Out of the jade-green artificial lake behind the Temple jutted a craggy ornamental boulder. It was a very tall, tapering boulder, a good ten feet high, in which my landscape architect took particular pride. He'd dredged it out of some lake in the middle of nowhere and had it hauled all the way to the capital without so much as an extra chip or crack. According to him, it resembled some famous mountain in the west, a beloved haunt of artists and poets – and nobles who fancied themselves both – before the demons overran it.
Maybe because my boulder resembled the mountain so closely, it had acquired its very own demonic wildlife. By the time we caught up to the serow rioter, she was teetering on the very tip of the boulder.
And by "we," I meant I; Floridiana, who'd grabbed her sketchbook when she heard there was a serow to be seen; and Bobo, who of course had come along to back me up. Anthea had flat-out refused to leave the safety of the Temple proper.
Floridiana and Bobo stopped at the edge of the lake, but I flew across it and right into the face of the chunky, brown, vaguely goat-like creature. Oddly cowardly for the one rioter who'd gotten past our defenses, the serow flinched, cowered, and nearly lost her balance. Her split hooves scrabbled and scraped the rock, making unsightly scratches (my landscape architect was going to scream when I ordered him to find a replacement).
Before I needed to say a word about property damage, she squeaked, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll leave! I promise! I just – I don't know what came over me! I was on my way to work and – "
It's all right, spirit, I cooed. We mean you no harm. This is the Temple of the Kitchen God, after all. All who pass through our doors – (or over them) – are welcome here. (So long as they paid for a big-enough offering.)
"The Temple – ? This is the Temple?" The serow's fuzzy chin came up, and she surveyed the gardens with her big, dark eyes, as if suddenly curious about her surroundings.
Aha. Got her.
Why yes, indeed, this is the Temple to the Kitchen God. Have you heard of us, by chance?
Her chin bobbed up and down. "Yes, yes, I have! We were talking about it at work just the other day. There's a – a festival coming up, or something, isn't there?"
Indeed there is. I am humbly grateful that word of it has spread.
"Yes, yes, it has! I was planning to attend, just for a bit, if I could get time off...." She trailed off as she recalled her literal position, as a rioter who'd invaded the sacred precincts.
I gave her a moment, to let it sink in that she was a trespasser on the grounds of not just any old noble, but a god. Any reasonable noble would have her beaten, perhaps even killed, and we both knew it.
When I opened my beak again, she flinched so hard that she did topple off the boulder. Bobo yelped, but the fall took long enough that I had time to fly higher, so that when the splash came, not a drop of water touched my feathers.
The serow surfaced, water streaming down her cheeks and the sides of her neck, paddling frantically to stay afloat.
"Fascinating," Floridiana muttered to herself, scribbling in her sketchbook. "Shape like a cross between a goat and a deer, color like a brown bear, split hooves to grip the stone better, an amazing ability to climb...."
I glided down low enough to address the serow, but not low enough to get splashed. Poor dear! You'll catch your death of a cold! Do come into the Temple! We'll get you dried off in no time, get you a nice cup of tea, perhaps some snacks – have you had breakfast? No? Don't you fret, we'll fix that right away.
YOU ARE READING
The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox
FantasíaAfter Piri the nine-tailed fox follows an order from Heaven to destroy a dynasty, she finds herself on trial in Heaven for that very act. Executed by the gods for the "crime," she is cast into the cycle of reincarnation, starting at the very bottom...
