The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

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.