For the first time ever, we decided to host our first short story competition! The prompt was to create a story about Tanuki of the Hearth – a character in our card game, Kitsunedo paying homage to the following lore:
Challenging the previous master of the Hearth and emerging victorious, she stands now, one with the ever-smouldering flames.
Honed over a hundred life and death battles, her katana plunges through the air like a turning swallow. Any soul that has seen her blade glinting by the firelight is marked for death. For rare is the living being who has seen it glisten twice.
Congratulations to Imogen on their winning entry in the Ukiyo Short Story competition for this year!
Below is the full entry published with the author’s permission.
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Takumi shall never have a garden, for plants smoulder and die where she walks. Onibi dance in whirling patterns of flame across her fur, dripping tongues of fire that lick hungrily across leaves and stems, devouring every bud before it can bloom. They leave only a dark smear on the earth and a wisp of foul smoke.
At first Takumi ordered the flames to stop their ravenous destruction. Not out of any care for the plantlife left curled into ashen crisps, no, but because the trail of footprints are nearly impossible to erase. She might as well be carrying around a huge banner with ‘I’m over here, come and fight me’ emblazoned on it.
She has since learned better than to put on airs around the onibi. The burn-scars hidden beneath her thick fur are a convincing enough disincentive. Her flesh and fur was not the only thing that the onibi set alight. Their flames devoured all that was deemed unnecessary – pride, kindness, fear.
The tanuki’s heart will never again drum to that rapid song of terror. Not even when, in some distant hazy future, she is struck down like all the masters of the hearth before her and becomes one of the flickering onibi herself.
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“Little tanuki, little tanuki!” An onibi hums in her ear, the tear-drop shaped flame pulsing with pale blue light.
Takumi considers dousing the onibi in the nearest puddle for calling her little tanuki, but it would only burn her paws.
“I know this forest, tanuki,” The onibi carries on, “At the next fork in the road, take the left path towards the mountains. There’s a wonderful tea house there. Or, at least, there was one there when I was master of the hearth…”
Takumi huffs, saying nothing.
“Exactly! All you do is wander about, sulking, trying to find your ‘purpose’ or your ‘calling in life’. Your schedule is hardly full.”
The onibi floats around Takumi’s head in a smug victory lap.
Takumi snaps at him with sharp teeth but he dodges out of reach. She huffs, just to prove her frustration.
It’s not like he’s wrong, though, Takumi grumbles to herself. A couple hundred battles and I’m the master of the hearth. Now what? I don’t have the patience to teach like previous master of the hearth Mizore, nor do I have any desire to spend my time defending helpless townsfolk like master Rishu. Master Akuji boasts about all the benefits of being a tyrant daimyo, but I would rather not paint such a large target on my back.
Takumi mulls over these thoughts until she arrives at the fork in the road. Glancing between the two paths offered, Takumi pauses.
“Left, left!” The annoying onibi buzzes about her head like a fly around overripe fruit.
She takes a few steps towards the right-most path just to mess with him.
“Left, tanuki! Don’t know your left from your right?”
Takumi grins, pointed canine teeth catching the light.
“What was that you’re saying? No left, go right?”
She ducks as the onibi launches himself at her face. He sails off into a pile of fallen pine needles, setting them ablaze. Rising from the pile like a phoenix from ashes, he winds up for another shot.
“Stop letting her rile you up, Gōha.” A dark blue onibi hums reproachfully, “It’s unbecoming for a previous master of the hearth.”
“Wha- you’d take her side, Ichika?” Gōha cries, “We’ve been friends for over a hundred years, and you’d side with the new master of the hearth instead?”
“We’ve been stuck together for over a hundred years – that is not the same as being friends. And I take no side but my own,” Ichika responds curtly as she drifts along beside Takumi’s shoulder.
Zoning out what is steadily becoming a fullblown argument between the onibi, Takumi takes the left-most path, following it as it winds back and forth up a steep incline. Small patches of sunlight shine through the dense canopy of the pine trees here and there, but for the majority of the journey it is the onibi that light her way. The wisps throw eerie blue light and dancing shadows against the tree trunks.
Rounding a steep turn, the ground flattens out. A small clearing opens up, tufts of grass and wildflowers sprouting from the circle of sun-lit earth. The path disappears inside the dark cavernous mouth of an unnaturally round hillock. Puffs of smoke rise from a crooked chimney before being arranged in serpentine patterns by the air currents. A curtain of vines hangs over the entranceway, and the faint din of ceramic and chatter drifting from within.
“I told you there was a tea house here, didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you?” Gōha says, turning a loop-the-loop in front of Takumi.
She swipes at him with one clawed paw but he jerks out of reach.
“Shall we go in?” Ichika asks, making it sound like less of a question and more of a command.
I might as well, Takumi thinks. It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to enjoy some tea. Instead she adopts a bored expression and says, “Mmmm, nah. I don’t really see the point.”
Gōha just about explodes. “WHAT?! You insolent little furball, you sad excuse for a master of the hearth, you-”
“You’re letting her rile you up again,” Ichika chides, floating towards the entranceway as if intending to leave them behind.
Takumi grins, following the onibi. Ichika’s flames burn away the vines across the doorway, and Takumi steps through a shower of ash into the tea house.
The interior is dimly lit, pale sunlight filtering in through a single cloudy window high up on the domed roof. The air is sweet and acrid, hazy wisps of woodsmoke curling up from a hearth towards the chimney. Takumi blinks as her eyes adjust to the low light. The onibi flutter around her, brighter in the gloom. The patrons of the teahouse fall silent, staring. They draw back as she passes, watching her with obvious distrust.
“There are so many people…” An anxious onibi murmurs. “I don’t think there’s a free table. We should go.”
“It’s no problem.” Ichika floats over to a table occupied by a martin and sika deer. The other onibi follow her lead, descending in a luminous cloud on the table.
The martin squeaks, ears pinned back. He scrabbles frantically over a table to get away. His hind paws knock over cups of tea and amazake and upset plates of mochi and wagashi. The sika deer stands as well, wide eyes fixed on the onibi. When one of them jerks threateningly towards her, the sika deer turns tail and flees, leaping frantically over tables and patrons alike.
After a moment of silence, the patrons closest to the tanuki and her onibi entourage all seem to remember that there’s somewhere else far, far away that they urgently need to be. Within a matter of minutes, the tea house is half empty. The owners of the tea house send glares Takumi’s way, but say nothing. It helps that the onibi dance in a protective circle around Takumi.
After placing her order with a terrified looking fox and handing over a few coins, a mug of steaming amazake and a plate of mochi is soon delivered to her table. The onibi crowd around her, even the ancient ones who barely flicker with the faintest energy, jostling for the best spot. One onibi dips close to peer into the mug of steaming amazaki. Takumi bats a different onibi away as it begins to sear her mochi with its flames. The onibi hum and squabble in Takumi’s ears, a ceaseless drone of noise that drowns out everything else.
“What does it taste like? Describe it in excruciating detail.”
“Is it warm? I always liked amazake best when it was warm.”
“Can I try some?”
“Of course you can’t, you’re an onibi, stupid.”
“I never liked that stuff anyway.”
“I wish I had a mouth again.”
“Do you think that if I burnt that mochi I’d be able to taste it?”
“Am I still allergic to shellfish now that I’m a spirit?”
“Why does it matter? You can’t eat shellfish now that you’re a spirit.”
As Takumi picks up a piece of mochi, the onibi fall silent, droning in anticipation.
She takes a bite, teeth tearing through glutinous rice. The red bean filling oozes out slightly.
The onibi sighed wistfully, watching Takumi eat the mochi bite by bite, smugly savouring every one. She sips at the amazake, wincing as she burns her tongue. The sweetness of the fermented rice coats her tongue thickly.
“Mmm, I’ve missed this.”
“Yeah, sure, rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Oh look at you, miss I-have-a-mouth-so-I-can-taste-things.”
“You’re so jealous.”
The onibi grumble.
“You there! Master of the hearth!”
Takumi tenses up, head snapping around to find the owner of the unfamiliar voice.
A young bobtail cat stands silhouetted in the doorway of the tea house.
“I challenge you, o master of the hearth! You shall face me- ow! That hurt!” The bobtail rubs the top of his skull, eyeing the tea house owner who had smacked him.
“Did you not see the sign?” The grumpy crane asks, lowering the paper harisen fan she had used to whack the bobtail with. She points to a collection of hand painted signs displayed near the door.
“This tea house has a strict no challenging policy. If you want to fight, take it outside,” She says, crossing her wings firmly.
The bobtail grumbles, but when the crane raises the harisen threateningly, the cat steps outside hurriedly.
“Well? Are we fighting him or not?” Ichika starts floating towards the door.
Takumi drains the last of the amazake and follows the onibi from the tea house.
Takumi flicks an ear in half-hearted acknowledgement.
“Hmph. You could at least thank me,” The onibi sulks, flickering with disapproval.
“Whatever for?” Takumi replies pointedly, “Surely not for badgering me about a tea house that may or may not be there?”
The onibi flares brightly. “You insolent little furball!”
She flicks the onibi away with her tail, filling the air with the smell of burnt fur. Worth it, she thinks.
“I don’t have time to go on a side quest to visit some tea house,” Takumi calls over her shoulder.
“Oh, and what important task are you doing instead?” The onibi asks.
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The bobtail cat plants his feet firmly in the grass, chin held high. A katana is looped through the silken sash tied around his middle. The wrapping on the handle of the katana is frayed, fluffed up like the fur on the cat’s hackles.
“I challenge you, o master of the hearth! You shall face me this day and be felled by my blade!” The bobtail cat calls out to her, sounding much braver than he feels.
Takumi casts a critical eye over her opponent. He’s trembling like an autumn leaf about to fall, muscles twitching beneath scrappy fur.
Which is more dishonourable? To kill a weak and terrified opponent, or to refuse to fight them in order to spare their life? Takumi wonders.
Tense, awkward silence stretches out for a long moment. The bobtail shifts his weight between his paws anxiously.
“Nah,” Takumi finally responds, “You’ll get lost if you know what’s good for you.”
“H-huh?” The bobtail blinks. He glances about, as if doubting that this is indeed the master of the hearth standing before him.
“Excuse me? Is that how a master of the hearth should speak?” Ichika scolds.
“Oi, I’m the master of the hearth right now. If you wanted a say in this, you shouldn’t have let me defeat you, huh?”
“Let you defeat me? LET you?”
The young bobtail watches in confusion as, at least in his eyes, the tanuki has a one sided argument with herself.
“Uh…I challenge you, master of the hearth-”
“Get lost,” Takumi repeats, inspecting the hilt of her katana with practiced nonchalance.
The bobtail takes a step forward, jaws opening to argue.
Takumi slides the katana an inch out of its sheath and the bobtail pauses, paw raised in mid-air.
The onibi swirl about Takumi menacingly, pulsing in time with the beating of her heart, flaring with the rush of blood through her veins.
She draws her katana. The rasp of steel is the most wonderful music to her ears. The blade is a flash of silver – a darting swallow, a falling comet, a leaping fish’s scale.
The young bobtail shudders, a cold premonition of steel through fur brushing down his spine.
“I will say it once more and once more only. Get. Lost.” Takumi’s voice is a low snarl, lips drawn back over bared teeth.
The bobtail, his intelligence finally kicking in, turns tail and races away, kicking up pollen from the wildflowers.
The katana is reluctant to be put away, sliding into the sheath with a regretful whisper of steel.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Ichika rages, bashing against Takumi’s shoulder, searing flesh and fur.
“You bring dishonour on the title of the master of the hearth! I can’t believe you of all creatures defeated me. Disgraceful! Look at you now, wandering around, showing mercy, trying to ‘find your calling’. Pathetic!”
Takumi swats at the onibi, dancing away from her attacks.
“I might not know what my calling is, but I do know what kind of master of the hearth I want to be.” Takumi gazes squarely at the onibi.
Ichika pauses, fumes, mutters under her breath, but ceases her attacks. When she speaks she sounds resigned, but there’s a hint of something else too. Something akin to begrudging respect.
“Very well then, master of the hearth.”
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I had the pleasure of judging the competition alongside Marcel Liemant, an indie Melbourne author who writes queer dark fantasy novels and teaches Storytelling Workshops to the community.
Marcel and I hope that you all enjoyed reading this delightful tale as much as we did. We will be publishing more short stories that received special mentions over the coming days so if you want to devour more Tanuki lore, please keep checking the blog!
Beth Mateo
Business Development Manager &
Narrative Game Designer at Ukiyo