The Fox's God by Anna Frost Page B

this person was the “contact” they awaited or unexpected trouble that needed handling.
    “Identify yourself,” the scribe requested.
    “I am the emperor’s eyes.”
    “Is this village still a safe place for camp?”
    “I believe so.”
    “Find suitable lodging inside the buildings,” the scribe said. “Follow the normal guard rotation, but be sharper than usual. We are close to the enemy. After the meal, the three sword-bearers are welcome to meet with me for planning.”
    The group dispersed in near-silence. They were close, the scribe had said, and everybody reacted as if the enemy was lurking behind the nearest trees.
    Sanae led the way to the house she’d chosen. There was old, dry wood stacked in the corner, perfect for starting a fire with the lamp Jien was carrying.
    Aito rubbed at his arms, where his familiars hid beneath the fabric. “Sanae,” he said. “Could you go and find out who this ‘contact’ person is?”
    Jien smirked. “It bugs you to be unable to spy on people, huh?”
    Move over, Momo, we have to go play spy.
    Chattering at Aito to signify “I’m going, I’m going,” she scurried out the door. The scribe had pragmatically picked the most central house, even if it didn’t have a door, presumably so he’d be easily found. Alternatively, he might have made his choice to be closest to the area where the two men in charge of food were setting up the big cauldron capable of cooking enough rice for everybody. Even a scribe could be motivated by hunger.
    The scribe and the “contact” were kneeling together on remarkably intact bamboo mats, a lamp on the floor between them.
    “How is your health?” the scribe asked.
    “About as good as expected,” the contact said wryly. His face seemed youthful, but he moved like he had pain in his joints, and he looked tired. “I will be happy to leave this place before it kills me.”
    “Your sacrifice honors you.”
    “I will be honored when you stop them.”
    “We will. Our sword-bearers are somewhat peculiar, each in their own way, but they are strong. You will meet them soon.”
    “I look forward to it.”
    They continued with chitchat until food was served. Whatever they said afterwards, Sanae didn’t know, because the smell of food was pulling Momo in the other direction. She couldn’t argue with the hunger in their shared belly, the same way nobody else could argue with Momo’s begging face.
    “You’re terrible,” Akakiba said when it was his turn to face Momo’s large and liquid eyes. He nonetheless shared the mushroom. She’d have bitten him if he hadn’t; there was nothing for a squirrel to forage out here!
    Akakiba ate quickly, bowl lifted high as he shoveled the rice-and-mushroom mix in his mouth with the help of chopsticks. Done, he vanished out the door with a simple, “I’ll find out what the plan is.”
    Sanae invited herself along because she could.
    Between the three sword-bearers, the scribe, and the contact, the building they met in was quite full.
    “This is the man who has been keeping an eye on the cult for us,” the scribe said, “sacrificing his health and comfort so we might know the enemy’s habits and numbers.”
    The man looked pained by the praise. “We made a mistake. The time estimate was too generous. I fear they will achieve their goal within days, now, not weeks. The activity in the temple has grown exponentially.” He paused, looking to the others. “I assume you do not know the details. Because living in this area sucks the life out of people, the temple had been growing emptier and emptier as the fanatics weakened and died from prolonged exposure. The guards and the higher-ups are an exception. They’re rotated in and out often, to keep them alive. But in the past week or so, I’ve realized they were all coming back at once. The temple is full again.”
    The scribe hummed thoughtfully. “They’re risking their lives because they want to witness the resurrection event. The timing is