I find myself again in Inari’s temple.
She looks ticked.
I knew it; I’ve failed her. I fall to my knees, staring only at the ground, as tears start to form at the corners of my eyes and I start to babble in apology…
Only to be silenced by a glorious finger against my lips.
I look up again, to find Inari on her knees before me, bent over me, sheltering from all that might do me harm.
Why?
Isn’t she angry at me? Isn’t she furious? I’ve taken her gift and wasted it. Isn’t she regretting taking me in?
Her own eyes seem on the verge of tears as well, her divine face etched in sorrow as she speaks.
“Child, child, you misunderstand.
“Yes, I am annoyed. Even with you, a little, but only because you hold yourself so low when you should soar.
“But mostly, I am irritated with those who would hold themselves to be my servants but understand me so little.
“My children are not tools to be used. They are not dogs to be trained.
“You and my other children are embodiments of freedom.
“Your only failing is the chains you place on yourself.
“You have an eternity to discover, to rediscover joy. To find love. To bond, with friends, with family, both the family to which you were born and my family of which you are now a part. The family you were given, and the family you have chosen.
“Wherever you discover joy, I will be there with you. Where you walk, I will be beside you.
“So long as you act in goodwill, in seeking joy in yourself and those around you, I will never be disappointed in you.”
She frowns a little.
“You have gotten so caught up in being my servant that you have forgotten that you are first and foremost my child.
“And you have allowed those who see you as a servant first and a person second to place their hands on your destiny.
“As a human you were grown. As a kitsune you have barely begun to learn how to live. As a human, you had perhaps fifty years more ahead of you. As a kitsune… centuries, millennia, until you grow tired of life – which I hope will never come to be.
“Did you not wonder why your kitsune body is so young? It is not only because kitsune are long lived. It is because you have not yet learned to be your new self.
“My kitsune shrine maidens do not serve me because they are obliged to do so. It is an act of love.”
She giggles softly.
“Do you know there is a lottery for those who wish to serve here? A rigged lottery. When you have a thousand kitsune, all skilled in the arts of illusion and prestidigitation, all vying for two positions, the winner is not by chance. It is by who can cheat most outrageously.
“But I know this, and they know this, so it is a game. A joyous game, with the stakes being who best can express their loving devotion.”
Her expression softens.
“But, for you, that time is yet to come. First, you must learn that you are free.
“As were at the army base in the morning, did you not find joy in learning to use your magic? Did you not find pride in showing this ‘Marjorie’ what you could do? In learning, in exploring, in discovering what you are now capable of?
“Then you have nothing to grieve over.
“Your duty is not to serve me. Your duty, such as it is, is to be happy. If you find happiness in serving me, all the better. But your happiness, and that of all my children, is my happiness.”
Her expression darkens a little. She seems a little exasperated.
“It is a common failing. One seen everywhere, in Japan, in Australia, in all countries, all places, all times.
“In Japan, in recent times, it has become a plague. Children become adults and are never permitted to be children again. Instead, they work, and work, and work. Focusing on duty until they die. Such a waste.
“Those of your home country seem to do better. One reason why I smile to find you in my family. But you have been forgetting your roots in your rush to join my servants.
“Please, stand. Who would keep their child on their knees?”
I clamber back to my feet as she moves back to her throne and seats herself with divine gracefulness.
“Now,” she continues, “While I was unhappy with the bindings you had placed on yourself, I was less happy with those who guided you into placing them. I will be passing word through my temple to allow you to set your own pace. With an unsubtle word on those who would constrain the servants of the gods.
A shadow passes across her face.
“The other matter I wish to talk to you about was the man you encountered this afternoon.
“The Japanese people are not our servants. They also are, in a different sense, our children.
“Children are not slaves. They act by their own will. And sometimes they go astray. A hundred years ago… ruinously so.
“They saw the imperial powers of Europe and America and saw the power held over them. In rejecting that power, they in turn chose to emulate it. And all its abuse and failings, sharpened by the remains of the warrior culture which saw mercy as something offered by lesser beings.
“They forgot to be children, and remembered only to be bullies.
“My dearest children watched over them, still. We were driven to despair at the cruelty and viciousness displayed by men who through they were acting under the authority of a man descended from the gods. We pleaded, but they did not hear.
“Under the symbol of Nippon, of my dear sister Amaterasu, they chose not to be the warming, nurturing light of the sun, but the harsh, biting spears of the desert sun.
“We would speak, but they would not listen. They only found joy in power, and in servitude to those claiming to represent Our authority.
“Finally, when it became clear that their dreams of conquest were broken, they were ready to sacrifice themselves and their families in one final sacrifice… and relented when the Emperor found his taste for the blood of his people was quenched.
“And so, Japan is now a land of peace once more.
“One of the prices of immortality is that nothing can ever be entirely forgotten. As so, although the tragedies of that time have almost passed beyond human memory, the spirits and kami still live, and remember.
“Our grief and regret for those times will never pass. We can only strive, and say: Never again.”
I think I have a better understanding, now. If the reward for the freedom of Inari’s children is seeing them grow in joy, the risk is that children can be terribly cruel.
We pause for a few moments in thoughtful, grieving silence.
Then, Inari sits straight and claps her hands.
“So, if you can please pass on to this… `Justin Foster’ our regrets at the acts of our children, and something of the circumstances by which it was allowed to happen, please think of this as the first true duty I have passed on to you.
“As yourself, I ask only one thing.
“Relax. Be happy. Be free”
I tilt my head in a wry grin, my tears having long since dried.
“Isn’t that more than one thing?” I prod.
Inari releases a peal of laughter, her dour mood broken. “Indeed! But I leave such mundane tasks as counting to Tenjin and Ebisu!”
Monday morning. It’s a work day again.
Having gone to bed early yesterday, I get up rather early today. I take the opportunity to take a luxurious shower, letting the water flow over my glorious white fur. I realise when I went shopping last week I forgot to grab anything in the way of shampoo or conditioner to care for my hair and tail. I’m still stuck with my old bottom-shelf shampoo/conditioner.
Well, needs must.
I shampoo my hair thoroughly – with the result being a rather heavy mass, slightly tangled, weighing my head down – and then the same for my tail. Not wanting to reproduce the tangling of my hair, my brow furrows a little as I use a trace of water magic to guide the water between the fur on my tail as I lather it up then rinse it out.
It’s still a sodden mass, but at least it’s not too badly tangled.
I make a mental note for the next time I go shopping. Tofu. Shampoo and conditioner. A couple of good hair brushes.
As I towel myself off, I pat down my hair with the towel. Stepping out of the shower, I look behind me and grin, my mood much elevated from last night, and whip my tail down as quickly as I can, a typhoon of water slapping against the wall of the shower cubicle.
… Which naturally splashes off and gets me half wet again.
I peal in laughter at the joke I’ve played on myself. Then dry myself off again.
Remembering the trick I tried last week, I supplement it with a little air magic. Running spells with two different elements is a little tricky, but I have a much better handle on my magic since yesterday.
Mental note: Do not need a hair dryer, But (after having another look at my hair and tail) definitely need those hair brushes.
Right.
I sit down at my desk (… darn, also need a new chair, this one is ridiculous – way too high still, and NOWHERE TO PUT MY TAIL) … and log into the VPN and connect to my logins at work.
We run through handover again – fortunately, it’s been a quiet weekend, there’s only a few pending tickets – then when the US shift signs off, Bob runs through a couple of training requirements that are coming due.
I don’t yet have the voice data for filtering my audio, so I stay silent.
“One last thing,” Bob adds. “Reg – or should it be Geona? Please speak up.”
I lower my tone and speak. “Good mor-“
Bob interrupts. “Natural voice, please.”
I’m a little taken aback. I suppose Bob isn’t really the type to mess around with inconvenient truths. So I speak again, this time with my new voice, unfiltered and unmodified.
“Thank, Bob,” I say. Mezzo-soprano, as you may recall. One of the highest female voice registers, and nothing like my old light baritone. “I’d probably prefer Geona, now. And female pronouns, please.”
There’s a lack of sudden surprised intakes of breath; almost everybody is muted, of course. Finally somebody unmutes and speaks up.”
“Very funny, Reggie. Is that some sort of vocal filter?”
“Nope,” I answer. “All me. Complicated situation. May fill you in on the details some time.. But, yeah, call me Geona now. I’ll probably keep using my old credentials though, reprovisioning everything is more trouble than it’s worth.”
Bob adds, “Kevin and I can confirm. So deal with it.
“Other than that,” he continues, “we also have a new contracting arrangement.”
First I’d heard of this…?
“Reggie, er, Geona, is contracted elsewhere on Wednesdays. All part of the same situation. But moving forward, he’s – dammit, she’s, have to get used to that – unavailable Wednesdays.
“Geona, please stay on the call after everybody else drops off.”
After a few minutes, everybody else has dropped off Zoom, leaving just Bob, Kevin and myself.
“OK,” I ask, “What’s the deal with Wednesdays?”
Bob replies “It really is a contracting arrangement. Your friends would apparently like you for the whole week, but I gather you told them to stuff that. You were originally going to stick to your current working arrangements, but we got word yesterday that that Is Not Good Enough.
“Apparently somebody at the Highest Level” – I could hear the capitalisation – “has asked that we ensure you get some time off. Since apparently your weekends are now quite busy as well, and you know how I feel about everybody getting a decent break. It’s not just a legislative requirement, it’s just the decent thing to do.”
I wonder if Inari – or her shrine maidens – had an unsubtle word with somebody? I don’t really care how it happened, but yesterday’s breakdown told me I do need some proper time off.
“We’re also going to talk to HR about your credentials. At minimum, we’re setting up an alias for your email. Other stuff remains to be seen. We’re also updating your ARIA profile. Please supply a new photo. Anything else?”
I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest. I was more or less expecting to have to fake my old identity. Now it appears that will be wholly unnecessary.
“Nothing major,” I reply. “I think I’ll need a new chair – my old one is just stupid now – but I have an allowance for that stuff, should be fine.
“Do you know what I’m supposed to be doing Wednesdays?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, just as long as you get a day off each week. That can be Sunday or Wednesday. Your call. Sort it out. I don’t want to hear anything about seven-day weeks. It’ll drive you nuts.”
Did he hear about yesterday somehow? Maybe, maybe not
“Re-… Geona,” he resumes. “If you’re looking at leaving, let us know. We’re recruiting for headcount at the moment already; we’d rather not lose you as well, but if it looks like we might, I’d appreciate some advance notice.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I reply. “If that changes, you’ll be the first to know. Aside from a certain goddess I could name.”
“A Goddess.” I hear him sigh in exasperation. “Under the circumstances, I’m not entirely sure you’re yanking my chain. Just as long as you let me know.”
We wind up the call and I get on with my usual working day.
At lunchtime, I figure it’s time I give the whole “relaxation” thing a try. I head to the kitchen, make a quick sandwich (… need to get some fried tofu… ) which I snarf down while reading.
As I turn the pages on my tablet, I feel a nagging inclination. I mean, yes, reading is my lifeblood. I think a week without reading would drive me around the bend.
But still… new toys…
Fifteen minutes before the end of my lunch break, I give up. I have a quick shuffle through my DVD collection and dig up “What Dreams May Come,” then slide it into my DVD player,
Scene skip. Dream world. Robin Williams wandering through a gorgeous painterly landscape; impressionism brought to life.
And as I watch, one eye on the television and one on the space above it, I do my level best to reproduce the gorgeous moving landscape through the power of illusion.
It’s a miserly attempt; the detail of the scene may or may not be beyond me, but reproducing it in movement is more than I can handle… for now. On the other hand, my visual imagination does seem to be much more vivid than it used to be.
It used to be when imagining a picture I could at best give myself a fleeting mental glimpse. Now… it’s not quite full motion video – particularly for the level of detail I was seeking today – but it’s pretty bloody impressive.
Probably a kitsune thing. Another kitsune thing. I’m not complaining.
As the scenes flow, I startle guiltily and check the time on my phone.
Oops. Fifteen minutes over time.
I hit pause and duck back to the bedroom where my computer setup lives and apologise for running over time.
Then resume work.
Late in the afternoon, I receive an SMS from an unfamiliar number.
K: Keiko here. Shopping Thursday night?
Ah, right, Keiko was the nice onee-san from the Japanese Consulate.
G: Sure, where are we going?
K: Meet in city at Galeries Victoria. Dinner at Ichiban Boshi first?
G: Sure. 6:30 OK?
K: 6:30 should be fine.
So that’s set up. I double-check Keiko’s number against the business card she gave me and confirm it’s the same number. As expected; this is not exactly prime social engineering fare. I add her name to her number in my contacts.