"Forget Tokyo, it's nothing but a giant tourist trap overrun by foreigners these days. If you want the real Japan, you've gotta go way up north!"
That's what the most well traveled of all my friends told me when he found out I was planning my trip to Japan and, like the idiot I am, I believed him. He sold the idea to me with a few pictures of verdant mountains and quaint little towns, accompanied by a plethora of wild stories about his time there. Of course, he had visited in the summer, while my trip was planned for late autumn. I'd be out of there before the snow came, I told myself; I'd get some hikes in for the first half of my vacation and then enjoy the local museums the last couple days.
Of course, that plan relied on me staying sober. I was entranced with the sight of the already snow-capped Mount Iwaki rising majestically over the city of Hirosaki when I visited their famous castle, and even though the weather forecast for the next day warned of light snowfall, a few glasses of liquid courage dispatched by the local watering hole had me convinced that I could get up to the summit and back down before the snow began falling in earnest. With a couple more cups of sake securely stowed away in my backpack, I made my way to the mountain and began my ascent.
I was determined, confident, and making excellent time. Even though the cold winds coming in from the west should've warned me off, it did little to slow me down. Hiking heats up the body like nothing else, and by the time I reached the snowline, I had taken off my sweatshirt and was drenched in sweat. It was mid-afternoon and, after stopping for a brief dinner of a 7-11 sandwich and a bottle of water, I was back to it.
It wasn't long before I made the summit. The east had a gorgeous view, with Hirosaki stretching out before me, surrounded by mountains and the flickering lights of Aomori city just barely visible in the distance. I took one of the cups of sake out of my backpack and had a celebratory drink, though my revelry was soon rudely interrupted by a cold blast of wind from behind. My head instinctively turned mid-sip, and what I saw made me cough up my sake all over the snow.
Roiling slate grey clouds were coming in fast from the west, sneaking up behind me as I enjoyed the sights. They cast a dark shadow over the already dim landscape, the setting sun even now beginning to dip behind their swirling mass that promised more than just light snowfall. Panicked, I sprang to my feet and drained the rest of my sake, throwing the empty bottle back into my backpack before throwing the straps over my shoulders and taking off at a run down the slippery, iced-over slope. Miraculously, I didn't fall once, and I just made the tree line when the blizzard began in earnest.
The rapidly accumulating snow covered the tracks I had made coming up, and the gathering darkness made it nearly impossible to see forks in the trail until I was right on them. The fresh powder dragged my pace to a crawl and the sweat that covered me chilled me to the bone as the icy wind took me for its own, the sake's warmth long since faded. My sweatshirt, previously stowed away in my pack, soon stopped providing me any warmth; I just realized I had taken the wrong turn somewhere further up the trail, and my phone was as dead as I was soon going to be.
I couldn't tell if my vision was finally starting to fade or if the gathering darkness had truly become so thick that I was nearly blind. My body ached for a rest, and even though I knew it would be the last one I ever took, I was about to give in before a small splash of color came into view. Far down the path ahead of me was a warm glow of orange, and like a moth drawn to a flame I stumbled through the snow towards it, this one ghost of a chance at salvation. My vision seemed to clear, and eventually passed through the imposing pines that lined the trail and stepped into an open area.
The glow was in fact a lantern, hanging from a post attached to an old, weather-worn house, built in the traditional Japanese style. An old pavilion nearby held a massive bell, though the ceiling sagged and the bell hung at a slight angle. The massive gate before me was still an imposing sight, but the red paint was worn away in many places and the cypress was cracking badly. Nearest to me, and by far the most impressive sight, were two large guardian fox statues carved from dark stone, flanking the entrance as they stared down any who would enter.
An old shrine, most likely dedicated to Inari if the guardian foxes were anything to go by. Though it seemed abandoned, someone had to have set out the lantern, and so I trudged forward. The stone foxes seemed to be in the best repair, and their eyes appeared to follow me as I walked past; my skin crawled and a shiver ran through me that I was not entirely certain was just the cold. I stopped at the gate almost out of instinct, looking up at its damaged but still impressive frame. I bowed as best I could, and then stepped through. I could make out a few other small structures on the shrine's grounds, but all looked like they had seen much better days. I stumbled forward until I was just outside of the circle of light the lantern gave off, suddenly too nervous to speak even though I had quite literally had my life on the line. I opened and closed my mouth twice, trying to think of what to say; finally it was pure animal instinct that drove me forward, as a tempting smell of cooking food wafted out from the house, carried on a cold wind.
"Hello?" I asked in English, my voice weak and scratchy. As I cursed myself for being stupid enough to default to my first language, a voice answered my call from behind.
"Well, hello there, sweet thing. You've gotten quite lost, haven't you?" said a feminine voice in perfect English.
As my heart nearly leapt from my chest with surprise, I spun around to see a woman standing in the snow behind me. She was wearing an elegant miko and seemed to almost have an aura of white around her that contrasted with the surrounding gloom. A warm smile graced the kind features of her face, but my gaze was drawn most strongly to her eyes, which were a brilliant shade of blue practically unheard of in Japan.
Remembering my manners, I bowed low and, unable to think of the correct way to phrase it in Japanese, stuck to English as I said, "Please, forgive me for trespassing, I—"
My words were cut off as the woman stepped into the lantern's light. What I had thought of as an 'aura of white' was in fact nine fluffy tails that were arrayed behind her, each the color of the snow that was still swirling all around us. I gasped and took a step back, making her let out a gentle laugh that she stifled by putting one of her hands up to her mouth.
"Ara Ara, you know what I am? That makes things much simpler, no long explanation to go through," the Kitsune said cheerfully. "Come on now, darling, let's get you out of the cold," she added as she extended her hand to me. I rose my arm halfway, but stopped, making the Kitsune laugh again as her tall ears twitched, chiding me gently and saying "Really, if I wanted to hurt you, I could've just left you out here to freeze."
What did I have to lose? I placed my hand in hers, making her smile return. She began to lead me up the stairs into her home, a few of her soft tails curling around my torso like warm scarves. She opened the sliding door and ushered me into her home, my numb fingers pulling the laces at my shoes and taking them off as she waited patiently. There was a small fire burning in a pit at the center of the room, surrounded by tatami mats on all sides. The walls were of solid wood and plaster with the windows firmly shuttered, reflecting the light of the fire in a cozy (especially compared to the blizzard outside) atmosphere. The Kitsune sat me down on a small cushion in front of the fire and retrieved a blanket from a neatly stacked pile at the side of the room and threw it around my shoulders.
"We'll have to get you a change of clothes—I think I still have some robes fit for men, somewhere—but that'll come later. Warmth first," she said, almost to herself, puttering about with a kettle and a small porcelain cup by the fire. She poured a steaming hot serving of green tea into the cup and handed it to me.
"Here, drink this, it'll help warm your core," she said, her tails swishing behind her gently. "My name is Yuri, by the way; the honorifics you may take or leave, it doesn't matter to me."
"Thank you, Yuri," I said weakly as I accepted the tea. She nodded benevolently to me before standing, telling me to wait as she went to fetch another cushion. I watched as she left the room, her flowing tails trailing behind her like the wake of a boat. I could feel the warmth slowly returning to my extremities as I rotated the teacup in my hand, the sudden sharp pain I was feeling telling me just how close I had been to frostbite. As the tea cooled, I inspected the porcelain cup Yuri had given me; it was worn with age but still beautifully decorated with cherry tree motifs, and had enough hairline cracks to tell that it had been broken and repaired at least twice.
The unreality of the situation began to wash over me. Outside the howling wind of the blizzard was just barely audible, overshadowed by the merry crackling of the fire and Yuri humming faintly from the next room. I began to wonder if I had in fact died out there in the cold and this was just one last hallucination, but as I took a sip of the scalding tea and burned the roof of my mouth all to hell I decided that I was, in fact, still in the real world. The smell of cooking wafted over as Yuri clamored with a few pots in the next room, making my stomach complain noisily—as it turns out, one convenience store sandwich is not nearly enough fuel to climb a mountain.
I heard Yuri say a few words to herself in a dialect I couldn't understand from the next room as she checked on her cooking, making me silently wonder just how old the Youkai really was. Before I had much of a chance to ruminate on it Yuri came back into the room, placing a cushion on the opposite side of the firepit from me and sat down, her fluffy tails curling around her as she poured a cup of tea.
"You came just in time to join me for dinner," Yuri said happily as she waved some steam away from the top of her cup. "I do so rarely get visitors these days."
"Oh? And what do Kitsune have for dinner, fried tofu?" I asked before taking another sip of my tea, making Yuri laugh softly.
"No, I've never been a fan of fried tofu, if you can truly believe that," Yuri said. "Which is a shame, since that's the offering everyone thinks Kitsune want. When people still visited my shrine, that was all we used to get—my daughters liked it, at least. No, tonight's dinner is curry, and I do hope you enjoy it spicy."
"Does no one visit this place anymore? It is out of the way, I know, but I can't imagine you're the only one who's ever here," I asked, detecting a hint of sadness in Yuri's voice.
"No, no one." Yuri said simply.
"And your daughters?"
"I haven't been able to speak to them in some time."
"I'm sorry, Yuri. I didn't mean to pry," I said solemnly. Yuri sighed and took a sip of her tea, before looking back at me as a faint smile returned to her face.
"Don't be sorry, kit, you didn't mean any harm. Besides, it's good to be able to speak to someone again," Yuri said, her voice firm but tender.
This was the first time I really had a chance to take a look at Yuri since she led me into her home. The red and white miko she wore was like everything else in the house; old and worn, but well cared for. Her tails, ears, and long hair were all pure white and immaculately groomed, and her blue eyes glowed like sapphires. It was impossible to say how old she was from just a look—or at least how old she would've appeared, had she been human. Yuri's pale skin was smooth and flawless, but even still the ghost of careworn lines on her face were faintly visible. She was like the teacup, I realized; beautiful and warm, but still with the smallest cracks that let you know the pain in her past.
"You still haven't told me your name, you know," Yuri joked softly, bringing my mind back to the present.