a fish from the tray, tossing the whole thing into her jaws before crunching down with sharp yellow teeth. “Now,” she continued, as I sipped my tea. It was far more bitter than I liked, but it wasn’t polite to say so. “Tell me then, cub. What kind of trouble have you gotten into with those humans of yours?”

Briefly, I told her about my trick with the candles this evening, and how it had infuriated the monks, particularly Denga-san. When I got to the part about Denga wanting Master Isao to seal away my magic, Tanuki-baba gave a violent snort and nearly knocked over her teacup.

“Ridiculous,” she growled, taking the last fish and biting into it with the snapping of delicate bones. “Binding a yokai’s magic, hah! It is blasphemous to even suggest such a thing. I wouldn’t put up with that sort of nonsense.”

“What should I do, Tanuki-baba?”

“Well, I know what I would do in that situation,” Tanuki-baba said, an evil look crossing her masked face. “But you’re probably too young for such chaos. And the solution is obvious, is it not? You need to leave.”

“The monks don’t like that,” I said. “They’re always very cross when I run off like this. I’ll probably get a scolding when I return tonight.”

“No,” Tanuki-baba growled. “You need to leave...and not go back.”

“You mean...leave the temple permanently?”

“Of course.” The old yokai gestured to the door of her hut. “Do you think the temple is the only place you can live? And that the monks’ way of life is the only one?” Her muzzle wrinkled. “There’s a whole huge world out there, cub. Full of wonder, riches, chaos and things you can’t even imagine. You’re wasting both your life and your talents, staying behind those temple walls, listening to humans drone on about morality. A kitsune is not meant to be caged. Don’t you want to get out there and see what you’re missing?”

Something inside me stirred, the yearning, intrigue and curiosity for the world beyond the walls rising to the surface again. I did want to know what was out there. I wanted to see the places Master Isao spoke of—the sprawling cities and tangled wilderness not meant for human feet. I ached to visit Kin Heigen Toshi, the great golden capital, and travel to the top of Finger of God Mountain, the highest peak in Iwagoto, which was said to touch the sky. I wanted to see samurai and merchants, nobles and peasants, geisha and bandits, and farmers and fishermen. I wanted to see it all.

And, in a tiny thought that I barely admitted even to myself, I was tired of always having my magic restricted. To practice fox magic only under supervision, or to be punished whenever I used it for pranks, jokes, or to get out of work. If I was truly free, there would be no limitations; I could use my kitsune powers however I wanted.

But to do that, I would have to leave behind the monks, the temple and the only life I’d ever known. And while the order of the Silent Winds temple was small, confining and rigid, it was also safe. I was just one kitsune, not even a full-blooded yokai. I wasn’t quite ready to be that brave.

“I can’t leave, Tanuki-baba,” I told the hunched figure across the table. “Where would I go? How would I live?”

Tanuki-baba blinked. “What do you mean, how would you live?” she snapped. “You’re kitsune, girl! You’d go where you want. You live however you like.”

“I’m only half kitsune,” I pointed out. “And I’ve been with the monks my whole life. I don’t know how to be a fox.”

“Don’t know how to be a fox?” Tanuki-baba threw back her head and cackled. Flecks of spittle flew from her narrow jaws as she laughed, shaking her head. “Poor little kitsune,” she mocked. “You’ve lived with these humans for too long, letting their mortality infect you.” She chuckled, giving me a look of exasperation. “You are a fox. You don’t have to learn how to be kitsune. You just are.”

“But—”

“And don’t give me any excuses about your ‘human’ side.” Tanuki-baba curled a lip, showing sharp yellow teeth. “Even a drop of yokai blood is enough to suppress any hints of humanity, if you want it to. You just have to choose to be more kitsune than mortal.”