Happy Birthday Phoo!
Oct. 17th, 2006 12:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mogwai_do'Tis my youngest brother's birthday today, so I shall wish him much happiness and fun.
I should probably be doing my Japanese homework for tomorrow, have instead been doing something else...
Disclaimer: Methos and Duncan are not mine *sniff*. No harm is meant and no profit is made. The other characters are mine, if you want to borrow them then please ask.
Rating: PG-15
Warning: Gore, hint of slash
Pairing: Methos/Duncan in passing
Notes: Part of Building a Mystery. Set before, during and after The Long Way Home. Additional notes can be found at the end. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sidhe_woman and lastrega for smacking me upside the head with what was wrong with this one.
Summary: Nothing is so convincing as the lies we tell ourselves.
A Fox Tale
Copyright Margaret Turner
1st November 2005
3 Wǔyuè
My name is Dao Jin Hua. Today I began my service to my people; I have studied hard, trained my body to cope with the hardships of war, but my heart has been prepared since the day I was born. I have begun this journal to mark the start of my new life as Shao Wei of the People’s Liberation Army of Chengdu and tomorrow we bring order to Bhutan.
*****
15 Bāyuè
I found this today, I have not written in it for months. The matches were lit and in my hand before I reconsidered; burning a book will not erase the past it describes, nothing can do that. I have decided that I will fill these pages as I will now fill my life - in the hope that at the end the deeds of the future will outweigh those of the past.
*****
9 Jiǔyuè
I heard tales today of a rebel leader to the East; the man telling me was drunker than I and these small towns on the edge of the jungle always have their wild stories. They say this particular rebel is a ghost or a god or possessed; I was born in Xi’an, but I have seen many places and still it amazes me how gullible the country-born can be. Still, every story has a grain of truth so I bought a drink for a member of the Gong’anju, who told me that the leader of a rebel faction to the East has a price on his head that is almost as unbelievable as the beggar’s stories. It seems the uniform I still wear has value of a sort, but it is good to know that news from the front does not travel far, the concept of desertion is not one they wish to advertise. I will have to find new clothes soon if I am to succeed in my plan and I will be glad to see it go, yet I fear the stench of it will linger forever in my mind and heart.
*****
8 Shíyuè
I found a real rebel today, not some puffed up youth or old man that talks but never acts; she was hard as the mountains and cold as winter and I had to follow her and beg for hours before she would even deign to acknowledge me. I have been gathering as many stories as I can in my travels, I have heard them all so many times I know them by heart and eventually I convinced her to take me with her back to their camp. I am under no illusions that I may not survive the visit, but at least I will have tried.
*****
10 Shíyuè
They have accepted me and I do not know who is more surprised by it. Many regard me with suspicion; the very things that make me useful to them – my knowledge of weapons, of supply management, of army procedures – make me all the more dangerous. I did not need to be privy to the council that decided my fate to know that failure in my quest would have me taken outside and shot as a spy. I was almost as surprised to find that this would indeed have been my fate but for the intervention of Kitsune, their leader.
So it was that I finally met the man of whom all the stories are told and he is neither spirit nor ghost. He is not what I expected, though in truth I do not know what that was. He is taller than most and slender, somehow I expected him to be physically imposing since the men hold him in such awe. He is young too, only a handful of years older than myself. Perhaps most surprising of all is that he is not actually Chinese yet he is accepted as if he had been born here. His name is Japanese, but his accent slides sometimes into something unfamiliar; I believe that he has travelled a great deal, though I have no real proof of it except perhaps in the old Tibetan Ke Tri he always carries. Despite his youth and his form, I could have picked him out of all of the rebels as the one to follow; Kitsune’s eyes are bright with intelligence and he carries himself with the grace of a warrior-born. I have seen Generals with less of an aura of command, but Kitsune is a man like any here and I will not be blinded a second time.
The world has no place for fairytales and myths in times like these, there are no noble heroes, but I will still protect my people as best I can. Even those who have not seen as I have that the real danger is a military that has forgotten that its principle duty is to the people; that the Republic was formed to serve its country, not the other way around. Yet I have found that the quickest way to acceptance here is to believe, not in the rebellion, but in our leader. Despite the ruling of the council the others barely acknowledged me until we sat around the evening fire while one of the older men recited a tale I had heard a dozen times now. My attempts to rationalise their tales brought only indulgent smiles, not least from Kitsune himself; I know how futile it is to try to change any man’s beliefs, so I accept and have in turn been accepted.
I asked Kitsune privately why he allowed such foolishness, but he merely smiled with that same indulgence and a look in his eyes that challenged me to work it out. It took me several sleepless hours to grasp the joke he had silently shared with me; the tales were for the gullible and the cowards - simple words that could ward off betrayal or give courage when needed were not tools to be overlooked. I thought back over all I had witnessed in my first day; the ease with which he had overruled the rebel council on my behalf and the way the men acted towards him. Kitsune inspires his men by words and deeds; he has a charm and a quick intelligence that can twist any circumstance to his ends and those that side with him never fear they will be forgotten. Finally I have found a man worth every penny of his reward and I believe that with him lies my greatest hope of salvation.
*****
25 Shíyuè
It has taken time for me to prove myself, but finally, my fifth mission is something more important than stealing supplies or guarding refugees. We have planned an ambush of a group of soldiers who have been travelling through the area. Every village they have visited has been robbed of sorely needed supplies, the people terrorised, the innocent carelessly killed. They are everything I fled from, soldiers convinced of their own invulnerability; Kitsune wants them stopped. We rely on the villages to supply us with what they can, to hide us from the Gong’anju and to tell us that our actions are the right ones; we cannot allow them to be so abused.
The ambush has been carefully laid, even though we will be slightly outnumbered there is an excellent chance of success. We have lain in wait for over an hour and they will be here soon according to our scouts. A murmur rises along the line followed swiftly by confusion and when I hear the order I am shocked. We are to withdraw - now; in less than half an hour Kitsune expects us to be gone as if we have never been. It makes no sense.
The march back is subdued and the confusion is palpable; Zheng, a boy who joined only a few days after me, is furious, but I find I am more baffled than angry. The abdication of an easy victory has confused us all and that confusion is only slightly lessened by seeing it reflected on the faces of the older rebels as well, yet no-one questions and no-one hesitates to obey. I hear mutterings that Kitsune listens to the wind and as I watch him prowl the jungle at the edges of our group he certainly seems to be listening to something, but whatever he hears he tells no-one.
*****
28 Shíyuè
We returned to the ambush site today and found a slaughter; bodies strewn like petals after a storm. We took what equipment we could use and left the rest. Kitsune says the Army can clean up its own mess and there will be no burials for the soldiers. It is a graphic reminder that Death comes quickly to the unwary and soldiers are no more invulnerable than the rest of us. I cannot help but wonder as I look at the expressions of fear on the dead, if Death would have found us equally unprepared had we not left when we did. In my studies I read of an old European General who, confident in his strategies and his troops, wanted to know not if his opponent was good, but if he was lucky – Kitsune, it appears, is both.
*****
1 Shíyīyuè
There are new stories in the villages now, they began not long after the massacre, but these were not of Kitsune’s making. They tell of an angry ghost stalking the hills, punishing those who have abandoned the laws of their ancestors, but these are the same villagers who believe Kitsune himself is a spirit bound to the service of our ancestors. More worrying though is that some of the scouts also claim to have seen someone at the edge of their range and these tales are harder to dismiss. I do not doubt there are madmen out there in the hills; the world is not kind to the weak-minded, the war and the heat of the jungle do strange things to people sometimes. A lone madman is of little concern however, unless the Gong’anju catch him and make him reveal what he knows of the area. I watched Kitsune listen with admirable patience to the most fanciful of the reports before ordering the scouts not to approach the man, not that any of them seemed inclined to do so. If he knows anything more of these new stories he says nothing.
*****
8 Shíyīyuè
The tales have grown in the telling, but not without fuel. Several of our missions have been aborted as my first ambush was and with similar results. It does not seem likely that a second rebel cell is operating within our territory, certainly we would have heard from the villagers if this were the case, but there is no other obvious explanation for it. The others mutter about Kitsune listening to the wind; it is simple foolishness, but I see now where it comes from. I have seen Kitsune pause, head cocked to one side, looking for all the world as if he were listening to something no-one else could hear. It is instinct and awareness combining to tell him when an attack is safe or unnecessary; I have seen it on the front line, the heightened sense that warns a soldier of a bullet he cannot see. Some day I would like to watch his daily exercise for surely this sensitivity must lend the forms a grace that is unsurpassed. Perhaps that is why he always chooses to exercise alone away from the camp; it must be disruptive to have such awkward observers.
*****
17 Shíyīyuè
Today Kitsune saved my life and I can no longer find it in me to question the basis of his myths, I merely count myself lucky that I have a leader for whom the lives of his men are important. It was a small skirmish, like many that occur on the supply runs and strikes we make. It fell to close quarters fighting; I slipped on the uneven ground and it gave my opponent time and space to bring his gun to bear. I closed my eyes and prayed that I had done enough that my soul would not be spurned by my ancestors, but instead of the loud retort of a gun I heard only a light thud. I opened my eyes half-unwillingly to the see the soldier’s headless body topple to the side, gun still half-raised. I took the hand extended towards me and let Kitsune haul me to my feet. I am still not sure if I merely imagined the glitter of amused affection in his eyes, but it was reassuring somehow whether I imagined it or not. I am not yet ready for death and even though he can know nothing of it, I do not think Kitsune will let me go until I have repaid my debt in full.
*****
7 Shí’èryuè
Today a lao wai arrived, a foreigner with all the arrogance of the West, but with a surprising grasp of our language and culture. He watches Kitsune like a man watches a snake and his movements have the kind of grace that speaks of a man well-acquainted with violence. I do not know what to make of him nor what he means by coming to us, but Kitsune has taken him aside. I suppose if this lao wai is prepared to risk so much for whatever he seeks then it is worth at least listening to what he has to say. He has brought a journalist with him who bothers us all with his questions – I have sent him to Hong-Xu, the old man knows all the stories and could talk the ear off a donkey, it will keep them both out of trouble.
I have volunteered for tomorrow’s mission to the factory camp with the lao wai; I do not trust him and should things go wrong then Kitsune will need loyal men at his back. We have not been told the aim of the mission, but the camp is too well-fortified for it to be much more than reconnaissance, spying for the journalist and his precious notes.
*****
9 Shí’èryuè
Yesterday I walked through Hell and stood before its chief demon; that I am still alive I take to be a sign that my soul is on the correct path.
We arrived at the factory camp at noon; it looked no better under daylight than at night. We did not expect to walk the barren land around the base, still less did we expect to enter it. Even as little as I believe in, there was truly no other name for that place but cursed.
Processed, purified, distilled, refined... such names for reducing humanity to jars and bottles of expensive, exclusive elixirs and remedies. The price of longevity is always paid by others and I fear that I played some part in this monstrous progress. I remember prisoner transportation and orders to take whole villages alive for relocation, but I do not think I will ever know for sure how many of my victims came here or some place like it.
To see its smouldering destruction was gratifying, but as we walked among the corpses that had once guarded it most diligently I could hear the others whisper - the angry ghost walked here and no-one wanted to meet it before their time.
There was relief in receiving the order to guard the perimeter, but it did not last long. One cannot walk amongst the dead without being aware of one’s own life and the fragility of it. I wished, ridiculously, that Kitsune would return and walk with us; his confidence and his own mythic status, however contrived, would have been reassuring, as if we shared a little of the magic that makes him the man he is.
After nearly an hour of silence I left the others by the gates and sought our leader; he had been alone too long with the lao wai and it would do no harm to check. I found him near the centre of the camp and saw for myself the demon whose justice I had so narrowly avoided. I felt my heart freeze in my chest when I saw those eyes, for though it moved and spoke like a man, there could be no doubt as to its true nature. My vision was dimming, my breath stolen from me until Kitsune turned, and though he said nothing, made no gesture, I felt I understood. Kitsune had laid claim to the debt on my soul, anything I owed, I owed to him first; the ghost, sated now, could wait.
It should have been a relief to leave the camp, it would have been had we not brought the demon with us, whatever the lao wai had said in that blood-drenched square the possession had ended. Had I not seen it with my own eyes I would have doubted the demon and this broken man were one and the same, for he is only a man now, this new foreigner, but there is yet something unnerving about him, if not unnatural. Perhaps it is the way of madmen – their unreality warps the perceptions of those around them. Kitsune now accommodates the lao wai’s requests easily and with a speed that surprises me. It is hard to imagine that he could be afraid of the broken madman still when so many are not, but perhaps it is simple wisdom to get rid of both of them as soon as possible. I do not know what has been traded for our help, but it is almost worth it just to know that the camp has been destroyed.
*****
14 Shí’èryuè
Sun has left now; the journalist stayed on after the lao wai left in order to interview some of us. We even took him deeper into the jungle to the survivors’ village; it is where we send our wounded and is peopled by those we have saved for whom returning to their old lives would be a death sentence. He was gentler than I expected with those he spoke to and I suppose if his words make it out to the rest of the world then I will be glad.
*****
16 Shí’èryuè
Life has returned to what passes for normal; a routine of hit and run strikes and raids on supply trains. We are not really big enough to cause major concern, but we are successful enough to slow things down and make the Army waste valuable resources. I have to believe that every little victory helps; it tilts the balance of my soul and hopefully will one day outweigh my past. The day I discovered the bounty on my own head I felt that much closer to my absolution.
*****
12 Zhēngyuè
Today’s mission is slightly different from our usual fare; it is beyond the edges of our territory by a few miles, some think it is too far, but Kitsune is adamant. It is the ambush of a convoy, risky, but something we have done before and the terrain confers numerous advantages to those that know it.
The hike to the site was easy enough and we have laid our ambush carefully by a bridge spanning a deep gorge. The trucks will only be able to go single file and their escort will be strung out in their attempts to cover them. The glare off the water far below is painful on the eyes and there is a sense of restlessness among the men. For the first time I have ever seen Kitsune seems ill at ease or at least what passes for it, which means he only seems more determined than usual. Perhaps it is simply that he is as uncomfortable with being outside our range as some of the men are; it seems unlikely, but there is no other obvious reason for it.
The rumble of approaching motors provides a baseline to the sounds of the jungle and around me the men ready their weapons. I sense a sudden stillness to my right and glance around; Kitsune is listening again and I tense. The other men see it too and it feels as if time is hanging suspended waiting for Kitsune’s next words; I realise I am holding my breath and I let it out slowly.
The convoy is rolling into view now, taking the steep road down to the bridge slowly, and Kitsune's brow is furrowed in concentration. It is only because I am already looking that I don’t jump when a sudden torrent of cursing erupts. Kitsune is on his feet, surging up out of the brush, heading for the convoy in leaps and bounds. Stunned, but recovering quickly we begin to move, but we have barely covered half the distance to Kitsune when I see smoky contrails streaking from the far side of the gorge.
On the narrow road there is no escape; trucks blossom into fireballs, scattering soldiers both living and dead in all directions. For a moment the air is silent, echoing with the aftershocks; then the gunfire starts, the soldiers firing wildly at the surrounding jungle. It is chaos and in the midst of it all I see the black-clad Special Forces team emerge from the jungle and cross the bridge. I watch as Po Ying is mown down; even though the convoy is the target the Special Forces team do not seem particularly discriminating. I step over Po Ying’s body, my gun jarring my shoulder as I fire into the smoke towards the black-clad men; I see no need to be any more discriminating than they.
Time is out of rhythm; it seems to speed up and slow down with the pounding of my heart and the staccato sounds of our weapons. Though it seems an age, it truly could not have been more than a few minutes before the battle ceases, nothing left but the echoes of gunfire in the gorge. The remainder of the Special Forces team faces us over the corpses of the soldiers we both came to kill. One steps forward, tall and solidly built; he lowers his weapon in unspoken truce and frowns at our lack of response. We glance around seeking Kitsune, not one of us believing for a moment that he could have fallen.
I see him first, his lithe figure picking amongst the wreckage of the trucks; it seems to take a moment for Kitsune to register that we are all waiting for him. His expression when he looks up is strangely absent, but it firms then turns unreadable as he climbs over the still-smouldering wreckage. In one hand he holds a broken canister - the contents of the truck. I feel my stomach tighten in something I refuse to call terror after all I have seen and done, but the scorched and torn yellow and black of the biohazard symbol chills me to the bone.
Still holding his sword negligently in one hand, Kitsune finally steps up to face his opposite number. The black-clad man nods in condescending acknowledgement, "Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Welch," the man's accent makes me think of the old Westerns I used to watch as a child.
Kitsune nods, face impassive, then quicker than any of us can react, his ever-present sword flashes out ripping upwards. Kitsune steps in closer, unfazed by the blood or the slithering organs escaping, and he speaks to the man too stunned to realise he is already dead. "It is a kinder fate than the one you have just unleashed."
Shocked it takes another second for the Americans to react, their guns coming up quickly, but Kitsune is already moving out of the line of fire. Despite the stomach churning shock, this battle is even shorter than the last and when it is over we begin to strip the dead Americans of their expensive equipment.
"Kitsune?" The voice is hesitant and I turn to see Huan standing by the abandoned canister, unwilling to touch it.
Kitsune's grim expression does not waver, "Leave it, there's nothing left for us here."
The long hike back to camp is made in silence; everyone wants to know what Kitsune knows and just as obviously are afraid of the knowledge. Their faith in him is disconcerting even when I share it; it is like that of a child trusting in the parent to tell them what they need to know and keep them safe from what they don’t. Our unspoken questions answer themselves after mere hours; Zheng develops a fever and chills, not particularly uncommon in the jungle save for the rapidity of it, but then the hallucinations start and the bleeding. Chu-Yi falls ill only hours after that, the symptoms the same. Kitsune says nothing, but he gives up his canteen to Zheng and takes Chu-Yi’s pack from him. It is near midnight by the time we return to the camp and everyone is subdued. Zheng and Chu-Yi are immediately taken to the makeshift hospital and Kitsune retreats to his tent to tend his own wounds as he always does, for not even he always escapes unscathed.
*****
13 Zhēngyuè
Zheng died just before dawn, a bloody, screaming death; we burned the body, but I fear it is far too late and I am regrettably proven right. By evening a child had fallen ill, then an old woman, then another of the men from the ambush. Chills and aches, fevers and hallucinations and blood, so much blood. I go to Kitsune’s tent with the news, but he is nowhere to be found; I cannot believe he has abandoned us now and so I keep my silence over his absence. I hear talk that we should never have returned to the camp, but Pang Li, our radio operator, tells me of the town beyond the river where some have fallen sick and they had not ventured near the ambush site for fear of implication.
*****
21 Zhēngyuè
The nearest village has shut its doors to us, but it does them no good, if anything they die quicker than we. Nothing works, not drugs, not traditional medicine, not prayer. The whole camp is hushed but for the cries and ramblings of the sick.
*****
23 Zhēngyuè
Kitsune has returned with Western drugs; they have already proven ineffectual but at least it seems to ease some of the pain – it is probably the best we can hope for. He seems surprised that no-one questions his absence, but he realises quickly enough that I lied for him and he invites me to his tent. He looks pale and tired, but there is strength and anger in his voice, "The Americans have bombed the source; there are no notes, no scientists. It is airborne and spreading with the wind; we have no defence, we never did." No dissembling, no sugar-coating; I do not know what I had expected to hear, but Kitsune’s words shake me to the core. I feel sick when I return to my tent, but even Hong-Xu’s solicitous concern cannot make me repeat those words – hope is all we have left and I will not destroy it.
*****
25 Zhēngyuè
The days have become a blur; the only raids we make now are for medical supplies. Everyone cares for the sick because no-one knows who will succumb next and when they will need that comfort themselves. Kitsune works tirelessly and somehow his presence helps, soothing both the crazed and those tending them; for all that some of the villagers blame him for this, I am proud to say that those who went on the mission do not. I have taken it upon myself to watch over Kitsune because the man no longer seems to care that he barely sleeps, eats even less and never, ever stops. I am torn between pity and sympathy for him; all his skill, all his intuition, all his luck, it all counts for nothing in the face of this invisible enemy.
It is as I stoke the pyre that has seen too much use of late, I realise that I no longer fear my own death. I have known it was a possibility since I abandoned my post so many months ago, but its near-certainty now has surprisingly little effect. I do not feel my debt is paid yet, but I am satisfied with what I have done to that end. Ironically, though I no longer fear death I have discovered a new fear. Only an hour ago I watched Xiaoqu scream at monsters that weren't there, at the father that did things to him no father should ever do, and I discovered that I am terrified of losing my mind. I have never told anyone of my reasons for joining the rebels, there are secrets there that no-one need know but me, the thought that they might become public knowledge has me emptying my stomach.
*****
28 Zhēngyuè
It has been two weeks now since the ambush and there are few left; a handful of us that spend our days tending the sick, burning the dead and all the while fearing that we will be the last.
I close Mei's eyes and with a damp cloth I wipe away the blood that has leaked from her eyes and nose and mouth. I wrap a blanket around the small body and on a whim place one of the wildflowers she liked so much within her tiny hands. She weighs next to nothing in my arms and I try to ignore the way my body aches at even this slight additional weight. Kitsune is tending the pyre and though his eyes narrow at the stiffness of my movements he says nothing, simply takes the child from my arms.
Night finds me mopping Siu-Li's brow as she whimpers softly in her delirium; absorbed in this simple task it is a few minutes before I become aware of Kitsune’s eyes on me, neither of us speaks as we sit vigil over her last hours. By the time the sun dawns again we are the only two left and I can feel the sweat on my face, the flares of painful heat up my spine. I shiver and feel dark eyes upon me, but I shrug off the concern as I focus on packing up what is left of the medicine with hands that have begun to shake.
By nightfall such a movement is beyond me; dizziness assails me even when I lie still and I clutch a blood and sweat-soaked towel to my face. I have done this so often for others it seems odd indeed to do it for myself. I burn so hotly now that Kitsune kneels at my side, constantly bathing my weak limbs in blessedly cool water, and nothing I say will move him. There is one other blessing and that is that the feared delirium has never come and I pray that it never will; if I am to die, I wish to do so a man, not weeping and raving against Fate.
*****
29 Zhēngyuè
The night is the longest I have ever known, yet when the sun comes up the world gets paradoxically darker. Kitsune is always near now and, for all that it implies, it is a comfort. We talked sometimes during the night, neither of us able to tolerate the silence of the once-bustling camp. Maybe in the towns there are survivors, but here there are none. My voice fails as dawn approaches and it is an effort to keep spitting my throat clear of blood. It is becoming harder and harder to see, the world blurring and darkening seemingly at random.
Kitsune's touch is gentle as he brushes the hair from my face and he places a kiss on my brow. "Do not be afraid."
I want to say that I am not, that I have made my peace with the ghosts that wait for me, but I find it is no longer true. As close as I now know myself to be, I am afraid. I do not know if I have done enough to avoid the hell that waits for me, I hope, but in the darkness at the edges of my vision it is too easy to picture the hungry ghosts. Still, what little honour I have regained has been due entirely to this man and even though it has brought about my death, I am grateful that he stood by my side and showed me the path. I need to tell him all of this so that the grief and the guilt does not destroy him as the best efforts of the Gong’anju have not.
I try to draw breath, but my body no longer obeys me, the air hisses and bubbles in my throat and makes my lungs burn. The drip of saltwater on skin too sensitive to bear it makes me cry out, but my throat fills with blood, drowning out the sound. Nevertheless Kitsune backs away, and for the first time since I have met him, his emotions are clearly visible on his face - pain and anger, fear, failure and despair contorting the handsome features. I try to reach out, but there is nothing I can do, no comfort I can offer. My heart breaks and it hurts even beyond the pain of my body that so great a man should be as helpless as little Mei was in the face of this enemy. For all our accomplishments, both good and bad, we are all only human.
I cling to my precious sanity even as I feel the life seep from my limbs; Kitsune's last sight of me will be as a man who dies with honour and offers no blame for the manner of it. My shame will die with me and I fight to keep my eyes open, determined that the man who has come to embody my redemption will be the last thing I see. And it is.
I see the way Kitsune's tears catch fire, the way he rakes at his skin with fingers grown sharp as knives. I see shark's teeth and shark's eyes and the red mist that boils off his skin and fills the clearing. It fills my lungs too and suddenly I can breathe again, the pain gone. Distantly, I hear the shriek of a bird of prey and it echoes through my mind even as my vision darkens. Kitsune is only a vague shape now as he drops to his knees in despair and it hurts to see him so. I reach out with the last of my strength, if I can just...
*****
3 Èryuè
Sun carefully closed the journal, letting his palm rest upon the leather cover as he offered up a prayer for the souls of the dead. The book had been waiting at his bedside when he had awoken, though there was no sign of how it had arrived. It had taken him all morning to read through it and he knew it would take him longer still to absorb the content.
He could not, would not, publish it; the journal was personal and private and the war was horrific enough without tales of ghosts and demons. The stories would terrify the gullible and be discounted in their entirety by the cynical. No, he would not publish Dao’s story, but the information… the camps and Dao’s part in them, the actions of the Americans, the virus…
Sun closed his eyes; there were bloody fingerprints on the cover and the scent of smoke and jungle and death still lingered in the pages, the last entry was only four days old. He did not consider himself a stupid man, nor a superstitious one, but only one name came to mind as the deliverer of Dao’s journal. He had interviewed the man, his soldiers, the villagers he had saved; Dao had not believed in his leader’s magic, but he was one of the very few who didn’t. Sun had been raised on the old stories; it was that which had first interested him in writing. Facts had proven a more lucrative mistress, but still he had sought the event where the two became one, now he had it.
In his heart he knew that it had been a spirit in his apartment last night, whether living or dead mattered little. Just as he knew that somewhere in the jungle there were a hundred graves and one that stood empty marked by a red plaque of rough wood bearing a single word – Kitsune.
FIN
3rd September 2006
Translations: I’ve used a few bits and pieces of other languages and to save you having to look them up here they are…
Shao Wei – second lieutenant
Gong’anju – the Chinese secret police
Lao wai – foreigner (impolite)
Ke Tri – Tibetan long sword
Additional Notes: Chinese belief holds that the soul of the deceased will return to their home seven days after their death. A red plaque with a suitable inscription is often hung on the door of the house to ensure that the soul does not become lost.
I have used Chinese months as best I could find them; it’s probably not really accurate, but enough for the story’s purposes. Months are 28 days long and equate roughly to the western calendar below.
January - Shí’èryuè
February - Zhēngyuè
March - Èryuè
April - Sānyuè
May - Sìyuè
June - Wǔyuè
July - Liùyuè
August - Qīyuè
September - Bayuè
October - Jiǔyuè
November - Shíyuè
December – Shíyīyuè
Comments appreciated.
I should probably be doing my Japanese homework for tomorrow, have instead been doing something else...
Disclaimer: Methos and Duncan are not mine *sniff*. No harm is meant and no profit is made. The other characters are mine, if you want to borrow them then please ask.
Rating: PG-15
Warning: Gore, hint of slash
Pairing: Methos/Duncan in passing
Notes: Part of Building a Mystery. Set before, during and after The Long Way Home. Additional notes can be found at the end. Thanks to
sidhe_woman and lastrega for smacking me upside the head with what was wrong with this one.Summary: Nothing is so convincing as the lies we tell ourselves.
A Fox Tale
Copyright Margaret Turner
1st November 2005
3 Wǔyuè
My name is Dao Jin Hua. Today I began my service to my people; I have studied hard, trained my body to cope with the hardships of war, but my heart has been prepared since the day I was born. I have begun this journal to mark the start of my new life as Shao Wei of the People’s Liberation Army of Chengdu and tomorrow we bring order to Bhutan.
*****
15 Bāyuè
I found this today, I have not written in it for months. The matches were lit and in my hand before I reconsidered; burning a book will not erase the past it describes, nothing can do that. I have decided that I will fill these pages as I will now fill my life - in the hope that at the end the deeds of the future will outweigh those of the past.
*****
9 Jiǔyuè
I heard tales today of a rebel leader to the East; the man telling me was drunker than I and these small towns on the edge of the jungle always have their wild stories. They say this particular rebel is a ghost or a god or possessed; I was born in Xi’an, but I have seen many places and still it amazes me how gullible the country-born can be. Still, every story has a grain of truth so I bought a drink for a member of the Gong’anju, who told me that the leader of a rebel faction to the East has a price on his head that is almost as unbelievable as the beggar’s stories. It seems the uniform I still wear has value of a sort, but it is good to know that news from the front does not travel far, the concept of desertion is not one they wish to advertise. I will have to find new clothes soon if I am to succeed in my plan and I will be glad to see it go, yet I fear the stench of it will linger forever in my mind and heart.
*****
8 Shíyuè
I found a real rebel today, not some puffed up youth or old man that talks but never acts; she was hard as the mountains and cold as winter and I had to follow her and beg for hours before she would even deign to acknowledge me. I have been gathering as many stories as I can in my travels, I have heard them all so many times I know them by heart and eventually I convinced her to take me with her back to their camp. I am under no illusions that I may not survive the visit, but at least I will have tried.
*****
10 Shíyuè
They have accepted me and I do not know who is more surprised by it. Many regard me with suspicion; the very things that make me useful to them – my knowledge of weapons, of supply management, of army procedures – make me all the more dangerous. I did not need to be privy to the council that decided my fate to know that failure in my quest would have me taken outside and shot as a spy. I was almost as surprised to find that this would indeed have been my fate but for the intervention of Kitsune, their leader.
So it was that I finally met the man of whom all the stories are told and he is neither spirit nor ghost. He is not what I expected, though in truth I do not know what that was. He is taller than most and slender, somehow I expected him to be physically imposing since the men hold him in such awe. He is young too, only a handful of years older than myself. Perhaps most surprising of all is that he is not actually Chinese yet he is accepted as if he had been born here. His name is Japanese, but his accent slides sometimes into something unfamiliar; I believe that he has travelled a great deal, though I have no real proof of it except perhaps in the old Tibetan Ke Tri he always carries. Despite his youth and his form, I could have picked him out of all of the rebels as the one to follow; Kitsune’s eyes are bright with intelligence and he carries himself with the grace of a warrior-born. I have seen Generals with less of an aura of command, but Kitsune is a man like any here and I will not be blinded a second time.
The world has no place for fairytales and myths in times like these, there are no noble heroes, but I will still protect my people as best I can. Even those who have not seen as I have that the real danger is a military that has forgotten that its principle duty is to the people; that the Republic was formed to serve its country, not the other way around. Yet I have found that the quickest way to acceptance here is to believe, not in the rebellion, but in our leader. Despite the ruling of the council the others barely acknowledged me until we sat around the evening fire while one of the older men recited a tale I had heard a dozen times now. My attempts to rationalise their tales brought only indulgent smiles, not least from Kitsune himself; I know how futile it is to try to change any man’s beliefs, so I accept and have in turn been accepted.
I asked Kitsune privately why he allowed such foolishness, but he merely smiled with that same indulgence and a look in his eyes that challenged me to work it out. It took me several sleepless hours to grasp the joke he had silently shared with me; the tales were for the gullible and the cowards - simple words that could ward off betrayal or give courage when needed were not tools to be overlooked. I thought back over all I had witnessed in my first day; the ease with which he had overruled the rebel council on my behalf and the way the men acted towards him. Kitsune inspires his men by words and deeds; he has a charm and a quick intelligence that can twist any circumstance to his ends and those that side with him never fear they will be forgotten. Finally I have found a man worth every penny of his reward and I believe that with him lies my greatest hope of salvation.
*****
25 Shíyuè
It has taken time for me to prove myself, but finally, my fifth mission is something more important than stealing supplies or guarding refugees. We have planned an ambush of a group of soldiers who have been travelling through the area. Every village they have visited has been robbed of sorely needed supplies, the people terrorised, the innocent carelessly killed. They are everything I fled from, soldiers convinced of their own invulnerability; Kitsune wants them stopped. We rely on the villages to supply us with what they can, to hide us from the Gong’anju and to tell us that our actions are the right ones; we cannot allow them to be so abused.
The ambush has been carefully laid, even though we will be slightly outnumbered there is an excellent chance of success. We have lain in wait for over an hour and they will be here soon according to our scouts. A murmur rises along the line followed swiftly by confusion and when I hear the order I am shocked. We are to withdraw - now; in less than half an hour Kitsune expects us to be gone as if we have never been. It makes no sense.
The march back is subdued and the confusion is palpable; Zheng, a boy who joined only a few days after me, is furious, but I find I am more baffled than angry. The abdication of an easy victory has confused us all and that confusion is only slightly lessened by seeing it reflected on the faces of the older rebels as well, yet no-one questions and no-one hesitates to obey. I hear mutterings that Kitsune listens to the wind and as I watch him prowl the jungle at the edges of our group he certainly seems to be listening to something, but whatever he hears he tells no-one.
*****
28 Shíyuè
We returned to the ambush site today and found a slaughter; bodies strewn like petals after a storm. We took what equipment we could use and left the rest. Kitsune says the Army can clean up its own mess and there will be no burials for the soldiers. It is a graphic reminder that Death comes quickly to the unwary and soldiers are no more invulnerable than the rest of us. I cannot help but wonder as I look at the expressions of fear on the dead, if Death would have found us equally unprepared had we not left when we did. In my studies I read of an old European General who, confident in his strategies and his troops, wanted to know not if his opponent was good, but if he was lucky – Kitsune, it appears, is both.
*****
1 Shíyīyuè
There are new stories in the villages now, they began not long after the massacre, but these were not of Kitsune’s making. They tell of an angry ghost stalking the hills, punishing those who have abandoned the laws of their ancestors, but these are the same villagers who believe Kitsune himself is a spirit bound to the service of our ancestors. More worrying though is that some of the scouts also claim to have seen someone at the edge of their range and these tales are harder to dismiss. I do not doubt there are madmen out there in the hills; the world is not kind to the weak-minded, the war and the heat of the jungle do strange things to people sometimes. A lone madman is of little concern however, unless the Gong’anju catch him and make him reveal what he knows of the area. I watched Kitsune listen with admirable patience to the most fanciful of the reports before ordering the scouts not to approach the man, not that any of them seemed inclined to do so. If he knows anything more of these new stories he says nothing.
*****
8 Shíyīyuè
The tales have grown in the telling, but not without fuel. Several of our missions have been aborted as my first ambush was and with similar results. It does not seem likely that a second rebel cell is operating within our territory, certainly we would have heard from the villagers if this were the case, but there is no other obvious explanation for it. The others mutter about Kitsune listening to the wind; it is simple foolishness, but I see now where it comes from. I have seen Kitsune pause, head cocked to one side, looking for all the world as if he were listening to something no-one else could hear. It is instinct and awareness combining to tell him when an attack is safe or unnecessary; I have seen it on the front line, the heightened sense that warns a soldier of a bullet he cannot see. Some day I would like to watch his daily exercise for surely this sensitivity must lend the forms a grace that is unsurpassed. Perhaps that is why he always chooses to exercise alone away from the camp; it must be disruptive to have such awkward observers.
*****
17 Shíyīyuè
Today Kitsune saved my life and I can no longer find it in me to question the basis of his myths, I merely count myself lucky that I have a leader for whom the lives of his men are important. It was a small skirmish, like many that occur on the supply runs and strikes we make. It fell to close quarters fighting; I slipped on the uneven ground and it gave my opponent time and space to bring his gun to bear. I closed my eyes and prayed that I had done enough that my soul would not be spurned by my ancestors, but instead of the loud retort of a gun I heard only a light thud. I opened my eyes half-unwillingly to the see the soldier’s headless body topple to the side, gun still half-raised. I took the hand extended towards me and let Kitsune haul me to my feet. I am still not sure if I merely imagined the glitter of amused affection in his eyes, but it was reassuring somehow whether I imagined it or not. I am not yet ready for death and even though he can know nothing of it, I do not think Kitsune will let me go until I have repaid my debt in full.
*****
7 Shí’èryuè
Today a lao wai arrived, a foreigner with all the arrogance of the West, but with a surprising grasp of our language and culture. He watches Kitsune like a man watches a snake and his movements have the kind of grace that speaks of a man well-acquainted with violence. I do not know what to make of him nor what he means by coming to us, but Kitsune has taken him aside. I suppose if this lao wai is prepared to risk so much for whatever he seeks then it is worth at least listening to what he has to say. He has brought a journalist with him who bothers us all with his questions – I have sent him to Hong-Xu, the old man knows all the stories and could talk the ear off a donkey, it will keep them both out of trouble.
I have volunteered for tomorrow’s mission to the factory camp with the lao wai; I do not trust him and should things go wrong then Kitsune will need loyal men at his back. We have not been told the aim of the mission, but the camp is too well-fortified for it to be much more than reconnaissance, spying for the journalist and his precious notes.
*****
9 Shí’èryuè
Yesterday I walked through Hell and stood before its chief demon; that I am still alive I take to be a sign that my soul is on the correct path.
We arrived at the factory camp at noon; it looked no better under daylight than at night. We did not expect to walk the barren land around the base, still less did we expect to enter it. Even as little as I believe in, there was truly no other name for that place but cursed.
Processed, purified, distilled, refined... such names for reducing humanity to jars and bottles of expensive, exclusive elixirs and remedies. The price of longevity is always paid by others and I fear that I played some part in this monstrous progress. I remember prisoner transportation and orders to take whole villages alive for relocation, but I do not think I will ever know for sure how many of my victims came here or some place like it.
To see its smouldering destruction was gratifying, but as we walked among the corpses that had once guarded it most diligently I could hear the others whisper - the angry ghost walked here and no-one wanted to meet it before their time.
There was relief in receiving the order to guard the perimeter, but it did not last long. One cannot walk amongst the dead without being aware of one’s own life and the fragility of it. I wished, ridiculously, that Kitsune would return and walk with us; his confidence and his own mythic status, however contrived, would have been reassuring, as if we shared a little of the magic that makes him the man he is.
After nearly an hour of silence I left the others by the gates and sought our leader; he had been alone too long with the lao wai and it would do no harm to check. I found him near the centre of the camp and saw for myself the demon whose justice I had so narrowly avoided. I felt my heart freeze in my chest when I saw those eyes, for though it moved and spoke like a man, there could be no doubt as to its true nature. My vision was dimming, my breath stolen from me until Kitsune turned, and though he said nothing, made no gesture, I felt I understood. Kitsune had laid claim to the debt on my soul, anything I owed, I owed to him first; the ghost, sated now, could wait.
It should have been a relief to leave the camp, it would have been had we not brought the demon with us, whatever the lao wai had said in that blood-drenched square the possession had ended. Had I not seen it with my own eyes I would have doubted the demon and this broken man were one and the same, for he is only a man now, this new foreigner, but there is yet something unnerving about him, if not unnatural. Perhaps it is the way of madmen – their unreality warps the perceptions of those around them. Kitsune now accommodates the lao wai’s requests easily and with a speed that surprises me. It is hard to imagine that he could be afraid of the broken madman still when so many are not, but perhaps it is simple wisdom to get rid of both of them as soon as possible. I do not know what has been traded for our help, but it is almost worth it just to know that the camp has been destroyed.
*****
14 Shí’èryuè
Sun has left now; the journalist stayed on after the lao wai left in order to interview some of us. We even took him deeper into the jungle to the survivors’ village; it is where we send our wounded and is peopled by those we have saved for whom returning to their old lives would be a death sentence. He was gentler than I expected with those he spoke to and I suppose if his words make it out to the rest of the world then I will be glad.
*****
16 Shí’èryuè
Life has returned to what passes for normal; a routine of hit and run strikes and raids on supply trains. We are not really big enough to cause major concern, but we are successful enough to slow things down and make the Army waste valuable resources. I have to believe that every little victory helps; it tilts the balance of my soul and hopefully will one day outweigh my past. The day I discovered the bounty on my own head I felt that much closer to my absolution.
*****
12 Zhēngyuè
Today’s mission is slightly different from our usual fare; it is beyond the edges of our territory by a few miles, some think it is too far, but Kitsune is adamant. It is the ambush of a convoy, risky, but something we have done before and the terrain confers numerous advantages to those that know it.
The hike to the site was easy enough and we have laid our ambush carefully by a bridge spanning a deep gorge. The trucks will only be able to go single file and their escort will be strung out in their attempts to cover them. The glare off the water far below is painful on the eyes and there is a sense of restlessness among the men. For the first time I have ever seen Kitsune seems ill at ease or at least what passes for it, which means he only seems more determined than usual. Perhaps it is simply that he is as uncomfortable with being outside our range as some of the men are; it seems unlikely, but there is no other obvious reason for it.
The rumble of approaching motors provides a baseline to the sounds of the jungle and around me the men ready their weapons. I sense a sudden stillness to my right and glance around; Kitsune is listening again and I tense. The other men see it too and it feels as if time is hanging suspended waiting for Kitsune’s next words; I realise I am holding my breath and I let it out slowly.
The convoy is rolling into view now, taking the steep road down to the bridge slowly, and Kitsune's brow is furrowed in concentration. It is only because I am already looking that I don’t jump when a sudden torrent of cursing erupts. Kitsune is on his feet, surging up out of the brush, heading for the convoy in leaps and bounds. Stunned, but recovering quickly we begin to move, but we have barely covered half the distance to Kitsune when I see smoky contrails streaking from the far side of the gorge.
On the narrow road there is no escape; trucks blossom into fireballs, scattering soldiers both living and dead in all directions. For a moment the air is silent, echoing with the aftershocks; then the gunfire starts, the soldiers firing wildly at the surrounding jungle. It is chaos and in the midst of it all I see the black-clad Special Forces team emerge from the jungle and cross the bridge. I watch as Po Ying is mown down; even though the convoy is the target the Special Forces team do not seem particularly discriminating. I step over Po Ying’s body, my gun jarring my shoulder as I fire into the smoke towards the black-clad men; I see no need to be any more discriminating than they.
Time is out of rhythm; it seems to speed up and slow down with the pounding of my heart and the staccato sounds of our weapons. Though it seems an age, it truly could not have been more than a few minutes before the battle ceases, nothing left but the echoes of gunfire in the gorge. The remainder of the Special Forces team faces us over the corpses of the soldiers we both came to kill. One steps forward, tall and solidly built; he lowers his weapon in unspoken truce and frowns at our lack of response. We glance around seeking Kitsune, not one of us believing for a moment that he could have fallen.
I see him first, his lithe figure picking amongst the wreckage of the trucks; it seems to take a moment for Kitsune to register that we are all waiting for him. His expression when he looks up is strangely absent, but it firms then turns unreadable as he climbs over the still-smouldering wreckage. In one hand he holds a broken canister - the contents of the truck. I feel my stomach tighten in something I refuse to call terror after all I have seen and done, but the scorched and torn yellow and black of the biohazard symbol chills me to the bone.
Still holding his sword negligently in one hand, Kitsune finally steps up to face his opposite number. The black-clad man nods in condescending acknowledgement, "Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Welch," the man's accent makes me think of the old Westerns I used to watch as a child.
Kitsune nods, face impassive, then quicker than any of us can react, his ever-present sword flashes out ripping upwards. Kitsune steps in closer, unfazed by the blood or the slithering organs escaping, and he speaks to the man too stunned to realise he is already dead. "It is a kinder fate than the one you have just unleashed."
Shocked it takes another second for the Americans to react, their guns coming up quickly, but Kitsune is already moving out of the line of fire. Despite the stomach churning shock, this battle is even shorter than the last and when it is over we begin to strip the dead Americans of their expensive equipment.
"Kitsune?" The voice is hesitant and I turn to see Huan standing by the abandoned canister, unwilling to touch it.
Kitsune's grim expression does not waver, "Leave it, there's nothing left for us here."
The long hike back to camp is made in silence; everyone wants to know what Kitsune knows and just as obviously are afraid of the knowledge. Their faith in him is disconcerting even when I share it; it is like that of a child trusting in the parent to tell them what they need to know and keep them safe from what they don’t. Our unspoken questions answer themselves after mere hours; Zheng develops a fever and chills, not particularly uncommon in the jungle save for the rapidity of it, but then the hallucinations start and the bleeding. Chu-Yi falls ill only hours after that, the symptoms the same. Kitsune says nothing, but he gives up his canteen to Zheng and takes Chu-Yi’s pack from him. It is near midnight by the time we return to the camp and everyone is subdued. Zheng and Chu-Yi are immediately taken to the makeshift hospital and Kitsune retreats to his tent to tend his own wounds as he always does, for not even he always escapes unscathed.
*****
13 Zhēngyuè
Zheng died just before dawn, a bloody, screaming death; we burned the body, but I fear it is far too late and I am regrettably proven right. By evening a child had fallen ill, then an old woman, then another of the men from the ambush. Chills and aches, fevers and hallucinations and blood, so much blood. I go to Kitsune’s tent with the news, but he is nowhere to be found; I cannot believe he has abandoned us now and so I keep my silence over his absence. I hear talk that we should never have returned to the camp, but Pang Li, our radio operator, tells me of the town beyond the river where some have fallen sick and they had not ventured near the ambush site for fear of implication.
*****
21 Zhēngyuè
The nearest village has shut its doors to us, but it does them no good, if anything they die quicker than we. Nothing works, not drugs, not traditional medicine, not prayer. The whole camp is hushed but for the cries and ramblings of the sick.
*****
23 Zhēngyuè
Kitsune has returned with Western drugs; they have already proven ineffectual but at least it seems to ease some of the pain – it is probably the best we can hope for. He seems surprised that no-one questions his absence, but he realises quickly enough that I lied for him and he invites me to his tent. He looks pale and tired, but there is strength and anger in his voice, "The Americans have bombed the source; there are no notes, no scientists. It is airborne and spreading with the wind; we have no defence, we never did." No dissembling, no sugar-coating; I do not know what I had expected to hear, but Kitsune’s words shake me to the core. I feel sick when I return to my tent, but even Hong-Xu’s solicitous concern cannot make me repeat those words – hope is all we have left and I will not destroy it.
*****
25 Zhēngyuè
The days have become a blur; the only raids we make now are for medical supplies. Everyone cares for the sick because no-one knows who will succumb next and when they will need that comfort themselves. Kitsune works tirelessly and somehow his presence helps, soothing both the crazed and those tending them; for all that some of the villagers blame him for this, I am proud to say that those who went on the mission do not. I have taken it upon myself to watch over Kitsune because the man no longer seems to care that he barely sleeps, eats even less and never, ever stops. I am torn between pity and sympathy for him; all his skill, all his intuition, all his luck, it all counts for nothing in the face of this invisible enemy.
It is as I stoke the pyre that has seen too much use of late, I realise that I no longer fear my own death. I have known it was a possibility since I abandoned my post so many months ago, but its near-certainty now has surprisingly little effect. I do not feel my debt is paid yet, but I am satisfied with what I have done to that end. Ironically, though I no longer fear death I have discovered a new fear. Only an hour ago I watched Xiaoqu scream at monsters that weren't there, at the father that did things to him no father should ever do, and I discovered that I am terrified of losing my mind. I have never told anyone of my reasons for joining the rebels, there are secrets there that no-one need know but me, the thought that they might become public knowledge has me emptying my stomach.
*****
28 Zhēngyuè
It has been two weeks now since the ambush and there are few left; a handful of us that spend our days tending the sick, burning the dead and all the while fearing that we will be the last.
I close Mei's eyes and with a damp cloth I wipe away the blood that has leaked from her eyes and nose and mouth. I wrap a blanket around the small body and on a whim place one of the wildflowers she liked so much within her tiny hands. She weighs next to nothing in my arms and I try to ignore the way my body aches at even this slight additional weight. Kitsune is tending the pyre and though his eyes narrow at the stiffness of my movements he says nothing, simply takes the child from my arms.
Night finds me mopping Siu-Li's brow as she whimpers softly in her delirium; absorbed in this simple task it is a few minutes before I become aware of Kitsune’s eyes on me, neither of us speaks as we sit vigil over her last hours. By the time the sun dawns again we are the only two left and I can feel the sweat on my face, the flares of painful heat up my spine. I shiver and feel dark eyes upon me, but I shrug off the concern as I focus on packing up what is left of the medicine with hands that have begun to shake.
By nightfall such a movement is beyond me; dizziness assails me even when I lie still and I clutch a blood and sweat-soaked towel to my face. I have done this so often for others it seems odd indeed to do it for myself. I burn so hotly now that Kitsune kneels at my side, constantly bathing my weak limbs in blessedly cool water, and nothing I say will move him. There is one other blessing and that is that the feared delirium has never come and I pray that it never will; if I am to die, I wish to do so a man, not weeping and raving against Fate.
*****
29 Zhēngyuè
The night is the longest I have ever known, yet when the sun comes up the world gets paradoxically darker. Kitsune is always near now and, for all that it implies, it is a comfort. We talked sometimes during the night, neither of us able to tolerate the silence of the once-bustling camp. Maybe in the towns there are survivors, but here there are none. My voice fails as dawn approaches and it is an effort to keep spitting my throat clear of blood. It is becoming harder and harder to see, the world blurring and darkening seemingly at random.
Kitsune's touch is gentle as he brushes the hair from my face and he places a kiss on my brow. "Do not be afraid."
I want to say that I am not, that I have made my peace with the ghosts that wait for me, but I find it is no longer true. As close as I now know myself to be, I am afraid. I do not know if I have done enough to avoid the hell that waits for me, I hope, but in the darkness at the edges of my vision it is too easy to picture the hungry ghosts. Still, what little honour I have regained has been due entirely to this man and even though it has brought about my death, I am grateful that he stood by my side and showed me the path. I need to tell him all of this so that the grief and the guilt does not destroy him as the best efforts of the Gong’anju have not.
I try to draw breath, but my body no longer obeys me, the air hisses and bubbles in my throat and makes my lungs burn. The drip of saltwater on skin too sensitive to bear it makes me cry out, but my throat fills with blood, drowning out the sound. Nevertheless Kitsune backs away, and for the first time since I have met him, his emotions are clearly visible on his face - pain and anger, fear, failure and despair contorting the handsome features. I try to reach out, but there is nothing I can do, no comfort I can offer. My heart breaks and it hurts even beyond the pain of my body that so great a man should be as helpless as little Mei was in the face of this enemy. For all our accomplishments, both good and bad, we are all only human.
I cling to my precious sanity even as I feel the life seep from my limbs; Kitsune's last sight of me will be as a man who dies with honour and offers no blame for the manner of it. My shame will die with me and I fight to keep my eyes open, determined that the man who has come to embody my redemption will be the last thing I see. And it is.
I see the way Kitsune's tears catch fire, the way he rakes at his skin with fingers grown sharp as knives. I see shark's teeth and shark's eyes and the red mist that boils off his skin and fills the clearing. It fills my lungs too and suddenly I can breathe again, the pain gone. Distantly, I hear the shriek of a bird of prey and it echoes through my mind even as my vision darkens. Kitsune is only a vague shape now as he drops to his knees in despair and it hurts to see him so. I reach out with the last of my strength, if I can just...
*****
3 Èryuè
Sun carefully closed the journal, letting his palm rest upon the leather cover as he offered up a prayer for the souls of the dead. The book had been waiting at his bedside when he had awoken, though there was no sign of how it had arrived. It had taken him all morning to read through it and he knew it would take him longer still to absorb the content.
He could not, would not, publish it; the journal was personal and private and the war was horrific enough without tales of ghosts and demons. The stories would terrify the gullible and be discounted in their entirety by the cynical. No, he would not publish Dao’s story, but the information… the camps and Dao’s part in them, the actions of the Americans, the virus…
Sun closed his eyes; there were bloody fingerprints on the cover and the scent of smoke and jungle and death still lingered in the pages, the last entry was only four days old. He did not consider himself a stupid man, nor a superstitious one, but only one name came to mind as the deliverer of Dao’s journal. He had interviewed the man, his soldiers, the villagers he had saved; Dao had not believed in his leader’s magic, but he was one of the very few who didn’t. Sun had been raised on the old stories; it was that which had first interested him in writing. Facts had proven a more lucrative mistress, but still he had sought the event where the two became one, now he had it.
In his heart he knew that it had been a spirit in his apartment last night, whether living or dead mattered little. Just as he knew that somewhere in the jungle there were a hundred graves and one that stood empty marked by a red plaque of rough wood bearing a single word – Kitsune.
FIN
3rd September 2006
Translations: I’ve used a few bits and pieces of other languages and to save you having to look them up here they are…
Shao Wei – second lieutenant
Gong’anju – the Chinese secret police
Lao wai – foreigner (impolite)
Ke Tri – Tibetan long sword
Additional Notes: Chinese belief holds that the soul of the deceased will return to their home seven days after their death. A red plaque with a suitable inscription is often hung on the door of the house to ensure that the soul does not become lost.
I have used Chinese months as best I could find them; it’s probably not really accurate, but enough for the story’s purposes. Months are 28 days long and equate roughly to the western calendar below.
January - Shí’èryuè
February - Zhēngyuè
March - Èryuè
April - Sānyuè
May - Sìyuè
June - Wǔyuè
July - Liùyuè
August - Qīyuè
September - Bayuè
October - Jiǔyuè
November - Shíyuè
December – Shíyīyuè
Comments appreciated.
