The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Flicker was right.

There was definitely something to be said for reincarnating without your mind, because being trapped inside a turtle egg could turn even Aurelia – er, I meant the purest, kindest, most even-tempered soul – into a ravening demon. It was even worse than being stuck in a catfish egg. At least those were translucent and I could observe my siblings and count the days while I waited to hatch – but this shell was opaque! I couldn’t see anything besides a blurry white smear and the muddy green slicks of my slowly-forming skin.

Ugh! What a hideous color! I fumed in silence.

And why in the world had Aurelia come to mind when I needed an image of a saint anyway? I hadn’t thought about the ex-empress so much in centuries. Plus it wasn’t as if she’d been the purest, kindest, most even-tempered soul in existence – just the purest, kindest, most even-tempered one at Cassius’ court. Which wasn’t saying much. No one ever governed the Back Palace, the imperial family’s personal quarters, by being nice.

It was Cassia Quarta’s fault, I decided. Now that Flicker had reminded me of the little princess, I kept remembering her mother seething in the background while we played counting games with pearls (all in the name of math, nothing to worry about, Your Majesty). Aurelia had become the Star of Reflected Brightness long before her children died. Had she watched them from Heaven? Ground her teeth as they turned into pawns and fell, one by one, to assassination, disease, hunting accidents, childbirth, and war? How much did she blame me?

Probably a lot.

But wait, why was I still thinking about her? Unless she transferred to the Bureau of Reincarnation, which she almost certainly wouldn’t given that her ex-husband worked there now, her opinion of me was irrelevant. If she couldn’t affect my karma total or reincarnations, I didn’t care. I tried to kick my eggshell to emphasize the point, but my leg muscles hadn’t developed enough yet. That just made me angrier.

How long did it take softshell turtles to hatch? How many days had passed? How much longer did I have to wait?

I had no idea.

I had no idea.

I HAD NO IDEA!

Okay, next time I was up in Heaven, I was definitely going to look up gestation times before Flicker reincarnated me.

An interminable two moons later (as I learned from my curriculum vitae), I hatched.

Finally! What a relief to bite and snap and break my eggshell to bits that I could spit aside! Some pieces stuck wetly to the rocking, cracking eggs around me; others hit my siblings as they struggled out. Stepping on them, I pushed upward – only to get knocked sideways by a shower of the sand that Mommy Turtle had so thoughtfully piled over us.

Ugh, the sand! It was getting everywhere – in my face, my eyes, even the crack between my neck and carapace, where it itched horribly. My stubby forelegs couldn’t reach far enough to scrape it out. Furious, I snapped at the sand – which only made things worse because now it was inside my mouth too.

All right, all right, calm down, Piri. The river is right there. All you have to do is walk into the water, and the sand will wash right off. You can do that.

Oh, but it was so hard. All my muscles were floppy, and my legs didn’t want to work together. What was going on? I’d been a fox for a thousand years! I knew how to control four legs at the same time!

Grimly, I sent a command to first one leg, then the next, then the next, then the last. Move.

Lift. Step. Lift. Step. Lift. Step. Lift. Step.

All around me, two dozen other miniature softshell turtles were doing the same as the sun beat down on us. Too hot. Too dry. I was wilting. I was shriveling. I was going to die right here and go up to Heaven to spend another forty-nine days inside an archival box before I got sent back down here to be imprisoned inside an egg again.

No. No, no, no. I refused to die. I forced my legs onward.

At last, I made it to the edge of the water and let the waves pull me under. Ah, bliss! The sand swirled away, the parched sensation vanished, and energy surged through me. On instinct, I stretched out my legs and took an experimental stroke. My body glided forward. It worked! I took a second stroke, followed by a third. I was swimming! I was swimming!

As I coasted downstream, I felt the oddest sense of homecoming.

For the first week, I let my turtle-brain take over so I could learn how to be a softshell turtle. It seemed to involve spending most of my time in the water, either buried in the riverbed with my snout sticking out – or eating. So much eating. Water bugs, worms, baby fish – any kind of meat I could get my jaws around, really. For a creature that ate all the time, though, I grew awfully slowly. By measuring myself against the eelgrass, I estimated that I was an inch long when I hatched, and a week later, I still couldn’t see any improvement. How was I supposed to fight Lord Silurus in this state? Was this Flicker’s way of getting me out of his office and keeping me out of it for a few decades?

Well. While I was waiting to grow larger, I’d go check on Yulus and Nagi, see what they were up to. Although I had no intention of talking to them in case they stuffed me back into a cage, I was curious about what had happened since Mooncloud’s death.

Off I swam to Captain Carpio’s favorite pub, the Twisted Reed. It was a clever operation, located in a partially submerged grotto so it could cater to both water and land spirits. Just outside the entrance, I buried myself in the riverbed and listened to the conversations. Sure enough, the drinkers were discussing the harvest, which had apparently happened – or, rather, not happened – last moon.

One frog was sighing, “No one was in the mood to celebrrrrate. My lord the Grrrreen Frrrrog didn’t make much off this autumn’s theatrrrricals.”

“It’s going to be a hard winter,” agreed the whistling duck next to him.

“Less hard for you,” retorted a carp, irked into sticking his head into open air. “You can just rob people coming into the barony from other parts of Serica.”

Lifting one webbed foot, the duck shoved the carp back into the water. “Starving farmers means more bandits, which means fewer travelers, which means more competition and leaner pickings, plus the baron calls up his vassals to patrol the roads. Our life isn’t nearly as easy as you think.”

The carp snapped at her foot, making the duck squawk and flap. One wingtip clipped the frog across the face, and he sucked in air until his dewlap swelled nearly to bursting –

“Here, now!” boomed the bartender, an old water snake that had sprouted a pair of arms and was well on her way to turning into a dragon. “Settle down – or leave!”

The carp, duck, and frog subsided, sipping their drinks and pretending that neither of the other two existed.

Into this sullen silence barged a familiar fish. “Mornin’!” he bellowed at the bartender.

For a split second, the snake’s eyes narrowed. Then her mouth peeled back into a huge grin. “Welcome, Captain Carpio! Your usual, sir?”

“You know me! Never change a winnin’ combination, I always say!”

As the bartender bustled about behind the counter, Captain Carpio swam past the other patrons, clapping them on the backs or legs (depending on what he could reach). Since they weren’t the ones losing money on his breakfast, they toasted him boisterously.

“Hey Cap’!”

“Mornin’, Cap’n!”

“Any word from His Majesty yet, Captain?”

That was precisely the question he’d been waiting for. Propping one fin against the counter, Captain Carpio declared, “As a matter of fact, I received a mis-sive last night.”

He paused, giving the other spirits a chance to crowd around and start badgering him for details. The frog plopped into the water and swam up close, and even the duck stuck her head underwater.

Once he had everyone’s attention, he continued, “Negotiations are proceeding well! The loss of that catfish freak – ” hmph, freak indeed – “was too bad, but His Majesty the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea is generous. He recognized the value of our offerings. He understands the importance of Black Sand Creek!” (Of those three, only the second was even remotely plausible.) “Prime Minister Nagi is confident that he will intercede on our behalf with the Dragon Commander and obtain rain for us this winter!”

Bit late for the farmers, wasn’t it?

But the other spirits were hanging on his words and nodding along, and at the end an elderly pearl mussel creaked, “That will be good for the winter wheat then.”

That led to a chorus of “Yes, yes” and “The winter wheat!”

Oh, huh, winter wheat. I never knew you could grow anything in the winter. Was this a new agricultural development, or just something I’d never paid attention to before? If I ever saw Marcius again, I could ask him. Although I’d probably have forgotten by then.

“A toast to both Their Majesties!” burbled the duck, and the grotto echoed with cheers.

Outside, I blew out a stream of bubbles, relieved by the news. So even without me, Yulus had done it. He’d gotten rain for his territory. As I pictured him standing tall in the throne room of the crystal palace, I felt a twinge of pride.

Silly thing to feel. It was almost certainly Nagi who’d handled the critical negotiations.

Anyway, enough of this sentimental nonsense. I had the information I’d come for. Even better: Now that I knew Yulus and Nagi were away, their absence and Captain Carpio’s general incompetence meant that I could approach Lord Silurus openly.

I wanted to try some negotiating of my own.

Hello? Excuse me? Lord Silurus?

I was poking the tip of my snout into the catfish demon’s cave. From what I’d heard, Lord Silurus came out only to feed and scare off patrols who veered too close to his lair.

Excuse me? Lord Silurus? May I speak with you?

One moment, the opening was black and still. The next, a wave smashed into me, knocking me backwards, followed by a head as big as a mountain. One giant, blood-red eye revolved slowly, scanning the river.

“WHO SPEAKS?” The demon’s voice boomed through water and vibrated my bones. All around us, fish dove for cover.

I righted myself and forced myself to swim forward. I do, my lord.

“OH?” A whisker, hard as a steel, whipped out and wrapped around my body. “AND WHAT ARE YOU?” He flipped me to and fro, studying me from all angles.

I was getting dizzy. I…uh…I’m a…softshell turtle?

The jaws opened in an uproarious laugh that sent waves buffeting the riverbed. Sand swirled and rocks splintered and eelgrass tore up by the roots. Not a single living creature remained in sight.

“LORD SILURUS CAN SEE THAT MUCH!” he guffawed, and lowered his volume at last. “Silly thing! Thinking that Lord Silurus can’t recognize a turtle when he sees one!” The whisker tightened around me, squeezing until my carapace nearly popped off. “You’ll make a good snack. A bit on the small side, but Lord Silurus is not a picky eater.”

Wait! Wait! Don’t eat me!

I couldn’t die now! Not when I’d just hatched!

“What should Lord Silurus do with softshell turtles besides eat them?”

I – I’m – I’m not a normal softshell turtle! I – I kept my mind when I reincarnated! We can work together! I can tell you how to earn good karma!

He scoffed. “Silly little thing. What does Lord Silurus care about good karma?” Still, he didn’t bring me any closer to his mouth.

Because you need it if you want to reincarnate as better animals! You don’t want to reincarnate as a worm, do you?

He chortled, blasting the riverbed again. “LORD SILURUS HAS LIVED SIX HUNDRED WINTERS.” (Aww, a mere babe of a spirit. How cute.) “LORD SILURUS IS NOT GOING TO DIE.”

But what if someone kills you? (Like me, as soon as I got big enough.) Like a mage. A mage came to the river recently.

The whisker tightened. “IMPOSSIBLE. NO MAGE CAN DEFEAT LORD SILURUS.”

An accident, then. Accidents happen. Don’t you want to know how to earn good karma, just in case?

The giant eye rotated upward, consideringly. “Tell me.”

I will, if we work together.

“Work together?” The eye fixed on me.

Yes. I want to live long enough to awaken like you, but just look at me. Look at this body. It’s tiny and weak and useless and won’t last two weeks in the wild. Whereas, you – I waved both forelegs at him. You’re so big and powerful and you know how to turn into a spirit. I want to learn from you!

“And in return, you will teach Lord Silurus how to earn good karma.”

Yes.

It was even true. I wanted to keep him from eating any more humans while I was growing up, which would benefit both of our curricula vitae. And if I killed him before he told anyone else about the Tier system, then it wouldn’t change anything on Earth and no one in Accounting or the Bureau of Reincarnation would care. Sometimes Heaven’s results-oriented approach was convenient.

But the demon shook his head, sending currents swirling through the river. “Useless. Lord Silurus is not going to die. Hence he will not reincarnate. Hence karma is useless to him. Hence you are useless to him.”

And he flicked me into his mouth. I thrashed, flailing my limbs and craning my neck as if keeping my head outside his teeth a few seconds longer would make any difference.

No, no, wait! I know more – I can tell you more –

Crunch.