The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox
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Haha, however it turns out, Lady Fate will find a way to say that it's what she meant all along!
Chapter 154: My Superbly Strategic Reasoning
Chapter 154: My Superbly Strategic Reasoning
"Taking control of West Serica? With the representative of the great Lady Piri by my side? 'Tis an honor undreamed of!" gasped the foxling, before she flung herself to the floor and prostrated herself at my claws.
At least, that was how I thought she should react.
Instead –
"Did you say West Serica?" Her brow furrowed delicately (although not delicately enough – I'd have scrunched my forehead less). "But…we just came from West Serica. Shouldn't we be taking over South Serica?"
Oh no, not this again. I personally had no objections to dethroning Jullia, but Anthea would squall like a raccoon dog pup if I did. I didn't want to deal with that.
As I have already told you, a five-tailed fox must aim higher than supplanting mere petty queens. Lady Piri has the situation in South Serica well in paw. You, however, are uniquely suited to taking control of West Serica and beginning the reunification of the Empire with that as your base of operations.
To my everlasting frustration, that logic still didn't satisfy her. "But there are so few people in West Serica to take control of. Shouldn't we move north to conquer North Serica or East Serica?"
Absolutely not. The Claymouth Barony was in East Serica. No way was I subjecting Floridiana, Dusty, the Jeks, or even the baron and his family to an invasion, not when the barony was finally on better financial and political footing.
And as for North Serica – who would want to go there in the middle of winter? The whole point of this expedition was the balmy weather and the tropical beaches.
Are you questioning Lady Piri's strategic reasoning?
The foxling opened her mouth, glanced to her right at Steelfang, then to her left at Stripey. Neither spoke up to support her. She shut her mouth. I thought matters were settled when she opened it yet again.
"But why – forgive me, O representative, but I don't understand Lady Piri's reasoning. Can you please teach me what her strategy is?"
(Going somewhere much, much warmer to escape this miserable rain.)
Lady Piri has determined that a strong base of support in West Serica will be crucial to the reunification of Serica. You cannot expect all operations to succeed on the first try. When they fail – here I ignored her indignant whine – you will need a secure stronghold to which you can retreat in order to regroup, reassemble your forces, and reassess your strategy.
I was rather proud of all the alliteration, but Stripey's long neck contorted in a way that suggested he was choking back laughter. Good thing beaks couldn't curl up at the corners, because his mirth was contagious. Maintaining my dignity around him was truly difficult sometimes.
The foxling blinked and drew the logical conclusion, which was that she was so silly and inexperienced that she'd forced me to state the excruciatingly obvious. Her cheeks flushed with humiliation.
"Taking over the mines and quarries in the Jade Mountains makes sense," Steelfang said all of a sudden. "The lowlanders always want to trade for jade and gold and silver."
Maybe he thought he was being helpful, but he really wasn't. From what I remembered, the mines and quarries were in the northern part of West Serica. In other words, the cold part that was even colder than this South Serican winter I was trying to escape.
I wracked my brains for a good rebuttal. What did the southern part of West Serica have that might be valuable enough to justify taking over it first? What had Pallus said about it? That it had fishing villages and harbors, and less feisty fish?
Hmmm, fish? Was seafood a sufficiently valuable natural resource to justify a takeover? Well, depended on the types of seafood and their rarity, I supposed.
But – harbors. There were harbors in the south.
We shall commence from the south, where there are natural harbors, I pronounced.
Ah, to establish sea-trade networks? Stripey asked.
"But I thought…," Lodia began before all eyes turned her way and she clammed up. "It's nothing."
It's not nothing, I said. What are you thinking?
"Oh…. It's just – I thought, isn't the Dragon King of the Southern Sea charging very high tolls for using his waters? Which is why sea trade between South and East Serica stopped? Um, if the tolls are so high, how will we send ships west…?"
It was a valid point.
We'll negotiate with him, I assured her. He will see that receiving some tolls at a lower rate is better than receiving none at all because they're too high.
"Oh, I see." She nodded vigorously. "And then you can build a Temple by the harbor, like you wanted to, so all the sailors can pray to the Kitchen God before and after their voyages!"
I knew I kept her around for a reason.
Precisely. I turned back to the foxling and Steelfang. Commence your conquest of West Serica from the south. I expect you to take the factors we have just discussed into account as you plan the campaign.
The foxling muttered to herself as she ticked them off on her fingers, trying to commit them to memory. It didn't exactly inspire confidence that she wound up with a different number of fingers every time. I raised my wings at Steelfang.
He grinned back, showing all his pointy teeth. Hopefully that meant he had the situation in paw.
"I want to go too," said Lodia out of nowhere.
What?
Under the force of my stare, she flinched but kept talking. "I'm the Matriarch, aren't I? If we're establishing a new Temple, shouldn't I go?"
"But it's too dangerous!" Bobo protested for me. "The Wilds are…wild! There are ssso many demons! You'll get hurt!"
"If it's safe enough for her, it's safe enough for me," she argued, pointing at me. "I have to go. I'm the Matriarch."
Yes, you're the Matriarch. You are the head of all the Temples that are and will be. That's why we can't risk you.
"You won't be risking me. I'll stay right next to you and Bobo and Stripey, and it'll be the safest place in Serica."
Her unconditional faith actually brought an unfeigned tear to my eye.
Stripey eyeballed me. It is true that things may go more smoothly with Queen Jullia if Lodia isn't here, he whispered.
Anthea's dealing with that, I whispered back.
But it may be better if she doesn't need to waste time reassuring the Queen that Lychee Grove isn't trying to usurp her power through the Matriarch, and can focus on expanding the Temple's influence instead. And the girl's right, you know. The safest place for her is right next to you.
Because Heaven loves me so much? I retorted, thinking of my execution. No, the safest place then really had not been right next to me. Or anywhere near me, for that matter.
Because you spread chaos wherever you go. At least if she's right next to you, your instinct for self-preservation will cover her too.
He was mostly correct, so I decided not to point out that very spectacular exception when my instinct for self-preservation had utterly failed me five hundred years ago. After all, Stripey had a point. This was Earthly court politics. I could handle it, but it could go sour for Lodia while I was away, and I didn't trust Anthea to shield her. If it came down to a choice between her own furry neck and Lodia's, the raccoon dog would shove the girl under the carriage.
Very well then, I told an anxious Lodia. You make a compelling argument. You may accompany us.
I expected Anthea to put up a fight over losing her Junior Wardrobe Mistress and her future embroidered gowns to demon-infested West Serica – but to my surprise, she didn't. Maybe she, too, foresaw less conflict with the queen if we removed this supposed threat.
As for the queen, she and her earls went into ecstasies at the news that a fraction of the ex-demons would be leaving instead of staying to unsettle the inhabitants in and around her capital.
Floridiana's gonna scream when she hears that we went to West Serica without her, commented Stripey.
Yeah. Yeah. She will. I could already imagine the ex-traveling mage's horrified rictus when she received the news.
"Oh no! Ssshe'll be ssso sssad!" cried Bobo. "Ssshould we sssend a letter and invite her?"
She's teaching! I objected before Stripey could. She literally just got home!
Admittedly, I didn't know much about pedagogical theories, but presumably frequent interruptions in education didn't make for very effective education.
To my surprise, however, Stripey backed up Bobo. We don't know that she's teaching. She was away for a very long time. They might have hired another teacher. We should write to her, just in case.
You want to drag another human into West Serica? Are you trying to feed the demons?!
"Humans live in West Serica," Steelfang corrected me. "Isn't that why she's going?"
Lodia gave a determined nod, mouth set in a line that said she absolutely refused to be left behind now that she had decided she was going.
I still don't get why she wants to go, I muttered under my breath before I reminded Bobo, Even if we wrote to Floridiana and she wanted to join us, it would take too long for the letter to reach her and then for her and Dusty to travel here.
"We can sssend a ssspirit with the letter! And Dusssty can run really fassst."
Not that fast – I began, but Stripey interrupted me.
Yes. Let's do that. It's going to take us time to plan and prepare for this expedition anyway. We should give her and Dusty the choice.
It wasn't exactly a choice. I already knew Floridiana's answer. While I personally thought she shouldn't be given the opportunity to succumb to temptation, everyone else in the room agreed with Stripey.
Overruled, I left the writing of the letter to them.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have.
I would have sent one copy of the letter, with a disposable spirit, and given up when we heard nothing back.
Who could have predicted that Stripey and Bobo would send not one, not two, but three copies of their letter with three different spirits – a hawk, a gazelle, and a pigeon – on three different routes through or around the Snowy Mountains, just to make sure our invitation reached the Claymouth Barony?
I learned later that the pigeon and the hawk made it there, but only the pigeon survived the return flight. Bedraggled and missing many of his wing and tail feathers, he delivered Floridiana's reply.
It said: Dusty and I are coming. Don't leave without us.
Great.
However, as Stripey had pointed out, expeditions such as this one didn't come together overnight. There was a lot of logistical stuff to deal with, which I delegated to the foxling and her chieftains. I'd say that I was busy directing Temple affairs, but I wasn't. At this point, between Katu, Camphorus Unus, and the priests (mostly Camphorus Unus and the priests), the Temple basically ran itself.
I mostly huddled in my sleeping box and did my best to stay warm.
You're not even a cold-blooded creature like Bobo, Stripey chided me, but I burrowed further into my nest of soft cloth.
She's a spirit. I'm not.
Neither am I now.
He was right. If he hadn't gotten mixed up in my plan to take out Lord Silurus, he would still be an immortal duck. I felt that odd twinge in my chest again. Was it an early warning sign for a heart attack? This South Serican winter was really wreaking havoc on my health.
When my heart didn't fail immediately, I told Stripey, Well, all of my joints ache, so I'm staying right here. People know where to find me.
Yes, but that doesn't mean you should –
A commotion in the hall cut him off.
I wiggled out far enough to poke my head over the edge of the box. What's going on?
A moment later, I had my answer when one very excited mage, one very dirty horse, and one very wind-blown dragon came charging through the door.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
"Taking control of West Serica? With the representative of the great Lady Piri by my side? 'Tis an honor undreamed of!" gasped the foxling, before she flung herself to the floor and prostrated herself at my claws.
At least, that was how I thought she should react.
Instead –
"Did you say West Serica?" Her brow furrowed delicately (although not delicately enough – I'd have scrunched my forehead less). "But…we just came from West Serica. Shouldn't we be taking over South Serica?"
Oh no, not this again. I personally had no objections to dethroning Jullia, but Anthea would squall like a raccoon dog pup if I did. I didn't want to deal with that.
As I have already told you, a five-tailed fox must aim higher than supplanting mere petty queens. Lady Piri has the situation in South Serica well in paw. You, however, are uniquely suited to taking control of West Serica and beginning the reunification of the Empire with that as your base of operations.
To my everlasting frustration, that logic still didn't satisfy her. "But there are so few people in West Serica to take control of. Shouldn't we move north to conquer North Serica or East Serica?"
Absolutely not. The Claymouth Barony was in East Serica. No way was I subjecting Floridiana, Dusty, the Jeks, or even the baron and his family to an invasion, not when the barony was finally on better financial and political footing.
And as for North Serica – who would want to go there in the middle of winter? The whole point of this expedition was the balmy weather and the tropical beaches.
Are you questioning Lady Piri's strategic reasoning?
The foxling opened her mouth, glanced to her right at Steelfang, then to her left at Stripey. Neither spoke up to support her. She shut her mouth. I thought matters were settled when she opened it yet again.
"But why – forgive me, O representative, but I don't understand Lady Piri's reasoning. Can you please teach me what her strategy is?"
(Going somewhere much, much warmer to escape this miserable rain.)
Lady Piri has determined that a strong base of support in West Serica will be crucial to the reunification of Serica. You cannot expect all operations to succeed on the first try. When they fail – here I ignored her indignant whine – you will need a secure stronghold to which you can retreat in order to regroup, reassemble your forces, and reassess your strategy.
I was rather proud of all the alliteration, but Stripey's long neck contorted in a way that suggested he was choking back laughter. Good thing beaks couldn't curl up at the corners, because his mirth was contagious. Maintaining my dignity around him was truly difficult sometimes.
The foxling blinked and drew the logical conclusion, which was that she was so silly and inexperienced that she'd forced me to state the excruciatingly obvious. Her cheeks flushed with humiliation.
"Taking over the mines and quarries in the Jade Mountains makes sense," Steelfang said all of a sudden. "The lowlanders always want to trade for jade and gold and silver."
Maybe he thought he was being helpful, but he really wasn't. From what I remembered, the mines and quarries were in the northern part of West Serica. In other words, the cold part that was even colder than this South Serican winter I was trying to escape.
I wracked my brains for a good rebuttal. What did the southern part of West Serica have that might be valuable enough to justify taking over it first? What had Pallus said about it? That it had fishing villages and harbors, and less feisty fish?
Hmmm, fish? Was seafood a sufficiently valuable natural resource to justify a takeover? Well, depended on the types of seafood and their rarity, I supposed.
But – harbors. There were harbors in the south.
We shall commence from the south, where there are natural harbors, I pronounced.
Ah, to establish sea-trade networks? Stripey asked.
"But I thought…," Lodia began before all eyes turned her way and she clammed up. "It's nothing."
It's not nothing, I said. What are you thinking?
"Oh…. It's just – I thought, isn't the Dragon King of the Southern Sea charging very high tolls for using his waters? Which is why sea trade between South and East Serica stopped? Um, if the tolls are so high, how will we send ships west…?"
It was a valid point.
We'll negotiate with him, I assured her. He will see that receiving some tolls at a lower rate is better than receiving none at all because they're too high.
"Oh, I see." She nodded vigorously. "And then you can build a Temple by the harbor, like you wanted to, so all the sailors can pray to the Kitchen God before and after their voyages!"
I knew I kept her around for a reason.
Precisely. I turned back to the foxling and Steelfang. Commence your conquest of West Serica from the south. I expect you to take the factors we have just discussed into account as you plan the campaign.
The foxling muttered to herself as she ticked them off on her fingers, trying to commit them to memory. It didn't exactly inspire confidence that she wound up with a different number of fingers every time. I raised my wings at Steelfang.
He grinned back, showing all his pointy teeth. Hopefully that meant he had the situation in paw.
"I want to go too," said Lodia out of nowhere.
What?
Under the force of my stare, she flinched but kept talking. "I'm the Matriarch, aren't I? If we're establishing a new Temple, shouldn't I go?"
"But it's too dangerous!" Bobo protested for me. "The Wilds are…wild! There are ssso many demons! You'll get hurt!"
"If it's safe enough for her, it's safe enough for me," she argued, pointing at me. "I have to go. I'm the Matriarch."
Yes, you're the Matriarch. You are the head of all the Temples that are and will be. That's why we can't risk you.
"You won't be risking me. I'll stay right next to you and Bobo and Stripey, and it'll be the safest place in Serica."
Her unconditional faith actually brought an unfeigned tear to my eye.
Stripey eyeballed me. It is true that things may go more smoothly with Queen Jullia if Lodia isn't here, he whispered.
Anthea's dealing with that, I whispered back.
But it may be better if she doesn't need to waste time reassuring the Queen that Lychee Grove isn't trying to usurp her power through the Matriarch, and can focus on expanding the Temple's influence instead. And the girl's right, you know. The safest place for her is right next to you.
Because Heaven loves me so much? I retorted, thinking of my execution. No, the safest place then really had not been right next to me. Or anywhere near me, for that matter.
Because you spread chaos wherever you go. At least if she's right next to you, your instinct for self-preservation will cover her too.
He was mostly correct, so I decided not to point out that very spectacular exception when my instinct for self-preservation had utterly failed me five hundred years ago. After all, Stripey had a point. This was Earthly court politics. I could handle it, but it could go sour for Lodia while I was away, and I didn't trust Anthea to shield her. If it came down to a choice between her own furry neck and Lodia's, the raccoon dog would shove the girl under the carriage.
Very well then, I told an anxious Lodia. You make a compelling argument. You may accompany us.
I expected Anthea to put up a fight over losing her Junior Wardrobe Mistress and her future embroidered gowns to demon-infested West Serica – but to my surprise, she didn't. Maybe she, too, foresaw less conflict with the queen if we removed this supposed threat.
As for the queen, she and her earls went into ecstasies at the news that a fraction of the ex-demons would be leaving instead of staying to unsettle the inhabitants in and around her capital.
Floridiana's gonna scream when she hears that we went to West Serica without her, commented Stripey.
Yeah. Yeah. She will. I could already imagine the ex-traveling mage's horrified rictus when she received the news.
"Oh no! Ssshe'll be ssso sssad!" cried Bobo. "Ssshould we sssend a letter and invite her?"
She's teaching! I objected before Stripey could. She literally just got home!
Admittedly, I didn't know much about pedagogical theories, but presumably frequent interruptions in education didn't make for very effective education.
To my surprise, however, Stripey backed up Bobo. We don't know that she's teaching. She was away for a very long time. They might have hired another teacher. We should write to her, just in case.
You want to drag another human into West Serica? Are you trying to feed the demons?!
"Humans live in West Serica," Steelfang corrected me. "Isn't that why she's going?"
Lodia gave a determined nod, mouth set in a line that said she absolutely refused to be left behind now that she had decided she was going.
I still don't get why she wants to go, I muttered under my breath before I reminded Bobo, Even if we wrote to Floridiana and she wanted to join us, it would take too long for the letter to reach her and then for her and Dusty to travel here.
"We can sssend a ssspirit with the letter! And Dusssty can run really fassst."
Not that fast – I began, but Stripey interrupted me.
Yes. Let's do that. It's going to take us time to plan and prepare for this expedition anyway. We should give her and Dusty the choice.
It wasn't exactly a choice. I already knew Floridiana's answer. While I personally thought she shouldn't be given the opportunity to succumb to temptation, everyone else in the room agreed with Stripey.
Overruled, I left the writing of the letter to them.
In retrospect, I shouldn't have.
I would have sent one copy of the letter, with a disposable spirit, and given up when we heard nothing back.
Who could have predicted that Stripey and Bobo would send not one, not two, but three copies of their letter with three different spirits – a hawk, a gazelle, and a pigeon – on three different routes through or around the Snowy Mountains, just to make sure our invitation reached the Claymouth Barony?
I learned later that the pigeon and the hawk made it there, but only the pigeon survived the return flight. Bedraggled and missing many of his wing and tail feathers, he delivered Floridiana's reply.
It said: Dusty and I are coming. Don't leave without us.
Great.
However, as Stripey had pointed out, expeditions such as this one didn't come together overnight. There was a lot of logistical stuff to deal with, which I delegated to the foxling and her chieftains. I'd say that I was busy directing Temple affairs, but I wasn't. At this point, between Katu, Camphorus Unus, and the priests (mostly Camphorus Unus and the priests), the Temple basically ran itself.
I mostly huddled in my sleeping box and did my best to stay warm.
You're not even a cold-blooded creature like Bobo, Stripey chided me, but I burrowed further into my nest of soft cloth.
She's a spirit. I'm not.
Neither am I now.
He was right. If he hadn't gotten mixed up in my plan to take out Lord Silurus, he would still be an immortal duck. I felt that odd twinge in my chest again. Was it an early warning sign for a heart attack? This South Serican winter was really wreaking havoc on my health.
When my heart didn't fail immediately, I told Stripey, Well, all of my joints ache, so I'm staying right here. People know where to find me.
Yes, but that doesn't mean you should –
A commotion in the hall cut him off.
I wiggled out far enough to poke my head over the edge of the box. What's going on?
A moment later, I had my answer when one very excited mage, one very dirty horse, and one very wind-blown dragon came charging through the door.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
Half Moon
In the end, there is no end.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Update: Finally had a lychee.
...I didn't care for it much.
Ah, but the gang is off on another adventure.
Aww, that's too bad.
But at least now you've had one and know what they taste like!Yep, it's Den! But it would have been hilarious if it had been poor Yulus, escaping the politics of his court.
Chapter 155: Flying Fish Village
Chapter 155: Flying Fish Village
You're here already?! But what about the school? I blurted out. Not that I'm not happy to see you again, but did you just abandon your students? Again?
Floridiana's eyes flew so wide that I could have sworn I heard a thunk of eyebrows slamming into hairline. "You're happy to see me again?"
Ugh, had I really just said that out loud? How irredeemably sentimental of me.
King Densissimus Imber, Dragon King of Caltrop Pond, shook himself off like a wet dog. Water flew everywhere, spraying everyone in the room. "Of course she's happy to see you again, Flori! She wouldn't have invited you if she didn't want to see you again, would she?"
Don't get sidetracked, Den, I reprimanded the maybe-not-quite-so-little-anymore dragon. Floridiana, what kind of headmistress runs off and abandons her students at the first hint of adventure?
Folding her arms and sticking her jaw out so far that she actually resembled Den, the wayward schoolteacher informed me, "The academy is fine. If you must know, I'm giving the students a spring break."
A "spring break"? What's that supposed to be?
A vacation for the students while their teacher runs off to the ends of the Earth, Stripey whispered, not very quietly.
Den strangled a chortle.
Floridiana shot both of them a glare, which meant that Stripey had nailed it. "It is precisely what I called it – a short recess in classes in the early spring after the students have worked hard all winter so that they can come back to their lessons with fresh minds."
Or empty ones, said Stripey, who was way too sanguine about a very serious educational vacuum in the Claymouth Barony.
Dusty stuck his long nose over Floridiana's shoulder to take a stab at convincing me next. "Don't worry, Baron Claymouth's daughter said she'd take over classes if we don't return in time."
The daughter of an aristocrat? Teaching a passel of farmers' and shopkeepers' children their three R's?
The daughter who became a judge or whatever they call it these days? What higher noble did she offend?
My question did not improve Floridiana's mood. "Are you suggesting that becoming a teacher is a punishment?"
Well, about that….
If she's doing it because she was forced to "retire" – I made air quotes with my wingtips – from a political post, then it's a punishment. On the other hand, if she's doing it because she used to be a traveling mage, then it's a promotion.
Dusty blinked. Den stopped wringing out the soggy strands of his mane. And Steelfang started backing away from the mage, tail pinned between his hind legs.
"Oh no! Ssshe's okay, isssn't ssshe? Nothing bad happened to her?" cried one particular snake who could not for the life of her read the room.
Dusty's snort sent papers flying off the desk. Since they weren't Floridiana's, she didn't scold him. "Nah, she's fine. They're all fine. It's one of the Baron's younger daughters. She didn't want to marry the dude her parents picked for her, so she convinced them that staying in Claymouth to raise the prestige of the barony via its academy was more important than making a political marriage."
I couldn't help it: A happy chirp escaped my throat.
Floridiana rounded on me. "What are you so happy about?"
The positive karma I had inadvertently earned by helping a young human achieve her dreams (of escaping an unwanted marriage), obviously. What makes you think I'm not just happy to see you again?
"Only you can make that sound like an insult. Also, you just went to great lengths to insist that you aren't," she muttered, but there was a half-smile on her lips, and she was shaking her head in resignation.
Just for good measure, I gave her another peppy trill.
After Floridiana returned, I stopped thinking about the logistics of the West Serican expedition entirely. Everyone else claimed that the winter was passing and Goldhill was warming up, but the weather was still damp and chilly and my joints still ached. The day we finally set out in a convoy of humans, spirits, and wagons, I sang the whole way out of the city.
Heat. Sunshine. Blue skies. Tropical beaches. West Serica, here I came!
It may not be as warm there as you hope, Stripey warned. We're not exactly going further south, you know, just west.
"It will be much too hot there," pronounced Pallus, shaking out his shaggy coat. "I'm looking forward to getting back into the mountains, where it's a proper temperature all year round."
That's because you're from the mountains, Stripey pointed out. Everywhere in the lowlands is too hot for you.
"Like I said. A proper temperature."
To Anthea's relief, which was presumably a proxy for Jullia's, the foxling's chieftains were coming with us too, along with all the ex-demons who couldn't adjust to life in the South Serican lowlands. Their mission was to take over and rule various territories that we would incorporate into the empire as proper fiefs. I'd let them sort out who was conquering what, since they knew West Serica best.
Ah, delegation. What a beautiful, beautiful concept. I hoped that whoever invented it had earned so much positive karma that they were enjoying life as a nine-tailed fox.
Our convoy crawled westward until we reached the foothills that marked the beginning of the Wilds. Starting there, clans began to split off. Pallus and his manuls were the first to leave, muttering about how unreasonably hot the lowlands were. The peacock chieftain led his people off next, followed by the leopard and the yak. By the time we descended the far side of the mountains, the only clan that stayed with us was Steelfang's.
I overheard Bobo ask curiously, "Isssn't this too hot for you? Your fur is alssso pretty thick."
He flashed a wide, toothy grin. "Nah. We're not weak cats."
Those "weak" cats could bring a mountain down on your head if they wanted to, I observed, earning myself a most disrespectful glare.
"Oh! I think I see the village!" Lodia called from up ahead, in such an uncharacteristic squeal that she had to be heading off a squabble between me and the wolf. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose and pointed into the distance. "There, right?"
As much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't see that far.
"Yep," answered Steelfang, letting her head off the squabble. "That's the Flying Fish Village!"
What an odd name for a village, I commented to Stripey. Flying fish?
But he gave me an odd look right back. It's a very literal name. It's named after the type of fish that the humans hunt.
Fish that…fly?
Yes. Well, glide. But they look like they're flying when they leap out of the water and glide for a while. Weren't you listening when we planned this?
Why would I concern myself with minutiae when I already delegated the logistics to such capable subordinates?
Yes. Of course. Right….
"Oooooooh! Oh oh oh! I sssee them! I sssee them! The flying fisssh!"
Bobo slithered right into our path, bringing the entire convoy to a halt while she goggled at the fish I couldn't see yet. Unimpressed, the foxling yawned and leaned back in her litter, while Steelfang lifted a hind leg to scratch his ear. Den, however, did a barrel roll midair to show off how much better at flying he was than the gliding fish. Floridiana and Lodia rushed forward to squint where Bobo was looking. Apparently the fish were too small for human eyes to pick out too, because Floridiana's fingers edged towards her seal. Before she could stamp her forehead, I scolded, Weren't you the one who told me that seal paste contains quicksilver and is toxic to humans?
Her hand hovered next to her seal, fingers half curved. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Have a little patience. We'll be there soon enough. You'll see them with your natural vision when we get closer.
"You're counseling patience?"
"I see them too! The flying fish!" Dusty brayed, not helping me convince the human to not poison herself at all. "There're so many of them! They're like a cloud of silver, flying fish! And there're humans too! In little boats! They're catching the fish!"
"Well, come on! What are we waiting for?" Hiking up her tunic, Floridiana sprang onto his back. Forgetting all dignity, "His Highness" galloped for the seashore, and Den shot off after them.
Hey! Come back! You're going to ruin our entrance! I yelled after them.
I don't think they heard you. Or care, commented Stripey.
They're going to cause a diplomatic disaster! They're going to ruin everything!
"Want me to ssstop them?" offered Bobo.
The trio was already out of sight. I threw up my wings in frustration. Yes! Try to keep them from getting themselves killed!
"Okay!"
Off Bobo went, in a bright green streak.
"Um, should we keep going too…?" came Lodia's voice.
Mine was clipped. Yes. Let's.
The rest of us could stick to the plan, even if certain people were incapable of controlling themselves.
Dusty burst out of a stand of trees – such weird, wrinkly trunks! – and nearly trampled a group of women in striped skirts.
"Don't run over them!" Floridiana shouted.
"Out of the way!" Dusty neighed.
"Whoops!" Den nearly barreled headlong into some sort of shed without walls. He pumped his tail, veered around it, and crashed into a tree instead. "Ow! The leaves have thorns! What kind of leaves have thorns?!"
The village women shrieked and scattered, dropping their baskets. Brown lumps rolled all over the grass. As Dusty hurtled past, Floridiana caught a glimpse of some sort of unfamiliar root vegetable. But there was no time to think about it, because right ahead of them, nearly flush with the ground was – a rooftop! A row of rooftops! The houses were half underground!
"Don't step on the roofs!" she screamed. They didn't look nearly sturdy enough to bear the weight of a horse, and she didn't want Dusty falling through and breaking his legs.
"Not planning to!"
Dusty's hindquarters bunched, and then they were airborne. As they sailed over the first roof, Floridiana wrapped her fingers in his mane, flattened herself against his neck, and gawked down.
Dusty's front hooves touched down on a low stone wall that crumbled. He nearly toppled into a flimsy wooden rack where gutted fish were drying, and Floridiana screamed.
She wasn't the only one. Shrieks came from the village women, and children cried inside the house they'd just cleared.
Dusty's hooves tapped a stuttering beat, but he caught his balance before he knocked over the rack of fish. With another mighty leap, he was airborne again, leaping over the next roof. This time he landed on grass and solid ground.
Floridiana's chest was heaving. She forced herself to release his mane and sit up straight. The screams of the village women finally resolved into words, albeit words spoken with such a different accent that she could understand half of them.
"Please stop [unintelligible] guest [unintelligible]!"
"Don't say [unintelligible] unlucky [unintelligible] fishing!"
They seemed more anxious than hostile, but she stayed on Dusty's back anyway. "Greetings!" she called. "We come in peace!"
Panting, their long black hair in disarray, they surrounded Dusty and held out their palms, talking urgently.
"You are welcome [unintelligible] guest!"
"Please don't go [unintelligible] water [unintelligible]!"
"Please don't say [unintelligible] unlucky things [unintelligible] exocoetidae season!"
They seemed to trying to keep her away from the ocean. She tested it by whispering to Dusty, "Take a few steps towards the water." He did, and the women scrambled to place themselves between him and the beach.
"[Unintelligible] guests!" they pleaded.
"Stop," Floridiana ordered Dusty. To the villagers, she said, enunciating each word, "We mean no harm. We will not go to the water."
To demonstrate, Dusty took a few steps away from the ocean, and the women's shoulders sagged with relief. Some of them split off to collect their scattered root vegetables, giving the hovering Den a wide berth. "Draco," they said as they looked at him, using the ancient word for "dragon" that only the oldest spirits in North, East, and even South Serica still used.
Well, Piri was going to appreciate these people's vocabulary.
An elderly woman hobbled up, leaning on a cane cut from a tree branch. She had wrinkled tanned skin and hair as white as the foam on the waves. From the way the younger women parted for her, this was someone important. A village elder, most likely. Too late, Floridiana remembered the grand processional entrance that Piri had planned.
Well, she'd just have to improvise.
She dismounted slowly so as not to alarm anyone, but murmurs rose from the villagers anyway. They seemed shocked that she was a separate being from Dusty.
The elder hobbled closer and peered into Dusty's face. The horse flicked his ears forward and backward but held still for her inspection.
At last, she straightened. "This is no [unintelligible]. This is an 'equus.' From the old tales."
The women's shrieks brought the men running from their canoes.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
You're here already?! But what about the school? I blurted out. Not that I'm not happy to see you again, but did you just abandon your students? Again?
Floridiana's eyes flew so wide that I could have sworn I heard a thunk of eyebrows slamming into hairline. "You're happy to see me again?"
Ugh, had I really just said that out loud? How irredeemably sentimental of me.
King Densissimus Imber, Dragon King of Caltrop Pond, shook himself off like a wet dog. Water flew everywhere, spraying everyone in the room. "Of course she's happy to see you again, Flori! She wouldn't have invited you if she didn't want to see you again, would she?"
Don't get sidetracked, Den, I reprimanded the maybe-not-quite-so-little-anymore dragon. Floridiana, what kind of headmistress runs off and abandons her students at the first hint of adventure?
Folding her arms and sticking her jaw out so far that she actually resembled Den, the wayward schoolteacher informed me, "The academy is fine. If you must know, I'm giving the students a spring break."
A "spring break"? What's that supposed to be?
A vacation for the students while their teacher runs off to the ends of the Earth, Stripey whispered, not very quietly.
Den strangled a chortle.
Floridiana shot both of them a glare, which meant that Stripey had nailed it. "It is precisely what I called it – a short recess in classes in the early spring after the students have worked hard all winter so that they can come back to their lessons with fresh minds."
Or empty ones, said Stripey, who was way too sanguine about a very serious educational vacuum in the Claymouth Barony.
Dusty stuck his long nose over Floridiana's shoulder to take a stab at convincing me next. "Don't worry, Baron Claymouth's daughter said she'd take over classes if we don't return in time."
The daughter of an aristocrat? Teaching a passel of farmers' and shopkeepers' children their three R's?
The daughter who became a judge or whatever they call it these days? What higher noble did she offend?
My question did not improve Floridiana's mood. "Are you suggesting that becoming a teacher is a punishment?"
Well, about that….
If she's doing it because she was forced to "retire" – I made air quotes with my wingtips – from a political post, then it's a punishment. On the other hand, if she's doing it because she used to be a traveling mage, then it's a promotion.
Dusty blinked. Den stopped wringing out the soggy strands of his mane. And Steelfang started backing away from the mage, tail pinned between his hind legs.
"Oh no! Ssshe's okay, isssn't ssshe? Nothing bad happened to her?" cried one particular snake who could not for the life of her read the room.
Dusty's snort sent papers flying off the desk. Since they weren't Floridiana's, she didn't scold him. "Nah, she's fine. They're all fine. It's one of the Baron's younger daughters. She didn't want to marry the dude her parents picked for her, so she convinced them that staying in Claymouth to raise the prestige of the barony via its academy was more important than making a political marriage."
I couldn't help it: A happy chirp escaped my throat.
Floridiana rounded on me. "What are you so happy about?"
The positive karma I had inadvertently earned by helping a young human achieve her dreams (of escaping an unwanted marriage), obviously. What makes you think I'm not just happy to see you again?
"Only you can make that sound like an insult. Also, you just went to great lengths to insist that you aren't," she muttered, but there was a half-smile on her lips, and she was shaking her head in resignation.
Just for good measure, I gave her another peppy trill.
After Floridiana returned, I stopped thinking about the logistics of the West Serican expedition entirely. Everyone else claimed that the winter was passing and Goldhill was warming up, but the weather was still damp and chilly and my joints still ached. The day we finally set out in a convoy of humans, spirits, and wagons, I sang the whole way out of the city.
Heat. Sunshine. Blue skies. Tropical beaches. West Serica, here I came!
It may not be as warm there as you hope, Stripey warned. We're not exactly going further south, you know, just west.
"It will be much too hot there," pronounced Pallus, shaking out his shaggy coat. "I'm looking forward to getting back into the mountains, where it's a proper temperature all year round."
That's because you're from the mountains, Stripey pointed out. Everywhere in the lowlands is too hot for you.
"Like I said. A proper temperature."
To Anthea's relief, which was presumably a proxy for Jullia's, the foxling's chieftains were coming with us too, along with all the ex-demons who couldn't adjust to life in the South Serican lowlands. Their mission was to take over and rule various territories that we would incorporate into the empire as proper fiefs. I'd let them sort out who was conquering what, since they knew West Serica best.
Ah, delegation. What a beautiful, beautiful concept. I hoped that whoever invented it had earned so much positive karma that they were enjoying life as a nine-tailed fox.
Our convoy crawled westward until we reached the foothills that marked the beginning of the Wilds. Starting there, clans began to split off. Pallus and his manuls were the first to leave, muttering about how unreasonably hot the lowlands were. The peacock chieftain led his people off next, followed by the leopard and the yak. By the time we descended the far side of the mountains, the only clan that stayed with us was Steelfang's.
I overheard Bobo ask curiously, "Isssn't this too hot for you? Your fur is alssso pretty thick."
He flashed a wide, toothy grin. "Nah. We're not weak cats."
Those "weak" cats could bring a mountain down on your head if they wanted to, I observed, earning myself a most disrespectful glare.
"Oh! I think I see the village!" Lodia called from up ahead, in such an uncharacteristic squeal that she had to be heading off a squabble between me and the wolf. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose and pointed into the distance. "There, right?"
As much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't see that far.
"Yep," answered Steelfang, letting her head off the squabble. "That's the Flying Fish Village!"
What an odd name for a village, I commented to Stripey. Flying fish?
But he gave me an odd look right back. It's a very literal name. It's named after the type of fish that the humans hunt.
Fish that…fly?
Yes. Well, glide. But they look like they're flying when they leap out of the water and glide for a while. Weren't you listening when we planned this?
Why would I concern myself with minutiae when I already delegated the logistics to such capable subordinates?
Yes. Of course. Right….
"Oooooooh! Oh oh oh! I sssee them! I sssee them! The flying fisssh!"
Bobo slithered right into our path, bringing the entire convoy to a halt while she goggled at the fish I couldn't see yet. Unimpressed, the foxling yawned and leaned back in her litter, while Steelfang lifted a hind leg to scratch his ear. Den, however, did a barrel roll midair to show off how much better at flying he was than the gliding fish. Floridiana and Lodia rushed forward to squint where Bobo was looking. Apparently the fish were too small for human eyes to pick out too, because Floridiana's fingers edged towards her seal. Before she could stamp her forehead, I scolded, Weren't you the one who told me that seal paste contains quicksilver and is toxic to humans?
Her hand hovered next to her seal, fingers half curved. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
Have a little patience. We'll be there soon enough. You'll see them with your natural vision when we get closer.
"You're counseling patience?"
"I see them too! The flying fish!" Dusty brayed, not helping me convince the human to not poison herself at all. "There're so many of them! They're like a cloud of silver, flying fish! And there're humans too! In little boats! They're catching the fish!"
"Well, come on! What are we waiting for?" Hiking up her tunic, Floridiana sprang onto his back. Forgetting all dignity, "His Highness" galloped for the seashore, and Den shot off after them.
Hey! Come back! You're going to ruin our entrance! I yelled after them.
I don't think they heard you. Or care, commented Stripey.
They're going to cause a diplomatic disaster! They're going to ruin everything!
"Want me to ssstop them?" offered Bobo.
The trio was already out of sight. I threw up my wings in frustration. Yes! Try to keep them from getting themselves killed!
"Okay!"
Off Bobo went, in a bright green streak.
"Um, should we keep going too…?" came Lodia's voice.
Mine was clipped. Yes. Let's.
The rest of us could stick to the plan, even if certain people were incapable of controlling themselves.
Dusty burst out of a stand of trees – such weird, wrinkly trunks! – and nearly trampled a group of women in striped skirts.
"Don't run over them!" Floridiana shouted.
"Out of the way!" Dusty neighed.
"Whoops!" Den nearly barreled headlong into some sort of shed without walls. He pumped his tail, veered around it, and crashed into a tree instead. "Ow! The leaves have thorns! What kind of leaves have thorns?!"
The village women shrieked and scattered, dropping their baskets. Brown lumps rolled all over the grass. As Dusty hurtled past, Floridiana caught a glimpse of some sort of unfamiliar root vegetable. But there was no time to think about it, because right ahead of them, nearly flush with the ground was – a rooftop! A row of rooftops! The houses were half underground!
"Don't step on the roofs!" she screamed. They didn't look nearly sturdy enough to bear the weight of a horse, and she didn't want Dusty falling through and breaking his legs.
"Not planning to!"
Dusty's hindquarters bunched, and then they were airborne. As they sailed over the first roof, Floridiana wrapped her fingers in his mane, flattened herself against his neck, and gawked down.
Dusty's front hooves touched down on a low stone wall that crumbled. He nearly toppled into a flimsy wooden rack where gutted fish were drying, and Floridiana screamed.
She wasn't the only one. Shrieks came from the village women, and children cried inside the house they'd just cleared.
Dusty's hooves tapped a stuttering beat, but he caught his balance before he knocked over the rack of fish. With another mighty leap, he was airborne again, leaping over the next roof. This time he landed on grass and solid ground.
Floridiana's chest was heaving. She forced herself to release his mane and sit up straight. The screams of the village women finally resolved into words, albeit words spoken with such a different accent that she could understand half of them.
"Please stop [unintelligible] guest [unintelligible]!"
"Don't say [unintelligible] unlucky [unintelligible] fishing!"
They seemed more anxious than hostile, but she stayed on Dusty's back anyway. "Greetings!" she called. "We come in peace!"
Panting, their long black hair in disarray, they surrounded Dusty and held out their palms, talking urgently.
"You are welcome [unintelligible] guest!"
"Please don't go [unintelligible] water [unintelligible]!"
"Please don't say [unintelligible] unlucky things [unintelligible] exocoetidae season!"
They seemed to trying to keep her away from the ocean. She tested it by whispering to Dusty, "Take a few steps towards the water." He did, and the women scrambled to place themselves between him and the beach.
"[Unintelligible] guests!" they pleaded.
"Stop," Floridiana ordered Dusty. To the villagers, she said, enunciating each word, "We mean no harm. We will not go to the water."
To demonstrate, Dusty took a few steps away from the ocean, and the women's shoulders sagged with relief. Some of them split off to collect their scattered root vegetables, giving the hovering Den a wide berth. "Draco," they said as they looked at him, using the ancient word for "dragon" that only the oldest spirits in North, East, and even South Serica still used.
Well, Piri was going to appreciate these people's vocabulary.
An elderly woman hobbled up, leaning on a cane cut from a tree branch. She had wrinkled tanned skin and hair as white as the foam on the waves. From the way the younger women parted for her, this was someone important. A village elder, most likely. Too late, Floridiana remembered the grand processional entrance that Piri had planned.
Well, she'd just have to improvise.
She dismounted slowly so as not to alarm anyone, but murmurs rose from the villagers anyway. They seemed shocked that she was a separate being from Dusty.
The elder hobbled closer and peered into Dusty's face. The horse flicked his ears forward and backward but held still for her inspection.
At last, she straightened. "This is no [unintelligible]. This is an 'equus.' From the old tales."
The women's shrieks brought the men running from their canoes.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
Picnic drawing and thank you to readers!
View: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1CiVQsZHo2Jek2KThDyP6SPKoJn6ra_9P/view?usp=sharing
Hello wonderful Patreon backers and all my readers! Can you believe that Piri and her story just turned three?!
When I started posting Confessions three years ago, it was my first original webnovel. Even though I'd loved creative writing all the way through high school, it somehow tapered off in college and stopped entirely during graduate school. I didn't pick it up again until I was wrapping up my postdoctoral fellowship, when I had so much fun with a tabletop roleplaying campaign that I novelized it. Then I remembered how much I enjoyed creative writing and went on to novelize another campaign. I returned to completely original work with The Magicists.
And then I read the Chinese classic novel Investiture of the Gods, and the idea for Piri sprang into my mind.
Writing such a long story that spans so many centuries, pulls in so many characters, and explores so many different settings has been a new experience for me. I have learned so much over these past three years, which wouldn't have been possible without your support and your encouragement, your kind words and your enthusiasm. I couldn't do this without all of you. Thank you all so much, and here's to another year of Piri's shenanigans!
(In case you can't see the image, it's also here.)
Chapter 156: In Which the Foxling Attempts to Impress Flying Fish Village
Chapter 156: In Which the Foxling Attempts to Impress Flying Fish Village
If Den hadn't – gone gallivanting – off, coulda – ridden on his back, I panted.
The muscles in my wings were on fire. If we had to fly any longer, they were going to cramp up into two tight knots and I was going to fall out of the air.
I don't know about that, Stripey replied, not concerned for me at all. Can you hold on to his scales with your little claws? The wind might blow you right off.
Then he could have carried me in his claws. It's not like he needs them to fly.
Stripey beat his great wings once and glided, while I focused on keeping mine moving.
I see them! His exclamation jolted me out of my misery.
The village was a collection of dark rooftops that seemed oddly low compared to the skyline. In fact, a mob of agitated, gesticulating people towered over them. At their center, Den coiled protectively around Floridiana and Dusty.
Sigh. So much for a majestic, processional entrance.
Stripey and I flew over the heads of the villagers and landed on Den's coils. From this angle, I could see Bobo bunched up next to a white-haired old human woman. The village elder was sitting cross-legged on the grass, dipping a hog-bristle brush into a bowl of black paint. Her "paper" was a long, narrow mat woven from strips of dried leaves. Ignoring the material, the dimensions were the same as those of rice paper for a calligraphy scroll.
What's going on? I asked the crowd at large.
"Ssshe's writing a messsage for us!" Bobo said cheerfully, moving her head along with the brush strokes.
Pushing forward against Den's coils, Floridiana explained, "Their dialect is so different that we're having trouble understanding one another."
"They seem to be very concerned about keeping us away from the ocean," observed Den. "I think she's about to tell us why."
Personally, I thought the reason was painfully obvious and needed no explanation. You mean, besides you invading the fief of the Dragon King of the Western Sea and causing a diplomatic incident?
"Nope, it has to do with the flying fish," said Dusty, poking his nose over Den's coils. "We can't figure out what, though."
The flying fish? I tipped my head all the way to the side so I could read the elder's handwriting upside down. She used the formal, proper grammar that almost no one bothered with these days: "Honored, most welcome guests, we beseech you to keep your distance from the ocean during flying fish season."
Not useful. That much Floridiana and the others had already figured out.
Floridiana read the next lines out loud: "Only fishermen are permitted to be on the beach or in the water while they hold their annual battle with the flying fish spirits. It is unlucky to anger the spirits, for they might choose to drive their school to other villages next year."
We cocked our heads at one another as the villagers murmured among themselves, comparing her pronunciation to theirs.
Why do you need to battle the flying fish spirits? Why do they drive their school here? I asked the elder, using the same formal, proper grammar that she had.
The villagers' heads all jerked up, and they broke into grins.
"Oh, thank goodness, an interpreter! We were going to run out of scrolls if we had to write everything out. You can't imagine how long they take to weave!" blurted out one of the younger men. Although his accent was thick, it was close enough to the way we'd spoken in my childhood mountains that I could understand him.
"Hush, Cornelius! Do not speak out of turn," scolded the elder. She extended an imperious hand, and he helped her to her feet.
So what's this about doing battle with flying fish spirits? I repeated.
"It is the flying fish season," she repeated, while I listened hard to make sure I didn't misunderstand any words. "Every year, the young flying fish spirits of the Western Sea prove their mettle in a contest against the fishermen of our village. They drive their schools of mortal fish into our waters, and then they and we battle to see how many we can catch, and how well they can protect them."
That practice probably served to winnow (haha) out the weaker mortal fish so the Western Sea wasn't overrun by flying fish spirits.
"Our ancestors have bequeathed us the knowledge of how to catch the flying fish, the proper methods to construct our canoes and nets, and the laws that must be obeyed. Only fishermen may be in or near the water during this season, and no one is allowed to speak angry or unlucky words, lest we anger the spirits."
I squinted past her at the ocean. White canoes, painted with geometric patterns in red and black paint, cut through the turquoise waves. In each canoe, three pairs of men (and they were all men) paddled as hard as they could, while four more waited with raised nets. The final man stood in the bow, shouting directions.
As I watched, a large flying fish spirit leaped out of the water and sailed across the paths of the smaller mortal fish, cutting them off before they glided into the waiting nets. They all plopped safely back into the water. The spirit made a rude gesture at the fishermen with its long fins before it flipped midair and dove after its school. I expected the fishermen to curse right back – but they watched in tense silence.
Right. Because they weren't allowed to say anything angry or unlucky.
A wingtip poked me in the side, and I started. Stripey tipped his head at Floridiana and the others. The mage's face was scrunched up tight as she tried to parse the elder's words, so I gave a quick summary of what the village elder had said.
"Ooooh! An yearly battle with flying fisssh ssspirits? That sssounds ssso awesssome!" cried Bobo.
Dusty tossed his mane and stuck his nose in the air. "They are wise not to let me near the water. If I were to join their battle, there would be no contest to speak of."
Apparently recognizing enough of his words, or maybe guessing from his pose, Cornelius scowled. Before he could challenge the horse to single combat, or however young hotheads (and yes, I did include Dusty in that group) resolved their differences hereabouts, the elder's sharp elbow found his ribs. At the same time, Den twisted his neck all the way around and shoved Dusty's withers with his snout so hard that the horse stumbled. Both of the hotheads backed down.
"Honored guests, what brings you to our humble village?" inquired the elder. "Are those more of your number?"
I didn't need to turn to see to whom she was referring. The foxling's whining drifted across the village, loud and clear.
" – Too damp – too salty – going to ruin my silks – impossible to get sand out of my slippers – "
Her litter-bearers weren't even close to the beach, and they weren't going to get anywhere close to it either, at least for the duration of flying fish season, however long that lasted.
Can't take her anywhere nice, I grumbled, rolling my eyes.
Mmmhmm, agreed Stripey, just as embarrassed by her incessant complaining.
Den lowered his head to the elder's head height. "Please allow us to apologize on behalf of our traveling companion. She is…unaccustomed to the hardships of the road."
Whoa. When had Caltrop Pond's party animal picked up diplomatic language?
"Hello there, villagers!" cried the foxling when her litter-bearers finally reached us. They began to lower it to the ground, but she gestured sharply and they locked their muscles. "I am Sphaera Algarum, Fox Queen of Goldhill and the Jade Mountains, Empress of all Serica! Conduct us to your finest guesthouse so that we may refresh ourselves."
Definitely can't take her anywhere, I muttered.
MmmHMMM, said Stripey again.
I didn't like the way he was cocking his head at me. Also, when had the foxling laid claim to the capital of South Serica?
Well, one problem at a time.
Not looking intimidated, or even particularly impressed, by all the titles, the elder said, "Welcome to our humble village, Sphaera."
A most unattractive crease appeared between the foxling's brows.
"She just said we're welcome, right?" she hissed at Steelfang.
"Think so. Her accent's pretty thick."
"Did I mishear, or did she really address me by name?"
Steelfang grinned so broadly that his tongue lolled out. "This is going to be fun."
We're not here to have fun, I reproved both of them. This is not a tropical beach vacation.
"Ah, yes," said Steelfang, retracting his tongue. "This is a conquest."
At the reminder, the foxling sat up straight and pitched her voice to carry. "People of the – " she paused, flummoxed because she had forgotten or never bothered to learn the name of the jumping-off point of our reconquest of all Serica – "of this village, rejoice! Your rightful empress has arrived!"
The elder arched an eyebrow. Cornelius hid a grin. I covered my eyes with both of my wings.
Undeterred, the foxling continued in the same ringing tones, "I, carrying out the will of the great Fox Queen Lady Piri, do hereby announce the founding of the New Serican Empire!"
She used the old word for empire, "Imperium," and the villagers snapped to attention. Whispers and questions erupted everywhere.
"Did she say 'Piri'?"
"Piri, as in – that Piri?"
"Isn't Piri supposed to have nine tails? I only see five. Is she sitting on the rest of them?"
The foxling's face went scarlet, but the voices continued.
"It's just an old tale, Cornelius. You know how the old tales exaggerate."
"Are you sure that's a fox at all? She doesn't look like the painting."
Apparently they didn't have foxes in this part of West Serica. And of course the foxling didn't look anything like how I had. Her figure, her carriage, and most importantly, her number of tails – everything about her was completely different.
One of the villagers said something to another, and a young woman went running off between the low roofs.
Floridiana hissed, "What's going on? What are they saying? Are they going to attack?"
No. They're simply unconvinced that Sphaera is me – I mean, Piri.
They'd be even less convinced if you told them you're Piri, Stripey muttered.
"I never said I was Lady Piri!" the foxling screeched, going even redder. "I said I was carrying out Lady Piri's will! And they were supposed to fall to the ground in awe and weep with gratitude when I announced the founding of the New Serican Empire! Why aren't they?!"
While she wailed about the utter failure of her imaginary grand entrance, Lodia crept up to me and whispered, "Should I, um, say something about the Divine Intercessor? Since she's talking about the empire…?"
By this point, children were peeking out from behind weird, wrinkly trees with long, shaggy leaves and way too many roots. Pigs and goats ambled past, unconcerned by their masters' drama. This was very much not the appropriate setting for preaching about the glories of the Kitchen God.
No, wait until later, I whispered back.
"Rosie, you might want to translate for the villagers," warned Den. "Before we wind up with any misunderstandings that turn…unpleasant."
I couldn't help but stare at him. What happened to you since the last time we talked?
He stared right back. "A lot of messy border skirmishes?"
Oh. Fair enough. Those could really age a spirit. Not that I was sympathetic. Maybe you should have thought of that before you brought a whole demon army to the Claymouth Barony.
"If I hadn't, Lord Silurus would still be rampaging in Black Sand Creek."
Instead, we now have demon soldiers rampaging on land.
Too late for that now. Stripey cut off our debate. Looks like the villagers brought something to show us.
The young woman who'd run off was returning with three others, each carefully holding the corner of large woven mat.
When they arrived, two of them dropped their corners, and the remaining two held the mat upright. On it was a painting of a monster, a skinny, twisted, humanoid beast with a hunched back and knotted muscles under scarlet skin, a pointy snout with sharp protruding teeth – and nine skinny, rat-like tails.
That was supposed to be me. That was what they thought I looked like.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
If Den hadn't – gone gallivanting – off, coulda – ridden on his back, I panted.
The muscles in my wings were on fire. If we had to fly any longer, they were going to cramp up into two tight knots and I was going to fall out of the air.
I don't know about that, Stripey replied, not concerned for me at all. Can you hold on to his scales with your little claws? The wind might blow you right off.
Then he could have carried me in his claws. It's not like he needs them to fly.
Stripey beat his great wings once and glided, while I focused on keeping mine moving.
I see them! His exclamation jolted me out of my misery.
The village was a collection of dark rooftops that seemed oddly low compared to the skyline. In fact, a mob of agitated, gesticulating people towered over them. At their center, Den coiled protectively around Floridiana and Dusty.
Sigh. So much for a majestic, processional entrance.
Stripey and I flew over the heads of the villagers and landed on Den's coils. From this angle, I could see Bobo bunched up next to a white-haired old human woman. The village elder was sitting cross-legged on the grass, dipping a hog-bristle brush into a bowl of black paint. Her "paper" was a long, narrow mat woven from strips of dried leaves. Ignoring the material, the dimensions were the same as those of rice paper for a calligraphy scroll.
What's going on? I asked the crowd at large.
"Ssshe's writing a messsage for us!" Bobo said cheerfully, moving her head along with the brush strokes.
Pushing forward against Den's coils, Floridiana explained, "Their dialect is so different that we're having trouble understanding one another."
"They seem to be very concerned about keeping us away from the ocean," observed Den. "I think she's about to tell us why."
Personally, I thought the reason was painfully obvious and needed no explanation. You mean, besides you invading the fief of the Dragon King of the Western Sea and causing a diplomatic incident?
"Nope, it has to do with the flying fish," said Dusty, poking his nose over Den's coils. "We can't figure out what, though."
The flying fish? I tipped my head all the way to the side so I could read the elder's handwriting upside down. She used the formal, proper grammar that almost no one bothered with these days: "Honored, most welcome guests, we beseech you to keep your distance from the ocean during flying fish season."
Not useful. That much Floridiana and the others had already figured out.
Floridiana read the next lines out loud: "Only fishermen are permitted to be on the beach or in the water while they hold their annual battle with the flying fish spirits. It is unlucky to anger the spirits, for they might choose to drive their school to other villages next year."
We cocked our heads at one another as the villagers murmured among themselves, comparing her pronunciation to theirs.
Why do you need to battle the flying fish spirits? Why do they drive their school here? I asked the elder, using the same formal, proper grammar that she had.
The villagers' heads all jerked up, and they broke into grins.
"Oh, thank goodness, an interpreter! We were going to run out of scrolls if we had to write everything out. You can't imagine how long they take to weave!" blurted out one of the younger men. Although his accent was thick, it was close enough to the way we'd spoken in my childhood mountains that I could understand him.
"Hush, Cornelius! Do not speak out of turn," scolded the elder. She extended an imperious hand, and he helped her to her feet.
So what's this about doing battle with flying fish spirits? I repeated.
"It is the flying fish season," she repeated, while I listened hard to make sure I didn't misunderstand any words. "Every year, the young flying fish spirits of the Western Sea prove their mettle in a contest against the fishermen of our village. They drive their schools of mortal fish into our waters, and then they and we battle to see how many we can catch, and how well they can protect them."
That practice probably served to winnow (haha) out the weaker mortal fish so the Western Sea wasn't overrun by flying fish spirits.
"Our ancestors have bequeathed us the knowledge of how to catch the flying fish, the proper methods to construct our canoes and nets, and the laws that must be obeyed. Only fishermen may be in or near the water during this season, and no one is allowed to speak angry or unlucky words, lest we anger the spirits."
I squinted past her at the ocean. White canoes, painted with geometric patterns in red and black paint, cut through the turquoise waves. In each canoe, three pairs of men (and they were all men) paddled as hard as they could, while four more waited with raised nets. The final man stood in the bow, shouting directions.
As I watched, a large flying fish spirit leaped out of the water and sailed across the paths of the smaller mortal fish, cutting them off before they glided into the waiting nets. They all plopped safely back into the water. The spirit made a rude gesture at the fishermen with its long fins before it flipped midair and dove after its school. I expected the fishermen to curse right back – but they watched in tense silence.
Right. Because they weren't allowed to say anything angry or unlucky.
A wingtip poked me in the side, and I started. Stripey tipped his head at Floridiana and the others. The mage's face was scrunched up tight as she tried to parse the elder's words, so I gave a quick summary of what the village elder had said.
"Ooooh! An yearly battle with flying fisssh ssspirits? That sssounds ssso awesssome!" cried Bobo.
Dusty tossed his mane and stuck his nose in the air. "They are wise not to let me near the water. If I were to join their battle, there would be no contest to speak of."
Apparently recognizing enough of his words, or maybe guessing from his pose, Cornelius scowled. Before he could challenge the horse to single combat, or however young hotheads (and yes, I did include Dusty in that group) resolved their differences hereabouts, the elder's sharp elbow found his ribs. At the same time, Den twisted his neck all the way around and shoved Dusty's withers with his snout so hard that the horse stumbled. Both of the hotheads backed down.
"Honored guests, what brings you to our humble village?" inquired the elder. "Are those more of your number?"
I didn't need to turn to see to whom she was referring. The foxling's whining drifted across the village, loud and clear.
" – Too damp – too salty – going to ruin my silks – impossible to get sand out of my slippers – "
Her litter-bearers weren't even close to the beach, and they weren't going to get anywhere close to it either, at least for the duration of flying fish season, however long that lasted.
Can't take her anywhere nice, I grumbled, rolling my eyes.
Mmmhmm, agreed Stripey, just as embarrassed by her incessant complaining.
Den lowered his head to the elder's head height. "Please allow us to apologize on behalf of our traveling companion. She is…unaccustomed to the hardships of the road."
Whoa. When had Caltrop Pond's party animal picked up diplomatic language?
"Hello there, villagers!" cried the foxling when her litter-bearers finally reached us. They began to lower it to the ground, but she gestured sharply and they locked their muscles. "I am Sphaera Algarum, Fox Queen of Goldhill and the Jade Mountains, Empress of all Serica! Conduct us to your finest guesthouse so that we may refresh ourselves."
Definitely can't take her anywhere, I muttered.
MmmHMMM, said Stripey again.
I didn't like the way he was cocking his head at me. Also, when had the foxling laid claim to the capital of South Serica?
Well, one problem at a time.
Not looking intimidated, or even particularly impressed, by all the titles, the elder said, "Welcome to our humble village, Sphaera."
A most unattractive crease appeared between the foxling's brows.
"She just said we're welcome, right?" she hissed at Steelfang.
"Think so. Her accent's pretty thick."
"Did I mishear, or did she really address me by name?"
Steelfang grinned so broadly that his tongue lolled out. "This is going to be fun."
We're not here to have fun, I reproved both of them. This is not a tropical beach vacation.
"Ah, yes," said Steelfang, retracting his tongue. "This is a conquest."
At the reminder, the foxling sat up straight and pitched her voice to carry. "People of the – " she paused, flummoxed because she had forgotten or never bothered to learn the name of the jumping-off point of our reconquest of all Serica – "of this village, rejoice! Your rightful empress has arrived!"
The elder arched an eyebrow. Cornelius hid a grin. I covered my eyes with both of my wings.
Undeterred, the foxling continued in the same ringing tones, "I, carrying out the will of the great Fox Queen Lady Piri, do hereby announce the founding of the New Serican Empire!"
She used the old word for empire, "Imperium," and the villagers snapped to attention. Whispers and questions erupted everywhere.
"Did she say 'Piri'?"
"Piri, as in – that Piri?"
"Isn't Piri supposed to have nine tails? I only see five. Is she sitting on the rest of them?"
The foxling's face went scarlet, but the voices continued.
"It's just an old tale, Cornelius. You know how the old tales exaggerate."
"Are you sure that's a fox at all? She doesn't look like the painting."
Apparently they didn't have foxes in this part of West Serica. And of course the foxling didn't look anything like how I had. Her figure, her carriage, and most importantly, her number of tails – everything about her was completely different.
One of the villagers said something to another, and a young woman went running off between the low roofs.
Floridiana hissed, "What's going on? What are they saying? Are they going to attack?"
No. They're simply unconvinced that Sphaera is me – I mean, Piri.
They'd be even less convinced if you told them you're Piri, Stripey muttered.
"I never said I was Lady Piri!" the foxling screeched, going even redder. "I said I was carrying out Lady Piri's will! And they were supposed to fall to the ground in awe and weep with gratitude when I announced the founding of the New Serican Empire! Why aren't they?!"
While she wailed about the utter failure of her imaginary grand entrance, Lodia crept up to me and whispered, "Should I, um, say something about the Divine Intercessor? Since she's talking about the empire…?"
By this point, children were peeking out from behind weird, wrinkly trees with long, shaggy leaves and way too many roots. Pigs and goats ambled past, unconcerned by their masters' drama. This was very much not the appropriate setting for preaching about the glories of the Kitchen God.
No, wait until later, I whispered back.
"Rosie, you might want to translate for the villagers," warned Den. "Before we wind up with any misunderstandings that turn…unpleasant."
I couldn't help but stare at him. What happened to you since the last time we talked?
He stared right back. "A lot of messy border skirmishes?"
Oh. Fair enough. Those could really age a spirit. Not that I was sympathetic. Maybe you should have thought of that before you brought a whole demon army to the Claymouth Barony.
"If I hadn't, Lord Silurus would still be rampaging in Black Sand Creek."
Instead, we now have demon soldiers rampaging on land.
Too late for that now. Stripey cut off our debate. Looks like the villagers brought something to show us.
The young woman who'd run off was returning with three others, each carefully holding the corner of large woven mat.
When they arrived, two of them dropped their corners, and the remaining two held the mat upright. On it was a painting of a monster, a skinny, twisted, humanoid beast with a hunched back and knotted muscles under scarlet skin, a pointy snout with sharp protruding teeth – and nine skinny, rat-like tails.
That was supposed to be me. That was what they thought I looked like.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
- Location
- PA
Ooooh dear.
One Piri who can talk to these people. Many personalities in need of management.
This can only work in much smaller doses then Piri was planning on.
I think we've found the limit of Piri's competence for this life, just as well that she's getting sick of being a Sparrow I guess, but then again, hang on for a century and get flight secrets, maybe…Hrrrm.
One Piri who can talk to these people. Many personalities in need of management.
This can only work in much smaller doses then Piri was planning on.
I think we've found the limit of Piri's competence for this life, just as well that she's getting sick of being a Sparrow I guess, but then again, hang on for a century and get flight secrets, maybe…Hrrrm.
Oh, sweet Sphaera, how did you ever get an entire army to listen to you?
She got a taste of power, and it went to her head so fast she shot all the way up into space
She got a taste of power, and it went to her head so fast she shot all the way up into space
But if she awakened as a sparrow, then she'd be a sparrow spirit for the rest of eternity.... Bye-bye fluffy tails!
Piri's a lot less charitably inclined towards Sphaera than the others. It takes one to know one.
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
I thought it'd just be until she successfully gets herself killed helping some humans(the helping part may or may not be successful)?
Hmm, she could do that, but her pride! It would hurt too much.
She could possibly engineer some kind of heroic sacrifice, but I don't think that's her style... By this point, I suspect she may be too prideful to die on purpose. Would be kind of funny if she wound up shooting right past foxes and reincarnating as a primate as a result, or, god forbid, a human.
A human?! Banish the thought! Humans don't have any tails at all.
I just figured out how she's going to die this life!
Chapter 157: Flying Fish Village's Image of Me
Chapter 157: Flying Fish Village's Image of Me
No! No! Noooooooooo!
I could not suppress the shrieks that ripped out of my throat and my soul at the same time. I found myself before the painting, lunging at it and attacking it over and over and over. I had to rend the scroll, to tear it to shreds.
But the dried leaf strips from which it had been woven were too hard and thick. My beak couldn't penetrate them, and the weaving itself was too tight. I couldn't stab my beak between the strips either.
Nooooooo! No no no!
I raked my claws across the paint, which started to flake off. This was not me. This was not how these people – any people! – would remember me. I wouldn't let it be! I had to shred this painting, this terrible painting, had to destroy it and any like it until no memory of it remained.
Someone screamed. It might have been the foxling.
"Pip! What are you doing?" cried overlapping voices.
Rosie! Stop!
"Oh no, ssshe's not ssstopping!"
"Stop her! Stop her!" clamored the villagers in their archaic dialect. "She's destroying our history!"
This is NOT history!
"Pip! Pip! Please stop!"
Human hands wrapped around my body. I thrashed free, and the fingers didn't grab, as if their owner feared squeezing too hard would snap these fragile sparrow ribs. I savaged the painting, gashing lines across the monster's face.
This is not history! This is slander! Libel! Calumny! Propaganda! Whoever did it must be executed for crimes against the state, the way they were five hundred years ago!
I thought I'd had all versions of this painting confiscated and destroyed, everywhere they had spread throughout the Empire! I thought I'd had all of them collected and burned in a bonfire before the main gates of the palace, along with the original traitor artist and everyone who had picked up a brush to copy it, or distributed it, or so much as thought about buying a copy. How had one survived to be copied and re-copied and embellished over the centuries until it transformed into an even more grotesque lie?
This village. This village had to be razed from its ground-level rooftops down to floors of its basement rooms!
Wings folded around me and caged me and dragged me away from the painting, that horrible, horrible painting.
Rosie, calm down. We're not razing anything.
It was Stripey, his voice rumbling through his chest, and he sounded like he was losing his patience very, very fast.
I flung myself against his wings, but he didn't open them. I beat against his chest with mine.
It's a lie! I – she never looked like that! It was a lie spread by her enemies at court! It was such a horrible lie that everyone involved had to be burned to death for it! Flos Piri was beautiful and graceful. She had skin like pear blossoms and lips like cherries and hair like the billows of midnight – and nine very fat, very soft, very fluffy tails!
On the other side of the wall of Stripey's wings, the commotion was still going on. The villagers were howling over the desecration of their painting, the foxling was howling over the desecration of Lady Piri's image, and Floridiana and Bobo were howling to make themselves heard so they could calm everyone down.
Movement. Stripey was taking us further away from the crowd. He lowered his voice so only I could hear. If it's just a lie, then why does it matter?
Because they've never seen me! They think I look – looked like that! They think it's true!
And why does that matter?
Because – because –
Because fox spirits were beautiful, were meant to be beautiful, were known to be beautiful, were supposed to be beautiful. It was just what we were, a fundamental part of our very existence. Sphaera understood that. I could tell she did, from the continuation of her shrill, outraged rant. I didn't need to listen to the words to know what she was saying. But how did you explain it to someone who had never been or cared about being beautiful?
You didn't. It was impossible.
I tried anyway. Look, it's different for other kinds of spirits. You're not supposed to be beautiful. It doesn't matter for you.
Stripey didn't say anything. Oh. I had just accidentally insulted all whistling ducks, hadn't I? Not that I was wrong. Whistling ducks weren't bad-looking, per se, with their deep orange bellies and striped wings and bright eyes – but they were, well, ducks. And ducks were rather plain, pedestrian creatures.
Well, okay, fine, mandarin ducks were ducks too, and their plumage could be pretty spectacular, at least for males, while female spirits made up for their drab colors with flamboyant attire. But my essential point remained the unchanged: They were still ducks. They didn't need to be beautiful. Beauty was incidental to their nature.
So what was fundamental to a duck's nature?
It would like – like – if a duck spirit couldn't swim. Or – or fly. I'm sure you'd agree that a duck that can't swim or fly is missing something very fundamentally…duck-y.
That wasn't a word, was it? Well, whatever. It got the point across.
Hmmm, said Stripey, and I could tell he was mulling over it, perhaps tallying up his band of duck demon bandits, all of whom could both swim and fly. But they'd still be a duck spirit. They'd still be a person.
Well…. I wasn't about to reject the personhood of a duck spirit who couldn't swim or fly, not least because instinct told me that such a rejection would deal immortal damage to our friendship.
And also, I supposed, because I didn't actually believe it myself. A duck that couldn't swim or fly was still a duck. I could go with that. But a fox spirit that was not only unbeautiful but monstrous?!
I hadn't met any foxes before I reincarnated in the Jade Mountains this time around, commented Stripey.
That's because people persecuted us after I died!
Setting aside the issue of why foxes were persecuted after you died, have you considered that maybe the painting wasn't supposed to be literal representation of your outward appearance?
Huh?
Stripey stared at me the way I imagined that Floridiana would stare at a particularly dense student. When she wasn't daydreaming about travel adventures, that was. Maybe it was supposed to be a representation of what the artist thought you looked like inside?
Heart and liver and lungs and intestines, you mean? (Yes, I knew where he was going with this line of thought. Didn't mean I had to follow him.)
Rosie. Must you make everything so difficult?
It's not me making things difficult. It's the world making things difficult for me.
His response was a long-suffering sigh.
Fine, fine, I'll stop trying to destroy their cultural artifacts, even when those cultural artifacts are shameless reproductions of brazen propaganda that should never have survived in any kind of recorded form. Happy now?
Another sigh. I'll take what I can get.
"Psst! O great representative of Lady Piri! Are you awake?"
Technically yes, but I had already tucked my head under a wing, preparing for bedtime. Reluctantly, I pulled it back out.
If I had not been, do you not think you would have woken me with that question?
"I'm sorry," said the foxling with genuine contrition. "But I haven't had the opportunity to speak with you, and I needed to tell you that I was awed by your passionate defense of your mistress." She heaved a sigh that was very different in quality from Stripey's earlier. "Such loyalty! Such devotion! I wonder if I will ever be able to inspire such faithfulness in my own retainers."
I doubted it very much. You're keeping everyone awake.
As it turned out, the aboveground wall-less huts were called pavilions, and the villagers slept in them during the summer. After Floridiana and Den had smoothed things over with the villagers, the elders from each family had discussed among themselves and eventually invited us to stay. They'd offered to split us up so we could sleep indoors, but Floridiana had deemed the weather warm enough to sleep outside, and Sphaera had minced her way down into a pit where a house was built, taken one look at the waist-height porch roof, and refused to crawl under it. I couldn't blame her. The doors into the houses were simply square holes cut into the wall under the porch roof. Her gown would have snagged on the wood.
So, after a dinner of boiled flying fish, we'd settled down in three neighboring pavilions: Stripey, Bobo, Sphaera, Steelfang, and me in one; Floridiana, Lodia, and Dusty in a second; and all of Sphaera's retainers in a third. If Sphaera were the sort of person who liked to talk to you when you were trying to sleep, I might transfer to Floridiana's pavilion.
"I don't mind being kept up!" Bobo said cheerfully. "I can't sssleep anyway. It's too exccciting!"
"What's too exciting?" Steelfang grumbled. The wolf had curled himself into a furry mountain, as if the tighter he curled, the more he could block out our voices. Good luck with that.
"They're ssstill out fissshing! At night! They're usssing thessse little lamps to lure the flying fisssh into their nets!"
"Great."
Not bothering to lower her voice, Sphaera asked, "How does the great Lady Piri want me to take over this village? Shall I challenge its chieftain to single combat?"
In the other pavilion, the figure of a woman sat up. Floridiana's dry voice called, "That would be a little difficult, considering that they don't have a chieftain."
"They don't?" asked Sphaera, startled.
"Weren't you paying attention? Each village around here has a group of elders, but they don't adhere to a strict hierarchy."
"Oh. Then how am I supposed to take over?"
How indeed?
Maybe you can start by talking to them, Stripey suggested.
"Just…talk to them?"
His wings lifted and fell in a shrug in the moonlight. Why not?
It's worth a try, I agreed.
However, it turned out to be harder than we expected to get together a quorum of villagers to discuss the re-founding of the Serican Empire. They were just so gods-cursed busy. During the day, able-bodied men went out in their canoes to catch flying fish or stood guard against demon attacks from the foothills. The women tended their taro and yam and millet fields, cared for their goats and chickens and pigs, and caught sand crabs. When the fishing boats returned with their haul, everyone, even the children, would work together to clean the fish. They split them open and hung them up to dry on racks made from the excess roots of those weird trees, which were apparently called pandan trees. Even at night, the fishing went on, because the villagers had to catch all the flying fish they'd eat for the next year during these few months.
In short, no one had time to sit down and talk about the political future of Serica. And if I didn't want these humans to run out of food and starve, I couldn't insist that they sit down and talk about the political future of Serica either.
How long does flying fish season last? I asked one of the women.
She was trudging through a field of taro plants, inspecting each leaf and removing snail eggs when she found them. Sweat streamed down the back of her neck.
"From the Second Moon to the Fifth Moon," she answered without looking up.
That long?!
We weren't going to be able to discuss with them for another two moons? Then what we were doing hanging around here?!
I see. I will leave you to your work.
The villager grunted and moved on to the next plant. As for me, I flew back to the others. They were all lounging on the grass and enjoying the sea breeze while watching the fishermen in the distance.
Change of plan, I announced. We have two months before they're free to discuss the New Empire. Let's go take over the mountains first.
Although I expected Steelfang to leap up, salivating over the prospect of a good fight, the wolf cracked one eye open. "Must we?" His eyelid slid shut again.
Yes.
"But the beach is nice. Even if we're not allowed on it. Yet."
"Stop going soft! We need to take over West Serica!" Sphaera flicked his ear, which twitched before going still again.
"West Serica will wait. All of Serica will wait. It's waited for five hundred years. What's a few more years or decades?"
"The great Lady Piri has instructed us to – "
You're not allowed on the beach for another two moons anyway, I pointed out. Why don't you use those two moons to subdue the nearby demon tribes and then come back for a well-earned, peaceful beach vacation?
Steelfang leaped to his paws.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
No! No! Noooooooooo!
I could not suppress the shrieks that ripped out of my throat and my soul at the same time. I found myself before the painting, lunging at it and attacking it over and over and over. I had to rend the scroll, to tear it to shreds.
But the dried leaf strips from which it had been woven were too hard and thick. My beak couldn't penetrate them, and the weaving itself was too tight. I couldn't stab my beak between the strips either.
Nooooooo! No no no!
I raked my claws across the paint, which started to flake off. This was not me. This was not how these people – any people! – would remember me. I wouldn't let it be! I had to shred this painting, this terrible painting, had to destroy it and any like it until no memory of it remained.
Someone screamed. It might have been the foxling.
"Pip! What are you doing?" cried overlapping voices.
Rosie! Stop!
"Oh no, ssshe's not ssstopping!"
"Stop her! Stop her!" clamored the villagers in their archaic dialect. "She's destroying our history!"
This is NOT history!
"Pip! Pip! Please stop!"
Human hands wrapped around my body. I thrashed free, and the fingers didn't grab, as if their owner feared squeezing too hard would snap these fragile sparrow ribs. I savaged the painting, gashing lines across the monster's face.
This is not history! This is slander! Libel! Calumny! Propaganda! Whoever did it must be executed for crimes against the state, the way they were five hundred years ago!
I thought I'd had all versions of this painting confiscated and destroyed, everywhere they had spread throughout the Empire! I thought I'd had all of them collected and burned in a bonfire before the main gates of the palace, along with the original traitor artist and everyone who had picked up a brush to copy it, or distributed it, or so much as thought about buying a copy. How had one survived to be copied and re-copied and embellished over the centuries until it transformed into an even more grotesque lie?
This village. This village had to be razed from its ground-level rooftops down to floors of its basement rooms!
Wings folded around me and caged me and dragged me away from the painting, that horrible, horrible painting.
Rosie, calm down. We're not razing anything.
It was Stripey, his voice rumbling through his chest, and he sounded like he was losing his patience very, very fast.
I flung myself against his wings, but he didn't open them. I beat against his chest with mine.
It's a lie! I – she never looked like that! It was a lie spread by her enemies at court! It was such a horrible lie that everyone involved had to be burned to death for it! Flos Piri was beautiful and graceful. She had skin like pear blossoms and lips like cherries and hair like the billows of midnight – and nine very fat, very soft, very fluffy tails!
On the other side of the wall of Stripey's wings, the commotion was still going on. The villagers were howling over the desecration of their painting, the foxling was howling over the desecration of Lady Piri's image, and Floridiana and Bobo were howling to make themselves heard so they could calm everyone down.
Movement. Stripey was taking us further away from the crowd. He lowered his voice so only I could hear. If it's just a lie, then why does it matter?
Because they've never seen me! They think I look – looked like that! They think it's true!
And why does that matter?
Because – because –
Because fox spirits were beautiful, were meant to be beautiful, were known to be beautiful, were supposed to be beautiful. It was just what we were, a fundamental part of our very existence. Sphaera understood that. I could tell she did, from the continuation of her shrill, outraged rant. I didn't need to listen to the words to know what she was saying. But how did you explain it to someone who had never been or cared about being beautiful?
You didn't. It was impossible.
I tried anyway. Look, it's different for other kinds of spirits. You're not supposed to be beautiful. It doesn't matter for you.
Stripey didn't say anything. Oh. I had just accidentally insulted all whistling ducks, hadn't I? Not that I was wrong. Whistling ducks weren't bad-looking, per se, with their deep orange bellies and striped wings and bright eyes – but they were, well, ducks. And ducks were rather plain, pedestrian creatures.
Well, okay, fine, mandarin ducks were ducks too, and their plumage could be pretty spectacular, at least for males, while female spirits made up for their drab colors with flamboyant attire. But my essential point remained the unchanged: They were still ducks. They didn't need to be beautiful. Beauty was incidental to their nature.
So what was fundamental to a duck's nature?
It would like – like – if a duck spirit couldn't swim. Or – or fly. I'm sure you'd agree that a duck that can't swim or fly is missing something very fundamentally…duck-y.
That wasn't a word, was it? Well, whatever. It got the point across.
Hmmm, said Stripey, and I could tell he was mulling over it, perhaps tallying up his band of duck demon bandits, all of whom could both swim and fly. But they'd still be a duck spirit. They'd still be a person.
Well…. I wasn't about to reject the personhood of a duck spirit who couldn't swim or fly, not least because instinct told me that such a rejection would deal immortal damage to our friendship.
And also, I supposed, because I didn't actually believe it myself. A duck that couldn't swim or fly was still a duck. I could go with that. But a fox spirit that was not only unbeautiful but monstrous?!
I hadn't met any foxes before I reincarnated in the Jade Mountains this time around, commented Stripey.
That's because people persecuted us after I died!
Setting aside the issue of why foxes were persecuted after you died, have you considered that maybe the painting wasn't supposed to be literal representation of your outward appearance?
Huh?
Stripey stared at me the way I imagined that Floridiana would stare at a particularly dense student. When she wasn't daydreaming about travel adventures, that was. Maybe it was supposed to be a representation of what the artist thought you looked like inside?
Heart and liver and lungs and intestines, you mean? (Yes, I knew where he was going with this line of thought. Didn't mean I had to follow him.)
Rosie. Must you make everything so difficult?
It's not me making things difficult. It's the world making things difficult for me.
His response was a long-suffering sigh.
Fine, fine, I'll stop trying to destroy their cultural artifacts, even when those cultural artifacts are shameless reproductions of brazen propaganda that should never have survived in any kind of recorded form. Happy now?
Another sigh. I'll take what I can get.
"Psst! O great representative of Lady Piri! Are you awake?"
Technically yes, but I had already tucked my head under a wing, preparing for bedtime. Reluctantly, I pulled it back out.
If I had not been, do you not think you would have woken me with that question?
"I'm sorry," said the foxling with genuine contrition. "But I haven't had the opportunity to speak with you, and I needed to tell you that I was awed by your passionate defense of your mistress." She heaved a sigh that was very different in quality from Stripey's earlier. "Such loyalty! Such devotion! I wonder if I will ever be able to inspire such faithfulness in my own retainers."
I doubted it very much. You're keeping everyone awake.
As it turned out, the aboveground wall-less huts were called pavilions, and the villagers slept in them during the summer. After Floridiana and Den had smoothed things over with the villagers, the elders from each family had discussed among themselves and eventually invited us to stay. They'd offered to split us up so we could sleep indoors, but Floridiana had deemed the weather warm enough to sleep outside, and Sphaera had minced her way down into a pit where a house was built, taken one look at the waist-height porch roof, and refused to crawl under it. I couldn't blame her. The doors into the houses were simply square holes cut into the wall under the porch roof. Her gown would have snagged on the wood.
So, after a dinner of boiled flying fish, we'd settled down in three neighboring pavilions: Stripey, Bobo, Sphaera, Steelfang, and me in one; Floridiana, Lodia, and Dusty in a second; and all of Sphaera's retainers in a third. If Sphaera were the sort of person who liked to talk to you when you were trying to sleep, I might transfer to Floridiana's pavilion.
"I don't mind being kept up!" Bobo said cheerfully. "I can't sssleep anyway. It's too exccciting!"
"What's too exciting?" Steelfang grumbled. The wolf had curled himself into a furry mountain, as if the tighter he curled, the more he could block out our voices. Good luck with that.
"They're ssstill out fissshing! At night! They're usssing thessse little lamps to lure the flying fisssh into their nets!"
"Great."
Not bothering to lower her voice, Sphaera asked, "How does the great Lady Piri want me to take over this village? Shall I challenge its chieftain to single combat?"
In the other pavilion, the figure of a woman sat up. Floridiana's dry voice called, "That would be a little difficult, considering that they don't have a chieftain."
"They don't?" asked Sphaera, startled.
"Weren't you paying attention? Each village around here has a group of elders, but they don't adhere to a strict hierarchy."
"Oh. Then how am I supposed to take over?"
How indeed?
Maybe you can start by talking to them, Stripey suggested.
"Just…talk to them?"
His wings lifted and fell in a shrug in the moonlight. Why not?
It's worth a try, I agreed.
However, it turned out to be harder than we expected to get together a quorum of villagers to discuss the re-founding of the Serican Empire. They were just so gods-cursed busy. During the day, able-bodied men went out in their canoes to catch flying fish or stood guard against demon attacks from the foothills. The women tended their taro and yam and millet fields, cared for their goats and chickens and pigs, and caught sand crabs. When the fishing boats returned with their haul, everyone, even the children, would work together to clean the fish. They split them open and hung them up to dry on racks made from the excess roots of those weird trees, which were apparently called pandan trees. Even at night, the fishing went on, because the villagers had to catch all the flying fish they'd eat for the next year during these few months.
In short, no one had time to sit down and talk about the political future of Serica. And if I didn't want these humans to run out of food and starve, I couldn't insist that they sit down and talk about the political future of Serica either.
How long does flying fish season last? I asked one of the women.
She was trudging through a field of taro plants, inspecting each leaf and removing snail eggs when she found them. Sweat streamed down the back of her neck.
"From the Second Moon to the Fifth Moon," she answered without looking up.
That long?!
We weren't going to be able to discuss with them for another two moons? Then what we were doing hanging around here?!
I see. I will leave you to your work.
The villager grunted and moved on to the next plant. As for me, I flew back to the others. They were all lounging on the grass and enjoying the sea breeze while watching the fishermen in the distance.
Change of plan, I announced. We have two months before they're free to discuss the New Empire. Let's go take over the mountains first.
Although I expected Steelfang to leap up, salivating over the prospect of a good fight, the wolf cracked one eye open. "Must we?" His eyelid slid shut again.
Yes.
"But the beach is nice. Even if we're not allowed on it. Yet."
"Stop going soft! We need to take over West Serica!" Sphaera flicked his ear, which twitched before going still again.
"West Serica will wait. All of Serica will wait. It's waited for five hundred years. What's a few more years or decades?"
"The great Lady Piri has instructed us to – "
You're not allowed on the beach for another two moons anyway, I pointed out. Why don't you use those two moons to subdue the nearby demon tribes and then come back for a well-earned, peaceful beach vacation?
Steelfang leaped to his paws.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
Is... is this why she invented a special method of burning people alive?
Chapter 158: Collecting Hostages, Er, Honored Guests
Chapter 158: Collecting Hostages, Er, Honored Guests
One moon later, I was perched on a tree branch between Bobo and Stripey, watching Steelfang and a wild boar demon circle each other below. This boar was even more mountain-like than Lord Magnissimus, although he appeared to lack the ability to freeze things. Or maybe he possessed it, but preferred to gore his enemies into submission.
Head lowered, he charged, accelerating faster than anything that size had a right to. His clans' whoops echoed off the mountainside.
Not to be outdone, our "guests," the children of chieftains we'd defeated already, raised a howl of their own. "Steel-FANG! Steel-FANG! Steel-FANG!"
Draped across her litter, with her tails going numb under her own weight, the self-proclaimed Empress of Serica viewed the proceedings with feigned indifference.
Steelfang leaped out of the way and sprang at the boar's side. A bloody gash joined the collection already there. The boar roared and spun. One tusk scraped across Steelfang's shoulder, and the wolf yipped and skipped backwards.
Doesn't he remind you of Lord Magnissimus? I asked idly.
"Yes!" cried Bobo, at the same time that Stripey asked, Which one reminds you of him?
The oversized pig, obviously.
Nah. He's not nearly as intimidating as Lord Magnissimus.
Isn't he?
"No, because Lord Magnissimus thinks," Den called up. "That's what makes him so – "
Steelfang jumped straight up and latched onto the boar's throat. The demon bellowed and swung his head, trying to shake off the wolf, who clamped his jaws tight and hung on.
"Yield!" shouted Floridiana. "Yield, or he tears out your throat!"
"Tear it OUT! Tear it OUT!" chanted Dusty, echoed by our allies.
Forgetting her bored act, Sphaera giggled. "Defeat him, my valiant defender! Prove the righteousness of our cause!"
The watching boar demons let out a chorus of high-pitched war cries that pierced my ears. Their chieftain struck at Steelfang with his front feet, and the wolf had to drop to the ground before a hoof sliced open his belly. The demons' war cries rose in both pitch and volume until I had to clap my wings over my ears.
Do they have to be so loud?
They are demons.
"Oh no! He nearly got him!" cried Bobo. She looped her body around the branch a few times and dropped her front half. "Sssteelfang! Watch out!"
The wolf snarled and latched onto the boar's throat again. The demon lashed out with his hooves, but this time Steelfang raised his hind legs, curved his tail up to protect his belly, and hung on.
Eh, Steelfang'll be fine. He's nearly got this wrapped up, I assured Bobo. Then I asked Stripey, So who's next?
As the boar's motions began to slow, Stripey answered, The joro spider clan. They control the mountains north of here.
Spiders? They'll be nothing. We'll just let Dusty step on them.
Below, Dusty stamped and edged forward until Floridiana grabbed a fistful of his mane. "It's called single combat for a reason, you overgrown pony!"
"Yes, and the Fox Queen should have picked me to challenge him."
"No, she really shouldn't have."
At last, the boar collapsed. Steelfang released his jaws, threw back his head, and howled his victory. The rest of his pack picked it up and echoed it, nearly deafening the rest of us.
As for the boar demons, they huffed and shuffled. A few slowly approached their fallen chieftain, casting many nervous glances at us. When none of us objected, they used their snouts to heave him back onto his feet and braced him so he could stand for the surrender.
"Well done, Steelfang!" cried Sphaera, clapping her hands. She turned a sparkling smile on the demons. "Do you acknowledge our authority now? Will you swear fealty to us?"
"Ooooh," groaned the chieftain. "Yes, we'll swear."
"You will address Her Most Radiant Imperial Majesty, the Empress Sphaera Algarum with the proper respect, knave!" snapped one of the rosefinch handmaidens.
Most radiant imperial majesty. What a ridiculous form of address. I swallowed a snort so I wouldn't undermine the foxling's gravitas, but I could not suppress an eye roll. (It was okay – none of the wild boars were looking up.)
Led by their stumbling chieftain, they formed an untidy line before the litter. One after another, they lowered their snouts to the ground and swore everlasting, immortal loyalty to the so-called empress, while I hopped from foot to foot and clamped my beak shut to avoid unleashing a stream of criticism.
After the smallest squeaker, wide-eyed and puzzled and so young that clear stripes still ran along her back and sides, had completed her oath, Sphaera moved to dismiss the boars. I shot down from the tree to land on her shoulder.
Village attacks, I hissed in her ear.
The look she gave me, as wide eyed and puzzled as that of the squeaker, made me want to peck her. But that would really undermine the authority she'd just established over these demons.
No more attacks on Flying Fish Village, remember?
"Oh! Right!" Lifting her chin, she stared down her nose at the boars. "Henceforth, my faithful vassals, you will neither attack human villagers, nor root up their fields, nor carry off their stores of dried fish!"
Dismayed "ukh ukh ukhs" rose from the boars.
"Are you my – I mean, our – faithful vassals or not? Did you just swear everlasting, immortal loyalty to us or not?" She cut a meaningful glance at Steelfang, who raised his hackles and bared his teeth. The blood that dripped off their points proved most convincing. The boars stopped whining.
Still, we had to give them something that would make them believe it behooved them to keep their oath. We couldn't leave Steelfang to keep an eye on them all the time, and there was no guarantee that taking the youngest squeaker as a hostage – er, honored guest of the Imperial Court – would ensure the clan's obedience once we left. I didn't want an uprising behind us.
Borders, I reminded Sphaera. Seriously, did I have to do everything myself?
"Oh, right! Right. Loyal vassals all, we undertake to guarantee the borders of this fief against incursions by all others!"
The unhappy ukh's turned into excited grunts. Not needing to guard their borders meant that the boars would have more time to hunt for food, which in turn meant that they wouldn't have to come down from the mountains to attack villagers and carry off their food.
Satisfied with another successful conquest, I lifted off Sphaera's shoulder and returned to Stripey and Bobo. Things are going well. By the time flying fish season ends, we'll have pacified this whole area.
"Yep! We will!" agreed Bobo.
We'll see, said Stripey.
Stop being such a pessimist! You'll see.
Well, soon enough, we did see.
And what we saw were giant yellow (yellow?!) spider webs that surrounded the joro spiders' territory. We circled their wall, because surely there had to be a gate or gap somewhere, but it meandered up the mountain and back down to close on itself.
"Golden spider webs!" enthused Floridiana, the only one who appreciated this development. "I've never seen golden spider webs before!"
(Yellow. Yellow. Yellow was entirely different from gold.)
While we stopped to rest and rethink our strategy, she ran around sketching the webs. At least she was enjoying herself?
After consulting our guests and gleaning what intelligence he could on the joro spiders, Steelfang ordered one of his pack forward. The younger wolf slunk up to the webs and snapped at a strand. The silk broke easily enough, but the free end stuck to her snout. When she recoiled, the motion ripped the web. More free ends waved in the wind, and everywhere they touched her, they stuck fast. She backed up, but that only tore the web further. Before the rest of us could react, countless threads bound her to the wall.
"AoooOOOooo! Get it off!" she howled.
"Don't worry! I'm coming!" cried Bobo. She wrapped herself around the wolf's hindquarters, braced her tail, and pulled as hard as she could. The threads went taut but didn't break. "Help! I can't get her loossse!"
Floridiana rushed forward with a dagger, already stamped and spelled for sharpness. "Hold still! I'll cut you free!"
She sliced at, then sawed at, then hacked at the threads, but they only stretched under the pressure of the blade and stuck to it too. Before a loose thread could touch her hand, Den seized her collar and yanked her back, leaving the knife dangling midair.
The wolf howled and thrashed, and Bobo pulled harder, to no avail.
They're going to know we're here, Stripey warned over the howls of the one and the peppy encouragement of the other. This has to be an intruder detection system. They're probably sending warriors right now.
"Good!" called Sphaera, who hadn't budged from her litter through all the chaos. "Then I will speak to them and order them to let us in."
All of a sudden, the threads snapped. Bobo and the wolf went tumbling.
"Oopsssie! Now let's just get this sssilk off us – aaaah!"
At her yelp, our heads all jerked around – in time to see a gust of wind catch the loose threads. They were standing up and swaying back and forth like autumn silvergrass, and even as we watched, they lifted Bobo and the wolf off the ground.
"Like dandelion fluff," breathed Floridiana.
"Like a dragon," murmured Den.
Don't stand there staring! I fluttered around Bobo helplessly. There was nothing I could bite on her sleek, scaly body to hang on to her. I latched onto a tuft of fur on the wolf's tail with my beak instead and backwinged as hard as I could, which did absolutely nothing. Help! Help!
Stripey's much larger beak closed on the wolf's hind leg and he, too, backwinged with all his might, but the threads only bore us higher. We were nearly clear of the treetops now.
Letting go of the wolf's tail, I shrieked down at the others, Do something!
A black-and-gold shape hurtled at us: Dusty, executing his Bound of the Tempestuous Blast, or whatever he called this move. Just now the name didn't strike me as quite so ridiculous as usual, because if he could save us, I didn't care how he styled himself. I'd even consider addressing him as "Your Highness"! Honestly, it wouldn't be the worst thing I'd done.
Another gust of wind swept us out of the reach of Dusty's front teeth.
"Come over here! Let me stamp you!" Floridiana was shouting at him.
Too late. The wind direction changed. The threads bore us sideways over the wall of webs and into the joro spiders' domain.
Oh no! I attempted to fly away, but without my noticing, two threads had glued themselves to my back, and try as I might, I couldn't break free.
Stripey! Help!
I'm stuck too! He beat his wings as hard as he could, but if even two spirits couldn't break free, what could a mortal crane do?
Den! Den! Help! I cried.
"I'm so sorry!" I heard him call. "I can't breach their airspace! It would be a diplomatic disaster!"
Since when did you start caring about diplomacy?!
"I'll keep the others safe!" he yelled, which I was pretty sure was his real reason for not saving us.
"Hang on!" Floridiana's shout drifted after us. "We'll get you out! Just hang on!"
Then the wind dropped, and we were also dropping, down down down well inside the joro spiders' territory.
The wolf howled and thrashed and fought to pull herself up the threads, which of course failed miserably.
We're going to die we're going to die we're going to die –
Calm down and think! yelled Stripey.
"Owee!" Bobo cried as we hit the top of a tree.
Are you okay? Stripey called.
"Yep! I'm fine! I was jussst sssurprisssed – eek!"
Branches snapped under the weight of the wolf and Bobo, and then we were tumbling through the tree. Leaves and bark cut past me while I covered my face with my wings. At last, we thudded onto the grass. At the last minute, I scrambled out of the way so no one landed on and crushed me. We lay in a tangled heap, with Bobo's back half trapped under the wolf's rear end.
Leaving it there, she raised her long neck and swiveled to check on us. "Everybody okay?"
More or less, I answered.
I'm fine, reported Stripey from the wolf's other side.
The wolf wheezed, caught her breath, and staggered to her paws. "They're coming. On your feet, everybody," she ordered, which was an absolutely inane thing to say to a snake.
I didn't have time to point that out, though, because moments later, my mortal ears picked up the rustling too.
Then six spiders the size of Honeysuckle Croft emerged from the trees.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
One moon later, I was perched on a tree branch between Bobo and Stripey, watching Steelfang and a wild boar demon circle each other below. This boar was even more mountain-like than Lord Magnissimus, although he appeared to lack the ability to freeze things. Or maybe he possessed it, but preferred to gore his enemies into submission.
Head lowered, he charged, accelerating faster than anything that size had a right to. His clans' whoops echoed off the mountainside.
Not to be outdone, our "guests," the children of chieftains we'd defeated already, raised a howl of their own. "Steel-FANG! Steel-FANG! Steel-FANG!"
Draped across her litter, with her tails going numb under her own weight, the self-proclaimed Empress of Serica viewed the proceedings with feigned indifference.
Steelfang leaped out of the way and sprang at the boar's side. A bloody gash joined the collection already there. The boar roared and spun. One tusk scraped across Steelfang's shoulder, and the wolf yipped and skipped backwards.
Doesn't he remind you of Lord Magnissimus? I asked idly.
"Yes!" cried Bobo, at the same time that Stripey asked, Which one reminds you of him?
The oversized pig, obviously.
Nah. He's not nearly as intimidating as Lord Magnissimus.
Isn't he?
"No, because Lord Magnissimus thinks," Den called up. "That's what makes him so – "
Steelfang jumped straight up and latched onto the boar's throat. The demon bellowed and swung his head, trying to shake off the wolf, who clamped his jaws tight and hung on.
"Yield!" shouted Floridiana. "Yield, or he tears out your throat!"
"Tear it OUT! Tear it OUT!" chanted Dusty, echoed by our allies.
Forgetting her bored act, Sphaera giggled. "Defeat him, my valiant defender! Prove the righteousness of our cause!"
The watching boar demons let out a chorus of high-pitched war cries that pierced my ears. Their chieftain struck at Steelfang with his front feet, and the wolf had to drop to the ground before a hoof sliced open his belly. The demons' war cries rose in both pitch and volume until I had to clap my wings over my ears.
Do they have to be so loud?
They are demons.
"Oh no! He nearly got him!" cried Bobo. She looped her body around the branch a few times and dropped her front half. "Sssteelfang! Watch out!"
The wolf snarled and latched onto the boar's throat again. The demon lashed out with his hooves, but this time Steelfang raised his hind legs, curved his tail up to protect his belly, and hung on.
Eh, Steelfang'll be fine. He's nearly got this wrapped up, I assured Bobo. Then I asked Stripey, So who's next?
As the boar's motions began to slow, Stripey answered, The joro spider clan. They control the mountains north of here.
Spiders? They'll be nothing. We'll just let Dusty step on them.
Below, Dusty stamped and edged forward until Floridiana grabbed a fistful of his mane. "It's called single combat for a reason, you overgrown pony!"
"Yes, and the Fox Queen should have picked me to challenge him."
"No, she really shouldn't have."
At last, the boar collapsed. Steelfang released his jaws, threw back his head, and howled his victory. The rest of his pack picked it up and echoed it, nearly deafening the rest of us.
As for the boar demons, they huffed and shuffled. A few slowly approached their fallen chieftain, casting many nervous glances at us. When none of us objected, they used their snouts to heave him back onto his feet and braced him so he could stand for the surrender.
"Well done, Steelfang!" cried Sphaera, clapping her hands. She turned a sparkling smile on the demons. "Do you acknowledge our authority now? Will you swear fealty to us?"
"Ooooh," groaned the chieftain. "Yes, we'll swear."
"You will address Her Most Radiant Imperial Majesty, the Empress Sphaera Algarum with the proper respect, knave!" snapped one of the rosefinch handmaidens.
Most radiant imperial majesty. What a ridiculous form of address. I swallowed a snort so I wouldn't undermine the foxling's gravitas, but I could not suppress an eye roll. (It was okay – none of the wild boars were looking up.)
Led by their stumbling chieftain, they formed an untidy line before the litter. One after another, they lowered their snouts to the ground and swore everlasting, immortal loyalty to the so-called empress, while I hopped from foot to foot and clamped my beak shut to avoid unleashing a stream of criticism.
After the smallest squeaker, wide-eyed and puzzled and so young that clear stripes still ran along her back and sides, had completed her oath, Sphaera moved to dismiss the boars. I shot down from the tree to land on her shoulder.
Village attacks, I hissed in her ear.
The look she gave me, as wide eyed and puzzled as that of the squeaker, made me want to peck her. But that would really undermine the authority she'd just established over these demons.
No more attacks on Flying Fish Village, remember?
"Oh! Right!" Lifting her chin, she stared down her nose at the boars. "Henceforth, my faithful vassals, you will neither attack human villagers, nor root up their fields, nor carry off their stores of dried fish!"
Dismayed "ukh ukh ukhs" rose from the boars.
"Are you my – I mean, our – faithful vassals or not? Did you just swear everlasting, immortal loyalty to us or not?" She cut a meaningful glance at Steelfang, who raised his hackles and bared his teeth. The blood that dripped off their points proved most convincing. The boars stopped whining.
Still, we had to give them something that would make them believe it behooved them to keep their oath. We couldn't leave Steelfang to keep an eye on them all the time, and there was no guarantee that taking the youngest squeaker as a hostage – er, honored guest of the Imperial Court – would ensure the clan's obedience once we left. I didn't want an uprising behind us.
Borders, I reminded Sphaera. Seriously, did I have to do everything myself?
"Oh, right! Right. Loyal vassals all, we undertake to guarantee the borders of this fief against incursions by all others!"
The unhappy ukh's turned into excited grunts. Not needing to guard their borders meant that the boars would have more time to hunt for food, which in turn meant that they wouldn't have to come down from the mountains to attack villagers and carry off their food.
Satisfied with another successful conquest, I lifted off Sphaera's shoulder and returned to Stripey and Bobo. Things are going well. By the time flying fish season ends, we'll have pacified this whole area.
"Yep! We will!" agreed Bobo.
We'll see, said Stripey.
Stop being such a pessimist! You'll see.
Well, soon enough, we did see.
And what we saw were giant yellow (yellow?!) spider webs that surrounded the joro spiders' territory. We circled their wall, because surely there had to be a gate or gap somewhere, but it meandered up the mountain and back down to close on itself.
"Golden spider webs!" enthused Floridiana, the only one who appreciated this development. "I've never seen golden spider webs before!"
(Yellow. Yellow. Yellow was entirely different from gold.)
While we stopped to rest and rethink our strategy, she ran around sketching the webs. At least she was enjoying herself?
After consulting our guests and gleaning what intelligence he could on the joro spiders, Steelfang ordered one of his pack forward. The younger wolf slunk up to the webs and snapped at a strand. The silk broke easily enough, but the free end stuck to her snout. When she recoiled, the motion ripped the web. More free ends waved in the wind, and everywhere they touched her, they stuck fast. She backed up, but that only tore the web further. Before the rest of us could react, countless threads bound her to the wall.
"AoooOOOooo! Get it off!" she howled.
"Don't worry! I'm coming!" cried Bobo. She wrapped herself around the wolf's hindquarters, braced her tail, and pulled as hard as she could. The threads went taut but didn't break. "Help! I can't get her loossse!"
Floridiana rushed forward with a dagger, already stamped and spelled for sharpness. "Hold still! I'll cut you free!"
She sliced at, then sawed at, then hacked at the threads, but they only stretched under the pressure of the blade and stuck to it too. Before a loose thread could touch her hand, Den seized her collar and yanked her back, leaving the knife dangling midair.
The wolf howled and thrashed, and Bobo pulled harder, to no avail.
They're going to know we're here, Stripey warned over the howls of the one and the peppy encouragement of the other. This has to be an intruder detection system. They're probably sending warriors right now.
"Good!" called Sphaera, who hadn't budged from her litter through all the chaos. "Then I will speak to them and order them to let us in."
All of a sudden, the threads snapped. Bobo and the wolf went tumbling.
"Oopsssie! Now let's just get this sssilk off us – aaaah!"
At her yelp, our heads all jerked around – in time to see a gust of wind catch the loose threads. They were standing up and swaying back and forth like autumn silvergrass, and even as we watched, they lifted Bobo and the wolf off the ground.
"Like dandelion fluff," breathed Floridiana.
"Like a dragon," murmured Den.
Don't stand there staring! I fluttered around Bobo helplessly. There was nothing I could bite on her sleek, scaly body to hang on to her. I latched onto a tuft of fur on the wolf's tail with my beak instead and backwinged as hard as I could, which did absolutely nothing. Help! Help!
Stripey's much larger beak closed on the wolf's hind leg and he, too, backwinged with all his might, but the threads only bore us higher. We were nearly clear of the treetops now.
Letting go of the wolf's tail, I shrieked down at the others, Do something!
A black-and-gold shape hurtled at us: Dusty, executing his Bound of the Tempestuous Blast, or whatever he called this move. Just now the name didn't strike me as quite so ridiculous as usual, because if he could save us, I didn't care how he styled himself. I'd even consider addressing him as "Your Highness"! Honestly, it wouldn't be the worst thing I'd done.
Another gust of wind swept us out of the reach of Dusty's front teeth.
"Come over here! Let me stamp you!" Floridiana was shouting at him.
Too late. The wind direction changed. The threads bore us sideways over the wall of webs and into the joro spiders' domain.
Oh no! I attempted to fly away, but without my noticing, two threads had glued themselves to my back, and try as I might, I couldn't break free.
Stripey! Help!
I'm stuck too! He beat his wings as hard as he could, but if even two spirits couldn't break free, what could a mortal crane do?
Den! Den! Help! I cried.
"I'm so sorry!" I heard him call. "I can't breach their airspace! It would be a diplomatic disaster!"
Since when did you start caring about diplomacy?!
"I'll keep the others safe!" he yelled, which I was pretty sure was his real reason for not saving us.
"Hang on!" Floridiana's shout drifted after us. "We'll get you out! Just hang on!"
Then the wind dropped, and we were also dropping, down down down well inside the joro spiders' territory.
The wolf howled and thrashed and fought to pull herself up the threads, which of course failed miserably.
We're going to die we're going to die we're going to die –
Calm down and think! yelled Stripey.
"Owee!" Bobo cried as we hit the top of a tree.
Are you okay? Stripey called.
"Yep! I'm fine! I was jussst sssurprisssed – eek!"
Branches snapped under the weight of the wolf and Bobo, and then we were tumbling through the tree. Leaves and bark cut past me while I covered my face with my wings. At last, we thudded onto the grass. At the last minute, I scrambled out of the way so no one landed on and crushed me. We lay in a tangled heap, with Bobo's back half trapped under the wolf's rear end.
Leaving it there, she raised her long neck and swiveled to check on us. "Everybody okay?"
More or less, I answered.
I'm fine, reported Stripey from the wolf's other side.
The wolf wheezed, caught her breath, and staggered to her paws. "They're coming. On your feet, everybody," she ordered, which was an absolutely inane thing to say to a snake.
I didn't have time to point that out, though, because moments later, my mortal ears picked up the rustling too.
Then six spiders the size of Honeysuckle Croft emerged from the trees.
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
Hmm, not specifically, but she did think it was a fitting punishment!
Really scared for Bobo here, hope she makes it out okay
Yep! Each one of them is a cottage-sized spider!
You'll see! (But don't worry, Piri will come up with a plan.
)
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
What is gold, if not the fanciest shade of yellow?
Shhh, don't say that where Piri can hear you!