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.”
He didn’t give any explanation of what he meant. He didn’t ask me if I understood. Maybe he knew that half the time I could never untangle his riddles, and the other half I really wasn’t listening. But I nodded and smiled, like I knew what he was getting at, and said, “Yes, Master Isao. I understand.”
He sighed and shook his head. “You have no idea what I’m babbling on about, child,” he stated, making me wince. “But that is all right. It is not the reason I brought you here today.” He looked away, his gaze going distant, that shadow falling over his eyes once more. “You are nearly grown, and the world outside is changing. It is time you knew our true purpose, what the Silent Winds temple truly protects.”
I blinked and, in the mirror, the kitsune’s ears twitched forward. “What we...protect?” I asked. “I didn’t know we protected anything.”
“Of course not,” Master Isao agreed. “No one ever told you. It is our greatest secret. But it is one you must know. The Dragon is rising, and another age comes to an end.”
* * *
“A very long time ago,” Master Isao began in the lyrical tones of a master storyteller, “there was a mortal. A young lord who commanded a great army and had servants that outnumbered the grains of rice in the field. His name has been lost to legend, but it is said he was an arrogant, foolish human who wished to become an immortal kami—a god. To this end, he assembled his greatest warriors and ordered them to bring him the Fushi no Tama, a jewel that was said to grant immortality to any who possessed it. Unfortunately, the jewel of immortality resided in the forehead of the Great Dragon that lived under the sea. But the lord coveted immortality, and told his warriors to retrieve Fushi no Tama by whatever means possible.
“His retainers, a little more sensible then their master, pretended to set off on this quest at once, and so sure of their success was the lord that he adorned his rooms with gold and silver, and draped silken cloth over the roof of his house, as was befitting a god.
“Several months passed with no word, and the young lord, growing impatient, journeyed to the sacred cliffs of Ryugake, where it was said the Dragon lived beneath the waves. As it turned out, not one of his warriors had taken a boat to search for the Dragon but had fled the province at first opportunity. Angry at this news, the lord threw caution to the winds, hired a helmsman and a ship, and embarked on the quest himself.
“As soon as the unfortunate ship reached deep ocean, a fierce storm blew in and the sea turned on the lord and his crew like an enraged beast. To make matters worse, the lord was struck with a terrible sickness and lay close to death while the sea raged and howled around them. As the storm grew in ferocity, and the ship itself threatened to break apart, the helmsman cried out that surely the gods were angry with them, and that the lord should offer a prayer to pacify the Great Kami of the deep.
“The lord, finally realizing his mistake, was ashamed and horrified at what he had attempted to do. Falling to his face, he prayed no less than a thousand times, repenting of his folly to slay the Dragon, vowing that he would challenge the Ruler of the Tides no more.
“Afterward, some legends claim that the lord returned to his homeland, and that nothing happened except the crows stole the fine silk cloth from his roof to line their nests. However, one legend goes on to say that, after the lord finished his thousandth prayer, the seas boiled and a mighty Dragon rose from the ocean depths. He was thrice the length of the ship, his eyes burned like torches in the night and a shining pearl was embedded in the center of his forehead.
“The lord was very frightened, and rightly so, for the Dragon looked most displeased. He fell facedown and begged the mighty serpent to have mercy on him. The Dragon then presented the lord with a choice. He would grant the mortal one wish, anything he desired—riches, immortal life, power over death itself—or he would leave him his soul. The lord chose to keep his soul, and returned home a wiser man.
“Now, every thousand years—one year for each prayer the lord uttered—the Dragon will rise again to the mortal who summons him. If the mortal’s soul is pure, if his intentions are just and his heart is honorable, the Dragon will grant him his heart’s desire. However, if the soul is found wanting, the Dragon rips it from the body and takes it as forfeit for the arrogance of the mortal who sought to become a god, so long ago.”
* * *
Silence fell after Master Isao finished his tale. I sat there, thinking it was an intriguing story, but what it had to do with our temple and the thing we were supposed to protect, I hadn’t a clue. Master Isao watched me for a moment, then shook his head.
“You do not know why I told you that story, do you?”
“I do,” I protested, and Master Isao raised his bushy eyebrows. “It’s so that I can...um...well. No, I don’t.”
He said nothing, only waited patiently, silently insisting, as he often did, that I figure it out myself. I racked my brain, trying to understand. He mentioned a dragon, both in the story and earlier with the mirror, so it must be important. What had he said, exactly?