“Before we finish up for the day,” Marjorie says, “you need to think a bit more about how your magic can be used.
“So far, we’ve only been looking at combat, but there are all sorts of utility applications as well. The sky is the limit.”
Wait. Hang on. I do a double take and hold up my hand.
I’ve been doing this wrong.
I’m not a combatant, or shouldn’t be. Why the heck have I been training in combat? Whatever is coming up – that should have been the core of what I’m learning here.
“Marge. Why now? As far as I know I’m not supposed to be a combatant. My day job is making sure computers don’t break.”
Marjorie looks uncertain. “Well, you were referred to us by the JSDF. We expected that someone referred to the army for training is intended for combat. That’s not true?”
Dammit. I slump. I feel my ears flatten and my tail droop. I feel like crying.
“Not as far as I know? I think I was being tested. And I think I failed. I should have asked you to focus on utility magic, not combat.”
Before I realise it, I’m curled up, crouching on the balls of my feet, hugging my knees. My tears start to flow as I sniff loudly. Week bloody one and I’m already screwing up. I feel sad. I feel angry. I’m fifty years old, why is this hitting me so hard?
There’s a note of alarm in Marjorie’s voice; she crouches next to me. Comforting fifty-year-old little girls is not in her job description.
“Hey, hey, calm down. You noticed. That’s the important thing. Mistakes are for learning. Every time you screw up is one step to being a better person.
“Do you want me to hold you? There’s nobody around, it’s fine…”
I nod, silently, my tears still flowing. I notice at some point I’ve started whining softly.
Marjorie crouches next to me and awkwardly gathers me in her arms. One arm behind me while the other gently strokes my head.
After a while I’ve got it out of my system. Honestly, why did I take it so hard? Yes, stress, yes, no chance to relax, yes, tripping on the starting blocks, and big yes, old habits of self-criticism, but it’s not really like me to break down like that.
Then I realise. Right. Kitsune age much, much more slowly than humans.
I’m in bloody puberty.
I hiccup a little as I calm down. I’ll need to keep a better handle on my emotional responses in future. On the other hand… sort of a positive thing? Letting my emotions loose is probably a good sign. Historically it’s not something I’m good at.
“Thanks, Marge, You can let me go now. I appreciate it.”
Marge gives my head one last pat then stands and looks at me sympathetically and asks me gently.
“Why did you react that way? That seemed a fairly strong reaction to a fairly minor issue.”
I take a deep breath to settle down. “Two things. First, I think this was a test of sorts. I’m not sure I passed it. And it’s been… a stressful week.”
“Yeah, I can understand that, but it still seems… I hate to say it, a bit of an overreaction?”
“I think what pushed me over the edge was just… I’m now effectively, what, forty years younger? Teenage hormones screwing up my emotional responses.”
Marjorie smile wryly. Ah. Yeah, I sort of get that. I loved my school years, but no way would I want to go through puberty again.”
She pulls out a handkerchief and wipes my face. It seems I’ve been demoted from potential combatant to little girl. I… honestly can’t say I mind much. Having people care is nice.
A minute’s pause.
“So… ,” she asks, “ … did you want to move on to the utility magic discussion? It sounds like that’s really what you wanted to focus on anyway…”
I take another deep breath then look into her eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that. And… thanks.”
Marjorie straightens up and swaps back from big-sister to lecturer mode.
“Right.
“Air magic can be used to still the air or move it. It can make your voice inaudible, or you can whisper to somebody a long way away. If you’re drowning, you can summon air to breathe. Cause grass to rustle to distract somebody. Flight, although that’s probably outside of your capabilities; your air affinity seems pretty low.
“Water magic – very useful in a desert. Putting out fires. Shape it to make a lens, or two, to view distant objects – that one takes some decent control. Create a slippery surface, or make somebody’s clothes wet to slow them down. If they don’t know you’re around, and there’s a plausible nearby source – drop water on a person so they’ll go away to dry their clothes.
“Fire is nice just to keep warm. Also good for signal flares. Drying stuff. Heating water. Cooking.
“Lightning doesn’t have a lot of applications outside of combat. With care it can be used to magnetise iron. With a great deal of care, you can recharge electronic devices. There’re also some interesting applications in crafting – electroplating, for example.
“Illusions… privacy screen I suppose? Invisibility for stealth. Make somebody mistake one object for a different one. Put up a fake wall. That stuff isn’t in my wheelhouse; you seem to have a pretty fair handle on it anyway.
“Life magic has all sorts of uses, but misused it can be horribly dangerous. Heart attacks. Cancer. Crippling people permanently. Use on plants is much safer; I’d recommend you start there, but if you’re going to use it on animals or humans, get a teacher for it. Again, sorry, not my wheelhouse. Once you know how to use it properly, you’ll be a healer without compare. Once you know.
“This isn’t the best place to play with those sorts of applications, and I’m not the person to teach you. I’m Army; I’m trained for combat. That’s why I started with combat applications in the first place. Utility applications usually involve other people, and using magic around other people raises awkward questions.
“Let’s finish up.”
As we leave the firing range, the time is around 2pm.
As we leave the firing range, a squad of soldiers is passing by, on their way to somewhere, and they stop abruptly when the see me with Marge.
The one in the lead, with two stripes on his shoulder, straightens up and salutes.
“Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
Marge looks wary. I reflexively move behind her.
“Granted, Lance.”
“Who is this darling creature, Captain?”
I straighten in shock and blush, my tail shooting out behind me in a straight line as my ears prick up,
“VIP referred to us from the JSDF, Lance. Treat her with respect if you please. Though she’s a civilian consultant; no need to stand on rank.”
His eyes flick over to me in a silent question. I relax a bit and step out from behind Marjorie, facing down but with my eyes observing his face. I still feel a little shy from my crying jag earlier. He… seems like a decent guy. He squats down and speaks gently.
“You’re very pretty and brave. You know, it’s little girls like you who we fight for? And when we’re out, it’s little girls like you, along with their mothers and fathers, who we try to help. Thank you for being healthy. Please be happy.”
Behind him, I can see the rest of his squad grinning broadly, a mix of warmness and mild mockery. I can tell he’s going to be hearing about this over a beer later.
Eh. These people devote their lives to service. I’m older than I look – but they don’t know that.
“Thank you, sir,” I tell him softly. “People know, I think. Please keep doing your best.”
What the hell, let’s play the role all the way.
I lean over to him and lightly kiss his nose.
His eyes widen a bit while the men behind him react with a mix of grins and chortling.
Now I KNOW he’ll be hearing about this over a beer.
I step back and tug on Marjorie’s sleeve.
“We need to go now.” I say quietly.
The Lance Corporal stands, gathers his men, and, after again saluting Marjorie, heads off with a casual wave.
We head back to the conference room we were in when I got here, and I change back into my civvies. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with the gi. I look questioningly at Marjorie.
“Ah. Take that home with you. You’ll need it for practice. Not sure if you’re coming here again, but it’s been good meeting you. And I’m glad I could help earlier.”
“Yeah. Thanks. I should probably head out.”
“Hold onto that security badge for now. You may need to come here again… hopefully not for combat training again.” She grins wryly.
I pack my stuff into my satchel – now more or less full to overflowing – then apply my default “nothing to see here” illusion, then Marjorie escorts me back to the front desk. She hands me a card. “That’s in case you need to get back in touch. No obligation. But I would like to talk again some time. It sounds like you could use the support.”
I head back to Parramatta station.
I get on the train and look around as somebody steps on behind me and the doors close. Strange. This time of day – around 4pm – even on a Sunday usually sees more people than this on a carriage. Is there trackwork on an upstream line?
They guy who stepped on behind me suddenly crowds me and I back up in alarm.
“Bloody Japs,” he says.
What?
My physique and face – illusion or no – looks mostly European. There’s no reason a random stranger would identify me as Japanese.
As the man crowds me, his face morphs into the wrinkled topology map of a bulldog.
“Don’t know what you’re doing around these parts, but I can smell you. Bloody kitsune. A saw your kind at the sacking of Singapore. Never moved to help us. Just stood back as the bastards put us in chains and hauled us off to work in their labour camps.
“You watched. You watched as they starved us, and worked us, and tortured me and my mates until we could barely remember what freedom was.”
The sack of Singapore was… eighty years ago? But he’s evidently not entirely human; who knows what his life expectancy is.
I’m in a bit of a panic at the moment. This guy is presumably one of the other members of the Weave I was warned about. He’s not assaulting me, but it’s clear he’s just the barest hair away from doing so.
“Wasn’t me!” I squeak.
A flicker of puzzlement crosses his face then it hardens again… as best as I can tell in that maze of wrinkled skin; his eyes remain bitter and hard.
“If not you, then one like you. Why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t you stop them?” he almost screams.
“Please, listen!” I say. He doesn’t look much more sympathetic; he gives a low growl.
“New kitsune! Born in Australia! Singapore was before I was even born!” I hurriedly blurt.
He freezes.
“What?” he says.
I’m starting to calm down a bit. Today has been quite the day of ups and downs.
“There was some sort of … thing at Inari’s temple in Japan. They turn some visitors – a very small number – into kitsune if they’re willing. I was born in Australia. My parents came over after the war, although Granddad fought in World War 2, in Europe.
The man backs off a little, a dawning realisation on his face.
“That’s just screwed up,” he says. “How can they do that to people?”
“Well, as I said, it’s rare ad only done for people who a willing. As for why I’m willing… I… have my reasons.
“I can’t speak for the other kitsune. But I agree it was horrible.”
The man backs off and drops into one of the vestibule benches. His face drops into his hands. I listen to him talking quietly.
“It was … terrible. So many mates. So many lives. Snuffed out just because some bastard officer didn’t like a look. They worked us – not like slaves, slaves get more respect. They worked us like animals. Fodder to do their work. They whipped us. If one of us collapsed, if they were lucky they would be whipped. If unlucky, they were shot.
“And then, when peace was declared… some of them didn’t believe it. For a couple of days it got even worse before orders came down the line and they started treating us like human beings.
“But they never paid for it. Their bloody emperor forced the peace and the Yanks took it and ran for it. Only a handful paid for it in the end.
“So much pain, so much suffering. For nothing. And now they live in luxury.
“God damn them all.”
I sit on the bench opposite him, watching. After a few minutes I speak softly.
“I wasn’t there,” I told him. “I don’t know why nothing was done to stop the atrocities. I can ask. Do you have a way of getting in touch?”
He looks up at me, which is something of an accomplishment given my height.
He takes a single deep breath then lets it all out.
“Yeah. Ask for Justin Foster at Auburn RSL. They’ll know.”
“I’ll let you know,” I assure him. “One way or the other. I can’t make demands of a goddess, but I can ask.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes more before the train finally pulls into Strathfield Station. I nod awkwardly to Justin and step off the train. A few other people step on. Whatever he did to keep people away, it’s no longer there.
The rest of the day I spend in a daze. Too much to absorb. I’m sort of shell shocked.
By mid-evening, I know I won’t be getting anything else done. I do my evening ablutions and collapse into bed.