Chapter 15: Yokai-Town Market

Backwards up the mossy glen

Turned and trooped the goblin men,

With their shrill repeating cry,

“Come buy, come buy.”

--Christina Rossetti, “Goblin Market”

The first thing Grace noticed after Fort Stone was winter. Not the kind cold enough to blanket the sparse, yellow grass around them with snow, but enough to dry out the skin on one’s hands and face. In Vinland, she had gradually forgotten things could feel so crisp. The only thing she appreciated now was she wore all the garments she brought to that cut-off world.

“Why us?” asked Fox. “Doesn’t the skunk have other eggs in the world to snatch for the Easter Bunny?”

“Undoubtedly.” Bennu’s typically silly bearing was nowhere to be seen. He must have lost it in the hustle. “A cockatrice egg pulled out of an asp’s nest, a fenghuang exploited as a gambler’s lucky charm, even a roc’s egg cracked to make a thousand-and-one omelets for a thousand-and-one mornings.” Heat came off him in waves, countering winter within a couple feet of him. “But—and I say this with no arrogance—a phoenix is rare, and a griffin more so. We must be vigilant now about egg snatchers.”

“I suppose,” said Diana, “just to be accurate, we should call them ‘hatchling snatchers.’”

Schrodinger directed the group to a restaurant they should be just down the road. “Traveling inside an atom’s fast, but not quite precise. Half this restaurant exists in the physical world, the other’s in Yokai-Town.”

Whether walking or flying, the survivors of what would be known as “the Fall of Fort Stone” traveled unpaved dirt in the cold.

The restaurant turned out to be rectangle-shaped, with a roof of blue tiles fit together like waves. A sign was written in a language Grace did not know, but thought looked beautiful. Blinds were drawn on all windows. The front door was locked. For what appeared to be around lunch time, there were no cars in the parking lot. Grace heard no clinking plates inside or smelled anything cooking.

The place looked empty, but Schrodinger would not leave. He held his gold scroll in his right paw. He raised his left in the air, as if meaning to wave. Then, he positioned himself so he sat on his haunches. The yellow-custard of his belly showed. It and the rest of his body was covered in jackalope wounds. The grimalkin moved shakily, but did not complain.

“I beckon you, neko,” Schrodinger spoke clearly. He stared at the door while sitting with the disciplined poise of a statue. Nothing happened. He slunk a bit, proving a cat’s natural state is at rest. “Neko, I beckon you.” Still nothing happened. He glared at Bennu to stop the bird’s loud fidgeting. “Look, cuz, I’m standing in the street, waving like an idiot. I’m tired, injured, and hungry, as are my friends.”

The door opened with a bell ding. “The pass-phrase is ‘I beckon you, neko-san.’ Get that? ‘San.’ It’s only polite.” Another grimalkin (for she certainly was no mundane cat) pushed her way out, raising her left paw to mirror Schrodinger’s. A second bell tinkled on her neck.

“Forget honorifics, Maneki.” Schrodinger hissed and slumped onto his stomach. “We’ve fought a giant skunk and I don’t know how many horned rabbits, and would prefer not to wait for a table.”

Maneki nodded to the rest of the companions. The Murder shied away from her, preferring the wavy roof. “I was setting out food, anyway. Don’t know what your friends specifically like, but luckily, it’s a buffet. A smorgasbord, if you will.”

For cousins, they did not much resemble each other. Schrodinger was a tabby while she was half-black, half-white. On her breast were two semicircles: a black dot in the middle of a larger white spot, fitting into a black spot with a white dot in its center. Even more distinct, her long tail forked into two tips. She yawned and walked inside.

After failing to convince her crow friends to come, Grace followed. She tried not to track mud on the carpet. Matching the roof, its pattern was a blue-green seabed.

Maneki felt less concerned with mud than falling stones. Refusing a broom and dustpan, Fox explained they would disappear on their own.

“Nifty,” said Maneki. “So few customers clean up after themselves. So few customers…” she stuck out her tongue. “Eat whatever you like. Free of charge. The restaurant can spare it nowadays.”

Goldtalon headed straight for a round pool with koi swimming in it. He was about to snap up a fat orange carp when Grace tugged a wing and pointed out the rows of plastic trays, standing about waist-height under heat lamps. Various foods—most likely pulled straight from a refrigerator—defrosted beneath.

“Sorry,” Grace apologized to their hostess. “Till now, Goldtalon’s food came from a river. He doesn’t expect it cooked…wait, is this cooked?”

“It’s sushi,” answered Maneki. “A Japanese term which means ‘raw fish done up all pretty.’” Her forked tail swished lazily. “Regarding the koi, I can’t say I haven’t been tempted myself.” Schrodinger stopped to eye the pond.

Under the overhead lights (dim, not dark) Grace took in the place. Not so much as a dust mote found purchase on the wooden tables and chairs. Yet, the place felt long abandoned. Of decorations, there were few, but a statue on the counter where customers would normally pay did a terrific impression of Maneki. The paintings on the walls at first seemed to clash with the ocean design. They were of trees and bushes, both colorful and strange.

“Not trees,” explained Diana, “corals and anemones. They look a bit like plants, but really, they’re animals. Anemones even eat meat.”

“You should eat,” insisted Schrodinger. “The only effective portal to Yokai-Town’s around the back, but we mustn’t enter on empty stomachs. With the myriad fruits and sweets sold at the market, you’d otherwise be lured in. Unfortunately, they’re all enchanted. Some food steals your memories or is impossibly addictive. Then there’re the prices, which can be set as high as your soul or lifelong servitude.”

“That’s if you’re terrible at haggling,” claimed Maneki. “While it’s true most residents there tagged along with humans who carried their stories and legends across the Pacific, none are bound to think or act like people. Even the ones appearing to share your form.”

Since Chiaroscuro’s death, Grace had not felt very hungry. What she hoped for was some first aid, but Maneki said the restaurant had none. Some loose bandages out of the leather bag would have to tide them over.

“Hey, we’re going after a sword that heals.” Bennu tried to reassure before going to the kitchen to look for cinnamon.

At least there was water on tap. After two or three cold glasses, Grace spotted a soft-serve ice cream machine. Regardless of overall theme, it is impossible for any buffet not to feature such a device on their premises. Grace feared she would not be able to keep solid food down, and was never much for seafood anyway.

The machine had three options. Fox picked chocolate, bemoaning the lack of sprinkles. Diana settled for vanilla, and was mocked for it by Fox.

“Which are you getting, mommy?” asked Goldtalon. He decided ice cream was his new favorite food. Then again, he said that about everything he had eaten so far.

“I don’t feel like I have to choose just one.” Grace cranked the handle on the middle section, which produced a swirl of chocolate and vanilla. While eating, Grace found a question written in English on the inside of her cone. “What’s this for?”

“A little game we play at the restaurant.” Maneki kneaded at the tabletop where she sat. “Every cone has a riddle you can answer.”

“I didn’t study for this test! Nobody told me to.” Diana’s scaly forehead beaded with sweat.

“There’s no wrong answer to the cones,” asserted Maneki. “As long as you do answer.”

“Not providing an answer at all is not even wrong.” Schrodinger dabbed his sauce-stained mouth with a napkin.

“Nobody learns from silence.” Bennu returned triumphantly from the kitchen with cinnamon. “Anyone who says they did is welcome to shut up.”

Grace read the riddle on her cone aloud. “‘What is the sound of one hand clapping?’ That’s easy. My mom did…does it all the time, like when dealing with our neighbor, Mrs. Grundy.” She struck a palm against her forehead. “Even you do it, Fox. Your brain tells your hand, which claps your brain.”

“This game can’t be any stupider than that awful sphinx,” Fox grumbled before reading, “‘If you replace parts of a boat, one at a time, until there are none of the pieces you started with, is it the same ship?’” She paused. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess. Else, you sink and drown and can’t waste any more time thinking about riddles. Long as it’s still made of wood, it doesn’t matter what name you paint on its side.”

Since Goldtalon already ate his cone, it was Diana’s turn. “Ohhhh, mine’s too hard!”

“C’mon, you’ll think up an answer,” encouraged Grace.

“Your answer,” added Fox.

“Okay.” Diana began to shake her head, but switched to a nod midway through. “It says ‘What happens when a force that can’t be stopped meets an object that can’t be moved?’”

Due to the restaurant’s general emptiness, the question traveled far. “Well,” she said after a long, wet gulp, “I think eventually they fall in love.”

“Why?” Maneki licked her belly, but kept an eye on where the girls sat.

“Because,” said Diana, “opposites attract, and what could be more opposite than those two? They’d push and fight, maybe for a long time. But it couldn’t go on an eternity—nothing lasts forever. Finally, they realize how greatly they complement each other.”

Maneki trilled, the cat equivalent of a whistle. “Correct.”

“But you said there weren’t any right answers,” said Grace.

“Untrue. I said there weren’t any wrong answers. What’s the point of asking questions if there’re no right answers?” Maneki failed to grasp the urgency of their quest. “I’m bored, cousin. The human owners—one wrote great poetry if not for them being too short—went away years ago. A whole tadoo, with a military escort. It happened so suddenly; they didn’t even have time to pack.”

Instead of responding, Schrodinger buried himself in a pinwheel of rice with a pink-and-green center.

Grace eventually ate something more solid than soft serve—she had no name for it, but there was definitely fish. Fox ate, too, and Diana followed their lead. Grace considered taking a plate out to the Murder, still hunkered on the roof. But after Goldtalon, there was very little left over.

They prepared to leave, taking care of any lavatory needs. Grace checked that her leather bag held together.

“Sorry you have to pass the trashcans,” Maneki apologized. For a place that had been closed for some time, the bins in the alley behind the restaurant were stuffed with fresh garbage. After the Aniwye, though, its stink hardly phased the visitors. The Murder was already waiting. Yawning, she lead the friends in a straight line to something that would be a mirage, except it was very, very real.

There is little hope describing all the strange beings that frequented Yokai-Town. Its population consisted of a country’s worth of marvels, monsters, and myths. The town itself is easier to detail.

Being limited to a cul-de-sac with an abrupt dead end, the cramped rows of buildings resorted to building up. Some structures reached so tall or were so heavy their tops bent low. A few roofs ran into their partners across the way. Youthful creatures took advantage of these informal arches, scrambling along like they were regular bridges. Their parents did not seem concerned, even with the slippery roofs.

Closer to the ground, market stalls mercilessly competed for buyers. Sellers offered, promised, pleaded, tempted, challenged, and threatened you—"Yes you!”— to become “The most satisfied customer in the world.” Not all spoke English, but haggling proved universal.

Grace passed a fox grooming his nine tails with a brush, one at a time. She spotted what looked like a mix of a tiger and an elephant. Its head was heavy and hairless, with tusks and a trunk. Its legs were orange and striped, ending in broad, furry paws. They held a sign saying “Will eat nightmares for free” in several languages.

Goldtalon openly wondered what nightmares might taste like. Grace figured the creature did it by vacuuming up the bad dreams through its trunk.

A man with pale, nearly transparent skin vended sodas in glass bottles. They were kept chilled by ice produced from his hands. Bennu kept his distance.

What looked like a fat racoon was forced to grip the handle of his umbrella with both paws. It seemed at risk of blowing away, despite there being no wind. The object had an eye that must have been painted on except it winked at the companions.

“Didn’t you ever think one of those might protect against stones?” Diana asked Fox.

“That umbrella’s paper,” Fox answered. “It would just tear.”

On the opposite side of the street, three weasels with metal sickles in place of fingers sliced watermelons which looked far from ripe. The one at the table’s end reached in a drawer, offering Diana some ointment to remove all her skin.

“We’ll buy leftovers,” said his companion. The last weasel never bothered to explain what the skin would be used for.

An old woman in a ramshackle stall pushed fruit shaped like human heads in the faces of anyone passing by. Grace hoped they merely resembled heads, but had no idea where or what such things might grow from.

When she looked away, the woman stuck out his neck like it was made of taffy, following Grace several yards—hurling insults all the way. That is, until Goldtalon reached into the lion half of his guts and roared! The rubber-necked woman closed shop.

A badger with a miniature storm cloud following him nodded to Fox. His blue fur stood on end from constant strikes of static. Fox nodded back. Both had some idea what the other went through.

In front of what appeared to be a bathhouse, a mother played peek-a-boo with her infant. She waved a hand across her face, leaving a smooth, featureless egg. Then, she waved the other hand past, and her face returned. Eyes, nose, and mouth all accounted for. The woman alternately disappeared and reappeared her features. The baby seemed to enjoy it, gurgling in his cradle.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Grace felt the sudden need to touch her own face. Just to make sure it was still there.

The street widened a bit for a field with a baseball diamond. Teams of three-eyed giants set up a game. For hitting, they had a ball of fire, and for bats, cudgels with metal spikes. Even the smallest ogre was still so huge his orange-and-black uniform strained with each movement. One waved to the companions while also trying to fit a helmet over his horns.

The visitors viewed the neighborhood with varying degrees of marvel showing, but Maneki looked at the ground and sighed. “It all used to be so much bigger, with more streets and families. More welcoming, too. But without a counterpart in the waking world like the Japan-Town that was demolished, the Yokai were weakened. O the tengu was able to put herself in charge of those remaining.”

Fox squinted. “‘O.’ Her name’s just one letter?”

“Presumably she had a longer one,” said Maneki. “But if you give away your name too freely to the wrong people, you can be bewitched, and compelled to go against your own will.”

“Like the fungus in Nephelokokkygia.” Grace butchered the pronunciation of the city, but went uncorrected.

“Protection from witchcraft’s easier,” Maneki responded. “Just hide your name. O also thinks she’s famous enough to be recognized by a single letter.”

“Names, more than other words, hold power,” supplied Schrodinger. “They define, giving shape and meaning. Most who rename themselves do so to gain more control over their identities. Or, they’ve accrued too many debts from unsavory types, and must go into hiding so their legs aren’t broken.”

“Which one are you?” Diana asked Fox. The older girl ignored her.

“Crows know about tengu,” Rags spoke in Grace’s ear. It was the most she said since Chiaroscuro’s death.

“They’re mountain spirits that sometimes looks like us and sometimes like humans,” said Jackanapes. “Depending on what trick they’re playing.”

“They’ve also got reputations for being good fighters,” volunteered Dusky.

“In other words,” said Grace, “the kinda creature Waif would want to meet.”

“That thought worries me,” admitted Albumen. “We haven’t seen our brother in so long.”

“This the place?” asked Offal.

If it was not, there was nowhere to go. The cul-de-sac ended. The structure before them stood well apart from the buildings smooshed together. As if even inanimate objects knew not to get too close. It had eight sides like a gazebo, and looked like nothing so much as a bird cage. Tightly packed steel bars stretched up and up and up to a pagoda roof and pierced steeple.

“All right, I’ve guided you far as O’s Dojo.” Maneki paused to shake herself. “Ridil should be in there. But I must get back. If the restaurant’s owners returned since we left, I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

A door, marked by a seven-petal leaf, was already unlocked. Inside, the chaotic noises of the market were muffled by paper screens that moved on their own. They walked on odd-numbered legs, alternately side-to-side like crabs or up-and-down like insects. No matter where she stood, Grace was aware of shuffling behind her. The upper heights of the birdcage were hidden by a dome of these screens, but everyone’s attention pooled to the center of the floor.

Two monsters arm-wrestled at a tiny table buckling under the strain. The one to Grace’s right resembled a snapping turtle who learned to stand upright. Unlike a regular turtle, however, he had hair, kept in a bowl-cut style. This seemed appropriate, as his skull was a bowl filled with water. He wore the shirt and pants of a teal zoot suit, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The matching coat was neatly folded beside him. A fedora placed on top had a feather in its band several times longer than the hat itself. The gold chain at his belt rattled, and his scaly shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor.

The monster sitting to the left side was naked, and all the more hideous for it. Mangy patches of hair sprouted at random parts. He had the body of a baboon, and a face that appeared to have been mummified. Individual bones were visible under his shrunken red skin, and his chapped mouth was packed with green snaggleteeth. He glared at his opponent with round, bulging eyes. Instead of a tail, a serpent came out of his backside. The snake was the one to catch sight of Grace and her friends.

“Vissssssitors.” The hiss lasted far more syllables than the word merited.

The turtle closed his beak in concentration, but groans leaked out.

With a howl, the monkey yanked the turtle’s arm so hard it ripped right out of his socket! The monkey lifted the severed limb high, bellowing victory. Black smoke belched from his ears and nostrils.

Instead of, say, screaming in agony, the bowl-headed turtle mumbled “Oh darn,” and gingerly picked up the arm where the monkey threw it. He eased his limb next to its still-bleeding socket, double-checking to make sure everything lined up. Like worms, tendons wiggled to rejoin the body, a grislier version of Schrodinger reclaiming his tongue.

“Good game, as usual,” the snake-tailed monkey covered his smoking mouth with a palm. “Ssssssssame time next week?” asked the tail, which also belched smoke.

“Yeah. I’ll use the other arm. It’s finally healed from last month. Welcome to the Dojo,” the turtle addressed Grace’s friends. “I’d shake your hands…but.”

At this, the monkey and his tail laughed hysterically. Jackanapes tried joining in, but could not get past the first “Ha.”

“I’d also prefer not to bow,” The turtle monster pulled on his jacket. “It’s not me you’re here to see, anyway.”

“Bit of advice,” said the monkey. “Don’t sssssssstare at her ladyssssssship’s nose,” finished his tail. The monkey knuckle-walked past the group. Even the bravest edged away, which made him cackle more.

“Lunch’s on me,” the turtle put on his hat before walking out.

Grace looked for any sign of O. The paper dome’s sections were always shifting. You could be standing in sunlight one moment, and be cast in shade the next. A pinwheel expanded, and a trapeze—like the kind used in circuses—dropped down. A figure was swinging on it, too fast to make out.

“I’m a teacher more than anything else,” said a nasal voice. “What have you birds and beasts come to learn?” O’s tall, wooden sandals hit the ground well before she was seen.

Few would call the tengu “beautiful,” but between the bubblegum-pink skin and a nose that stuck out a foot at least, O would certainly stand out in a crowd. She wore a silk robe lovingly embroidered with scenes of armored warriors maiming each other. Her eyes and short hair were the same color: so intensely black they became blue. The eyes had no whites. Her painted purple nails were long, curved, and probably sharp. Otherwise, the mistress of the Dojo possessed the proportions of an athletic woman.

“Hello,” Bennu addressed her first, “My name is Bennu of Heliopolis. I’m also from…”

“Nephelokokkygia. I figured.” O put her hands behind her back, tapping her foot. Grace noticed it had only four toes. Three in front, one pointing back. The sandal made a sound like “Reeerrtdunkt!”

“Yes.” Bennu tried to keep his bearings. “Er, well, you may have heard a disease is spreading in my city. The situation—from what I recall—was rather dire when I left. That was literally a lifetime ago. So, Miss O, or, O-San, my companions and I journeyed this great distance, tragically losing a friend along the way. We’d like the sword of Paracelsus. Only need to borrow it, honestly. Um…please.”

O sat where the monsters had wrestled, placing legs under her lap. Perfectly serene. “You, girl,” she waved the back of one hand at Grace, “pull aside the paper screen behind you and bring the container therein.” Grace took out a white, porcelain jar.

“Riddle sword in there?” asked Goldtalon.

“Why on Earth would you think that?” Beneath thin, plucked brows, O rolled her eyes. “No, that is called a sugar bowl. You,” she waved her other hand to Diana, “the one crying for some reason. Reach behind the screen nearest you and bring the kettle.”

Diana shuffled behind the screen. Unseen, she started screaming.

“What happened?” Fox barreled where her friend had gone, almost dropping a flint on Schrodinger. The teakettle was very hot. Fox helped Diana bring it to the table, holding it in her cushy sleeves instead of touching with bare hands. Both looked sick, but Fox seemed completely nauseous.

Schrodinger’s ears flipped to the back of his skull. “Look, are you going to give a straight answer or what? We’re perfecting willing to pay for Ridil’s use, but we’ve no time for tea parties.”

“Pay with what?” asked O. “That gold scroll around your neck? Not interested. An ex-friend named Henry had one like that, with an alleged cure for the Root of All Evil. To think, all this fuss over a minuscule parasite to a great tree burnt down with a sword, forged by the archangel Uriel itself. Now that’s an item I’d be willing to trade for. Do you have a flaming sword?”

Schrodinger ignored the question. “Some spores were left on the moon. It might have taken centuries, but Ostara and her servants finally have it.”

O snorted through her long nose. “And she’s still up there. Too far away to give me or my town any trouble. Even this nation’s government—which my spies tell me also want the Root ‘for world peace’—are unimportant.”

“How can you be so sure?” Grace breathed heavy. Goldtalon stood close by, tensing for a fight.

“I feel sick of this place,” Fox whispered at Grace’s other side. She clutched her stomach. “Or, I feel sick in this place. Both, now I think of it. Me and Diana’s old chambers on Ward Eight had to be brass, cause I’m allergic to steel.”

While iron never bothered Grace or her Grandmam, she knew from stories most fairies hated it for some reason. Fox must be that kind of changeling.

“Does Ridil clear allergies?” Diana forgot to whisper.

This whole while, the Murder flittered nervously. Not speaking audibly, but mumbling amongst themselves. They flew near the paper dome, but never made contact with it.

“Don’t you hear something, Rags?” asked Dusky.

“So quiet,” Rags answered. “More quiet than ghosts. She won’t let them speak.”

“Anyone else feel this place ain’t any fun?” asked Jackanapes.

“Argh, shouldn’t have eaten so much trash,” complained Offal.

Albumen said nothing.

Grace frowned. “Guys?”

O placed a teacup on her table and prepared herself a drink. At the first sip, she sighed with content. She did not offer tea to anyone else. “Like I said, I’m a teacher. From my roost I watched you enter the middle of a lesson between my top students. Let’s see if you can match their strength!”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Bennu. “Do you seriously expect us to fight each other?”

“I call Shrod…” Fox started before keeling over. Her allergy was getting worst.

“We won’t!” Grace put her hands on her hips and stared down O. Eye contact was never easy, but it did not feel so impossible anymore.

O laughed, covering her mouth with a hand. One would swear her fingernails had not been so long before. “You misunderstand. If you fight, you must do so as a team. It’s the barest chance you have to survive. But first, let me unveil the prize you seek. Then, we negotiate terms.” She snapped. All around, the dome’s paper screens folded into themselves, like fans. Their shuffling was hardly the loudest noise now.

On the newly exposed heights were glass shelves nailed into the walls. Under the glass of the largest was a collection of weapons from more places than Grace thought might exist. Amidst spears, clubs, axes, bows, arrows, and even a full-sized cannon, were swords. It was unclear which was Ridil. In fact, so many artifacts had been left to gather dust, it would take months to catalogue the lot.

This did not occur to Grace until later, for she was fixated on what hung from the roof.

From chains, unveiled and unmuffled, hung dozens of cages far less spacious than the Dojo. They held corvids. Crows, ravens, jackdaws, rooks, magpies, even bluejays were represented, despite most denying they were part of the family. All cried for help. In one of the lowest hanging cages sat…

“Waif!” Albumen cried.

“Yes.” O rose to her feet and waved her arms. “The one you fly towards arrived from the whole other side of this continent. The Dojo calls birds from around the world, see. They are my babies. I rule their lives absolutely.”

Grace’s cheeks grew hot. “You shouldn’t control other birds like that! It’s…it’s just a horrible, selfish thing to do. How would you like it if someone ordered you around your whole life, and you had no choice?”

“It would be a unique experience, if nothing else. I’ve never been dominated.” O laughed again, even higher and more nasal.

Schrodinger growled. “That can be tested. I’ve no doubt once the Radixomniummalorum bokor finishes ravaging the city in the clouds, it’ll sprinkle down to the whole earth. Including here. Let us take the sword, and you won’t have to worry your feathery little head about it.”

“Oh,” said O, “you still ask for my most treasured possession? No, I don’t think I’ll just hand it over like charity. What lessons would you learn from that? You must earn it. Since Ridil is the jewel of my collection, I shall ask for a jewel in turn. I want…hmmmm.” she tapped her chin. The false-playful gesture of someone pretending they had not already made up their mind. “A gemstone heavy with the essence of a star!”

“Where would we find that?” Grace had to keep from grinding her teeth.

“Only in one place. A secluded pocket of Astral called the Silent Forest! There, life has had to adapt to some irregular conditions, not the least being there’s no sunlight to provide energy. The plants have been forced to find other means. You must locate the Star-Digging Tree of Moleman’s Green. That tree is harmless. Its neighbors, haha, are the ones to watch out for. Apparently, they look the same.” O clapped her hands. “I’ve collected Oniont horns from all five of the Great Lakes, but compared to a star crystal, they’re not worth killing for.”

“And this sword of Paracelsus can really heal injuries?” asked Grace. “Howso?”

“I mean…it’s a weapon.” Diana looked up from patting Fox’s back.

“It’s not an object’s appearance which determines whether it helps or harms. It’s how it’s used. You question my wisdom, little girl?” O raised a group of feathers where an eyebrow had been. “I expect more from an augur.”

“What’s an augur?” Grace leaned on Goldtalon for support. Even without an allergy to iron, she felt sick. Confused and angry, too.

“Augur.” O giggled. “Means you talk to birds, understand their thoughts. The powerful can predict the future just by watching a flock’s movements. Weren’t you talking to that gang of crows in our language? Please say so. The last augur I met was in Germany. There was this whole business with a cursed ring, and…look, it didn’t work out so well. Sure you’ll be fine, though. Even if you die in the Silent Forest, at least you won’t have dreadful operas written about you. It’s a deeply personal question, I know, but have you ever drunk the blood of a dragon?”

What kind of question was that? Dragon’s blood did not sound very appetizing. Grace fumed, but silently.

Clunky wooden sandals did little to limit O’s agility. She moved as a blur, springing to the shelf of weapons, which opened itself. Her long pink nose bumped against the back. She delicately brought out a sword as long as Grace’s thigh. She gave a smile with no teeth, because her mouth had become a black beak.

“Hjckrrh! Pretty.” By the strange power of imprinting, Goldtalon’s instinctive fascination with treasure flowed into Grace.

Ridil had a gold-plated handle shaped like a dove’s head. The beak was shaped around a large ruby globe. On the pommel was written “Azoth.” The sheath was a gleaming mix of gold and silver, but the actual blade looked dull and gray.

“To prove my sword works,” said O, “and because you’re less likely to get my prize if you leave wounded as you are, I will heal your party’s injuries. Augurs first.” She moved to Grace. Goldtalon tried blocking the tengu’s way, even as his eyes refused to shift from the object that was only beautiful on the outside.

“It’s okay,” Grace scratched her griffin behind the ears.

O kneeled beside her, where a jagged tear in the knee of her overalls exposed a deep scratch. Oddly, the girl forgot to feel the wound at the time she received it during the battle at Fort Stone. Noticing it now elicited an ache.

The touch of Ridil felt cold, but was as far from sharp as a blade gets. But for its ornate handle, Paracelsus’s sword might as well have been a big butter-knife. There was a flash of red light next to Grace’s leg. Then, the knee looked completely healed! No pain, scabs, even the hint of a scar.

“Nowadays, it’s easy to treat injuries.” O moved to the others. “But during my youth, doctors would prick you bleeding, or supply things to make you vomit bile, or hock up boogers. And they called that medicine. How humorous.” When the tengu got to Fox, a claw snap made the stones circling the girl’s head disappear. “It would take a lot to make this zombifying sickness worth my attention.”

Though small individually, in total, the cuts and scrapes the survivors sustained easily numbered past a hundred and four. Within minutes, though, all had vanished. It hardly felt appropriate to call the process “healing,” because that takes time. The injuries of Grace, Goldtalon, Schrodinger, Bennu, Fox, and Diana were simply sent away by light.

If any in the Murder was wounded during the assault, none went to O for relief. They stuck around Waif’s cage. Some tried to comfort him, others just stood guard.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Fox whispered in Diana’s ear, “but that rusty thing cured my allergy.”

“Weird since it was probably itself made of iron.” Diana could lean in close because the hail of stones had not returned. “I think I’m missing a few worrywarts, myself. Let me feel…”

“Now what do we say, students? We say ‘arigato’—even you, cat.” The group reluctantly thanked the tengu. O sighed out her long nose. “Hm, I’m pretty put out these cuts weren’t more dramatic. Ridil’s brought me back from near-death many times.”

“You’re so great, why do you need our friends to go to the Silent Forest for you, O?” Rags glared down.

“I heard you was the greatest warrior in the world.” It was the first time Waif spoke since being uncovered. “Too frightened to do the work yourself, or busy lazing about, drinking?”

O calmly but clearly stated “I’ll have you students know, I’ve personally trained warlords and emperors in my homeland. I’ve invented or improved countless forms of martial arts, and if I ‘laze about’, it is only because I’ve accomplished so much over the centuries, I’m only pausing to ponder what I could possibly do next to live up to my legacy.”

She faced Schrodinger. “I know grimalkins usually travel in black boxes, but I’m in total control of my house. The Dojo’s an extension of me. If I say ‘open a door to the Silent Forest,’ well…” O pointed at two close-packed iron bars.

At once, they began edging apart. Adjacent bars moved to accommodate the new space. The gap did not lead back to the daylit Yokai-Town market. Instead, it was a dark nest of trees, drained of color and bare of leaves.

The tengu never raised her voice, but shifting features revealed her true intentions. The long nose Grace’s friends found themselves staring at melted into her beak. What resembled hair became feathers, which spread to cover her pink skin. “I could visit the Silent Forest myself, and pluck the heart of a dead sun to crown my collection of valuables, both inanimate…and living. But I don’t have to. Surely your augur friend will do the work I assign now she’s witnessed what Ridil can do?”

“Sure,” said Grace, who at the moment was only sure of what she thought of O. Goldtalon shared that feeling, and ignored the decorated sword to puffed out his chest and snarl at the tengu. “But…I think if this is such a big job, my friends and I should get more than just a sword that doesn’t even cut like swords are supposed to.”

“Let black birds free,” said Goldtalon. It was hard to tell whether he or Grace thought it first.

“Our brother,” Albumen shouted down. “Make it so at least Waif gets to go free!”

O gladly accepted this addition to the bargain. “What’s one baby crow to me, anyway? That’s if you survive. Sayonara!” The tengu waved them off. She had lost all human features, but her eyes were the same. So black they turned blue, with a cruelty to rival the Aniwye or Mr. Aitvaras.