Fourth Sister: Hearth and Bard Tales

By M. L. Farb

Whitney Award Finalist 2021

Shisei is said to be the cursed twin—bringer of death—plagued by a kitsune only she can see. Feeling unwanted, she flees her home, finding solace within an isolated mask maker's hut.

Yet some secrets cannot remain hidden. Fate may find her still.

When her youngest sister is accused of murder, Shisei must lead her sisters in a deception that will either save the youngest or condemn them all.

Little Women x Spirited Away

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. L. Farb
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215712078

Book preview

1

Ichi, ni, san, shi,

seven sisters born by sea,

go, roku, nana.

---

Our village sits on a cliff above the sea. Every day the sun ripples in a bright line along the ocean edge then rises, a fiery pearl, above the water where she sleeps. Once the sun slept in a cave and wouldn't come out for fear of the demon that drove her there. That was long ago, before the other kami made such a commotion with their dancing and singing that she ventured out to see why they could be happy.

I understood her fear. I'd hide from my demon if I could.

I pushed my hair from my face, then swung the ax into the soft log. Father always chopped the oak firewood, but I could handle the cypress. And with him often gone selling his pottery, I took the jobs that should have been my twin brother's. Father never asked it of me, but he never stopped me either.

Shisei! Mother's voice carried through the delicate shoji walls of our home. Her usual soft voice was sharpened with pain to a pearl-diver's knife edge.

I dropped my ax against a pile of yet-to-be-cut firewood and ran to the house, crushing early spring ferns that unfurled in the path.

Shisei!

The paper door rattled as I shoved it, sliding it to the side. Mother knelt at the table. A teacup lay on its side, staining the polished wood and tatami mats below. Her hands fisted on her knees and she pressed her forehead to the table. Her kimono bulged with our youngest sibling, the one to come in a month. The one we all hoped was a boy.

Mother. I dropped next to her, grasping her shoulders, my fear echoing her sharp cries.

She shuddered under my touch, then slumped, panting. Get the midwife. This child comes early.

Our empty house swallowed her words. My six sisters were scattered around our village. Father was traveling. I helped Mother lie down, then ran. Our house sat outside the village near the ocean cliff, and the midwife lived on the far side of the village in the shadows of a giant ginkgo tree. Too far apart.

I darted through the busy village market, dodging around a cart of fish, slipping between the blocking crowd that listened to a monk tell a kami story, and bumping into a woman toting a heavy basket and trailing children.

Forgive me. I bowed as I steadied her and rushed on. Why did the midwife have to live on the far side? The streets cleared, and the ginkgo tree stood in the distance. I lowered my head and increased my stride.

And rammed into a solid body.

Watch where you are going! Are you blind? It was a man’s voice, mocking and annoyed.

I stumbled back, holding my hand to my head. Daichi, the son of the noble Kazoku, stood in his fine silks and looked down his nose at me.

Please, accept my most humble apology. I must get the midwife.

His face softened slightly. Ah. Go then. But be more careful.

I bowed again and dashed the last distance to the small home beneath the ginkgo tree.

Honored midwife, my mother needs you, I yelled through the door.

A woman slid the door open. Her face creased into a worried frown, each wrinkle shouting we must hurry. She grabbed a tall woven basket with straps along one side and handed it to me. I swung it onto my back. The midwife pattered on short legs through the village behind me, slowing as we wove through the market crowd. To hasten us, I would have carried her on my back too, but I was no man and had not a man's strength.

Mother's panting cries wove through the air like a red thread through silk. The midwife entered our home, muttering, Too old to be bearing children. If the kami wanted to bless her with a son, they'd not have taken the first one.

Not true. The kami will bless us again.

I set the midwife's basket against the wall, then turned to gather my sisters.

Mother's words followed me. Shisei, stay.

I knelt next to her, caressing her sweat-soaked brow. This was not how she was when my youngest sister came. Thirteen years more had weakened her body. What if she wasn't strong enough to birth my prayed-for brother?

The kitsune mask hung on our wall—the zenko that carried our prayers to Inari. Please, honored zenko, tell Inari I will dedicate myself as a maiden in her shrine if she will save my mother. I'm not much. But I work hard. Please.

The fox mask stared back at me, its eyes as empty as my heart.

Hush and help me. The midwife drew out jars and cloths from the basket, then hissed. Mother's kimono bloomed red.

A neighbor must have noticed me drag the midwife through our village. One by one, my sisters entered. They bowed in reverence to the midwife and averted their eyes from the still form that lay shrouded in the corner. A boy. Whose spirit dwelt again with his brother.

Mother came out of a shuddering half-sleep and beckoned us to kneel around her. My daughters—my seven pearls—I soon go to join my parents and sons.

No! I looked toward the kitsune mask hanging on the wall. Honored zenko, tell Inari, I'll cut all the wood to heat her shrine for the next ten years, I’ll spend each night creating haiku to honor her; just let my mother live. I tucked the silent prayer onto a breath.

Then he strolled into the room, the four-tailed fox that had followed me like a shadow from my first memories. A white kitsune, invisible to all but me. A trickster, appearing for a day in a year or a week in a month. He was not a zenko. Or was he?

I bowed to him. Please, I whispered, if you are a messenger of Inari, I beg you, spare my mother’s life.

His four tails hung subdued and his head bowed. He touched the still form of my baby brother then curled up next to Mother, laying his white head on her chest, shifting her blanket so his fur touched her skin. Mother’s breathing eased. My breath eased with hers. I bowed again, pressing my hands together. Please make her well again.

Mother took my eldest sister by the hand. Ichia, my first-loved daughter, you are married and must honor your husband, but I ask that you remember your father and sisters. Comfort them. Ichia bowed, then wrapped her arms around our two youngest sisters.

My second sister leaned close as Mother took her hand. Nichika, your quiet wisdom and giving heart has always blessed me. Use it now to bless others, even in your grief. Nichika nodded solemnly as her lip trembled.

My third sister gripped Mother's hand as soon as she let go of Nichika's.

Sanaho. Mother gasped a breath, then continued. "True Step, keep your confidence, but remember to see others outside of you." Sanaho's face hardened into determination.

I pulled back as Mother turned to me. I didn't need a last blessing, because she wouldn't die. I sent another prayer. Help her heal.

The white kitsune fixed his bright eyes on me and brushed one of his tails along Mother’s furrowed brow.

She sighed and turned to my first younger sister. Gomako. You brought joy after sorrow. Your quickness to learn is a delight. Be careful who you imitate. Gomako glanced at Ichia, then matched her quiet serenity.

Mother traced a tear down Rokue's cheek. My beautiful picture. Even as a spirit I will take joy in watching you. Create beauty with your heart too. Rokue leaned into Mother's hand.

Nanai, my youngest sister, buried her face in the folds of Mother's kimono, her sobs rising into a storm that fit her unusual blue-grey eyes and name, seven is ocean. Mother wrapped her arms around her. My child. I'll still be here, whispering my love. Listen for me. Nanai fell to shuddering silence in Mother's arms.

Shisei.

I shook my head. No, Mother. You will live.

Shisei. You are sacred poetry. The line of beauty between the seen and unseen. Remember your worth.

Shi, shi, fourth and death.

Fourth sister and twin to death.

Brother born silent.

The spring flowers had faded with summer, and the summer blooms fled from autumn. I placed a branch of maple in the vase Father made. Its lacy red leaves trailed against the glossy green glaze of the vase and the speckled granite of our family shrine. Incense trailed upward, and water rippled as I poured it into a bowl. Lastly, I placed a new rice cake there for Mother and my brothers.

Sheng, I whispered to my twin. Please take care of Mother and our baby brother. You’ve been in the spirit world for eighteen years. Help them find the best bathhouses and most beautiful gardens. I’m trying to fill your place here. I’m not very good at it, but I am trying.

A shadow fell over the shrine. Father knelt next to me in a clay-stained kimono, his grey head bowed, his lips moving in prayer. Then he groaned to his feet. Come, Shisei. The time of deep mourning is past.

I bowed so he could not see my shameful tears. "If only the kami had taken me instead of my twin brother, none of this would have happened."

He touched my chin, tilting my head up. Shisei, they choose whom they choose.

I swallowed at the hurting truth, then spat it out with its bitterness. "It's my fault she died. Ever since Nanai was born, I prayed and gave daily offerings at Inari's shrine for a brother. The kami answered by giving me a brother, then taking both him and my mother away."

Father shook his head. Then the fault is mine, too. I had added my daily prayers to yours.

I swallowed the rest of the truth. It was too bitter to even tell Father. I am as Ichia calls me. I am Shi. Death follows me.

2

Sister brings new life,

welcome joy of nine-month wait.

I seek a new home.

Father and I brought in armloads of the split wood. The pile outside would tide us over until spring, and hopefully by then he would return from visiting the capitol. He'd been given an honored invitation to show his pottery to the emperor. Even winter would not excuse delay.

The first flakes of snow landed on my blue wood-bearing hands. We passed through the storm-shuttered porch and laid the wood along the kitchen wall.

Ichia wrapped checkered cloths around lacquered trays of fish, pickled plums, and nori-rolled rice.

Her husband, Yahito, looked up from checking bundles and bowed. Honored Father, everything is ready. It is still morning, and the tide is good.

Father nodded, Yes, we should go.

Ichia handed the wrapped trays of food to her husband. Be safe. Bring honor. Return soon.

He laid his hands over hers and unspoken words passed between them. She lowered her soft brown eyes as color deepened in her cheeks. They'd been married a year, though she'd favored him since he first apprenticed to Father eight years before.

I gathered with my sisters on the back porch to watch Father and Yahito hoist tall woven baskets onto their backs, tuck more bundles under their arms, then walk the path to the cliff. They disappeared over the edge.

Only then did we run to the cliff to watch their hunched forms descend the narrow back-and-forth trail to the rolling surf. They boarded a long boat and took up oars with ten other men. The boat sailed out from the surf and became a dot on the ocean before disappearing into the grey blend of sea and sky.

Ichia held her hand over her eyes and squinted long after I'd lost sight of them. Then she turned back to the house. Rocks grated under her wooden sandals.

As we walked, Nanai nestled next to Ichia. We'll have so much fun with you home again. I've missed you. The others are all so busy with their lessons and work, but you won't be. You don't have lessons or a husband to attend to.

A knowing smile spread on Ichia's face. I'll be busier than the rest of you. I must prepare for family coming.

My other sisters pressed around her. How soon?

In about five months.

Do we know them?

Not yet. She laid her hand on the obi sash that wrapped around her middle.

Then I understood. Does Yahito know?

She shook her head. No, Shi. He would have worried, and that could have disturbed the quality of his art for the emperor. He'll be back before the baby comes.

She became the center of squealing excitement. We entered the warmth of the kitchen and knelt around her. She studied each of us. Father is bringing honor to our family by his art. We will use our time wisely and improve our talents while he is gone. I will perfect the home arts of the tea ceremony and beautiful meals. The work will make me strong to bear my child.

Sanaho cheered. Nichika, as the second oldest, had taken the responsibility to feed our family, and though she was wise in many things, she’d never mastered cooking. Nichika bowed a silent thanks.

Ichia touched Nichika’s pressed hands. You'll be busy as well. I've found a tutor to further your studies.

Nichika's bow deepened, and her face bloomed with quiet delight.

One by one, like an onna-bugeishi general setting her soldiers in rank, in a gentle tone but one we dared not disobey, Ichia gave out duties. Sanaho, the most agile and confident of us, would continue her study of the spear-sword naginata so she could protect our home while the men were gone. Gomako would study with the village musicians. Rokue had already developed the art of dance and would continue to do so. And for Nanai, Ichia had secured a place in the Nōgaku theater, which had only started accepting female actors two years before.

Ichia turned to me last. Shi—

I will help you at home as I did for Mother and Father. I will do the brother's work.

She shook her head. I've found you an apprenticeship with a silk maker. It's in the next village. You'll live with her family. I'll ask our neighbors to help with the tasks that we cannot do. The money Father left will pay for any additional help we need.

Why?

She wouldn't meet my eyes.

I knew. She feared for her baby. She was sending me away to protect her child.

Fire burns bright in home.

Tea steams and cakes stand ready.

Space for all but me.

I stomped, knocking the snow from between the two support pieces of my geta sandals, and slipped them off. Then I entered the house with my arms loaded with more split wood. One wall of the kitchen now hid behind the warmth-giving fuel.

I don't have to leave. Ichia is my sister, not my mother or father. This is my home. This is my family. She has her husband's home across the village. She can go there. I'll take care of my sisters. We've done well enough without her for a year, even when Father was gone.

Ichia stood waiting by the fire, holding Mother’s zenko mask. Shi, you always fed Mother’s kitsune. You should take the mask.

I trembled at her irreverence. He’s not Mother’s kitsune. He’s our family’s zenko. The one who takes messages to Inari. And I didn’t feed a kitsune; I placed offerings at a zenko’s shrine.

Ichia set the mask at my feet. Then take the mask to protect you from your kitsune.

My kitsune! I stepped over the mask and thumped the load of wood on top of the stack. He isn’t mine. He just follows me. I should have never told Ichia about him, but I was little when I first saw the four-tailed fox, and she was the only person at home, so I ran and told her. She hushed me, told me he was a yako—a trickster field fox—and to stay away from him. She changed in how she treated me after that, and I never told anyone else. Maybe if my twin Sheng were alive, I’d have told him, and we could have faced the fox together.

Ichia filled the mask’s spot on the wall with a painting of a cherry tree in full blossom. I picked up the zenko mask, tracing the face that had watched over our family for as long as I could remember. How could she so carelessly replace it?

She knelt again by the fire, humming, as she embroidered a little silk kimono, just the right size for a baby. A white crane stood under a pine near a pool. She had half-finished a green turtle. Both symbols of long life. Life that neither of my brothers had had.

Who will tend our mother’s and brothers' shrine? Who will give offerings to the zenko that guards our family?

Not me. Death follows me. I will go.

3

Snow-sodden sandals,

white kitsune by my side.

Path clear, future not.

Chill wind whispered over the new snow path, only marred by the star prints of bird tracks ahead and the double lines of my sandal prints behind. The tall pines of the forest kept the worst of the cold away. I carried a woven basket heavy with food even after two days of travel, and on the side hung the zenko mask. Ichia had packed enough food for a week's journey, though it was only a day's walk to the silk maker. I knew the way. I'd traveled it twice to deliver pottery for Father.

That was not the path I followed.

I knelt by a pond where a pine had kept it from freezing, and unpinned my hair. It flowed down my back in a heavy wave. It was my only beauty. My face was plain with thick eyebrows, thin lips, and square chin. A face for a boy. The face my twin might have had. Should have had.

Sheng. I whispered my twin’s name, I have no more place with my sisters. I will live the life you should have had. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and hacked at it with my knife. As the black locks dropped into the pond, my tears added ripples. I bound my hair back into a short knot. I was no longer the fourth sister Shisei, but the boy Sheng—birth and life—making my first steps into a new life. I’d go from village to village until I found an apprenticeship where none knew me. I studied my reflection again with my hair pulled back. I already looked like a boy. My voice was naturally low. None would suspect.

The coldness of the ground seeped through the faded double layer of my kimono. I’d picked my plainest clothes, the ones that either boy or girl could wear, but hadn’t thought of how thin they’d become with work. I’d better go before I chilled. I slid the knife back into my obi sash and pulled the basket onto my back.

A white fox face appeared in the pond by my wavering reflection. I jerked away, falling on my backside. The kitsune made rapid high-pitched sounds, as if in laughter, his four tails waving behind him. Why was he here? He hadn’t shown himself since Mother’s death three seasons ago.

I scowled at him. You didn’t save my mother.

He silenced and bowed his head.

What kind of kitsune spirit was he? Was he a zenko, a messenger of Inari—the kami over foxes and fertility—or was he a yako, a field fox, filled with mischief and delighting in tricking humans? He often played tricks on me, like tumbling a pile of wood I’d just stacked and knocking over a ladder and trapping me on the roof while I was mending it. On the other hand, he was white like a zenko and had comforted Mother.

But if he were a zenko, he’d be benevolent and help me. If he were a zenko, he’d have saved my mother, even against my shadow of death.

My scowl deepened. He was a yako, delighting in my misery just because I could see him. If I could choose between the kitsune or my curse, I’d choose the trickster kitsune. The kami were cruel to give me both a curse and a tormentor.

Still, he was a kitsune and I would be foolish to offend him. I smoothed my brow. Forgive me for my words.

He batted at a strand of my cut hair, ignoring me.

Just as I’d ignore him. I hefted the basket and headed back to the path that would lead me north to villages I’d never visited.

A weight thumped against my back, knocking me to my knees. The kitsune darted ahead of me, and he carried Mother’s mask.

Come back! I yelled, lunging to my feet and chasing him. He darted off the path and between bushes. Branches cracked as I shoved through the waist-high foliage. Snow puffed upward and stung my face.

The way opened onto a new path. The kitsune sat in the middle, licking a paw. Mother’s mask lay beside him.

I froze, my panting breath loud in the snowy silence. He didn’t look at me, but swapped to cleaning a new paw. I couldn’t sneak up on him, and if I dashed, he’d run away again. Kitsune were proud creatures. Would he listen to pleading and false praise?

I bowed. Most honored kitsune, I apologize for bothering you. I seem to have dropped my mother’s mask, the one you so carefully picked up. I thank you for taking care of it. With your permission, I will now take the mask so it no longer burdens you.

He turned his