So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction

by Christopher Barzak

  The Clathurin sits opposite me and says, "My son and I have disagreed about many things lately, especially about what to do about the mortals and their world."

  And it takes no gift of prophecy for me to know that my father will add. "We understand you and he got together recently. We know he'll be back to see you."

  And I realize that with all their Sixth Sense and Foretelling, they don't know where Cal is or where I'm going to find him.

  This part of my existence, the Careless Rapture, the Maxee, my life as a Wand's bastard son is about to end. My meeting with Cal will happen shortly in the ruins of Earth with both of us on the run. And though I fear it a bit, I would have it no other way.

  Rick Bowes is one of the most eminent names in speculative fiction. He is the recipient of the International Horror Guild Award, World Fantasy Award and The Lambda Award. His novel, Minions Of The Moon offers a dark fantasy, beautifully written and harrowing as hell, is set in New York City and tells the tale of an addiction transformed into a doppelganger. A consummate storyteller, his fiction is personal but not necessarily autobiographical.

  A Bird of Ice

  Craig Laurance Gidney

  It started with snow:

  Ryuichi awoke with his feet tingling on the edge of numbness. The threadbare blanket did nothing to alleviate the chill that suffused the room. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to the pre-dawn darkness. His roommates were all deep asleep, cocooned in their fuller blankets, yet they still shivered. Ryuichi noticed that the brazier's coals no longer glowed. With a sigh, he kicked off his blanket and sat up. He tried to spark the flint quietly, but Hideo, sleeping nearest to the brazier, groaned with annoyance. A spark jumped, bringing the coals back to life.

  Ryuichi slipped into his sandals and silently padded out of the room, knowing that he would only toss and turn during the remaining hours of darkness. He went to the kitchen instead, and heated water for tea. The dark, herbal scent of the tea after it had steeped for three minutes coursed through his veins, warming him. He held the bowl between his hands, and thought of nothing. The day was a blank scroll, waiting for ink. All was sensation, and quiet (or, near quiet, as he heard the crackling of the hearth flames). Slow movement at the corner of his eye broke his trance, and he glanced out the window. Sparkling spirals of white drifted down from the darkened sky.

  Ryuichi retrieved his robe and boots, and stepped out into the monastery's garden. It had been transformed. The soft, cold feathers mantled the trees, the flowerbeds, and the bridge. The dark water of the stream reflected the descent in reverse. The snow sculpted new shapes. A full moon peeked behind the clouds, illuminating the scene with silver brush strokes. The flakes kissed his cheeks, and landed in his hair. Soon, everything would be as white as a Noh mask.

  Ryuichi smiled. It was moments like these where he felt the Calling. Enlightenment felt close. He remembered when his grandmother took him to the torii gate, when he was six years old. Snow had begun to fall then, too, transforming the earth.

  "Stay by me," his grandmother had said. "One must always be careful when it snows. The lady of winter, Yuki-Onna, likes to snatch up little boys, and make them marry her. Then they live forever in a palace of ice, forever trying to get warm." Grandmother prayed to the kami, leaving a few coins at the feet of the fearsome statues. Then she would take him to a tea house, and slip him a bit of warm rice wine. Snow meant magic, as did his grandmother. He remembered the one time when they were walking to the gate and saw a woman disappear into a silver mist. Both of them shared the secret visitation of the winter ghost.

  He couldn't really say how long he stood in that nexus of white and peace. The scene began to change with the first blush of dawn appeared on the horizon. Pink deepened into ruby slowly. He noticed that his tea was cold--that, indeed, he was cold. It would not be long before Yukio rang the bell, calling the monks to meditation. Ryuichi thought that he might as well be useful, even though he wasn't on kitchen duty today. He could bring out the rice for the morning meal from the storage shed. He started to move, when he noticed a shape in the dark pink sky. It was a large bird, painted by the light. The feathers drank the light, as if it were blood, and stained it. It flew with perfect grace, its wings a symmetry. Ryuichi gasped at its beauty.

  The bird seemed to have heard him, for it changed its flight trajectory, and began to descend. Ryuichi stepped back, half in shock, and half in fear. The great creature seemed to be heading towards him. Ice and snow, feather and grace, the bird was a monstrous swan. With the precision of a jeweler, it landed on the snow-covered plum tree, and released a shower of packed snow that fell into the stream with force.

  It looked as if bird had expelled an enormous packet of excrement into the water. It was such an incongruous thought, that Ryuichi started to laugh. The swan, for its part, looked offended--or at least curious--at this new sound. It craned forward the porcelain vase of its neck, and peered through masked eyes through the shifting curtain of white. This movement upset its balance. The branch was apparently slippery, for the webbed feet lost their purchase. In a cosmic cough, the ethereal bird slipped off the branch, falling into the water with splash.

  Ryuichi laughed again at its clumsiness. The swan emerged from the water dripping. It spread its wings, and with a thunderous clap, attempted to take flight again. It failed in that regard; it succeeded in swirling water in the stream into froth. Impulsive, Ryuichi put his tea bowl down on the ground, walked towards the struggling swan. He stopped when he was three feet away.

  The lightest dusting of frost coated the feathers, as if diamonds had been ground into them. Ryuichi looked around, for a stick or something, to help the swan. He spotted a branch that the groundskeeper had neglected on the other side of the small bridge.

  "I'll be right back," he told the frantic bird.

  When he came back over the bridge with the stick in hand, he saw Yukio standing outside the kitchen, holding a broom. Yukio squinted at the peculiar scene through the snow. He glanced up, and saw Ryuichi.

  He called out, "You are not going to help that creature, are you?"

  Ryuichi paused at the foot of the tiny bridge. "What if I am?"

  Yukio chuckled. "It is just that swans are among the meanest creatures in creation. Their beautiful shape hides their nasty disposition. They are one of nature's practical jokes."

  "I am just supposed it leave it there to perish?"

  Yukio shrugged, What do I care? And walked away, doubtlessly heading for the bell.

  Meanwhile, the bird struggled in the dark water, sending sprays of water everywhere. Ryuichi approached the swan cautiously.

  He spoke in a low, and, he hoped, soothing voice: "Do not worry, I will get you out of there..."

  He knelt on the ground, about two feet from the water, and was showered in coldness. He tried to ignore that, and focused on the task at hand. Inch by slow inch, he moved the stick underneath the belly of the swan, whose sodden, partially frozen wings were curled against its body. When the stick was underneath the swan, Ryuichi cantilevered the body out of its icy prison. The swan was heavy, and it took a surprising amount of effort to partly seesaw, partly pull him from the stream. A filigree of ice danced around the wingtips. Just as the morning bell began, Ryuichi removed his outer robe, and wrapped the now-stunned bird with it. Shivering, he carried his silent burden inside.

  One of the younger monks was there, to start the cooking. One look at Ryuichi's strange companion caused a gasp. He jumped back skittishly.

  "Don't worry, I'm just warming him up."

  The monk still backed away, and left the kitchen in a flurry, probably to get the abbot, who would doubtlessly chastise him. Ryuichi ignored his anxiety, and placed the stunned swan next to the hearth fire, maintaining a firm grip on the creature. He sang a song that his mother would croon to him, whenever he had fever. Slowly, feeling and warmth came back to his bones.

  The frost disappeared from the feathers of the bird, and its stunned look melted slowly. The swan m
ade the first, cautious beginnings of movement. In the meantime, Ryuichi's feet fell asleep, due to the awkward squat-kneel he had positioned himself in. Icy needles pierced his sole and toes. In the distance, the hymns to the bodhisattva Amaratsu began, a familiar song about freeing the earth from the grip of the cold. Ryuichi thought, I would be just as uncomfortable there as here. My feet would have fallen asleep anyway.

  The coddled bird began to test its mobility even more. He could feel the tension of the wing muscles, the skitter of webbed feet on the wooden floor.

  "Easy there," he began.

  The swan ignored him, and gave in to its animal franticness. It was like trying to hold air. Ryuichi gripped the robe that held the creature tighter. It slipped, as slippery as a whisper of silk, and the bird was free--sort of. The homespun robe was half on, half off the bird as it waddled madly about the kitchen. Ryuichi jumped up, and ignoring his painful feet, started to chase the swan. One wing broke free, and began knocking down things. A bowl of onions rolled to the floor, solid snowballs. The swan hopped-flew to the counter, upsetting dishes and cooking utensils.

  Ryuichi swore. He stood still, as he watched the bird rampage through the kitchen, with attendant crashes and plops as things clattered to the floor. He laughed as eggs and ginger root and herbs fluttered in the air.

  "My, but you are a clumsy thing, aren't you?" He chuckled, even as he knew that he would be severely censured by Father Iido. "Yukio was right. You're as beautiful as a cloud, and as graceless as an ox!"

  The swan stopped its meanderings. A sprig of mint gently fell on its head, crowning it. It turned one eye to Ryuichi, and glared at him.

  "Now, that got your attention, didn't it?"

  The graceful head looked away, towards the closed kitchen door. It made a horrible noise, not unlike the sound of an untuned koto. Ryuichi jarred from the sound. "Now, you have decided to share your lovely singing voice."

  A sharp jerk back of the head, with its odd and askew crown of mint. A flare from eyes as yellow as Amaratsu's golden rays.

  "Listen, if you will calm down, I will open the door for you."

  For some reason, he wasn't frightened that the swan appeared to understand him. His grandmother had told him and his brothers of the yosei and the fox women, as if they were real. Both his father and his mother had humored her, while giving their sons firm instruction that she was speaking nonsense. And now, he was faced with this anomaly. As monk, he was supposed to be open the workings of the supernatural world, the mysterious ways of the gods. Now, when confronted with such a wondrous manifestation, Ryuichi found it to be almost... ridiculous. Besides, he really didn't have time to ponder--there was a mess that needed to be cleaned up, and soon, before the other monks came back, expecting a breakfast.

  The swan ruffled its feathers. It shrugged at the indignity of being imprisoned in his robe. Ryuichi inched forward, making the universal gestures of peace and good intention, palms gently pushing to the floor. The swan stood its ground, and Ryuichi removed his imprisoning robe from the bird. In turn, the swan puffed itself up, and spread its wings in the kitchen. It shivered like water beneath new ice, and trembled. A thousand droplets of water flew through the air, like flung crystals. They hit him, and gave his nude flesh a gentle kiss of cold. Some droplets landed in the fire, which hissed. The swan stopped when ruffling feathers when satisfactorily dry. The sun-eyes looked up at him, expectantly.

  "Just a moment..."

  Ryuichi ignored the eerie, alert tracking of the swan as he moved to the door. He opened it, letting in a blast of cold air. Another chant floated from across the garden. The swan regarded the door, as if it were a puzzle.

  Ryuichi gestured, and stepped away from the door. "You may go, brother, er, sister swan."

  The swan arranged itself for flight. The coil of yellow legs, and narrowing of yellow eyes through their mask of black. It was sudden, as gravity was ignored. Feather became liquid became air. From ice to steam, the snowy feathers a shawl, it swam through the air to the door. It was the moon shaped like a bird. It was pure in flight. Ryuichi felt it rush by him, and felt part of his soul go with it.

  At the last moment, before it went outside, Ryuichi felt a tug on his face. The damned bird bit him! He ran outside, half nude, after it. But the bird had already sailed into the coral pink palace of morning clouds. Ryuichi watched as it shrank into the distance, and his face began to throb where he'd been touched.

  ---

  Evening finally came, and with it, the hour that the monks had to themselves. The past week had been a grueling one for Ryuichi. While not entirely humorless, Father Iido, the abbot, was strict, and wished to keep this a sanctuary of peace and quiet reflection. Ryuichi's encounter with the swan had disrupted that ideal, and he'd been punished accordingly. So, in addition to cleaning the messy kitchen, he'd been charged with extra chores, such as cleaning the massive temple floor, making sure that the statue to Amaratsu was gleaming, and preparing the evening meal for the sixty brothers and novices. This was on top of a day of devotions, and ministering to the poor in the nearby village. By the time Ryuichi got into his pallet each night, he fell immediately into the dreamless slumber of the truly exhausted.

  This evening hour, he finally had a little energy. He intended to use it, and be productive. During the previous week, he had just lightly dozed, a sort of pre-nap before the big sleep. Now, he headed to the calligrapher's studio. It was empty, save for Hideo, who was concentrating on a mountainscape. He gave the briefest of nods to Ryuichi, and went back to scrutinizing the various shades of grey. Ryuichi set up his workstation, with brushes, inks and rice paper.

  He sat before the empty sheet, and saw snow and feathers. There were tiny whorls in the texture of the paper, like drifts. It was soft as down. He tentatively dipped a brush in black ink. Considered, then washed the brush. He picked one that was smaller, with a finer bristle.

  A lopsided moon appeared on the page. Ryuichi resisted the urge to crumple the paper, and convinced himself that he was merely exploring creativity, rather than producing something of significance. He crossed out the moon, and began tracing the shape of a swan. But the ink wouldn't hold it. It smeared and defiled the grace. He put down his brush in frustration.

  "Having trouble, brother?" Hideo was looking over his shoulder. He'd finished his painting--his workstation was clean.

  Ryuichi answered by sighing.

  Hideo nodded in sympathy. Though he could be annoying, Hideo had some good qualities.

  "It is still there," Hideo said. "Your kiss."

  "It will not go away," Ryuichi found himself saying. The right side of his cheek had a red, inflamed bump where the swan had bit him. "Nothing Haruko tried has made it go away. No poultice or tonic. I guess I will have it forever."

  "It gives you character." Hideo shuffled toward the door. "I bet that you wish you had never helped that beast."

  "Next time I see that bird, I'll bite it back!"

  Hideo laughed. "Don't be late for evening prayers," he said before leaving Ryuichi alone with his failed painting.

  Ryuichi sat staring at the meaningless smudges and smears for a good while, feeling his energy wane like the crossed out moon on the rice paper. He began to clean up the work area.

  Of course, the swan, its beauty and its clumsiness, still was on his mind. Ryuichi wasn't much given to portents like some of the other monks. He tended toward practicality. But that visitation had to mean something more than coincidence. The creature had seemed to understand him!

  His grandmother, had she been alive, would have told him that the swan was a yosei, that he had been marked. For a stately woman given to mystical visions, she had been surprisingly tough. She would have told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was cursed. A feeling, like the warmth that came from drinking rice wine, rose up in him whenever he thought of her.

  When inspiration struck, it sounded deep and resonant, like a gong. And as the actual gong calling the monks to evening prayer sounded, Ryuich
i hurriedly dipped ink in the well, and hastily scrawled on the rice paper. He'd clean up after services.

  As he headed to temple, the sound of what he'd written resounded through his mind:

  A bird of ice flies.

  Clouds build a heavenly palace,

  As the snow drifts down.

  The snow had melted. Cold, icy mud lined the path to the temple. Ryuichi was the last brother in the temple. He sat on the last mat available. Father Iido nodded, and sounded the gong starting the service. The shinshen of flower petals were strewn about the feet of the golden statue. She gleamed; there was a sparkle in to her that underscored her joy. The rays haloing her head were especially gorgeous. He'd spent all week on her; Ryuichi couldn't help feel a swell of pride in his breast.

  A few songs to her were sung, of her endless kindness, and the bounty of the heavenly rice fields that graced the land. Voices rose up, like the curl of incense at Amaratsu's side.

  After the songs, the abbot announced that it was time to meditate. The divine serenity of the Buddha could be felt through Amaratsu's example. Sixty heads bowed down. Fifty-nine minds went still, enfolding on themselves, reaching towards within.

  One mind was restless. A thousand and one thoughts coursed through Ryuichi's brain. His mind was a babbling brook. Behind the closed lids of his eyes, he saw the floor he'd swept all week, and the mats he'd shaken out. His legs began to ache, and he worried that they had fallen asleep. His tiredness began to get the better of him. I could meditate better if I were lying down.

  No. He must still his mind. It must be free of mindless chatter. Ryuichi tried to focus on Nothing. But Nothing eluded him, so on the screen of his mind, images appeared. Beautifully shaped kanji on fields of paper. The distant mountains wreathed in scarves of gold, mauve and lavender clouds--surely the most wonderful kimono there ever was. And, eventually, a white bird sailed amongst the embroidery. The bird in his mind landed gracefully beneath a cherry tree. Petals fell in snow showers, obscuring the bird. After the storm, the gauze cleared, and standing in the midst was a human face. There was a youth, with skin of pale gold, and hair the color of nothing. His hair, even the hair on his eyebrows and his pubes was transparent, like ice. The youth's long arms opened, beckoning him.