The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Softshell turtle? A softshell turtle???

Glitter wanted to reincarnate me as a softshell turtle? No. Absolutely not. Those things were disgusting.

Okay, fine, they looked perfectly all right when they were chopped up and cooked into soup – but only when they were chopped up and cooked into soup. The live ones? Ugh! I’d seen waaaay too many of those in Black Sand Creek. Some types of turtles had cute, friendly faces, but not softshell turtles. Oh, no. Out of saggy, stocking-like necks stuck triangular heads with bulging frog eyes and pointy snouts that terminated in piggy nostrils. Softshell turtles were also a hideous muddy greenish-grey all over, with weirdly blobby limbs protruding from round carapaces that somehow reminded me of slime. Really hostile slime.

Although, if I looked like that, I’d be angry all the time too.

Regardless, whenever I saw a softshell turtle, I felt an insane, irresistible compulsion to stomp on it. Which was kind of awkward when you were a fish and had no feet for stomping.

No! No no no! I won’t do it! I won’t go!

“Calm down, Piri,” sighed Flicker.

Calm down? Calm down? How can I calm down? Have you seen softshell turtles? Do you know how disgusting they look???

Maybe because he wasn’t in imminent danger of transforming into one, Flicker disagreed. “I do know what softshell turtles look like. Although they are not the most, uh, appealing creatures, their appearance is not as distressing as you seem to think it is. And I assure you, they do not look disgusting to one another.”

That’s because they’re too dumb to know it!

Probably because it was true, Flicker looked over pointedly at the Tea of Forgetfulness. “It’s only a problem for you because you insist on keeping your mind when you reincarnate. You’d be significantly happier if you didn’t, you know.” From his tone, he wasn’t expecting me to surrender.

No, I shouted, I’d be significantly happier if you stopped reincarnating me as the ugliest animals in existence!

“Piri, how many times do I have to tell you that I am not the one who decides – ”

A little thump against the door interrupted us. Through the thick wood, Cassia Quarta’s soul shrilled, What’s going on? Is everything okay?

So much for soundproofing.

Taking a deep breath and forcibly calming himself, Flicker called back, “Everything is fine, soul. We’ll be done here in a moment. Please wait your turn.”

But Mooncloud sounded really upset.

The doorknob rattled, as if bumped by a soft, squishy ball.

“Tell her you’re all right,” Flicker mouthed at me at the same time that I yelled, Of course I’m upset! They’re reincarnating me as a softshell turtle!!!

Silence on the other side of the door. It went on for so long that Flicker started to relax.

Then Cassia Quarta yelped, A softshell turtle? But those are so ugly! Oh. Oh. Hmmm.

I could practically hear her casting about for something upbeat to say. Good luck with that.

Oh! she exclaimed. I remember eating turtle soup back when I was a princess! They’re very tasty!

Wow. Did this soul have an even more one-track mind than I did?

Stomping over to the door, Flicker wrenched it open. A ball of red light tumbled through it and plopped onto the floor. In the waiting room, I could see several other souls, plus a clerk leading in another one.

Noticing the same thing, Flicker winced. “You’re not supposed to discuss details of your past lives with other souls,” he scolded. “You know that.”

Oh, oops. Cassia Quarta drooped, spreading across the floor like a puddle before she brightened (literally) and bounced back up. But since I already did, can I stay and watch you reincarnate Mooncloud?

“No!”

No!

For the second time ever, Flicker and I found ourselves in complete agreement, and once again, he looked as if he really didn’t enjoy it all that much. Recovering, he stabbed a finger through the doorway at the furthest corner of the waiting room. “Please wait your turn.”

Oh, fine. Cassia Quarta drifted off, and Flicker slammed the door behind her.

“All right, if there are no further interruptions?” he bit out, glaring at me if that little episode had somehow been my fault.

Yes, no more interruptions, I agreed. I wanted to get back to the subject at hand too. I refuse to be a softshell turtle. I refuse to accept this assignment.

Flicker dropped into his chair. The legs creaked. I hoped they’d break – but they didn’t.

He ran a hand through his hair until it stood on end like glowing fuzz and sighed, “Piri, you’re really not in a position to refuse an assignment. Either you get reincarnated as the animal that Glitter has selected for you, or you go back into a box in the archives until you get reincarnated as the animal that Glitter has selected for you. Those are your only two options.”

That was a lie. I could also get deified.

He gave me a scathing stare. “I said your only two options.”

I seriously considered whether sleeping inside a box indefinitely would be the better choice here. But – actually – the more relevant question was: Which choice would be better for Flicker? If I knew, I could bargain with him.

What did Flicker want? To get through his workday with as little fuss as possible. And Glitter wouldn’t look kindly on clerks who failed to complete their assignments.

Okay, I told him in a firm voice. I’ll reincarnate as a softshell turtle – but only if you tell me how to earn positive karma as one.

That was not the response he’d expected. Both eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? Why would I do that?”

Because you’ll get a bad mark on your record for failing to complete your assigned reincarnations in a timely manner, and that will negatively impact your career advancement, I bluffed.

I knew I’d guessed right when his shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he snapped, and skimmed my curriculum vitae for inspiration. “Fine. You can earn positive karma by…killing Lord Silurus the catfish demon.”

I burst out laughing. Who’d have thought Flicker actually had a sense of humor?

When I calmed down again, I noticed that his lips hadn’t so much as twitched. Wait…that wasn’t a joke? You were serious?

“I’m always serious.”

That was true, but – You want me, as a mortal softshell turtle, to kill a centuries-old catfish demon that even the Dragon King is scared of?

Flicker’s expression never wavered. “Yes. In your last life, you stood by and watched while a demon murdered an innocent human child. Here’s your chance to redeem yourself.”

Why should I need to redeem myself? The Dragon King said that there’s a treaty between the Water Court of Black Sand Creek and the Claymouth barons that absolves water spirits of any responsibility for demon attacks on humans.

Flicker hesitated for just one moment. His eyes flicked to the bottom of the curriculum vitae, searching for any footnotes. “Be that as it may, the treaty only applies to inter-fief affairs on Earth. It has no bearing on how karma is calculated.”

Whaaaaaat? Are you saying that I got negative karma for not rescuing a human from a demon when I was just a fish? That’s not fair!

“Piri….”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you don’t have any say in how karma is awarded, it’s all in the hands of the Accountants, blah blah blah.

“Indeed.”

I forced myself to calm down. Okay. Fine. About killing Lord Silurus. How am I supposed to do that?

“I leave it to your infinite creativity.”

Flicker’s tone made it clear that he was not complimenting me, but I barely noticed. Kill Lord Silurus. How was I supposed to kill Lord Silurus? The answer seemed obvious: I wasn’t. I was supposed to try and fail and die, try and fail and die, over and over and over, winning me exactly zero karma each time. Worse than that, actually, because if I happened to be nearby when he ate another human, that was yet more negative karma for me.

If I stayed in the archives here, I could preserve my current total karma.

But if I stayed here, I couldn’t do anything to increase it either, whereas on Earth, at least I’d have other opportunities to earn positive karma. As a turtle, I’d have a greater range of activities than a catfish. I could always crawl onto the riverbank, monitor Lord Silurus’ stretch of river, and then swim away as soon as any humans approached. Then no one could claim I was nearby when they got eaten. Perfectly reasonable solution.

I looked Flicker straight in the eyes. Okay, fine. I’ll go. Let’s get this over with.

And we did.

Reincarnating Piri and Cassia Quarta on the same day, back to back, no less! Truly, the gods (well, Glitter, more like) hated him.

Once Piri was safely on Earth, encased within a softshell turtle eggshell, Flicker filed away her paperwork and took out Maila’s. Feeling drained, he read the little girl’s curriculum vitae. Her list of deeds was mercifully brief, since she hadn’t accomplished much in her short life. In fact, this soul’s lives were always short, not because of any scheming or strategizing on its part, but because it was stunningly accident prone. The only reason it had survived to the age of fifteen as Cassia Quarta was because imperial children were coddled and surveilled at all times, all the more so after they became puppet emperors and empresses.

Unfortunately for it, it was not going to reincarnate into any royal families this time either. Glitter had assigned it to be Maila’s soon-to-be-born younger sister in order to atone for disobeying her parents and then breaking their hearts. Personally, given this soul’s track record, Flicker thought Glitter was setting them up for more heartbreak.

When he opened the door to call her in, he found himself facing a roomful of souls, all of whom were floating patiently in their own bubbles of silence. All except one. One Red Tier soul was bobbing up and down next to a surly Black Tier soul, chattering away, completely undeterred by the one-way conversation.

The Black Tier soul was Marcius’.

Oh, stars. How had all these figures from the last days of the Lang Dynasty ended up under his responsibility?

“Number 2398,” he called.

For a moment, there was no response. Then the Red Tier soul gave a little start. Oh, that’s me! Okay, I’ll see you next time! Well, maybe not next time since we might not die at the same time next time but…you know what I mean.

“Number 2398,” Flicker repeated, severely.

I have to go! Bye-bye! The soul whooshed past him into his office, bounding through the air in big, happy arcs. All right! Who am I going to be this time?

Heaving a long sigh, Flicker shut the door on the giant backlog of souls. He was going to be pulling unpaid overtime again tonight. He already knew it.

Out in the waiting room, a Black Tier soul that had been, in previous lives, cousin to an emperor, a star god, and many, many foxes, floated in a horrified, guilty daze. He’d really done it this time. He’d robbed so many hardworking farmers of their egg-laying hens. Visions of starving children filled his mind. Oh gods. How could he have done it?

He hadn’t meant to harm anyone. Truly, he hadn’t meant to be a pest. It was just that this latest fox body had had such a taste for chickens! It had lurked around farmhouses, watching and waiting for chances to raid the chicken coops, and gotten really good at it, too.

Good thing the local duke had organized a foxhunt to entertain the queen when the court came to stay with him. Hunters and hounds had chased down the fox before it did even more damage. While that death had been terrifying and painful, it could have been much worse.

He could, for example, have survived long enough to awaken as a fox spirit.

Please, Jade Emperor, never let me survive long enough to awaken as a fox spirit. Let me reincarnate as something else this time. Anything else, so long as it’s not a fox.

Perhaps His Heavenly Majesty was listening, because this time when he was summoned for reincarnation, he caught a glimpse of the rune on his file.

It said: “Foxhound.”

Meanwhile, down on Earth, in a small farmhouse in the Claymouth barony, a woman gave birth to a girl-child. With a mix of joy and sorrow, she and her husband named the baby Taila, in memory of the daughter they had lost to the catfish demon.

At the same time, on the banks of Black Sand Creek, the duck demons peered through the rushes as a softshell turtle laboriously dug out a hole just above the water line. She laid a clutch of round, white eggs and kicked mud over them, then lay down nearby to guard them.

The duck demons made a note of the location, nodded at one another, and paddled off. Their kinsman Anasius, Baron Claymouth’s seneschal, would be pleased to learn that in two years, there would be another batch of softshell turtles to harvest for the stewpot.