Life or Death?

By Rose Q. Addams

We all face certain choices: life or death, nurturer or destroyer, violence or peace. Each kitsune must choose her own path.

When grown, we travel into the world of Men, choosing a man to bind ourselves to… for the rest of his life. If we choose the path of violence, suffering and death come to him at our hands. In the path of peace, our homes are marked by prosperity, longevity, and joy.

My time has come. I already feel a strange pull in my heart, as if I were connected by a string to that world. It’s unsettling. I, unlike some, remember nothing outside the Eternal Woods, for my father died when I was an infant.

Oddly enough, my mother does not speak of him, or of the life she left behind.

My aunties and cousins are quick to tell tales of their choices: they sneer, remembering the evil men they bound themselves to, usually ended with a quick knife thrust or slow poisoning. They eulogize the noble men they chose, brought great power and long life by means of their sage advice, inspiration, and healing arts… but my mother remains silent.

Now, as I pack my few belongings, she lingers in the doorway. “Are you ready, Haruka?”

“I believe so.”

She steps in and proffers a small bundle. “They’re for you. I wore them on my wedding day.”

Wrapped in silk is a set of simple tortoiseshell combs. They’re not extravagant, but I embrace her before she can see the tears they inspire. A shudder in her frame suggests that she, too, feels sorrow this day, although my whole life has led up to this moment.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers.

“Mother…” I waver. Perhaps it is not mine to know. But there’s so little time left to ask.

She holds me at arm’s length, eyes brimming with tears. “What is it, child?”

I swallow, gaining courage. “What did you choose?”

A spasm of pain crosses her face, and she looks down at our hands, now intertwined. “… A hard choice. It was both.”

“I don’t understand.”

She closes her eyes, tears coursing over her cheeks. “Perhaps you’ll never have to,” she whispers. “I chose to bind myself to one and kill him, to save the one I loved. I believe I broke his heart in so doing.”

I swallow, palms going clammy as doubts surface. How will I know what to choose? What if my choice is one I’ll regret, or one that breaks my heart? I’m not ready.

“You’re the child of my heart,” she says, as though reading my jumbled, fearful thoughts. “Do not fear your choice, nor your purpose. Since time began, kitsune have changed the world for the better. We’ve borne good men strong sons, ones that lead Men to greater and nobler heights. We’ve borne evil men weak sons that destroy their name and lineage. All our daughters,” she says, stroking my hair, “come home with us when their fathers pass from this life, as a precious gift. So that we might have hope.

“Do not fear, Haruka. I don’t,” she says, smiling. “I know I taught you well. We’ll see one another again someday, my love. What matters is why you choose.”

Three days have passed since that conversation. I’ve followed the tugging in my heart through the winding, endless paths of the ancient Forest, finally to emerge in an evergreen forest that smells… different. Younger.

The world of Man.

Despite the ceaseless tug, I pause beneath the bridge which spans a rocky brook and wash my face. One can, after all, never be too careful with one’s appearance. It’s among our greatest assets.

I brush out my hair and pin it back using the combs Mother gave me. I will face whatever this day holds with her in my heart. It’s only right.

As I tuck in the last comb, footsteps echo over the water, growing nearer. I change skins quickly and flatten to the ground.

An aging man shuffles along the road, a pair of buckets hanging from his shoulders. His footsteps are so uneven! Someone should be with him. Where is his apprentice? Or family?

Perhaps he will serve as my guide if I help him on his way. At the very least, he’ll need help mounting the full buckets on his shoulders again. So I change forms again and emerge, crossing the bridge with light footsteps. “May I help, good father?”

My manners are flawless, but he still jumps as though I’ve come to snatch his soul, losing a bucket in the process. I dart toward the water and grab it, face heating.

“Forgive me.” I bow. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He only stares, hands trembling as he reaches out. With a fingertip, he brushes the comb in my hair.

“You look just like her,” he says at last.

My skin prickles as he looks me up and down. It’s not possible… is it?

“Is she well?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know who you mean,” I stammer, although the idea wriggles in my mind—could this be the man my mother loved? The one who could’ve been my father? Then I realize the tugging feeling has ceased. It must be him. Somehow, impossibly, I’ve found him.

“I made the combs myself,” he says evenly, gaze chastising me. “You’re Yua’s daughter.”

I reach up and touch one. “You made these?”

He nods.

Suddenly, it makes sense. She gave them to me, hoping that I might find a love like the one she gave up.

I make my choice.

I will bind myself to this man in love—as his daughter, for as long as he lives. Then, perhaps, I will seek another… but for now, I want to be by his side. To know more about the man my mother fell in love with and give him comfort.

I bow deeply. “Then you’re the one I was meant to find.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Q. Addams loves cheesecake, hats, and her family, who she blames for her love of reading. Some of her best memories are hearing tales of Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, Beauty and The Beast, and the prophet Ehud—which explains how her taste runs wildly throughout genres. She can be found scribbling madly on any paper she gets, and praising her Savior for the weird and wonderful things in her life.

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