The Tiger's Daughter

by K Arsenault Rivera

  And I believed it. There is a certain way a person looks at you when the light of admiration shines within them. I’m certain you see it every day, Shizuka.

  But for me?

  For me, that might’ve been the first time.

  “Please,” she said, bowing to me. “Tell me your name, that I might thank my ancestors for sending you to me.”

  I licked my lips.

  When we were children, you said we were gods. It was in that moment, with a woman I’d never met holding my hands and saying such things, that I began to believe you.

  “Barsalyya Shefali Alshar,” I said. I didn’t like the way that name tasted on my tongue. Tiger’s daughter. My mother’s name, unadorned, abandoning me. It was a good thing Hokkarans know nothing of Qorin naming conventions, or—

  “Alshar?” she said, a note of sympathy in her voice. “That was not always your name, was it? Come. Let us hear it, your real name. The one you earned.”

  Barsalyya was the name I’d earned. The pox I wore for what I’d done.

  But … for a little while, I wanted to pretend.

  “Barsalai Shefali Alsharyya,” I said. How did she know Alshar was not a proper mother’s name?”

  She bowed again. “Barsalai-sur, I will light prayers for you every night of my life,” she said.

  I stood awestruck. My mouth hung open. For once, everything was silent. No chorus of demonic voices. No laughter. No screaming, no crying.

  Only the girl standing before me with a tear-streaked face, swearing she’d light prayers on her altar for me.

  “Thank you,” I muttered. “I am honored.”

  “No, no,” she said. “I am the honored one. So honored, I’ve forgotten to give you my name. If it pleases you, Barsalai-sur, you can call me Ren.”

  “Just Barsalai,” I said. Yes, Barsalai, the tiger-killer and not the monster.

  Ren. I can see you shaking your head as you read this, Shizuka, wondering who on earth names their child after such a flower. I will tell you: she herself picked the name. This she told me later, when we were—

  But I suppose I am getting to that part.

  “Barsalai, then,” she said. How nice it sounded to hear it. She had the best Qorin accent I’d ever heard from a foreigner. “Is there anything I can do for you? If you want company—”

  I shook my head. I flushed red, but I shook my head all the same.

  “She is waiting, back at camp,” I stammered. “I … She needs food.”

  Ren laughed. I imagine it’s the exact sound a flower would make laughing; it hung in the air like perfume. “Food?” she said. “Is that all?”

  I scratched at my head. That tone.

  “Is my fruit not tempting enough?” she teased.

  I consider myself lucky in that we never experienced this phase of courtship. Not once did I have to maintain my composure while you whispered something so … while you whispered anything like that into my ear. I am not a woman built to flirt. I can string a bow blindfolded, with one hand. I can skin almost any animal you put in front of me.

  I cannot flirt.

  “It is … I … You are sweet as plum wine, and beautiful as your name,” I said, each word more tremulous than the last. “But I love another dearly, and my condition … I would not want to hurt you, or her, or anyone. I cannot. My heart is hers, I cannot.”

  She covered her mouth with her fan. More heady laughs left her. I palmed my face to hide my shame. Thank Grandmother Sky we met so young, Shizuka; if we had had to court each other, you never would’ve picked me.

  “Very well,” said Ren. “You are shy as a virgin, Barsalai! But if food is what you want, I will provide. Return in the morning with your packhorse, and I will give you all the food you can carry.”

  “No rabbit,” I said. “Hates rabbit.”

  “How could anyone hate rabbit?” she muttered. “She cannot be so wonderful as you say, if she hates rabbit.”

  I could not help myself—I laughed. That was the voice of a woman who’d grown up having rabbit as an occasional treat. That was the voice of a woman who knew hunger.

  But I had to defend your honor. “She is,” I said.

  She quirked a brow. Then, more clearly: “No rabbit, then. But I have good rice, and salmon; eggs, chickens, and milk; quail and soft bread.”

  When I was younger, my family would tell stories about singing girls around the fire. We do not really have them, as a culture. If a man wishes to sleep with a woman who is not his wife, then who cares, so long as his wife and her husband are not home? If, later, that man should decide he wants to seriously court that woman, he presents her husband with a bottle of kumaq wrapped in wolfskins.

  I suppose I’ve upset you with this part of the story already. But it is important. And I will remind you, Shizuka, that I never strayed from you in those days. I may have been raised Qorin, but I have Hokkaran blood in me, too. And sometimes it is good to stop moving. Some people are worth stopping for.

  At any rate, my family told stories about singing girls, for some of them had never met one. Surely, a woman who can have others pay her for a bedding must be beautiful beyond compare. Surely, she must walk draped in gold; surely her fingers glitter with precious stones. We call them Altanai. “Golden ones.”

  I’d seen singing girls before. I knew the stories about Altanai weren’t true. But hearing Ren list off the food she could give us, I almost believed them.

  “You may have all this and more, Barsalai. Anything you wish from my home is yours. But in return, I must ask you a favor.”

  I crossed my arms and nodded.

  “Two li to the east of here is a river. You must’ve crossed it, coming up here. If you follow it to the northwest, where it meets the grand lake, you will find a cave. That is where the Yellow Scarves have hidden away.”

  “You want them dead?” I said. I did not know how many there were. What a grand thing to ask a person, as a favor!

  “I do,” she said, “but more important, I want my father’s war mask. You won’t miss it—it’s a laughing fox, very ornate. If you retrieve it for me, Barsalai, you will have my eternal devotion. Whatever you need of me, I will provide.”

  Whatever I needed. She knew exactly what she was saying when she used those words.

  “How many bandits?” I asked.

  “Twice twenty,” she said. “But that cave is where they sleep. You can find them at night, and kill them without a fight.”

  Forty of them—you Hokkarans hate saying “four.”

  I could do it. I did not have a bow, but I did have a knife and my hands and my teeth. You had your sword. That was all we needed. Forty bandits. We could do it, if we went at night and killed them in their sleep.

  You would not want to do it that way, though; I knew this in my bones. You’d want to walk in and challenge their leader. Unwise. Bandits are not beholden to dueling laws.

  But I could find some plan that would be safer, something that would still challenge you.

  I could be the hero Ren seemed to think I was.

  “I will do it,” I said. “I will bring the mask to you.”

  She bowed in thanks. “Good,” she said. “Then you should return to the one lucky enough to claim you. I am certain you are tired.”

  “I do not tire,” I said. But I bowed to her, too, and when I mounted Alsha, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.

  “My home is easy to find,” she called. “Look for the stables. I own five mares and one stallion.”

  Hmm. Awful lot of horses for a Hokkaran woman.

  You found me in the morning skinning the rabbit. When you emerged from the tent, you did your best to smile, as if everything were forgotten. You even came and sat next to me while I worked. As I cut into the little creature, you grew a bit paler. I remember, you scrunched your face, and that line across your nose came into being again.

  You crossed your legs. “You will need a bow soon,” you said. “Perhaps we can buy one in the next town. It must be difficult to h
unt with only a knife.”

  In response, I wiggled my bloody hand. Sharp black nails gleamed in the sun. “Ten knives,” I said.

  “Small knives,” you countered. Ah, there it was—a knowing smirk, a flicker of flame in your voice. “You cannot throw those.”

  “I could cut them off,” I said.

  You pursed your lips. “Do not dream of it. Your fingers are national treasures.”

  “They’d grow back,” I said. I wiggled them again, this time right at your face.

  You laughed and skittered away. “Barsalai Shefali, don’t you dare!”

  Barsalai and Barsatoq—like two pine needles.

  I grinned. Only when you broke down laughing, only when I was tickling you and you flailed like a four-year-old, did I stop. Our faces hot with joy, we held each other there, by the campfire. I lay on your chest, your fingers tracing strands of my hair. I listened to your heart beating, like hooves on dry ground.

  “Shizuka,” I said.

  “Yes, my love?”

  “I went to the village last night,” I said.

  You quirked a brow. “Did you?” you said. “Did you find anything?”

  “I know where the bandits are,” I said.

  And at this, you sat up. Your amber eyes sparkled. “Their hideout?” you said. “Do you know how many? Can we reach them before nightfall?”

  I have always found it amusing when you leap at battles most would run from. At that moment, for instance, you already reached for your sword. We were alone in the woods, hours away from the bandits—but you were ready to slay them.

  “Forty,” I said, “up the river.”

  “Forty,” you repeated, never one for superstition. You rubbed your chin. “Difficult, but possible. Come. Let us plan. If we rid Shiseiki of these bandits, then the people will welcome us with open arms.”

  We sat by the camp and drew pictures in the dirt. Our biggest obstacle, as you saw it, was being surrounded. If we could face them in small groups, we’d be victorious. Five, seven each; this was manageable. But how were we going to cut a group of forty into eight groups of five?

  For this you had an answer.

  We’d set eight fires.

  I did not want to harm the forest. Fires spread quickly near dry tinder like this. Nearby villages might be harmed, to say nothing of the damage to the animals living in it.

  “We have no time to divert the river,” you said. “That would be the thing to do—but two people and one admirable mare alone cannot do it. What else would draw them out?”

  “I could,” I said.

  You shook your head. “No, Shefali,” you said. “That is dumb and foolhardy, even by my standards. I forbid it.”

  “We cannot light the fires,” I said.

  “And we cannot use the river. What else, then, can we do?”

  “I could kill things,” I said. “Throw them in. Be frightening. I am good at frightening now.”

  Good at killing, good at scaring, good at hunting on all fours like an animal. I was good at many things—but nothing I’d liked before.

  “Shefali,” you said, “you are good for more than that.”

  I bit my tongue. You stared at your drawing in the dirt.

  “We might as well ride,” you said. “The closer we come, the more likely it is we’ll see something we can use. It is a fool’s errand to make maps of a place we’ve never seen.”

  That was all you had to say on the subject. Dejected, I climbed onto Alsha.

  She’s right, you know, Alsha said to me. You are a fine rider, and you have excellent taste in sweets.

  “You’d say so,” I muttered.

  The ride to the bandit camp took us the better part of a day. Though I had demon blood coursing through my veins, though I could tear a man asunder with my bare hands, the sound of the river made me clutch my reins. So much water nearby, all rushing forward at once. If I waded in, I knew the waters would swallow me whole.

  By the time we first spotted the Yellow Scarves, the Moon had begun her nightly ascent. Two guards stood on the riverbank. I spotted them before you did. With a raised hand, I stopped our advance and pointed them out.

  A sharp metal tone hung in the air as you drew your sword. No. That would not work.

  You wrinkled your nose, pointed at them with the tip of your sword.

  I shook my head. I dismounted and came close enough to you to whisper. “Stay here,” I said. “I’ll follow them.”

  You scowled. “Why?” you protested. “It is better to kill them now, so that we do not have to deal with them later.”

  “Others would notice,” I said. Part of me bristled at this—I did not question your fool decisions; why were you questioning my sound ones? “Better to track, for now.”

  You glanced at the patrol. For the most part, they avoided the road, weaving between the birch trees. One had a bow, the other a pike. How a bandit ended up with a bow is beyond me, but I resolved to take it from him regardless. With a bow in my hands, I’d feel more like my old self.

  After some moments of pouting, you sheathed your sword. “Very well,” you said. “See if there is another way into the cave.”

  As I left, I gave you a quick kiss on the lips. It did not remove the frown from your face. Resentment was a serpent coiled around my throat.

  After all I’d done for you, after all I’d given up, you could not be bothered to smile?

  “Return safely,” you said. But I was not sure I wanted to.

  I set out to follow the patrol. When I was out of your sight, I kicked off my boots. Bare feet were quieter, and I did not need to worry about stepping on something sharp. I wasn’t sure I’d feel it if I did.

  I loped through the darkness. Wet dirt stuck to my soles with every step. I opened my mouth and tasted the forest—the sharp tang of metal, savory earth, salty sweat, and sweet, sweet fear. My pulse quickened. Fear. Unmistakable in taste.

  Were they afraid someone would spot them?

  Were they afraid of me?

  Oh, it was a foolish thought, self-centered as could be. But it was a sweet one, too, sweet as the poison assassins make from apple seeds. The closer I came, the easier it was to hear their hushed conversation.

  “It’s an exaggeration,” said the man with the bow. “You think one woman did all that? One woman tore twelve men apart? Keichi is telling stories again.”

  My tongue lolled out of my mouth, but I found myself smiling. If only you could taste it, Shizuka, perhaps then you would understand—it is better than chilled plum wine, better than kumaq.

  Step out of the shadows, they whispered. Let them see you. Hear them scream.

  Spittle hit the ground. Somehow in my fear-drunk haze, I’d started drooling. I shook my head. No. There was work to be done.

  I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and followed them. Twenty, thirty minutes I followed. Our little hiding spot by the river lay near the end of their patrol. Soon, they came up on the cave. It was about as wide across as three horses standing nose to tail, though it did not look like much. Like the earth was yawning. More of a pit than a cave, really. From what I could see, it was a steep walk underground. Two more bandits kept watch here. They wore tattered cloth armor; notched swords hung at their hips.

  The two I followed nodded solemnly to the guards. They exchanged some words I did not allow myself to hear. If the demons heard it, they’d encourage me to kill. It was not quite time for that.

  So I kept my distance and waited. Eventually, after another ten minutes or so, the guards traded places. The ones formerly standing at the gates began a patrol. I trailed them, too, until finally I came upon our hiding spot.

  At first you did not see me. You stood on the edge of the water, looking out, in the direction of the capital. One cannot see Fujino from such a great distance away, but one can see the mountains separating it from Shiseiki. You had the look of a sailor’s wife waiting for her lover.

  I called your name.

  You jolted, drawing your sword in one m
otion as you turned. “You are a fool to attack me!”

  You slashed at me faster than most can follow. But I am not most, and I jumped to the right before blade met flesh. I held up my hands, did my best to stand straight. Like a person, I thought. I must be a person. Must be human.

  “Shizuka,” I said, “it’s me.”

  I cannot tell which was more dominant then, for you. Was it the pain of knowing you’d almost hurt me, or was it shock that you had not recognized me?

  Either way, you stood, staggered, staring at me as if I were a stranger.

  “Am I different?” I asked. For that thought was ice on the back of my neck. My teeth changed in a moment; what if something else had?

  “My love,” you said. “Dear one, your eyes…”

  I touched them. They felt like eyes. So I went to the river and I knelt there, and I looked at myself.

  As a paper lantern glows orange, so did my eyes glow green.

  I frowned. Most of the changes to my body had been useful, until now. If the Traitor’s blood was going to shape me in his image, he could at least focus on improving me. Glowing eyes did nothing. In fact, I’d be easier to spot in the dark now.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “It could be worse,” I said.

  You touched my face, your touch delicate as a flower petal. I remember how wide your eyes were. “Does it hurt?” you asked. “They look like they are burning.”

  “Everything hurts, Shizuka,” I said. “This hurts only a little.”

  I pointed toward the cave, eager for something else to talk about. “Two guards by it, two on patrol,” I said.

  Whatever you thought about the changes, you said nothing. You looked down for a moment, licked your lips, and joined me in planning. Together we came up with something halfway between your burning the forest down and Ren’s idea of killing them in their sleep.

  For the next twenty minutes, we collected pine branches. I bundled them up and tied them together with rope from my saddlebags. Then we waited for the patrols to come around again.

  Dispatching them was a simple matter; I will not dwell on it here. When they came near enough to us, I threw my knife at one, and you cut the other down as he moved to investigate the body. I took one of the notched swords—I really wanted the bow the man by the cave had, but this would do for now. With the patrol dead, we had only a few minutes to make our way to the cave. I slung the pine branches over my shoulder and led the way.