Cow Thief: Prologue

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be. I’ve also changed the name order to First and Last, rather than the Last and First order used in the original Japanese text.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

3. 先生 (sensei): This suffix is used to address or refer to teachers, doctors, professors, or other professionals who are considered experts in their field. It conveys respect and recognition of their knowledge or position. It can also be used more broadly for mentors or highly skilled individuals, such as artists or writers, especially in formal or respectful contexts.

4. Oni (鬼) are supernatural beings in Japanese folklore, often depicted as ogre-like creatures with horns, claws, and brightly colored skin (red or blue). While they are typically seen as malevolent, causing disasters or punishing evildoers, some oni can act as protectors or guides, as seen in this story.

5. Yokai (妖怪) is a broader term for supernatural creatures or phenomena in Japanese folklore. They range from mischievous tricksters to terrifying yokai or harmless spirits, often symbolizing moral lessons or unexplainable natural occurrences. Oni are considered a specific type of yokai, typically tied to punishment or danger.

6. Mononoke (物の怪) is another term in Japanese folklore that specifically refers to vengeful spirits or supernatural entities that cause harm, such as curses or illnesses. Unlike yokai, which can have a wide range of characteristics and motivations, mononoke are often associated with malice, unresolved emotions, or a desire for revenge, making them more focused and personal in their impact. The term evokes a sense of mystery and unease, as mononoke are usually tied to specific events or individuals.

Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of explicit sexual content. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.

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During the day, the blazing sunlight poured down mercilessly, but as the sun began to set, the intense heat gradually softened. Yet, the sound of cicadas echoed endlessly in the garden, their incessant chirps filling the air.

The mansion estate became noticeably more hectic by evening. Matagoroku Satake, the master of the sake brewery "Satake Bamboo," had planned to stay overnight at a post town about eight leagues away for a business meeting. However, upon hearing that his six-year-old son, Ryoichiro, was critically ill, he rushed back home in a panic. Throughout the day, the doctor and the maids were seen frequently entering and exiting the bedroom of the sick boy. The expressions on their faces, uniformly somber, tacitly conveyed the gravity of the boy's condition.

Tokuma, the son of Tomie Tanaka, Ryoichiro's wet nurse, was forbidden from approaching the  boy’s bedroom. Instead, he crouched at the base of an orange lily planted in the garden, hugging his knees. The commotion intensified, and he noticed his mother running along the corridor that faced the garden.

Tokuma knew. No matter what was done, Ryoichiro’s life had only a short time left.

He tilted his head back, gazing at the estate's roof. There, a large, white snake sat coiled, its crimson tongue pointed skyward. Tokuma had first noticed the snake about five days ago. At first, it was only the size of a dog. This wasn’t the first time a white snake had appeared on the roof. The last time it happened, the grandmother of the Satake family had passed away. When she died, the snake vanished. Tokuma realized that the white snake was a yokai that fed on human lives.

When he spotted the snake, he wondered, "Who will die this time?" From that night on, Ryoichiro developed a fever and took to his bed. As his condition worsened, the snake grew fatter.

Ryoichiro had never been a robust child. He always caught whatever cold was going around and quickly ended up bedridden. His mother, Yone, became excessively nervous about her only son’s health. She would boil bitter leaves into teas for him to drink and even made him eat insects, believing they would make him stronger. Despite her efforts to keep him indoors, Ryoichiro would stubbornly refuse to comply.

“Tokuma, Tokuma, let’s play.”

When his fever broke, he would slightly open the sliding door and call out to Tokuma, who was scrubbing the corridor. “Young master, Madam will scold you,” Tokuma would protest, but the mischievous only son paid him no mind. Sneaking out through the back door of the estate, he’d compel Tokuma to follow him. “Don’t run so much—it’s bad for your health!” “Don’t go in the river, or you’ll catch a cold!” Tokuma would shout, chasing after him until night fell. And every time they played so vigorously, Ryoichiro would inevitably fall ill the next day.

Desperate, Yone once thought, "He’s acting recklessly because he has a playmate," and sent Tokuma to work in another household. Ryoichiro cried and wailed for three days and nights, refusing even to eat. In the end, Tokuma was brought back in a flurry of panic.

Tokuma didn't particularly dislike the kind of capriciousness and selfishness typical of children from wealthy families. He adored Ryoichiro, who clung to him like a younger brother. When Tokuma realized the yokai was preying on Ryoichiro, he desperately tried to find a way to drive it away. He threw pebbles at it, but they merely bounced off the tiles on the opposite side of the courtyard. He tried luring a cat, hoping its presence might deter the snake, but the cat ignored the bait and instead bristled, glaring at the roof with its fur standing on end. As a last resort, he prayed at temples and shrines, but Ryoichiro’s condition didn’t improve. Tokuma knew what was wrong. He could see it. Yet, the inability to do anything about it frustrated and pained him deeply.

Yone appeared in the corridor. Her head hung low, her disheveled hair framing a pale face, and her unsteady steps mirrored those of an invalid. Tokuma hadn’t seen her for two days; she had been confined to Ryoichiro’s room. Noticing Tokuma, Yone slipped on her sandals and stepped into the garden. She walked to the crouching child’s side, looked up at the roof, and let large, glistening tears fall freely.

“Can you see it too?”

Pointing at the roof, Yone asked in a trembling voice. Tokuma nodded silently.

“I see a white snake,” he said softly.

Yone bit her lip and murmured, “To me, it looks like a huge spider.”

She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her kimono and glared at the roof. “I won’t hand over my child to the likes of you,” she spat under her breath before turning on her heel. Crossing the garden, she exited through the back door to the street beyond.

Even though the sun had set, she carried neither a companion nor a lantern. Feeling a growing unease at her unusual behavior, Tokuma looked around, but everyone else was preoccupied with Ryoichiro and nowhere to be seen. Resolving to follow her, he hurried after Yone on his own.

With a rustling sound, Yone strode briskly along the dry gravel path. As long as she stayed on the narrow street lined with houses, the light spilling from the homes kept the darkness at bay. But as she neared the bridge, the surroundings became abruptly dim.

Crossing the bridge, a flickering lantern light appeared in the distance. A traveling merchant from the neighboring village was approaching, carrying a furoshiki bundle decorated with a karakusa pattern on his back. Recognizing Yone, whom he had once met at the Satake household, the man greeted her with a cheerful smile.

“Isn’t that the lady of the Satake house? What brings you out at such an hour?”

Yone gave him a small bow but neither stopped nor responded. After crossing the bridge, she climbed the embankment, entering a stretch of farmland flanked by endless fields. All signs of light vanished, and even the moonlight, thin and pale, flickered intermittently behind wisps of clouds.

A lukewarm breeze blew past, causing the grass along the roadside to rustle. Suddenly, a bright light flashed before Tokuma’s eyes. The light appeared and vanished intermittently. Before he realized it, he found himself walking through countless pale, bluish lights—the glow of fireflies. The sight was breathtakingly beautiful, yet an inexplicable sense of foreboding sent chills down his spine.

Abruptly, Yone stopped and turned to face him. Behind her, the road forked—one path leading to the neighboring village and the other heading deep into the mountains. A gust of wind blew, rustling the hem of Yone’s kimono.

“Go back now,” she said.

Tokuma shook his head.

“Just go home. You mustn’t follow any further. Do you understand?”

Her voice was sterner than he had ever heard it before, and Tokuma lowered his gaze. The sound of grass being trampled reached his ears, and he saw Yone’s straw sandals in his line of sight. A soft hand touched his head, gently stroking his hair.

“You’re a smart and kind boy. From now on, take care of Ryoichiro for me too, won’t you?”

With that, Yone turned and walked onto the mountain path. Even after her figure disappeared into the darkness, Tokuma stood rooted in place for a while. He thought and thought, and finally, he began to walk toward the mountain path. Though she had told him not to follow, he couldn’t bear to leave Yone alone.

Even on the dark mountain trail, Tokuma was confident he could follow her. He knew that if he wished with all his heart to reach her, a tiny oni the size of a mouse would emerge from his right palm. The oni would walk ahead of him, showing him the way.

Since as far back as Tokuma could remember, there had always been an oni in his hand. It wasn’t the kind of fearsome oni that devoured humans, as the stories told. This oni was quiet and small. However, it would occasionally call out, “Hoi, hoi,” summoning him to follow. When he obeyed, he usually encountered much larger oni. The small oni had only limited abilities, but the larger oni could do far more.

Still, Tokuma had never tried to keep a large oni. It felt wrong to do so. Occasionally, he saw others with large oni, but such people were often labeled as cursed or unhappy. Most of them didn’t even realize they carried an oni.

Guided by the small oni, Tokuma walked on. Yone was no longer in sight, but he believed that if he kept walking, he would eventually catch up. The mountain path stretched endlessly upward. The unkempt trail was overgrown with tall kaya grass, which frequently whipped against his small legs like lashes.

Passing by the charcoal kiln and the adjacent hut, the path narrowed further, transforming into a hunter’s trail, seldom traveled except by those chasing game. From afar, a cry, uncertain whether from a dog or a wolf, echoed, making Tokuma flinch as he cautiously pressed onward. Though he was accustomed to mountain paths, his legs, weary from the trek, began to creak like aged wood. Just as fatigue overwhelmed him, the scenery abruptly opened before him.

A small pond lay ahead, and Yone stood motionless at its edge. Tokuma hastily tucked the guiding small oni back into his hand, fearing Yone might scold him if she noticed. The pond, about five times the size of the estate's garden pond, was bordered by a large willow tree. The moon's reflection shimmered sharply on the water's surface.

"Deity of the pond, Deity of the pond… please, show yourself," Yone prayed fervently, her voice unwavering. The moon on the water's surface began to ripple. With a loud splash, something the size of a bull burst forth. At the water's edge swayed a monstrous toad, its belly a vivid red and a horn protruding from its forehead. Even Tokuma, who was no stranger to the sight of oni, was so horrified by its grotesque form that he nearly screamed, hastily clamping his hand over his mouth.

Yone, however, showed no fear before the monstrous yokai.

"Deity of the pond, I beg of you. My son is dying from illness. Please, with your power, save his life," she pleaded.

The enormous toad replied in a voice like the creaking of a heavy cartwheel.

"Saving him is not impossible…"

"Oh, thank you!" Yone's voice lit with hope as the toad blinked slowly.

"But in return, I shall eat you."

Tokuma’s body shuddered violently at these words.

"I have long been prepared for that," Yone declared resolutely.

The toad opened its massive mouth wide and leaned forward. In an instant, it swallowed Yone whole.

"Madam!" Tokuma cried, leaping out from the bushes. The toad turned toward him with a snap, its blood-red tongue flickering, its black, glassy eyes gleaming like Venetian glass as it glared at the child.

"And who might you be?" it growled.

Tokuma froze, his legs trembling uncontrollably with fear. Though he had seen oni and yokai many times, this was the first time he had faced one directly. Ever since he could remember, Tokuma had been able to see things beyond the mortal world. Yone, who shared this same sight, had often told him, If you see them, pretend you don’t. As long as you ignore them, they won’t harm you.

"Do you need something from me, child?" the toad rasped.

Timidly, Tokuma asked, "Is the Madam dead?"

The toad creaked again. "I ate her."

"Will the young master be saved?"

"I gave my word."

Tokuma felt an overwhelming pity for Ryoichiro. Despite all the trouble he caused Yone, the boy adored his mother deeply. The thought of Ryoichiro never seeing her again made Tokuma’s heart ache as if it were his own loss. Before the toad, its mouth opening and closing like a fish, Tokuma dropped to his knees, pressing his hands to the ground.

"Please, I beg your mercy. The young master is still so little. As a keepsake of the Madam, could you spare just one thing for him?"

The toad let out a guttural croak.

"I’ve already eaten her."

"Please, I implore you. Have mercy," Tokuma pleaded desperately.

The toad croaked again, its voice now echoing like the lowing of a cow.

"If you insist so much, I might consider it. But in return…"

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