The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Right as the last of Lodia’s air ran out and the oystragon’s jaws opened wide to bite off her head, the water vanished. She crashed to the ground and found herself staring up at the sky. Was this what Heaven looked like? Blue skies everywhere, and not a single cloud in sight?

Pain lanced through her, from landing on a hard...sharp surface littered with rocks and broken-off coral. Blood dripped from a gash across her right arm. She heard the drops plink-plink-plinking onto the rocks.

Was this death? Were you supposed to hurt after you died? Pip would know, she thought blearily. From the snatches of overheard conversations, Pip had died multiple times. She didn’t like talking about it, though, at least not with Lodia.

Rocks and coral grated. Something heavy and hard scraped over them. The ground vibrated like a drum pounding out the beat for a warrior dance. Lodia tried to roll onto her side to see who it was, but her body wouldn’t move. She twisted her neck to a side – and fear propelled her onto her knees.

Her left arm, the one that wasn’t bleeding, buckled and snapped when she pushed off it, and a cry rattled her throat.

“Your friends seem determined to save you,” said the oystragon. “That mage actually has some power.”

He planted a three-clawed foot next to her and shook his head with what might have been regret. His mane whipped around his face, catching the sunlight like fine silk threads. For an instant, Lodia stared, transfixed, considering how to embroider him.

No! This was not the time for that.

“Wait,” she croaked. “At least tell me why. What did I do?”

The jaws stopped a foot above her face. “You angered a goddess. She ordered the Dragon Commander to do something about you. He, in turn, ordered my liege lord, the Dragon King of the Western Sea, to do something about you. And my liege, in turn, ordered me to eliminate you. Like I said, it’s nothing personal.”

The jaws opened again, but his comment about her friends had given her hope. The water disappearing like that – that must have been Floridiana or Den, right? One was a mage, the other a dragon who controlled water. So if she could hang on long enough, keep the oystragon talking long enough, one of them would find her. One of them would save her.

“Wait!” she croaked again. “Which goddess?”

“I don’t know.”

“They didn’t tell you?”

The maned head shook from side to side. “I have no need to know. Human girl, I understand what you’re trying to do, but believe me, dragging this out will only make it worse.”

The inside of his maw blocked out the cloudless sky, replacing it with a long red tongue and long dagger teeth.

“Wait! Didn’t they tell you which god I serve?”

The tips of his fangs prickled her neck on both sides – but didn’t break the skin. Her heart was so beating hard that she could feel the artery pulsing below her jaw, right under his teeth. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

Please don’t bite down, please don’t bite down, please don’t bite down.

The jaws withdrew. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, they were replaced by a giant eyeball. “Which god do you serve?”

“The Ki– ” she began, before she cut off the rest of the name.

What was the relationship between the Kitchen God and the Dragon King of the Western Sea? Who outranked whom? Who was allied with whom? It mattered, she knew from living on the periphery of Queen Jullia’s court, but she didn’t know any of the answers that might save her.

“Which god do you think I serve?” she asked instead, hoping to glean a clue from how the oystragon answered.

He didn’t speak. The eye that she could see whirled round and round in its socket. Maybe that meant he was thinking really, really hard?

Think! What should she do? What would Katu do?

Katu make a grand, inspiring speech about the Divine Intercessor that would end with the oystragon and all his guards genuflecting and begging to be allowed to bring offerings to the as-yet-unbuilt temple.

But Lodia wasn’t Katu. She wasn’t brilliant or charismatic. She didn’t have whatever he did that made the butterfly spirits adore him, that drew crowds to him and kept them hanging on his every word.

So what would her grandmother do?

She would stand tall, unfazed in the face of death, and address it like a subordinate. And such would be her poise and absolute confidence that it would accept that.

But Lodia wasn’t her grandmother either. She didn’t have the authority distilled from decades of being the strongest mage in Lychee Grove.

So what could Lodia herself do?

“My god – my god is a loving god,” she began, attempting to channel her inner Katu.

The oystragon actually snorted. “There is no such thing.”

She was so rattled that she blurted out the first thought that came into her mind. “How do you know?”

For some reason, he reared back as if she’d struck him. What in the name of the Kitchen God?

On instinct, she kept going with this approach. “Have you met any gods?”

“Of all the– ” The oystragon spluttered and blustered, which told her that he hadn’t.

“Then how do you know none of them are loving and kind?”

Silence.

“I’d guess that even a loving and kind god would get pretty, um, annoyed if you said he’s not.” Lodia meant it as an observation, but the oystragon gulped. “So, um, what I’m trying to say is, maybe it would be better if you figure out which god I’m serving before you kill me?”

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it even as it left her lips.

“Are you threatening me, human girl?”

Claws seized her arms, including the broken one, and wrenched her closer. Lodia screamed.

Out of nowhere, furrows sliced open the ocean, running all the way back to the beach in lines that crisscrossed one another.

“Hey! It’s Mage Flori!” shouted Dusty.

It’s Den! I cried at the same time.

Or both! pointed out Stripey. He staggered to his claws on Dusty’s back and shook himself off, showering us with water. Ignoring our complaints, he flapped his wings experimentally and took off. Come on. Let’s go.

“If you just wanted to dry off, I could have blown you dry,” grumbled Dusty, but he did paddle after the crane.

Dusty the Blow-Dryer, I commented.

The blast of horsey wind knocked me off course. When I straightened myself and glared at him, his eye rolled at me, daring me to speak. I opted not to point out that a whirlwind was, in some sense, a blow-dryer on a very large scale.

There they are! called Stripey. He folded his wings and dove into a furrow.

I dove after him, down past walls of water that roiled and crashed against invisible barriers. I couldn’t help casting a nervous glance at them, hoping that Floridiana or Den’s magic would hold. If it failed, I was about to get crushed by a massive wave.

A gleaming golden form hurtled down past me, landing in a spray of rocks and a dramatic swirl of black mane.

“The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind is here to SAVE THE DAY!”

Floridiana and Den spared him a glance from something on the seafloor. Probably her latest stamp.

“Very good,” said the mage, but her voice lacked her usual tartness, and her face was as pale as dried-out clay. Tardily, I realized that Den was crouched next to her less to inspect her handiwork and more to keep her from toppling over.

“I smell BLOOD! Mage Flori, you’re bleeding!” Dusty charged across the seafloor, hooves kicking up pieces of coral and rock that Stripey and I had to dodge.

I liked coral much better after it had been properly cut, polished, and set. But I didn’t say that. Now wasn’t the time. I was just congratulating myself on my self-restraint when I caught sight of the wet, red stain on the side of Floridiana’s tunic.

You’re hurt!

She wasn’t just worn out from performing too many spells! Parallel cuts sliced through her tunic, as if from razor blades.

Did you heal yourself? Tell me you healed yourself.

“What do you think?” she snapped, her irritation adding color to her cheeks.

Relief swept over me. If she could snap at me, then she couldn’t feel too bad.

You shouldn’t be doing massive magic right after a healing, I scolded. What are all these furrows for anyway? Are you plowing the ocean or something?

A mass of fur and tentacles crashed onto the seafloor not six feet away. One Ear leaped to her paws and started ripping arms off a cuttlefish spirit, which shrieked and fought to drag itself back into the water.

Oh. Okay. Fine. That was what the furrows were for.

It’s a good idea, I admitted. But you shouldn’t be doing any more magic. You need to rest. Let Den deal with the water –

“I’m fine. Stop fussing.”

Floridiana braced her hand against Den’s foreleg and pushed herself to her feet. She staggered on a piece of coral and didn’t even notice when Den shifted his shoulder to prop her up. Not good.

Over her head, he mouthed at us, “Don’t worry. I’m doing most of the magic.”

You should get her to shore, I urged. Just pick her up and fly her back to the beach.

The bumpy knobs above Den’s eyes rose. “I could also let an army of octopus and cuttlefish spirits sit on me and crush me to death. One would be far less painful than the other.”

Off to the side, One Ear finished dismembering her opponent and bounded back into the water.

“Come on,” Floridiana ordered. “We need to find Lodia.”

We’ll find Lodia. You need to go back to the beach before you bleed to death. I fluttered around her head, trying to herd her down the furrow.

I agree. Stripey swooped low and cut off the mage when she tried to stagger the opposite way. You’re in no condition to keep performing spells, and if you collapse, we have no other mages.

“You don’t need me for magic. Den can – ”

Den can’t heal, he said flatly. And I think we’re going to need a lot of healing when this is all over.

She wavered. I thought she was on the verge of obeying when a scream rent the air.

Lodia!

Forgetting everything else, I shot up and searched the ocean for her. A larger black and white form beat me to her.

She was pinned beneath the oystragon. Her legs jutted from under her gown, covered in cuts from the rocks and coral. Her left forearm flopped and bent in a place where human arms weren’t meant to flop or bend. The oystragon grabbed her arms, pulled her close, and opened his jaws to rip her head off.

No! Noooo!

Scenes from Black Sand Creek flashed through my mind. Lord Silurus attacking the little girl who loved red-bean sticky rice dumplings. Her flute dropping from her fingers to sink into the riverbed. Her tears, her terror, her useless thrashing as his jaws closed over her. And then, later, Aurelia’s and Mistress Jek’s grief, their fierce determination to do whatever it took to protect the girl’s reincarnation, Taila.

Last time, I’d watched a girl die without lifting a fin to help. I hadn’t known her, so she hadn’t mattered to me. But this time, it was different. This time, it was Lodia. This time, the girl who was about to be murdered was one of mine.

Before I could analyze the costs and benefits, the potential gain or loss of karma, before there was time for any rational thought, really, I found myself charging at the oystragon.

You can’t kill her! She’s MINE!