Paul hadn’t known what to expect from the abandoned iron mine. From what little he’d gathered, it had been closed since at least the end of the 19^th century. The Meiji Restoration started in the 1860s, and in 1876 samurai were banned from carrying swords. The mine had been shut down some time after that, so it had been closed for nearly a century and a half at least.

As he followed Inari along the overgrown path from the workshop foundry, he wondered what he’d find. The path itself was still cobblestoned with neat stone blocks, although weeds had sprouted between them and the edges of the path were lost in the brush on one side, and where it paralleled the canalised swiftly-flowing stream on the other, it was hidden by overgrowing reeds.

Watching the recently-incarnated-as-human former-deity forging ahead of him, he also rather wondered about the turn his life had taken. If nothing else, this was going to provide material for a whole lot of new books… although he’d have to sell them as fantasy probably. Maybe a manga, or what the Japanese called a light novel, which was basically a manga without pictures. Possibly even an anime if he found a studio willing to pick it up.

Paul shook his head, more amused at himself than bemused. Life was strange some times, and people stranger. Here he was, in the middle of a real-life story even Hayao Miyazaki would have called weird, and he was wondering how to write about it.

Taking a firmer grip on the staff Inari had given him, he resolved to simply enjoy the moment and worry about details later. Glancing up, he noticed Inari had stopped and was bent over, one hand on a tree trunk. He hurried back the few paces to reach her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know. I hurt! In my middle, and my legs...”

Paul thought for a second, and then carefully lifted her into his arms. He carried her a short distance until he encountered a fallen log, and lowered her down to sit.

“Inari, did you eat at all before we set out?”

“Eat?”

“Yeah, food. You have a physical body now, it has needs.”

“Oh! Oh no! I forgot… is this what it feels like, to be hungry?”

“Probably yes, and dehydrated, and possibly leg cramps I think. Seriously Inari-san, you were literally just born today, and you thought you could hike half way round the mountain?”

Paul dug into his pack, and produced a bag of trail mix and a bottle of water.

“Here, eat, drink and rest. We’re not in a hurry, it’s early yet.”

Inari tucked in, although Paul had to remind her to drink slowly, lest she gave herself stomach cramps on top of everything else. Stepping a short distance away, he called out.

“Hoi! Shoko-san!”

Little kitsune have sharp ears, and fleet legs… and moments later Shoko-san appeared, out of breath slightly and red faced but there.

“Paul-san what can... who’s that?!”

Paul glanced over his shoulder, and then back.

“Huh, guess she didn’t tell what she was doing either. That’s Inari. She took human form.”

Shoko stared wide-eyed at Inari, who looked back at her, almost cringing. Then Shoko put her hands on her small hips and yelled.

“IDIOT! Stupid! Stupid, stu-pid! Why would you do this?!”

Inari actually cringed, shrinking back as Shoko started forward. Paul, not trusting the look in her eyes, grabbed Shoko by the collar and hauled back on her, sweeping her up into his arms where she kicked futility against him.

“Hey now! What gives?!”

“Put me down! This stupid person used the last of her magic to become human. She’ll die like this! She doesn’t have enough magic to form a spirit body now. She’s stuck in a frail human body and if she dies, now, she’ll be gone! Forever and ever!”

Paul blinked and glanced up at Inari, who nodded.

“Shoko is right… if I die now, I won’t even form a ghost. It will take weeks to recover my spiritual energy even a fraction.”

“Ok, so what? Shoko-san, you know if the magic fades completely Inari will be dead and gone anyway. This way she can live even if it does go away.”

“She’s still stupid! She could’ve lived as she was for a couple of centuries, more maybe! Now she’s just got a stupidly short mortal span!”

Paul gave Shoko’s small body a slight shake.

“So she traded sleeping her days away and waiting to die, for being awake and alive. Better to live life to the fullest before dying, making the days count, even if there is less of them.… Besides, I said I’d fix this.”

“Then you’re stupid too! How can you ‘fix’ the natural order?!”

“Oh? You think this dwindling is some sort of natural change? Like the leaves in autumn perhaps. So what, even if it is? Humans have been ignoring the natural order of things for a very long time, why stop now?”

Shoko abruptly stopped wriggling in Paul’s grasp.

“That’s true...”

“Damn right it is! Now, Inari-san has forgotten that being human means eating, drinking and resting. Can you look after her for a bit, while I go on ahead?”

Shoko nodded, slowly.

“The mine is easy to find Paul-san, just follow the path. I left a lantern by the entrance. If you need me...”

“I know, just whistle..”

Shoko flashed a smile.

“You do know how to whistle, don’t you? You just put your lips together and blow.”

Paul chuckled while Inari looked between them baffled. Paul made a mental note that there would be Movie nights in the near future, Inari evidently had some catching up to do.

Half an hours hike later, and shortly after the stream departed from the path where it tumbled down a bed of mossy rocks in a series of small waterfalls from some point further up the mountain, Paul reached the mine entrance.

He really hadn’t expected the mine to look like something from The Lord of the Rings, but it wouldn’t have looked out of place in Middle Earth. The bare stone to either side of the entrance was carved into a pair of stern looking armour-clad warriors, who seemed to defy anyone to even think about entering without permission.

The entrance itself was a pair of heavy bronze doors, at least twelve feet high and about eight wide. Their mouldings echoed wooden designs, with faux banding and nails despite being evidently cast as a single piece.

They were also heavily streaked with green corrosion and probably wouldn’t move on their hinges. Thankfully, they stood ajar, with a gap between them easily wide enough to permit entrance. Indeed, there was a path worn through the weeds and dirt that snaked between the huge slabs of bronze.

Paul frowned at that… the mine was closed, so why was there enough foot-traffic to wear a path?

He knelt at the edge, among the weeds, and stared along the surface of the dirt. Most of the prints were of animal tracks, some sort of cloven hoofed creature. It had been decades since he’d earned a merit badge with the boy scouts, so he had no idea what sort of animal or animals had made the hoof prints. But there seemed to be several distinct sorts, or sizes at least.

Paul looked up and into the darkness beyond the gates. Clearly some of the local wildlife was coming and going quite frequently, but why? It couldn’t be for water, not with a stream nearby… perhaps there was a salt-lick somewhere deep within the mine? Still, it boded well for the mine being safe to enter.

Standing up, he was about to go in, when he noticed sunlight glinting off something among the tall weeds. Curious, he walked over the few paces and moved the undergrowth aside.

Paul’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. There was a bright orange.. something, a device of some sort.. attached to a modern looking tripod. He was no expert, but the device was clearly some sort of very modern surveying equipment, and also clearly a bit squashed, with a cloven-hoofed print in mud squarely on it.

Paul frowned at that. It had rained briefly yesterday. Not enough to blur the hoof prints in the mud, but it would’ve been enough to wash the mud off the plastic casing. Looking around he saw some deep boot prints, which looked fresh… and judging by the way the prints were deeper at the toes, the person had been running.

Whatever animals frequented the mine were evidently large, and maybe not friendly. Paul also had the strong suspicion that the visit from the government official earlier hadn’t been a coincidence… although clearly someone’s plans had gone awry.

Paul stood, and noticed Shoko’s broom leaning against the wall just inside the entrance, along with a paraffin ‘safety’ lantern. His blood suddenly chilled as he realised that whoever had been here, and whatever had happened to them, had to have been scant moments before Shoko had arrived.

He didn’t want to think what would’ve happened if the little kitsune had encountered them.

Paul shook his head. Shoko could probably outrun anyone, if she didn’t just disappear. Leaving aside what-if’s and maybe’s, Paul walked into the mine, lit the lantern, and set out initially following the tracks, for lack of a better choice of directions.

An hour later, and Paul finally had to admit to himself two things. Firstly that he had absolutely no clue what he was looking for… and secondly and rather more importantly, he was lost. Although not by accident.

He had been marking his route with chalk arrows on the walls, but after reaching a dead end he started back tracking, only to run into an open pit that there was no way he could’ve crossed on the way in.

Paul stared down into the Stygian depths and swallowed. If he’d been a little less careful, he would’ve walked right into the abyss. Slowly he backed up, and then paused as he saw the chalk arrow on the wall.

It looked like one he’d made, except it couldn’t be. His sense of direction was telling him he was in the wrong tunnel as well. Someone had erased the marks he’d made and laid a false trail, carefully copying his chalk marks.

Turning around he started to back-track, guessing he’d been lead up a side tunnel he’d passed earlier. As he reached the fork he stopped.

The rocky tunnel widened here, making a small chamber with four exits. Standing square in the centre of this space was a man dressed as a samurai.

He wore dark red baggy pants held up by a broad leather belt and had sandal-like geta on his feet, which Paul saw had two curved parallel blocks on the underside. With a start he realised he was looking at the source of the cloven ‘hoof’ prints. The man was dressed in samurai robes under some sort of furry jerkin. At first glance, Paul thought the samurai was also wearing a helmet…

Paul blinked. The silvery white hair was natural, albeit held back by a black leather headband, which exposed the man’s forehead and allowed Paul to see where the two hands-span long black horns grew out of his skull. His eyes were a brilliant fire-like orange-yellow colour, without any visible whites to them and vertical slit pupils. Paul wasn’t sure if the red streaks under the eyes were natural, or artifice, but they made it look like he’d been crying blood.

He was also handsome enough to be a teen idol or maybe a host in some club in the big city.

“Hoi! Human. Stand and fight!”

The samurai unsheathed a sword that was more like a narrow rectangular bar of metal with sharp edges on three sides, and took up a stance. Raising an eyebrow, Paul dryly remarked;

“It’s bad form to challenge someone without a proper introduction you know.”

The man stared at him, a brief expression of surprise flickering across his face, marring the carefully schooled look of fierceness. Paul leaned on his staff, studiously relaxed, and studied the man… if he was human, he wouldn’t have been much out of his teens. Inari had said there were perhaps Oni down here. Paul guessed he was looking at one, although perhaps not a fully grown one.

After a moment, the Oni’s nerve broke, he grumbled, and relented.

“I am Tatsuo Lǜ shān, fifth of my name, of the Clan Rìchūshān”

“Paul Holmes, Englishman. Might I enquire as to why we’re fighting?”

“You are intruding on my domain!”

Paul regarded the Oni levelly.

“Excuse me, your domain? I was under the impression that when I inherited the temple, I also got the mountain and everything under it. My apologies if that’s incorrect however.”

A brief flicker of uncertainty crossed the Oni’s face, making him seem younger briefly.

“You lie! No gaijin can be a temple guardian!”

“Take it up with the lawyers, it’s true… or you know, you could just go and ask Inari herself.”

Tatsuo growled and loosing his patience lunged at Paul, who at the very last moment kicked the bottom of his staff, spinning it in a viciously fast vertical arc in his hand.

The tip of the five and a half feet of heavy dense wood and bronze fittings ended it’s swift trajectory in the Oni’s unprotected crotch. The sword fell from his abruptly lax hand to the ground with a dull clatter.

Tatsuo’s eyes widened, and through clenched teeth he let out a sound a bit like a tea kettle about to boil, a sort of hissing whistle, as he slowly folded down to his knees, his hands cupping his injured ‘pride’ before he slowly fell over sideways, to lie curled up around his agony.

Paul flicked the sword out of reach with the toe of his boot, and pressed the end of the staff to the teenagers neck.

“Yield.”

“I..would..sooner..die!”

Paul leaned on the staff a bit harder.

“Who said you had a choice? I’m not going to kill you.”

“Torture me then, I don’t care!”

“Oh for the love of....” Paul lifted his staff of the teens neck, “What is wrong with you? I didn’t even want to fight you, you know. What makes you think I’m going to kill or torture you?”

“You’re a human!”

“And?”

“I am an Oni… a demon!”

“So. What?! I mean… I do not give a one single solitary flying fuck about that.”

Tatsuo lifted his head and glared at Paul, although his gaze held equal measures of pain and puzzlement.

“What…? But you sent your men down here to...”

Paul interrupted testily.

“Not my men. In fact, I’d rather like to catch up with the trespassers and ask them some rather pointed questions myself.”

The young Oni frowned, trying to make out if Paul was lying or not. Paul sighed, and bent down, holding out his hand.

“Look, you have my word that I hold no animosity to you, or your kind.”

For a moment Tatsuo hesitated, then clasped Paul’s hand, with his own slimmer fingers. Paul absently noted that the nails were more like talons.

“Truly?”

“My word as a gentleman. I’m actually hoping to create a sanctuary out of the place, for everyone who’s not human. That would include you and any other Oni down here.”

“I.. I apologise Holmes-sama… for attacking you, without hearing you out first.”

“Think nothing of it. Although two bits of advice. Firstly, always beware the man who is relaxed before a fight, he might know something you don’t. And secondly, youthful exuberance is no match for old age and cunning.”

Tatsuo ruefully smiled and slowly stood, albeit rather gingerly.

“That is... very true. I have yet to best my master in any of our bouts.”

Paul smiled slightly.

“Yeahh, I know that feeling. My arms-master back home could still get the better of me. I think the problem is, no matter how good you get, they are still learning too and they have a head start on you. So what old age diminishes, cunning makes up for.”

Tatsuo laughed, nodding.

“That is indeed true, human!”

“Call me Paul. So, anyway, I take it you are familiar with this place?”

Tatsuo nodded, slowly, warily.

“I am, why?”

Paul sighed.

“Ok, to cut a long story short. The magic here is fading slowly, something the shrine’s Goddess has noticed. It’s my task to investigate why, and see if anything can be done about it. I’ve gotten about as far as figuring out that it’s somehow connected to when they started mining iron ore here, and that I probably need to work out what the source of magic actually is, and that’s why I’m down here now.”

Tatsuo stared at him for a moment. Then slowly placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder… in passing, Paul noticed that they were actually almost equal in height, although Tatsuo was taller by four inches, if you didn’t count the six or seven inches of upturned horn.

“Paul-sama, I wish you good luck on your quest. But I think the Goddess has given you a fools errand. No-one has ever determined what the source of magic is, and one might as well ask why the seasons exist, as to ask why the magic is fading.”

“Hmm well, leaving aside matters of axial tilt and orbital mechanics as they pertain to climate and seasons, when was the last time anyone tried to figure it out?”

“It’s magic, not science Paul-sama… it doesn’t need to have an explanation. It just is.”

Tatsuo went to pick up and sheath his sword, deliberately nicking his thumb and pressing it against the blade as he did so. Paul forbore from commenting, but said instead.

“How about you humour the crazy Gaijin, and show me around the place?”

The young Oni scowled…

“I can’t do that.”

“I promise, I don’t mean you, or anyone else, any harm.”

“That’s... not the reason. I’m worried how others of my clan would react to you. I cannot promise they won’t try to harm you. I would stop them, but I’d rather not fight them.”

“Oh! Ok, fair enough then. Umm… would they harm a prisoner in your custody?”

“Not right away, but they’d expect an execution soon.”

“Oh.. right. Well that’s not an option then. How about priests?”

“None would believe you were, and if they did, they’d be howling for your blood even more. Who do you think lead the mobs who sought our deaths?”

“Ah… yeah. Didn’t think that one through. Are there any humans you lot don’t hate on sight?”

Tatsuo grinned sheepishly, running his hand through his silvery hair, and tugging on a horn. Paul noticed the tip of that one was broken off about half an inch short, and guessed that was perhaps a nervous habit.

“Ah.. well… no, not really. We have never been accepted by humans, and one can only be hunted down like vermin for so long before you hate them back.”

“Fair point I suppose. Oh! I know.. what if I wasn’t human?”

Tatsuo looked at him disbelievingly.

“Yes? And what else could you be?”

“Good question.. can you show me a shortcut to the entrance and shall we see what a goddess and kitsune can come up with in the way of a disguise?”

“Ehh… what?”

“Inari and Shoko-san, she’s the kitsune, are probably still waiting outside. They’re kind of low on power right now, but a bit of a disguise might be possible.”

Tatsuo stared at him for a long moment, disbelief written large on his face.

“You left a Goddess waiting for you, outside?!”

“Well, yes… she had stomach cramps. Um.. we’re friends you see, so… what is that look for?”

“You don’t need a disguise. You’re a herald.”

Paul leaned on his staff and sighed.

“Ok… assume I’m just a dumb Gaijin, and explain what the heck a herald is?”

“You’re a messenger, an intermediary, between the gods and mortals. Humans and Others.”

“You are kidding, right? I’m not even a priest!”

The Oni grinned, revealing some rather disturbingly shark-like teeth.

“You don’t need to be a priest to be a herald… it’s a different sort of calling. Although I’ve never heard of a herald who was still alive. But then you usually have to be dead to talk to the gods directly.”

Paul grinned...

“For all I know, I slipped on those damn steps up to the temple and broke my fool neck, and this is either some extended hallucination as I’m lying there, dying, or I’m dead and haven’t noticed.”

The Oni blinked, looking a bit perturbed.

“Ehhh… but if I’m a figment of your imagination... Oi! You! If you’re hallucinating me, I want a better story!”

Paul bent over, clutching his staff, laughing. He wagged a finger at Tatsuo for a moment, too incoherent with mirth to speak, then managed to get out between chuckles.

“Careful what you wish for young Oni… better in what way? Because good stories aren’t always comfortable for those in them.”

Tatsuo’s dismayed expression sent Paul off in peals of laughter again.

Once he regained his composure Paul straightened up, and smiled.

“Ok then, Tatsuo, let’s go introduce you to the Goddess Inari Ōkami; I presume I need a letter of introduction or something to confirm I am her herald, right?”

“Ah, yes. That would do it. Really? You can introduce me to her, in person?”

“Yup, since she’s taken on physical form at the moment. Conserving magic, you know.”

Tatsuo eyed him doubtfully, but indicated Paul was to follow him.