"My sister," Mei said one day, "Why do you insist upon sleeping on that thin straw mat on the floor? I know I have usurped your bed, but surely you do not think me so corpulent that we cannot share it?"
Lian laughed. "You are as slender as a young beech tree!"
After that, maiden and vixen slept in the virgin-narrow softness of Lian's bed. It reminded Mei of how Lian had warmed her in her arms when she had shivered with fever in her fox shape. But after all, if it hadn't been for Lian, she would not have been hurt in the first place.
She plied the maiden with tender kisses as she slept, teasing desire from her like water from ice. Mei fed upon her sighs, feasting on stolen ardor, mounting desire, and passion. As the nights passed, Lian soon found excuses to linger by Mei's side, letting chores go undone, where before she had always been diligent. She even set aside her poetry and calligraphy, preferring to sit and gaze upon Mei's beauty.
Time passed, dancing the seasonal steps of darkness and light. Every night, Mei drank a nectar of energy and passion from Lian's lips, and curled herself into the warmth of the maiden's body. When the days began to trip over themselves in haste, and the nights to lumber along like lazy donkeys, Mei grew bored enough to toy with Lian's brushes and riffle through her books.
"Where did you learn to read and write, my sister?" Mei asked.
"My family is descended from a revered heritage of poets. Hard times plundered the wealth we had, but as long as I have my books and my ink stone, I am still rich."
"I wish I could understand the characters you paint," Mei sighed.
"You cannot read?"
Mei shook her head, oddly bashful. "My mother never taught me."
"Would you like to learn?"
"Could I?"
So Lian demonstrated the correct way to grind ink and hold a brush. She taught Mei the characters for the five elements, jin, mu, shui, huo, and tu, and the character for soul, ling hun.
"You know so much," Mei said. "You belong in elegant palaces, not out here where there is only dirt and rocks."
"I have seen the inside of palaces. When my family was high in the regard of the emperor, I walked on jade tile and wore ivory combs in my hair. But when the fates and some politicians conspired to dishonor my family name, I found I did not miss those things." She tapped the spine of one of her books. "Learning is a treasure that follows its owner," she quoted.
"But what of the glorious gardens and fountains?"
Lian laughed. "A book is like a garden one may carry in one's pocket."
"And the men who plotted against you?"
A look drifted over Lian's face, bringing distance and a hint of clouds to her eyes. "The Buddha extols us to forget injuries and remember only kindness. Who am I to rail at the wheels of fate? Perhaps I wronged them in a previous life and they are only righting the balance." Lian winked, the far-off look erased. "Or perhaps I shall redress what has happened in another life."
"You are a follower of Buddha?" Mei asked. "My mother once tried to instruct me on his wisdom, but I was impatient with her lectures."
Lian put down her brush. "I am not a monk or a wise man, but I know Buddha taught that what we undergo in this life is a result of our previous actions. Nothing is permanent in this world, and it is a place of suffering. But if we live as best we can, one day we will achieve bliss and end our time on the eternal cycle of rebirth."
That night, as the stars gazed in the darkness upon the Earth, Mei could not sleep. Her thoughts were jagged, fierce things, troubling her with their sharpness.
Was Mama's death due to the inherent evil of humans, or was it merely a turning of the karmic wheel? What if Mama, in a previous life, had wronged the fox hunter, and so it was mete she die in his wire? How then could it be virtuous to wreak havoc upon all humans in the name of vengeance?
Because foxes are natural liars, it was easy for Mei to tell herself falsehoods. But also, because of her natural affinity with lies, it did not take long before she scented her own pretense and knew it for what it was. More than the nature of enlightenment, the very thought of harming Lian pained her worse than any thorn in her paw or burr in her coat. She could no more contemplate undertaking her planned mischief than she could will herself another tail.
Embracing this truth was like a foretaste of enlightenment to the troubled vixen. It freed her from her restlessness, and she fell away into a chasm of dreams.
When the new dawn spread garlands of light through the hut, Mei found herself watching Lian with new eyes, ones opened by newfound tenderness. And with them, she saw something she had not noticed before.
"When did you become so thin?" she exclaimed.
Lian's cheeks, once as bright as spring peaches, were sunken. The maiden was pale, and her eyes seemed too large for her face.
"It does not matter," Lian replied. "For I rejoice that you grow stronger every day."
It was true. Mei felt more vigorous than she had ever been. She realized with rising horror she was so energized because of what she had taken from Lian. In the night when she plied the girl with secret touches and kisses, the delicious flavor she tasted was nothing less than Lian's chi, her vital energy.
At once, Mei vowed to stop her nightly caresses.
But despite her best intentions, Lian continued to fade. With sorrow heavy in her breast, Mei realized she must leave or risk irreversible harm upon one that had only shown her kindness and generosity. Only the power of time and the incisions of distance would sever the connection between their energies.
That morning, while Lian listlessly toyed with her breakfast congee, Mei hid her face in the shadow of her hair. "My sister, I think it is time our paths divided."
She heard Lian inhale, a gasp of distress. "Y-you wish to leave me?"
The vixen could not bring herself to meet the maiden's eyes. "It occurs to me that I have dishonored my family by evading my nuptial responsibilities. I may no longer face my ancestors if I do not return to my duty."
"But what of the bandits? And the nights grow cold. You must wait out the winter here, at least."
Mei's eyes burned with anguish, but she only shook her head. "I will embrace my fate, as I should have months before. Tomorrow I will set out."
"Tomorrow is too soon!" Lian's voice was ragged with distress. But no matter how she pleaded, Mei would not change her mind.
The fox maiden rose early to find Lian's shadowed eyes upon her. They did not speak while Mei dressed, nor when Lian bundled a rice cake into Mei's pink sash.
Outside, in the pre-dawn chill, they stood, not touching, avoiding each other's gaze.
"Be well, my sister," Mei said at last.
"May Buddha guide your steps," Lian whispered in reply. She burst into tears and fled inside.
Mei stood for many seconds before the hut's door, warring with herself. At last, she turned and walked into the forest. Buddha said that suffering was caused by craving. If she did not crave Lian, then neither of them would suffer.
When she had traveled a hundred paces, Mei shed her human form. Her fox body felt uncomfortable to her, stiff and unwieldy. It was strange to run on four paws, and she grew confused and giddy at the wealth of scents that beset her nose. She had spent so long as a woman she had all but forgotten what it was to be a vixen. And yet, she swiftly learned to once again savor the feel of the breeze in her whiskers, and revel in the splendor of her tail as it furled in a banner behind her. It was, after all, high time she walked the ways of a fox once more.
---
Mei worked to clear her mind, embracing the fullness of delight which was paws upon the earth, night song in her ears, and the breath of sky through her fur. She meditated upon the shape of trees without their covering of leaves, and upon the fragility of snowflakes as they drifted from the heavens. And when the winter frost grew bitter and food scarce, she accepted the chill of her limbs and her hollow gut with philosophic grace.
The crack-crack of the thawing river occurred in the completeness of time,
and new-green buds dotted the skeletal trees. With a full belly once more, Mei contemplated the warm skies and delicate blossoms of spring with wonder.
Then, one night, she heard a tendril of fox song in the darkness. She recognized the voice, though it was deeper and stronger since the last time she had heard it. A year had waxed and waned; Jin had returned.
Atop the hillock where they had romped as cubs, sister and brother met with joyful yelps and yips. Jin had grown, his slender body wiry and quick. In the year's passage, he had shed the last of his cub uncertainty; he blazed with vitality.
"Your voice thrills my ears," Jin said. "My eyes delight in your image!"
"Nose meets nose with happiness," Mei cried.
With the jubilation of their first greeting behind them, Jin sat, curling his tail around his haunches. "Now tell me, my sister, a year has passed. What magnificent trickery have you wrought?"
Mei flicked her ear, suddenly coy. "I am certain your adventures are more worthy of exultation."
"I hardly know where to begin. Why, more monks, priests, and magistrates than I have pads on my paws have been brought low by my cleverness. And the maidens I have dishonored! I suspect there will be many half-fox children before long."
Mei found it difficult to maintain her pretense of enthusiasm. "Oh?"
"But before I tell you of all my adventures, let us hunt together, as we did as cubs."
"Are you hungry?"
Jin barked in laughter. "Yes, for mischief! As I journeyed to our appointed assignation, I saw a virtuous maiden who lives with her elderly servants. She is called 'Graceful Willow.' Think how exciting it will be to corrupt her and bring her low."
"I do not think--that is--"
"What is the matter, sister? Such recreation so nearby and you hesitate?"
"I have come to the belief that it is better to eschew wickedness," she admitted.
"So it is true."
Mei was startled to hear the rage in Jin's tone. His molten eyes seethed with suppressed anger.
"The birds gossip and the trees whisper of the foolish fox who loves a human," Jin growled. "It could not be my Mei, I told myself, for we have vowed havoc upon all humankind. No sister of mine could be so treacherous as to dishonor the memory of our mother."
Mei trembled, but only said: "A clear conscience does not fear devils at the door." It was a proverb from Lian's books.
Jin snarled. "Silence! I must clear this smear upon our family honor."
Mei cowered, tucking her tail low between her legs. "What do you mean?"
"I will attend to this human who has corrupted you. When I am through with her, you will be free of her."
"No! You will not harm Lian. I forbid it."
Jin screamed in rage, a high-pitched shriek that ripped the night. In a blur of claws and fangs, he launched himself at his sister and pinned her beneath his weight.
"Shameful bitch," he growled. "You dare to forbid me? You who have broken the oath we made."
"It was a cub oath," Mei whined, "made in haste and ignorance."
Faster than she could blink, Jin bit her tail, his keen teeth severing it with brutal force. He threw the bloody trophy to the ground.
"Your loss of face sickens me," he snarled.
Mei muffled her shriek of agony, clamping her paws over her muzzle. Through a haze of anguish, she watched her brother bound away into the forest.
Her tail, her beautiful tail! Jin had disfigured her so her disgrace was transparent to all. Every fox, badger, and dog, every squirrel and bird would see her shame. They would mock her misery, pointing at her dishonor.
She slunk to where her once-proud tail lay in the dirt. The twin clamors of humiliation and anguish deafened her, but she did not have the leisure to lament. She must protect Lian from Jin's wrath.
What was once as easy as running was newly painful. Mei suffered in silence, changing her shape once again to become a human maiden. With her transformation, the bleeding ceased. The ache of it still worried at her, like a festering boil at her back, but her life no longer trickled from her with each thrum of her heart. Her fingers trembled as she picked up her severed tail and tucked it into the sleeve of her pien-fu.
Each step was like treading a roadway of blades. Every part of her was thinner and more vulnerable as her fox magic tried to stretch less flesh to cover the same sized frame. Pebbles in the road that her rugged fox paws would not have noted ripped the silk of her shoes, and then bit into the soles of her feet. Soon she left a trail of blood, dark and wet, behind her.
Better to run as a fox, then. But she doubted she would have the vitality to change again to a woman, and surely Lian would not heed the ravings of a fox.
She wavered, weakened by blood loss and pain. She stumbled over a length of bamboo, felled on the ground.
"A clever fox knows good fortune disguised as bad," she said, picking herself up. The bamboo was a stout branch, jagged where it had snapped from its base, but dry and hard, an admirable cane.
Mei began to run, a hobbling, shambling sprint. She ignored the pain lancing like teeth at her feet and let her breath fill her consciousness.
The acrid taste of smoke drifted on the wind, caught even by her clumsy, human nose. Tendrils of grey and black curled in the sky. And then, like a counterfeit sunrise, glints of living vermillion flickered, bright as spirit dreams.
"Lian!" Mei shouted. "Your house is on fire! Get out! Run!"
As she lurched into the smoke-thick clearing, she saw vines of fire swathing the thatch roof. The door crackled like dancing devils.
"Lian! Chen! Ping! Awaken and escape!"
A whip of smoke, tipped with sparks, slashed at her eyes, blinding her. Eyes streaming, Mei rubbed at them with the edge of her sleeve.
When she looked up, the hut was surrounded by foxes. A hundred Jins barred her way, identical white fangs bared in anger, two hundred glistening eyes fixed upon her.
"I have wrapped the hut in a labyrinth of smoke," he said from a hundred fox mouths. "Even if the humans heard you, they cannot escape."
Mei swung her bamboo cane at the nearest Jin. He faded into the milling throng of foxes, eluding her with ease. A pack of Jins enclosed her in an ever-moving, dizzying fence of bodies. When she tried to strike at them, her bamboo passed through fox bodies as though through shadows.
A cackle of mocking laughter warned her, but not soon enough. Fresh pain, hot blood, and a ragged gash in her sleeve told her to beware of the one real fox in the roiling morass.
But how to know him?
She swung her bamboo, and behind the cover of the whistling stalk, she scrutinized each fox, hunting for the different one, the unique one.
An impact of paws at her back brought her to her knees. She thrust her cane wildly at phantom images that smirked and taunted her.
There. Was that a shadow in one fox's eyes--a film of madness, a veneer of lust? Jin did not comprehend his own madness, so did not create it in his duplicates. As before her brother's eyes had given him away in the shape of a youth, so again they gave him away as a fox.
Feigning weakness, Mei slumped, half-sobbing and half-whining. "Stop this. Do you mean to kill me as well? Do you have no mercy for your sister?"
She let her hair swing over her face, a mask of darkness. But she kept one eye clear, and with it she tracked her brother. She lured him closer, letting the bamboo hang limp in her grip as she continued to wail and sob.
He was drawn to her suffering, as she had hoped he would be. Her human disguise was finer than his, and he loved the noise of human misery. He fed upon it, as she had once fed upon Lian's love.
He crept near, his tongue wet with anticipation, his nose eager to scent the tang of despair upon her breath. Mei gauged it carefully, for she would have but one chance. When she could feel the radiant heat of his body battering through the thin silk of her pien-fu, she struck.
Throwing the force of her body behind it, she thrust the bamboo pole into the yipping demon before her. She wa
s rewarded by the solid impact of the jagged point hammering into her brother, piercing him through.
But he did not die immediately. So close was he to her that it was but a jerk, a twitch of malice to clamp his teeth around her wrist. He severed the pulse that rushed there, and a spray of red decorated his muzzle.
The shock of it forced the last will from Mei. Her maiden form shrank away, overwhelmed, replaced by her bleeding, tailless fox shape.
Jin released her. "Do you think she will love a fox?" he snarled.
The hut door thundered open. Lian reeled out, supporting Chen at her side, with Ping draped over her shoulders. The three fell in a coughing, gasping pile, their faces and clothes grimed with soot.
"It does not matter. She is safe from you. It is enough." Mei spoke to an empty husk. Her brother's soul had fled.
Lian rushed to where the two foxes lay--one dead and one on death's threshold. She cradled the bleeding, trembling fox in her arms.
"Mei, I heard you calling, but I could not find the door. It was as though some demon hid it. We found only wall and wall and more wall."
"You know me?" Mei whispered. "Even as a fox?"
"Do you think me a fool? Of course I know you. I have always known you, whether you wore a beautiful red coat, or the red silk of a pien-fu." There were tears in Lian's eyes. They fell like brilliant gemstones to anoint Mei's muzzle. "Besides, how many ladies with sharp teeth and burning eyes do you think come to my door?" She bowed her head. "I loved you, my fox spirit, when you came to me on four silent paws and watched over me with eyes that glowed in the darkness, and I loved you when you were soft hands and a waterfall of hair in the night."
"My last fear was that you would not know me," Mei whispered. "Now I may greet my next life with peace."
"Do not leave me! Do not die!"
"I see a road," Mei whispered. "Oh, how sweet it is, with the grass so green, and the sky so clear." She lifted her head and brushed Lian's face with her tongue. "Do not cry. Did not Buddha teach us that life is but a dream of walking? I am going home."
"I will meet you there, my love." Lian hugged tight the soft-furred figure as it grew lighter by the weight of a single, shining soul.
So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction Page 33
