The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Cool moist darkness.

Soil. Long body. Burrow burrow burrow. Leaf piece. Eat. Burrow.

Thud. Thud thud above.

Water trickling down. Rain.

Thudthudthudthudthud. Hard rain.

Wet. Very wet. Burrow up. Burrow burrow burrow burrow burrow. Air. Fresh air.

Thump. Thump. THUMP.

Ground shaking. Something coming. Must escape. Must escape. Must esca–

Splat.

“Please state your name and nature for me.”

I was back in the same cramped office in the Bureau of Reincarnation, with the same bored clerk skimming my paperwork. And I still shone with the same blinding whiteness.

Piri. Earthworm. Hey, why am I still White Tier?

There was no way I could have been an evil earthworm. For one thing, earthworms didn’t have the mental capacity to comprehend concepts such as “good” and “evil.” I floated higher so I could read my list of deeds – which consisted of a single item: “Renewed the soil.” I was neither a farmer nor a natural philosopher, but soil renewal sounded like it should be good for agriculture.

Didn’t I, I don’t know, help the farmers?

“You did,” replied the clerk without looking up. “And you earned positive karma for it. However, as you were stepped on and killed in a matter of days, your positive karma from this life is not nearly enough to compensate for the negative karma from your past life. Now, if you will dip yourself in the Tea of Forgetfulness – ”

Wait a second, I broke in. What am I getting reincarnated as this time?

“It is not customary for souls to be provided with this information beforehand – ”

Seriously? Why? What are you afraid of? Hey, wait a minute. Don’t tell me I’m going to be a worm again!

In answer, he raised a finger and pointed, and I sailed towards the vat, still yelling, Stop! Stop! I don’t want to be a worm again!

Splash.

Cool moist darkness.

Soil. Long body. Burrow burrow burrow. Leaf piece. Eat. Burrow.

Burrow burrow burrow.

Lots of burrowing.

More burrowing.

So much burrowing.

Okay, how much positive karma did I earn this time? I lived longer this time, right?

“You did.”

So can I move on to the next Tier now?

“I’m afraid not. Your total karma does not yet qualify you for Green. Now, if you will dip yourself in –”

Oh, no no no! You’re not going to make me a worm again, are you? Stop making me a worm!

Splash.

Countless lives as an earthworm later, the clerk finally informed me that I had completed enough soil renewal to advance to a higher lifeform within White Tier.

He still wouldn’t tell me what.

Sunshine. Fresh air. Breeze. Gentle swaying.

Crawling along leaf food-home. Hungry. Crunch. Mmmmm, tasty. Crunch crunch crunch.

Shadow.

Hide! Quick! Get under leaf! Crawl crawl crawl crawl crawl!

Leaf shaking. Pressure. Being picked up.

Squirm squirm squirm.

Pinching. Hurting.

Splat.

This time, when I woke in the drawer, I had a very pressing question on my mind – one that surpassed even how much positive karma I’d earned.

“Please have a seat and state your name and nature for me.”

Piri. Caterpillar. Hey, what kind of caterpillar was I? What kind of butterfly was I going to turn into?

As previously stated, natural philosophy was no interest of mine, but I did know something about butterflies. During my stint as Prime Minister, a group of scholars had presented Cassius with a case of gem-like preserved butterflies that they’d spent decades collecting from every corner of Serica. They’d meant it as proof that they deserved Imperial patronage for their research, but what was I supposed to do with a box of dead bugs? I’d sent them packing – the scholars, not the bugs – and then ordered the Imperial jewelers to make me copies of the butterflies using actual gems.

What color butterfly was I going to be? I persisted. Was I going to be one of those iridescent blue ones?

That had been my favorite type, although the jewelers had done such an abysmal job at reproducing the sheen that I’d had to demote the Head Jeweler back down to apprentice. He’d been so ashamed that he’d committed suicide.

Come to think of it, that had probably gone on my curriculum vitae too. Oops.

The clerk sighed and didn’t answer.

A terrible thought occurred to me. Hang on a sec. You didn’t make me a moth, right? Right? I thought of those ugly, idiotic, brownish-beigish-greyish bugs that kept flying into lanterns and burning themselves to death. Tell me! I have to know!

In one sharp motion, the clerk spun the document around so I could read it right side up and stabbed a finger at my list of deeds. “You were the type of caterpillar that destroyed a poor farmer’s cabbage crop,” he hissed. “Without that crop, he will not be able to pay his rent to his landlord this fall, meaning that he and his family will be evicted this winter, meaning in turn that he will turn to banditry to feed his children. In two years, he will be caught and executed, and his children will starve to death.”

Uh….

“So congratulations. The negative karma that you earned during this life means that you will reincarnate as an earthworm again next time.”

What? Hey! That’s not fair!

I flew at the document, trying to burn it, rip it, smudge it – anything to erase those lines. But my soft, glow-y edges bounced right off, and the paper stayed pristine.

I didn’t choose where I reincarnated! And caterpillars don’t choose what they eat, you know! They hatch, and then they eat! So if you didn’t want me eating that specific farmer’s cabbages, then you shouldn’t have reincarnated me literally on top of them!

“As I have already explained to you, I am not responsible for these decisions,” said the clerk through gritted teeth. “Now, if you will dip yourself in the Tea of Forgetfulness – ”

Oh, no no no. Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not letting you do this to me. Where’s your supervisor? I want to talk to your supervisor!

“Just be a good earthworm this time around, all right?”

A good earthworm? A good earthworm? What does that even mean? Earthworms are too dumb to have morals! They just are!

“Try not to scare any small children when you come to the surface.”

I stopped yelling long enough to register that he’d actually given me a piece of advice, even if said advice were utterly useless for a creature with no eyes.

“Look,” said the clerk, leaning forward to tap the paper. “You earn positive karma for deeds that help humankind, and negative karma for deeds that harm it.”

After a moment of consideration, I said in a calmer tone, That seems…subjective. Who decides what helps and what harms humans? And which humans?

But the clerk was done talking. “Now, I have a long line of other souls to process, so if you will please just go dip yourself in the Tea of Forgetfulness….”

All right, all right.

He had provided semi-helpful information this time around. Couldn’t hurt to reward him with my cooperation. I floated across the room and sank towards the surface of the tea. The brownish liquid roiled, stretching up tentacles to wrap around me and pull me in. Closing my nonexistent eyes, I let it take me.

Soil renewal and not traumatizing small children. I could do that.

Waaaaay too many lives later, I finally accrued enough positive karma to get promoted back to caterpillar.

The clerk still wouldn’t tell me what kind.

Fresh air. Sunshine. Fluttering from blossom to blossom.

Others of my kind. Flying together. Flying alone.

Soaring.

Dancing.

Movement! Something swooping! Like a giant flower center, but rounder. And empty. No, not empty.

Soft mesh against wings. Change direction! Fly faster!

More mesh.

Trapped! Panicking. Can’t escape! Can’t escape!

Being lifted. Tipped upside down. Sliding. Hitting something hard and clear. Can see flowers through it. Sunshine. Sky.

Must get out must get out must get out. Fly up!

Something dark coming down.

Fly faster! Faster faster faster!

Slam.

Hitting dark thing. Beating at dark thing. Wings hurting.

Can’t get out.

Tired.

No fresh air. No wind. No flying.

Just darkness.

This time, when the clerk called me into his office, I didn’t pester him with questions. I didn’t demand to talk to his supervisor. I just hovered across the desk from him and waited for him to send me on to my next life. My broken, phantom wings still ached.

“To answer your question from last time,” he informed me in a matter-of-fact voice, “you were reincarnated as a butterfly. A rare and beautiful species prized by collectors.”

I know. I’d figured out that much while my soul rested in its drawer for forty-nine days, healing and regaining strength.

Something about my dead tone made the clerk look up. “If it’s any consolation, you brought the collector much joy. A young boy on a fief in Northern Serica. Your preserved body is one of the centerpieces of his collection and will inspire him to take up natural philosophy. He will become a renowned scholar and travel from court to court, respected by nobles and honored by petty kings. In the end, he will starve to death during the siege of a castle he had the misfortune of visiting at the wrong time. But that has nothing to do with you.” The clerk tapped my curriculum vitae.

I didn’t bother to read it for myself. That’s nice.

“You earned significant positive karma this time. Provided that nothing goes catastrophically wrong in your next life, you should be able to advance to Green Tier soon.”

That’s nice.

The clerk stared at me for a long moment, seeming to want to add something. But when he spoke, it was the familiar, “Dip yourself in the Tea of Forgetfulness, please.”

And I did.