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Cold autumn wind cuts through my thin travel robe as I ascend the ten thousand steps of an ancient mountain path. I wish for the warmth of furs as bells and chimes sing me a somber song. The twisted branches sway above me and shed the last of their leaves. The shrines of stacked stones I pass on the path are well tended with bountiful offerings of food and charms laid before each, but why wouldn't that be? The master of this mountain seems well regarded, or so I've gathered from my limited dealings with the villagers in the valley below.

A shame I might have to kill their benefactor. No one agreed on exactly what the lord of the mountain is, but rumors outside the village held the master of this place ate wayward travelers like myself. Through wit and steel, I hope to put an end to such things. Should the rumors be true, of course. I abhor the death of the innocent.

Around the three thousandth stone step I quit counting my progress. The shrines on the side of the path grew fewer in number and start to have a look of abandonment. The farther I walk the worse it gets, until vines claim the stones and no offerings are laid out for the spirits of the mountain. Dust and leaves lay in piles on the steps, signs few come this far. One hand holding my robe tightly to my body I put the other on the pommel of my sword, a reminder of my homeland that comforts me as the hair on my neck stands up.

Something is hunting me.

I know it in my bones before I hear tree branches rustle to my left then my right, disturbed not by the wind but the movements of something alive. My pace stays the same as I walk up to the path, eyes snapping to woods on either side of me. The shrines are nothing but scattered rocks now, the trees bending angrily over the path like gnarled cripples. I know not to stray into the woods when whispers scatter at the edge of my hearing. To leave the path could mean to death or, if the hundreds of stories I've heard in my travels are anything to go by, a much worse fate.

I can't escape the fact I'm surrounded and every instinct is telling me to turn back or draw steel and die like a fool. I clutch the pendant on my neck, finding a shred of strength in the symbol of my preferred god, and keep walking the dreadful path. Things flit in the corner of my vision, taunting me, begging me to give chase. I hum an old sailing song. Terror holds my heart but I won't make the mistake of straying from the path.

"Come," something directly behind me with a honey sweet voice. "You look so weary, let me show you to my home."

My heart misses a beat and my fist squeezes tightly on the pommel of my sword. Cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I dare not turn my head, even when the thing laughs. A soft trill comes from wherever my eyes dare not look as I keep walking, teeth clenched against the terror telling to look behind me. I'm not dead or under a spell yet which means this thing has rules it must follow. Chances are good I can bore it or drive it away with my ragged excuse for singing; I've had the saltiest of sailors demand I quit singing. I let song burst out from the depth of my lungs, the words meaningless to any ears but my own in this far flung corner of the world.

"Come," it whispers into my ear, the touch of its breath hot on my skin. "You look so far from your home, even a nobody like me can give you the rest you need."

Man-eaters have a stench to their breath I will never miss, not after how many times I nearly ended up a meal for some crazed beast. A cloying sweetness tinged with rot, the memory of it enough to churn my stomach. Yet the thing behind me has no such stench on its breath. My hand loosens its grip on the simple pendant; the rune would not protect me from evil or trickery. But it reminds me of what I came to do on this mountain. If the thing behind me was no man-eater I had little interest in it right now.

"Come," it beckons in one ear and then the other. "My home is not far, just through the trees." The thing brushes my shoulder, it's voice promising feminine pleasure.

I hate the tricksters that play on mans most primal desires. The worst part is most of the time they are harmless forest spirits, so long as they are properly ignored. If it had the power to bring me off the path it would have done so already. People that stray from any path rarely return, but those forced off will fight to return. Focusing on my goal of investigating this lord of the mountain and singing a bawdy song make it easier to ignore the enticing laughter that echoes from the woods around me. But I'd be a liar if I denied the lilt of the voice didn't stir something in me as a man.

How long has it been since I've known a woman? Since that time in the desert? Ah, that didn't end well for anyone.

"Come," the sweet voice begs, tugging lightly on my clothes and snapping me out of memories. My skin should crawl at the unknown touch but all I feel is a wispy warmth. "I have been without company for so long."

Talking to it would give it a measure of power over me. So I keep singing. The thing behind me begs and pleads but I pay it no heed. Soon only the sounds of gentle crying fill my ears, begging me one last time to turn around face what is behind me. At best it is a trickster wanting me to get lost in the woods. At worst it is a different kind of predator, one that may not eat men but would certainly lead to my doom all the same.

My heart must be made of the darkest iron to feel nothing when the thing behind me begins to wail like a soul denied his rightful place in the gods' halls. There is no shape or reason to its cry, only pure the desperation of someone in the gravest of need. I put one foot in front of the other, undeterred.

Eventually, the wails stop and only the cold autumn wind billows against my back. Alone now I shiver against the chilling bite and curse myself for not trading at the village for warmer clothes. But those people in the village had little enough for themselves. Especially with such a harsh winter on the horizon. My coin and comfort wasn't worth the potential cost of a life lost to the harsh cold because someone didn't have enough to bundle up in on a long winter night. I would survive this journey or I would finally fall in this distant land, slain by whatever rules this mountain. Looking on the bright side, once I'm dead I'll have no need for warm clothes.

The sun stands high in the sky, the trees alive and welcoming. To my surprise, the shrines on either side of the path begin to show signs of care once more. At first, there are only fewer fallen stones. The farther up I go the more whole the shrines become, and with their completion come signs of care. Someone swept the shrines and path clear of leaves and dirt recently, a day at most is my best guess. No offerings are placed before the shrines, but I notice signs of candles and incense the farther up the path I walked. That concerns me a great deal. Hopefully, there isn't some kind of cult worshiping a man-eater. I've dealt with enough of that in deserts and jungles. I don't need to add forest on a mountain the list of places where I nearly died to men worshiping a monster.

I spot wooden arches, or what people in this land called arches, on the path. Massive and proud they stand, barely visible from one to the next through the twists and turns of the mountain's path. I hold hope my destination is near, but after the eighth arch I wondered if I am caught in a glamour. Every arch I walk under is identical to the last, down to the flaking red paint. Were this faerie magic I might be able to use the steel of my sword to disrupt it. But I learned quickly, upon arriving in this land, the magic of faerie does not exist here. Who knows how many arches I truly pass on my way up the mountain.

I see no more arches in the distance so I press onward, resolving to do something potentially dangerous after I'm through the ninth arch. Nine are the realms, nine arches; the symbolism felt potent enough I might be able to work some kind of meager magic. Or I will get myself killed. Sorcerer I am not, though I am growing desperate enough to try what little magic I can work with.

Hand on my sword as I approach what I hope to be the end of my journey up this mountain. The steps cut into the bones of the mountain seemed to grow steeper but that might just be my tired legs. I haven't rested for even a moment and the last time I ate or drank was at the outset of my journey, sometime before dawn's first light. Wearily I keep walking until I spot a ninth arch past barren branches. Once I'm beneath the mighty arch I stop, elated to see I won't need to risk working magic. Ahead of me, a meager handful of steps up, is what I guess to be a home; the structure is large as a castle but lacking signs of stonework any respectable fortification should have, looking to made primarily of painted wood and those weird paper screens. The building is, however, surrounded by an impressive wall fit for any lord of this land – tall enough even I couldn't scramble over it. A massive pair of doors is set into the wall and standing open as if expecting a visitor.

Me, I assume, stepping past the final arch.

I know I've entered the domain of something powerful when I pass the boundary of the arch I'm under. I can feel it in the way the hair on my arms stands up, the pulse quickens in my veins, and my muscles prepare for a fight. Vital instincts burned into my body over years of wandering through strange lands.

As soon both my feet are past the arch a dozen maidservants flood out of the gates. I expected armed soldiers or twisted beasts, not beautiful women in the strange and slender dresses of this land. I'm met halfway by the procession. All but one wear a simple white sash around the waist of their yellow dresses, no two pattern on their clothes the same. The odd one out has a blue sash, so she is the one I pay the most attention to. She's got the delicate beauty admired in this land, her skin fairer than my own to point it is almost porcelain white, hair long and dark. All of the women have that beautiful look, but the one with the blue sash tied around her waist strikes me as an important person.

"A visitor, and a foreigner at that," blue sash says with an air of gentle authority. The way she looks at me actually sends a shiver down my spine, her brown eyes reminding me far too much of snake staring at a mouse. Whatever she is, there is potent magic about her. "One that carries a sword. What are your intentions on this mountain, foreigner?"

"I seek audience with the lord of this place," I say, the words of this land easy on my tongue. A gift I've made good use of in my travels.

Her eyes go from snake watching a mouse to a hawk staring at a snake. "Why would we allow a beast of a man like you, who has not left a single offering upon the shrines, see our master?"

"I meant no offense, but as you say I am a foreigner." I move my hand off my sword, they haven't attacked yet and I get the impression they won't unless I do something stupid. Talking my way through situations is far more difficult than slashing mindlessly. Thankfully I had something that might count as a tribute, which I quickly dug out of my travel robe. "It is custom in my homeland for gifts to be given to the master of a house and not left for a servant or god to deliver."

The pouch I held up actually drew the woman's gaze off of me for a moment. Then it returned with renewed viciousness, her brown eyes almost hateful. "I will take your gift to our master. That might earn you an audience. Or not."

"No," I said, pulling the pouch back while the contents rattled. None of the maids move but I can feel the tension that spreads through them. Or maybe that was my own apprehension since this isn't what I expected to find so close to the peak of the mountain. I dig in my robe, take a different pouch off my belt, and hold that out instead of the first one I offered. "This is more fitting gift to be delivered."

The beauty in the blue sash took the pouch daintily, her nails polished and sharp. The weight and clink must surprise her because she actually takes her eyes off me to open up the pouch and have look inside. Her immaculate face is unmoved by the treasure within. She ties the pouch back up and her cold eyes jump right back to me. The suspicion in blue sash's gaze tells me I made the right choice. "Wait here."

I nod and expect to be left with a guard. Instead, the procession of maids follows their leader back through the gates that shut with a ponderous creak once the last one is through. If they slid a board into it I don't know or care, I'm not about to ruin my chances of getting in peacefully. Left alone I tie the first pouch I produced back to my belt, the carved bones within clattering comfortingly. I can only imagine the look I would have gotten for handing that pouch over instead of one with silver.

Hopefully, my gift isn't too extravagant or taken the wrong way. I thought handing over a pouch of silver jewelry might have earned me an immediate audience, or at least questions. Ah well, it isn't like I have too much attachment to the baubles. A merchant I saved from some kind of turtle demon gave me a sack of silver as thanks a few months ago. In it were several pieces from my homeland, hacksilver jewelry and a few pendants. Seeing the silverwork was nostalgic for me, but I have no memories with any of the pieces. They're simply exotic trinkets in this far-flung land.

Though I do regret giving that treasure away to what might be a man-eater. But if they were a man-eater and they did grant me audience perhaps I could retrieve the silver baubles. If I survived, if I didn't then the jewelry hardly matters now, does it?

I look around, knowing that someone had to be watching me. I see nor sense nothing of course. But an observer was there. They had to be, you don't leave an armed stranger outside your home without posting some kind of guard. Even if your walls are rather tall and the gates look sturdy enough to take need a ram and six of me to even dent, I think it is a poor strategy to leave me unattended. So I must have a watcher somewhere. Vengefully I wish whoever it is to be bored as me since they cannot be bothered to extend the courtesy of letting me see them.

I sit on the ground and stare up at the sky. The clouds are closer than I've grown accustomed to, making me wonder how high up I am. The mountain doesn't quite kiss the clouds but I could tell by the air it is an impressive height. At least the wind died down so I don't shiver as badly. I should have rested on my journey up the mountain, as I expect standing up with my nearly numb legs will be interesting at best.

I'm left sitting there for a long time, the sun nearly dipping behind the mountain. Did they want me to give up and go back down the mountain? As I think that the doors of the gate creak open. I stand on cold, sore legs that move slower than I'd like. Out from the gate comes the same procession from before, a dozen maids led by the blue sash beauty as I think of her. Only something about them feels different. The maids all look at me with unreadable but pleasant expressions. And the insincere but perfectly polite smile the blue sash greets me with is off. Like she is displeased by something.

"Our Master welcomes you to our home, foreigner," the blue sash beauty declares. "I will escort you to the baths, as your journey must have been long and wearisome." Her smile is sweet but her voice is colder than the wind biting through my clothes.

Nice as being clean sounds, a bath is also the perfect excuse to part me of my belongings. But that is a risk that might be worth taking if it gets me near my the lord of this mountain. Who knows, maybe the villagers are right and the lord of the mountain isn't a man-eating monster? I trust simple folk like that more than rumors. Then again I've found monsters in stranger places than atop a mountain and in the home of so many women.

"You and your master's hospitality is grand," I say, cautious of sounding apologetic. Habits born from a frightful time around faeries are hard to break when I know nothing about the obviously magical place I'm in.

The blue sash beauty bows and leads me through the gates. Her pace is quick and I have to keep an eye on several more women, so all I notice about the path is how to get back to the gate in hurry; what little of the place I take in strikes me as richer than many a noble's manors I've seen. I'm lead to what must be some kind of enclosed bathing building with, thankfully, warm water waiting. When none of the maids leave I realize they expect me to strip. With some effort I bite back my complaints and relinquish my clothing and belongings, extracting a promise they would be returned before letting them go. If blue sash thinks anything about my scar-riddled body I can't tell because a swarm of maids that descend upon me the moment I sit down on the stool blue is points at.

Complaining that a horde of the beautiful women are scrubbing me down feels ungrateful, but I suspect they aren't human so gratitude is the least of my concerns. And my suspicions are all but confirmed thanks to a few errant, and most certainly not accidental, touches. I trust my instincts on these matters: the nails that glide across skin are claws, not sharpened fingernails. None of the women draw blood but those errant touches happen more and more as I'm scrubbed down. It is like they are toying with me and enjoy it when I twitch and squirm. They take an interest in tracing the scars on my arms and back, lifelong reminders of some of the nastier things I've run into. But the mass of scars on my chest from that tiger-headed man-eater get the most attention, the maids scrubbing that didn't hide their grins as they traced the ragged lines.

The touch of claws reminds me of nearly having my chest torn open and heart devoured, numbing me to any enjoyment the female attention might bring. I take pride in surviving but I hate being reminded of those moments, especially the tiger-headed man-eater. The only thing keeping me from a full-on panic is that none of their breaths smell of man-eaters. Whatever these women are I don't have to worry about ending up in their stomachs, I muse as a bucket of warm water is dumped over my head.

At least I'm not cold anymore.

I sit and endure the maids near abusive bathing until the blue sash beauty nods in satisfaction, the rest of the maids retreating. The ease that brings me is taken away as they descended upon me with fresh clothing. The maids twist and turn me about as they practically wrap me into clothes that are too warm and soft to be mine. I'm left feeling ridiculous in what my people would mock as a dress, but I'd worn it similar before so the embarrassment is tolerable. This one fits better than all the ones I'd been stuffed into before, almost like it is made just for me. Impressive and unnerving since I feel like a giant in this land, standing at least half a head taller and far broader in the chest than everyone I've met. After the clothes fit so nicely I'm not even surprised when the slippers the maids slid onto my feet fit perfectly.

I ask for my belongings, expecting to be denied everything, but to my surprise the blue sash hands me my dagger and belt. All the pouches are still tied to the sturdy leather and, from the weight in my palm, I can tell nothing has been stolen. My pendant, simple silver worked with the rune of the god I respect the most, is returned a moment later. It rests on my neck where it belongs just as swiftly as it was handed over. Only my sword and clothes aren't returned.

"Where have the rest of my belongings gone?" I ask, trying to sound polite and surely failing, following the blue sash beauty as she leads me along.

"We will wash your clothes. That sword of yours will return once you leave our walls, you have no need of it here. But we were told to let you keep a knife if you had one. Be grateful for our master's kindness, foreigner," blue sash curtly explains while leading me down halls lined with those strange sliding doors that doubled as walls. She stops, opens one to her left, and ushers me in. The room has those woven mats, that I've grown strangely fond of, for floors and a lacquered table is set up in front of a masterfully painted silk screen. The scene on the screen is that of a mountain range done in a delicate, minimal style. I can make easy sense of the image with ease but barely understand how someone could paint like that. So much empty space and deceptively few brush strokes bring to life such a striking view of mountains.

I sit where blue sash points, my legs contorting into the uncomfortable in the kneeling position you're expected to take in this land. It makes sense with how low to the ground the tables are here, but I despise sitting like this for long. Why can't they have chairs like a properly civilized people? I would even settle for a sitting position that doesn't torture a man's ankles.

"My master will join you shortly," the blue sash beauty says before ducking out of the room.

Alone for the time being, I unhook the pouch of runes from my belt, which I am rudely wearing over the clothes provided to me. Weighing the leather pouch in my hand I stare at the table. Do they plan to serve me a meal or have they guessed what I was going to do? Was it just there to catch me off guard? Does this room simply have a table in it? I don't understand this land well enough to guess.

Behind the painted screen a door slides open, casting the shadow of what should be a person. Yet the silhouette makes no sense, my immediate thoughts ranging from 'animal' to 'elaborate clothes' until finally 'one of those things that tried to eat me in that land that worshiped cows'. I look down at the table instead of continuing to stare at the shadow I can't understand, but I keep it in my vision enough to know it sits down behind the screen. Breathing slowly to keep my heart under control, I let thought guide me instead of instinct. Whatever is behind that screen isn't a human, and it wants me to know that. Or maybe it wants me to think it isn't human? I've met plenty of rich but utterly mad men in my life, so perhaps that's what this is.

"What brings you to my mountain, man so far from his home?" A husky female voice asks from behind the veil of the screen.

I chew my tongue. I didn't expect the master of this mountain to be a woman, though it is not all that surprising. I come from a land of shield maidens where misjudging the wrong woman can get you gutted, as one of my more foolish cousins found out. Bah, no time to think of a life long gone when my own might be in danger.

"You are the master of this place?" I inquire.

"I am," the female shadow behind the screen proudly purrs the words. "Tell me something, foreigner. These intriguing gifts of you gave me, wherever did you come across such curious silverwork?"

Why not tell her, maybe she will believe the truth? "A merchant gave me silver when I saved him from some sort of turtle monster," I admit. "Strangely a few pieces were from my homeland."

"Interesting," she says, drawing out the word. "Forgive my bluntness, but why have you come to my mountain? I so rarely receive visitors, especially the sort carrying a sword. That is almost enough to make me worry about the safety of my sisters."

Can't have her worrying about her safety just yet. I drop the bag of runes on the table before with a clatter. "I am here to read your fortune," I announce.

A throaty and feminine laugh fills the air. It is so unlike the delicate tittering I've come to expect from the women of this land. I can fold my arms and wait until the laughter dies down. The shadow behind the screen asks, voice scarcely composed, "Do you jest foreigner?"

Unfolding my arms I compose myself best I can before answering. "I would not dishonor the art of my father his father before him."

"You walk ten thousand steps up my mountain to read my fortune?" She chuckles and the shadow behind the screen shifts. "I cannot tell if you are serious or if this is an awkward attempt to court me."

Oh please be jesting, whatever you are back there. "Move that screen and you will know I am honest, master of this mountain." That seems like it will get me in trouble, so I add some truth, "I cannot cast the runes without seeing your face."

"Oh my, perhaps you do aim to court me. But," I can practically hear the smile in her voice, "I do not dislike that foreigner."

"Egil, not foreigner," I correct, hiding my fear about her talk of courting.

"I shall call you what I wish in my home," she happily replies. This is going to be a tiresome conversation if it goes on for much longer.

"But I will extend you every courtesy, Egil, including what you ask for," she says, confounding me.

The soft chime of a bell comes from behind the screen. A wall – door? - slides open to my right and the blue sash shuffles into the room, kneeling next to the screen. "Yes, eldest sister?" There is respect and deference in the voice, all without a hint of fear. Then again the people of this land can hide their emotions expertly so what do I know of her true feelings?

"Move this troublesome screen," the shadow orders in the happiest, politest manner I've ever heard.

"But sister he will see-" the blue sash beauty clamps a hand over her mouth and she prostrates herself as if speaking to a lord. "My sincerest apologies eldest sister."

"Do not apologize for worrying about me, little sister. Just move the screen so our guest might behold me," the shadow behind the screen says without a hint of reproach in her voice.

The blue sash beauty rises and folds the screen, but positions herself to block my view of what was the shadow behind the screen for long as possible. Eventually, she has to reveal her 'eldest sister' and shuffles out of the way with the screen under her arm. I barely pay any attention to the blue sash. Her 'eldest sister', now fully visible, has every bit of my attention.

A woman sits comfortably on a cushion. A woman with a head like a fox's, her bright blue eyes watching me while her ears swivel to face me. The grin on her face waits for me to react in an amusing manner. I sit and sort through my immediate impression of her. Tall as me, maybe taller. Figure obscured by the elegant, modestly cut blue silk dress the women of this land wear, the black sash tied around her waist looking loose. Hands a mix between fox and human, furred but with all the fingers I expect of a person, sit in her lap. Reddish orange fur covers what her clothes do not, except for the snow white fur around her lower jaw and down her neck. The glint of jewelry I gave her stands out against her fur, silver on her wrists and neck. Behind her is a fluffy looking tail...

Tails. Multiple tails fan out and she watches me with a bemused grin. They stick up behind her, making me think of a folding fan, and sway gently while she watches me for any kind of reaction. Something about foxes with multiple tails runs through my head so I start counting hers. One, two, three... Something about the tails was important what was it, think Egil. Four, five, six... It comes to me and I start to panic a bit. The older a fox gets the more tails they grow, and they become more powerful. Seven, eight... Ancestors waiting in your glorious halls I want no part of, this fox woman has NINE tails.

I choke back a moment of panic.

"Oh my, the rapt attention of man is quite thrilling after so many years," the fox woman says, hiding her smile behind her sleeve. The coy gesture is quite insincere since I can still see her grinning muzzle and her predator's sharp teeth.

I gather the runes from their pouch and speak in the language of my homeland. "Should I fear the fox before me?"

I cast the carved bone runes onto the table and watch them bounce into place. The fox woman looks at me curiously while I sort through the reading. Her eyes flick to the runes whenever I look up at her, but the moment I turn back to the runes her blue orbs bore back into me. Reading the runes takes so long my father would have smacked me across the mouth for failing to grasp such a simple answer. But what is revealed baffles me to no end and the attention of the fox woman does not help.

"What is this, Egil?" she asks quietly, as if afraid to break my concentration.

"Fortune telling from my land," I reply, rereading the runes for the third time.

"I can see that." Her tails sway as she leans closer to look at the layout on the table. "What have your bones told you?"

"Runes," I correct. Biting my tongue I look over the spread again, determined to find something I must have missed. But there is nothing else it could say. "And they say I should help you."

Her tails flick as she asks me something. I'm so absorbed in trying to find an alternative reading to the runes that I don't hear her until she claps. Her tone has a hint of mockery to it while her mouth is curled into a grin. "I have your attention now? Good. Do your bones tell you how you might help me, the lord of this mountain?"

"No." Sweeping the bones up I contemplate casting them again, but stop that line of thinking. Never should I ask the runes the same question twice in a row or else they will abandon me.

"This is why you should not trust a fortuneteller. They work their way into your home and speak nonsense," the fox says dismissively, looking at the blue sash beauty sitting in the corner. It shouldn't surprise me so much to see another fox woman is sitting there, or that there are eight tails fanned out behind her. Unlike her sister the white is around her eyes instead of her mouth. At least I don't give the nine tailed the satisfaction of seeing me jump.

Insults like that aren't worth acknowledging. I collect my runes and ask another question, wording it carefully.

"What will happen if I help this fox?"

The second casting draws me an unpleasant look from the nine tailed fox woman, but with a layout like this, I don't care about her frustration with fortune tellers. The runes haven't lied to me once about matters of spirits, tricksters, or faeries. But I wonder if I should doubt them telling me 'I shall find what I have always sought if I help this fox.' Wandering since the day I could set out on my own, I don't know what I seek anymore. I thought glory would settle the craving in my heart. But I found only trouble so I abandoned that for the more difficult road, the path of the one-handed god. A noble path, honorable beyond compare, and lonely as could be.

What did I want that the fox could possibly give me? I can come up with nothing. But I trust the runes.

"I tire of this," The nine tailed fox said once I've collected the runes for a third casting. "I welcome you to stay in my home for the night, for the jewelry you gave me is beautiful Egil. But I have no use for fortunes you will not tell me. So either ask a question of my choice, tell me what you have learned, or stop so we might have dinner and talk of more pleasant matters."

I hold my hand over the table, the runes cupped in my hand. "What do you want me to ask the runes?"

She clearly didn't expect that, judging how her tails swish about. The fox woman smiles and plays along, mirth returning to her voice. "What brings this foreigner Egil to my mountain?"

With a stony face, I ask the runes what I'm doing on the fox's mountain, curious about what they will say. The carved whale bones bounce around the table as I cast, the runes swirling to a stop wherever they please. As with every cast on a mere man such as myself the meaning should be vague, unhelpful, and create more questions than it could ever answer. Except that isn't what I read in the runes. The spread is so clear I can't believe it is right. But the runes, I have to believe them.

"What do they say?" The nine-tail fox stares at the runes, trying to decipher their meaning. I don't even know their true meaning. At best I glean a hint of their truth. Only the one-eyed god would know for certain, and he traded half the light of his world for such wisdom. Among other painful acts I don't want to try for myself.

I sweep the runes back into their pouch. "The runes say I'm here to solve an old problem."

"Little sister," the nine tailed fox woman sweetly says to blue sash fox hiding in the corner, "Go fetch some wine and food for my guest and I. He must be hungry after walking for so long. Once you've done that do your best to keep the rest of our sisters from eavesdropping, as they so love to do whenever we have a guest. I am certain Egil would like the privacy."

Blue sash bows and retreats out of the room and leaves me alone with the lord of the mountain.

"Fortuneteller, you may call me Rin." The devious grin that turn her lips up and reveals those teeth nearly makes me go for my dagger. This creature wore at my calm with only a smile, making me feel like better than glory starved youth with my readiness to go for a blade.

"We will see come sunrise if your runes lie," she says happily.

---

Around the lacquered table I have a polite dinner with Rin, the fox woman slyly amused the entire time by my difficulty using the two sticks you're supposed to hold in one hand to eat. Once blue sash swooped in and took the empty dishes away the wine starts flowing. I handle my drink with, but so does this fox sitting across from me. Between the two of us an entire ceramic jug is emptied and we quickly start in on a second, Rin asking me questions the entire time.

They're all simple questions I've answered many times. My responses change only with the language of the land.

Why do I carry a sword? For protection. Do I not get in trouble for openly carrying a weapon? I mostly keep away from cities, hide it, or make a point of sucking up to local lords when I have business in an area. How did I arrive in this land? On a merchant vessel sailing from a mainland city I hated. What do I think of this land? I think it is strange but hospitable. Do I travel alone? Normally, but I don't turn down company when it is offered.

She seems satisfied with those answers. Which is nice, I've grown tired of having the same conversation so often.

"What brought you so far from the cities and to my mountain?" Rin asks, pouring me another cupful of deliciously biting wine. She's so direct I wonder if the wine is getting to her.

"I heard rumors of a man-eater on this mountain and wanted to see if it was true, but unless you're hiding one in the woods I think it's just talk," I reply, realizing far too late the wine has certainly gotten to me. Sneaky drink this is, but I toss back another cup anyway. My last cup, but not because I've offended my host judging from the smile she sports. It will be my last to keep what is left of my wits.

Rin only chuckles. "I suspected such a reason," she says, pouring herself the last of the wine and setting the empty jug aside. "What would you have done were this a home of man-eaters?"

"Kill one of you and run into the forest," I say, resting my hands on my knees. My ankles ache from this agonizingly polite position. "I've learned a few tricks that would have let me take a few of you down."

"You would surely die," she says, setting down an empty cup and folding her arms. "We all know these woods and would hunt you to the ends of this land if you slew one of my sisters."

"All men die one day. My people think it is better to die with a sword in hand than old and gray in bed. But you aren't man-eaters," I say, raising a hand, "Imagining what might be doesn't matter."

Rin smiles. "I cannot help but wonder how a man such as yourself has survived so long."

"One day I won't," I say with a shrug.

"Perhaps we should take a walk, to move our minds from such grim thoughts," Rin suggests, rising to her feet gracefully. My ankles pop when I get up, reminding me of their displeasure. "My garden is not much more beautiful in the day, but the stars make up for it."

On our feet, I meet Rin's stare. And I'm forced to look up at someone for the first time in many years. My eyes rest level with her mouth, giving the experience of feeling short for the first time. I don't despise it like I thought I would though I am on edge as she leads the way. Rin keeps her hands in her long sleeves, her bushel of tails swaying slightly with every step, throwing me small looks as she guides me through her home and to the garden. I've had enough wine I can't begin to guess what those glances mean.

The wooden slat floors, polished to a shine, lead into the cool night air. Wood transitions to a stone walkway that winds through trees and shrubbery devoid of their leaves as the plants rested for winter. Large stones are placed pleasingly throughout, while small river stones blanketed the ground instead of grass, and benches are generously placed along the walkway. Torches and lanterns light the walkway now that the sun has vanished behind the mountain and the sky has become a clash of darkening blues and fading reds. The moon hangs as a glowing sliver in the dusk sky, dim compared to the many glowing eyes scattered about and watching me.

At least a dozen pair of eyes wink in and out in the distance, all depending on where the gaze of the blue orbs of my guide goes. She shakes her head knowingly. "Forgive my sisters, we have not had a guest in a long time and. Certainly never one like yourself."

"I'm used to being stared at." Usually with a mixture of fear and disgust, but I haven't sensed any of that from the fox women. They mostly seem curious. As long as they don't touch me again I can't say the curiosity bothers me.

"You must have seen much in your travels to be so at ease while they stare."

I can only shrug at that. "I've seen a thousand wonders, being invited into the home of fox women among them."

The fox's grin sours, not vanishing but losing all hint of mirth. "How presumptuous," Rin coos, "Calling kitsune mere foxes."

Rin's toothy grin suddenly eclipses the moon. No, the moon is but a fang in her mouth that overtakes the night sky. Her fur has become the stars, or did the stars become her fur? My mind reels at the absolute presence of a being that can become the night sky; even the old stories of the serpent that circles the world are nothing compared to what is looking down upon me. Everywhere I look in the sky she is there, her existence woven into every emerging star and the very dark of night itself. But I'm drawn back to the moon held in her tooth may and the blue orbs glowering above, each glowing more brilliantly than the sun without disturbing the black of her sky and star flecked fur.

I reach for a sword I don't have while my other hand grasps at my pendant. Its touch does nothing to quell my fear, but it reminds me a man should not act on fear alone. The fox head that has become the night sky cannot be real, I tell myself. Trickery or magic must cloud my vision. Dragging my eyes to meet the blazing blue orbs in the sky I see-

Only the moon and stars in the night sky. I have to look down to meet those glowing blue eyes. What smile she had is gone, replaced by a perfectly serene stare.

"You are far more than a fortuneteller," she says, regarding me as if for the first time.

Releasing my grip on my pendant the simple rune falls against my chest. The silver movement draws Rin's eyes. She leans a bit too close for my liking but I don't jerk back. Instead, I hold up the symbol for her to see.

"That symbol was among your runes. What does it mean?" she asks, shifting her eyes toward me.

Hands somehow steady, I hold the silver rune higher. "My belief in a god no longer favored among my people. A god that tries to bring balanced justice and judgment," I explain before deciding it is best to hide the pendant away.

Unfortunately, Rin remains painfully close, staring me straight in the eye and doing nothing for the fear I've mostly passed. Blue orbs that nearly glow in the night, reminding me a little of the icy glaciers of my homeland. Only, looking into them, I do not feel any coldness.

"I can almost feel that faith within you. I might have need of a warrior monk such as yourself." She speaks softly, so close to me I can almost taste the wine on her breath. "I cannot say why now, not with so many of my sister's eyes upon us. But tomorrow I will visit the village below. On the trip down we could speak alone. Would you accompany me that I might beg for your help?"

Maybe the rumors are true after all, but it isn't the kitsune of this mountain that are man-eaters. Or it is something else entirely that Rin wants from me.

"I will gladly listen to what you have to ask," I say, slipping into the cautious speech I use around faeries.

Rin puts on a gentle, knowing smile. Twinkling pairs of eyes watch us from all around the garden. "You have my gratitude, Egil. Come, it grows late and you must be weary from your journey up my mountain. I will show you where you might rest for the night."

Wondering what the fox woman plans I follow her, keenly aware of the sudden absence of glowing eyes in the garden. That worries me greatly as I follow the nine tailed kitsune back to her home. What did the other kitsune plot? Was I in danger? Or would I be bothered in a way I did not need right now?

Inside the building and through a maze of turns, Rin stops at one of the paper screened walls. This one opens on its own or by some sort of magic, and the master of the mountain gives me mock of a bow. "I will see you in the morning Egil."

Stealing a glance into the room and spot a single futon, what the people of this land call their bedding, and a folded set of clothes within. The bedding looks untouched and I see no glinting pairs of eyes in the shadows. Giving my best imitation of a bow to Rin, I step in. The door-wall slides back in place and, despite the light that filters through from the lamps in the hall, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. I shuffle my way to the bedding and begin stripping out of the clothes they gave me – the set laid out next to my bed for the night looks more suited to sleep in. And less embarrassing.

Once I'm stark naked something soft and furry lands against my exposed back. Furred hands, the pads nearly as soft as the fur, start tracing the scars on my shoulders and chest. Slowed by a full belly, busy mind, wine, and a long walk up a mountain I don't throw this invader off me right away. I hesitated when it landed on me, confused by the lack of teeth and claws tearing me apart to the point of indecision, but the sensual touches confuse my instincts even further. I'm left standing there stupid as the thing holding onto me practically drapes itself over me.

"We haven't hosted a warrior before," an unfamiliar woman's voice purrs a whisper into my ear.

Blood thundered in my head strong enough to wash away the effects of the wine. I inhale slowly to salvage my nerves and try to pick up on the scent of a man-eater from her breath. Nothing but wine clings to her breath, my shoulders relaxing now that I know throwing her off is unnecessary. She must sense the tension ease out of me and grinds her bare chest against my back, the pair of stiff nipples poking through her soft fur and running across my skin a sensation I would find pleasant under different circumstances. It's been so long since I've known the touch of a woman that I can almost ignore the fact the ample breasts pushed against my shoulder blades are covered in fur, or so it feels. The hands tracing the long scars on my chest, despite their soft and fluffy touch, aren't all that comforting.

"I'm sure a strong man like you could use some company for the night," She says while her hands trace from my scar towards my stomach. Loneliness tempts me but I don't want the trouble this will bring. I catch her wrists when she begins to drag her hands across my stomach, stopping her before I'm tempted to take a stupid risk.

I make sure to be gentle with my grip, no need to hurt or panic the magical fox woman. And certainly no need to be a bad guest to the nine tailed fox that rules this mountain. Laying with a drunk relative of the master of a home is always a line I refused to cross, no matter the land or customs. But I'm moving far slower than I should, some part of me wanting to cross this line. But if I do that I would be off the path I put myself on, with no one to blame but own weak heart.

She giggles and drags her bountiful chest up my back, perky nipples betraying her excitement, and puts her mouth right next to my ear. "Goodness, whatever will I do now that a strong man has defenseless little me?"

My answer is silent and efficient since I have to act before I give in to my temptation. I twist out of her grip and face her. The top of her dress shimmed down her shoulders to expose her large, white-furred bosom and pert nipples, with only the sash at her waist is holding her clothes on. The grin that watches is me is faintly illuminated by a pair of glowing yellow eyes, her expression a mixture of mischief and desire. All it would take is for me to tug on that sash and...

I pull her towards me, earning a barely contained gasp of excitement. Her breathing is quick and excited as I lift her up over my shoulder, a pair of tails brushing against my face while she playfully wriggles in my grasp. Her dress comes off, in what I suspect is an act of magic, but I manage to catch it and keep her slung over my shoulder. The drunk fox woman too excited to notice I'm not heading toward the futon. Groin so close to my face, and my nose so sensitive, I can smell her earthy, faintly metallic need. Ignoring my racing heart and without a word about her weight, I do not seek out death thank you, I haul the giggling and certainly out of her mind kitsune toward one of the paper screened door-walls. When my hand touches the screen I notice it is ajar just a crack, enough for only the keenest eyes to peak within. Soft footfalls dart away on the other side when I slid the wall-door open enough to pass through with my drunken, giggling burden.

I look outside into an empty hall, a drunk and needy kitsune missing her dress slung over my shoulder. Her giggling state and hands roaming over whatever part of me she can grab – thankfully only my back and not anything lower – making it clear to me she shouldn't touch wine. If she had kept enough of her wits she might have realized I wasn't planning to drop her on the futon and give her what she clearly wants. Thankfully, she is proving slow to pick up on what is happening.

"I believe one of your sister's got lost," I shout to the empty hall. "She must have mistaken this room for her own."

My words summon the blue sash beauty near instantly. She appears as a human, except when she sees me with her naked sister over my shoulder that guise slips enough to show eight fox tails swirling nervously. Eyes on my face and nowhere else she shuffles closer, and the kitsune I'm holding finally senses something is wrong.

"Huh, this isn't- YIP!" Blue sash spanks the drunk kitsune's rump to silence her.

I try to hand her over to the drunk sister but panic overtakes the two-tailed kitsune. She flails when her sister grabs hold of her legs, my unwelcome night time visitor's hands and tails flailing desperately to try and escape the wrath that awaits her. Thankfully when I'm struck across the face it is only with a tail; unfortunately, she also manages to get a strong grip on my arm at the same time. The simple hand off turns into a complicated dance, blue sash trying to pull the drunk kitsune off of me while I try not to fall over or get clawed. At some point, blue sash's human guise slips entirely and I drop the naked kitsune's dress, but I'm too concerned with prying clinging hands off my shoulders to care about either.

"Let go of him Miki!" blue sash snarls with venom dripping from each word. "Eldest sister will be most unhappy to learn you've bothered our guest."

"Saki, it's okay, this isn't what it looks li-" The twin tail Miki cries in surprise and pain when Saki swats her again, Miki's voice wavering badly enough I fear she might start crying. The swat gets Miki to loosen her grip on my arm enough I can finally pull away.

"I said not another word," Saki angrily hisses between her teeth, Miki slung over a shoulder. The two tail fox girl obeys her sister this time.

I'd been so focused on getting the drunk kitsune away from I hadn't realized noticed my half stiffened manhood or lack of clothes. The pendant around my neck did nothing to cover me in front of the two fox woman, and possible other observers, or shield me from the cold night air.

I grab Miki's dropped dress and Saki snatches it from me, doing her best to keep Miki as far from me as possible.

"Drink does strange things to people," I say, backing toward the open door-wall in an effort to save my dignity along with Saki's. She just nods and turns her back on me, the drunk kitsune slung across her shoulders pathetically begging with her eyes for me to save her. I slide the door-wall shut and slap myself to make the trembling in my hands stop. I don't know why that works but it always does.

I get dressed in the nightclothes without another interruption, even though I expected Rin or Saki to angrily enter at any moment. When nothing happens and my eyes grow heavy I lay down on the futon. Worry fills my mind but that can't stop sleep's jaws from silently closing around me.