Beneath Ceaseless Skies #197

by Tony Pi

  “Thank you, Doctor. May I keep one of them? I’ll inquire discreetly with my sources.” The magistrate would surely want to see one.

  Yan allowed it. “Some air will do you good. Lun, make sure he rests and drinks that soup twice a day.”

  I winced at that.

  Lun held out his bandaged hands. “Aren’t we a pair? My hands, your breath. We can’t but wait for them to heal, but at least we can wait together.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, I needed to hear that.” All this hadn’t been for a boon from Tiger, I reminded myself. All this had been to repay the Pale Tigress who had made Lun the good man he was today.

  After Doctor Yan departed, Lun, the dog, and I went outside to sit in front of the shop. Despite the fresh air, I still couldn’t stop huffing and wheezing. Children were playing kick-ball in the lane while old women gossiped in the doorways. A six year-old boy came by to ask Lun about the dog.

  There came a roar once more, this time from the God of Wealth altar just inside the wheel-shop doorway. The image of the god was riding a painted black tiger, and it was the beast who spoke: Your mission was a roaring success, Tangren master. I commend you.

  Great and Illustrious Tiger, I did only as a humble man should, I said.

  Yet he wasn’t the only shengxiao spirit who found me. The boy who was petting the dog was wearing pig-head shoes, a folk charm that was said to fool evil spirits into leaving the child alone.

  No welcome for me, candyman? asked Pig in doubled voices through the boy’s shoes.

  Merciful Mother Sow, forgive my blindness. I was startled that two shengxiao spirits would appear to me at the same—

  And me, Aoooooo, said Dog through the Xiasi’s shadow. Greetings, Brother Tiger, Sister Sow.

  O Noblest Dog, I am blessed by your presence. Three of them at once. An omen for sure, but for good or for ill? I felt I should throw myself prostrate on the ground before them.

  Pig snorted. Ao has rooted out the secret I asked, I know it. But he will tell it only to me.

  I have something of it, Mother Sow. I still wondered what treasure it was.

  Do not speak it here before them, she warned. Have you two come to hinder us?

  Tiger roared with laughter. It was I who helped hide the treasure of Chengdu so long ago, and I who bound the City God’s Tiger to its guardianship. I know how dangerous it is in the wrong paws.

  But I must tell her what I discovered, King Tiger, I said.

  And so you shall, said he. You gave your word to Pig and you will honor it. I’m here only to help you heal.

  I sighed, guessing what he meant. You want me to use the boon I won for saving the Pale Tigress.

  You presume wrong, Ao. The boon remains yours, said Tiger. It is the Pale Tigress who asked this of me and paid the price I required, so I will chase the cure your way. Watch for your chance in the coming days, and let it not dart past.

  I choked back a cry of astonishment. So there was hope that I could ply my craft again? But what had she promised Tiger? Such generosity from the Tigress touches me, but I cannot allow her—

  You matter not. She has already given her word.

  With that, Tiger withdrew.

  I looked down at the pig-shoes. Mother Sow, here’s what I know of the treasure.

  Wait, she said. Kindly leave us, Lord Dog. The secret is mine by right, not yours.

  How true, Sister Sow, said Dog. And yet if the treasure of Chengdu is truly a peril, it hurts no one if it stays buried like a bone. Brother Aoooooo honors our deal by taking a canine companion, and so I will stay at his heel.

  I understood his gambit. I would not be breaking my word to Pig because it was she who had forbidden me from telling the secret while within Dog’s hearing.

  Well played, said Pig. But there will come a time when Ao will be with me alone, and I will hear what’s due.

  The boy with the shoes ran off, and Pig with him.

  That was unexpected, Worthy One, I said. Might I ask why you interceded on my behalf?

  When Tiger warns, you best listen, replied Dog. Sister Sow’s right: I cannot shield you forever from revealing the dangerous secret you now carry, but it may stave off disaster for a time. Schemes multiply like fleas in Chengdu. Have your wits about you, and keep your loyal friends close.

  The spirit’s aspect receded from my dog’s shadow, but I knew he was keeping watch.

  “The boy asked what her name is,” Lun explained. “What do you think?”

  The Xiasi gave a small whine and nudged me with her nose.

  I sighed. “Worry, my friend. Worry.”

  Copyright © 2016 Tony Pi

  Read Comments on this Story on the BCS Website

  Originally from Taiwan, Dr. Tony Pi earned his Ph.D. in Linguistics at McGill University and now lives in Toronto, Canada. His story “No Sweeter Art”, from BCS #155, was a finalist for the Aurora Awards and its BCS podcast a finalist for the Parsec Awards. He is a finalist again in the 2016 Aurora Awards for Best English Short Story for “Cosmobotica”, which he co-wrote with Costi Gurgu for The Mammoth Book of Dieselpunk. Visit www.tonypi.com for a list of his other works.

  Read more Beneath Ceaseless Skies

  RABBIT GRASS

  by Kelly Stewart

  Mama says, “Never let Rabbits into the garden, Aril, or they’ll eat up everything.”

  This makes working in the garden troublesome, because there is almost always a Rabbit sitting just on the other side of the fence. The fence isn’t nothing fancy, just old dry timber trussed up with wire.

  But Rabbits won’t come in unless they’re invited. No one would invite them, except they have their ways of smoothing things over with the folks around here. For one thing, you’d hardly know them from any old Person, except for the long ears perched atop their heads, all covered with velvety fur and turning this way and that to listen for things. They dress nice, too. They can be real charming. That’s how folks around here get their gardens et up.

  This Rabbit at the fence is talking to me the whole time I’m out in the garden. Lots of different Rabbits visit the garden, try their luck. Today it’s Picket. Picket’s around a lot. When Rabbits have been sneaking around the fence at night, I can tell them apart by their shoeprints. Picket’s pretty big for a Rabbit. He’s as tall as me. Seems to me he don’t need no more garden food. He’s wearing a purple waistcoat today, maybe satin with a diamond pattern quilted in. It looks brand new and very costly.

  There’s a nice breeze blowing the sting off the sunshine. Robins are singing their challenge-songs in the woods. Crickets are humming their daily devotions out in the fields. And then comes Picket’s shy little voice, just sitting on top of the breeze like he don’t mean to be no imposition.

  “Please, Miss, I promise I won’t eat much. Just a leaf or two. Maybe a flower. I am a Rabbit, after all. I eat so very little, you would hardly notice anything missing.”

  I don’t even look at him. I just look down at the rich, dark soil I’m patting down around the Potatoes. Their pretty five-pointed flowers wave a soft scent under my nose. “You may be one Rabbit, but the trouble is there’s more of you. If you all et a leaf or two, there’d be no leaves left.”

  “Do the leaves matter?” Picket says. “It’s the flowers that are so pleasant and colourful, like the ones on your hat that bring out your eyes so well.”

  “Don’t you try flattering me, Mister Picket!” I snap at him, catching his eyes now so he knows I mean it. “I’ll tell the whole village and all the other Rabbits what a rascal you are, and you’ll be chased right out of the valley.”

  Picket shrinks back with my dressing-down, with his ears all flat.

  I shouldn’t have called him “Mister”. Addressing them like a gentleman or a lady makes them get all important, makes them bold and harder to shoo away. Mama taught me my manners too good.

  “And besides,” I add, “it’s the leaves what catch the sunlight and make the flowers grow, so of course they matter.”

  I
stand up and stretch my back, and wipe my grimy hands on my apron. I have to attend to the Carrots next, and they’re near to the fence. I don’t want to go near the fence, but I tell myself to march right on over and ignore that Rabbit.

  I haul my basket over to the stand of flowers that look like ladies’ lacy handkerchiefs. While I’m digging in the soil with my trowel, sure enough, Picket hops over in the funny way Rabbits do and stares at me through the fence. His ears have perked up again, and I can see him smiling out of the corner of my eye. Insults and scoldings never keep them down for long.

  “I meant no harm,” Picket says. His voice is sweet like the flowers smell. “You know a lot about leaves and flowers. You must know how to care for them very well.”

  “‘Course I do,” I say. “My mama taught me everything. She knows veggies and flowers, what they need to grow and be happy, and how to talk to them.”

  “They must love you both very much,” says Picket. “In fact, they must grow so abundantly that surely you have extra produce and discards and orts and such...”

  “And you don’t get any.”

  I glare at him from under the brim of my hat. He’s got big dark blue eyes, and his eyebrows are turned up, and he smiles into those cute little cheeks of his. Even though he’s as tall as me, I can’t tell how old he is—fourteen, like me, or younger or older, you just can’t tell. Rabbits all got baby faces. His dark brown hair is smooth as silk and picks up the sunlight like a glossy flower.

  Sometimes I wish I could just talk to Picket, like a regular Person. He isn’t such a bad Rabbit. I think we could be friends, except all he does when he comes by is try to persuade me to let him into the garden. It’s wearisome.

  “Don’t you have something to eat out in the woods?” I say. “What do you do when you can’t sweet-talk your way into somebody’s garden?”

  “Oh, there’s food out in the woods,” says Picket. He gets a dreamy look in his eyes. “But nothing tastes quite like garden food.”

  “Why don’t you Rabbits grow your own gardens?” I say. The idea sprouts fresh leaves just as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before? “That’s it, Picket. You just need to grow your own gardens, and then you won’t need to bother no more People-folk for their gardens.”

  “That’s just the trouble, you see,” says Picket, all full of pity for himself. “I’m afraid we don’t speak Vegetable, and so nothing will grow for us. Nothing but Rabbit Grass, of course, but it’s so very fickle.”

  “I ain’t never heard of no Rabbit Grass,” I say, peering at him sideways.

  And then Picket gasps and throws his hands over his mouth. His eyes are round as saucepans. “Oh dear... We’re not supposed to talk about our Rabbit Grass.” He leans forward and puts his nose through the fence. “I’ll share some with you if you keep it a secret.”

  Well this was something new. “Never thought I’d see the day a Rabbit tried to give me food. What’s it taste like?”

  “Oh, it’s scrumptious. The leaves are juicy and crisp, and have just the tiniest hint of heat. The roots are meaty and toothsome, with almost a nutty-sweet flavour. But like I say, it’s a very fickle plant. It don’t talk much, except to other vegetables.”

  I purse my lips while I think. I remember the old saying about teaching a man to fish.

  “I’ll tell you what, Picket,” I say as I dig around some Carrots and tug one out of the dirt. The Carrot gives a yawn. “Take this here Carrot plant and stick it in the ground next to your Rabbit Grass. It’s still a bit sleepy, but they like to jaw once they get going.”

  Picket’s eyes are nearly sparkling as he reaches through the fence with wiggly grasping fingers. He snatches the plant out of my hands faster than I could have changed my mind. His eagerness makes me a little nervous—Mama will be sore if she knows I’m handing out our plants to Rabbits—but I know I’m doing the right thing. Once the Rabbits get their own gardens growing, they won’t bother us People no more. And Mama and I might just be the first People in the whole valley to grow Rabbit Grass. If it’s as good as Picket says, it might become a big hit at market.

  “Now don’t go eating up that plant before you can get it in the ground,” I warn him. “I won’t give you another.”

  “You can be sure I’ll go straight home and plant it,” Picket says, hugging the dirt-covered Carrot to his new waistcoat. “And I’ll be sure to bring you some Rabbit Grass just as soon as it’s grown up a bit. Thank you, Aril. You’re my favourite girl in the valley.”

  “Get outta here, you fool Rabbit,” I chide. He scampers off into the woods.

  * * *

  I ask Mama what Rabbit Grass is. She hasn’t heard of it no more than I have, and she lays into Picket (even though he isn’t there) for telling such tall tales. I don’t tell Mama that I let Picket have a whole Carrot plant, or else she would’ve chewed me out, too. I don’t need no chewing out. I know better now. I’m gonna get Picket back real good.

  The next day Mama sends me out to the garden, Picket is standing there at the fence with a big old smile puffing up his cheeks. Today his waistcoat is light green-blue with a floral pattern, and he’s got a pinky-purple bowtie. The two look awful together.

  “Well howdy, Picket,” I say, all friendly. “How’s your garden growing?”

  “Very well, so far,” he says in his meek little voice.

  “Well that’s grand,” I say. “But you know what, I been thinking about your garden. It kept me up last night. I’m worried for your Rabbit Grass.”

  “Oh, are you?” Picket says, a bit surprised. He thinks he’s got me fooled.

  “I am,” I say. I’ve got a bundle wrapped up in a paisley kerchief tucked away in the big pocket of my apron. I take it out real careful, with both hands, and hand it over the fence to Picket. “This is for you to plant next to the Rabbit Grass and the Carrot. It’s a real clever sort of a plant, and if you talk to it enough, it’ll learn how to talk your talk. And then it can tell you what the plants underground are saying.”

  “Oh... Oh my,” says Picket with a funny smile. “That is extremely kind of you. Not that I would ever dream of it, but could I eat this plant? If I had a mind to?”

  “Oh, sure,” I say off the top of my head. “The berries will talk until they’ve ripened, and then they get all restless looking for someone to eat them. They’re sweet and tart, and all covered in juicy pods that burst in your mouth.”

  “It sounds wonderful!” says Picket with his eyes all a-sparkle. “I’m so honoured that you would deign to give a poor Rabbit like me such a generous gift.”

  “Don’t be a toady, Picket,” I say. “It’s unbecoming of a handsome Rabbit like you.”

  He shrugs and gives a little laugh. Two can play at his game.

  “But Picket,” I say, letting all the smile drain out of my face. “I gotta tell you something real important.”

  “Do go on.” Picket holds the bundle under one arm and leans on the fence with the other, and waits on me with a sly grin. He can’t tell who’s tricking who. Rabbits love tricking folks more than anything else. So long as he thinks he’s fooled me, I might have a chance to fool him.

  “You mustn’t open that bundle until you’re home,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it’s... It’s real important,” I say. Drat. This fibbing business is harder than Picket makes it look. He’s a professional fibber. But I know he’s curious. Rabbit-curious. “I don’t dare tell you what happens if you unwrap it in the middle of the forest. It’s real shy. It don’t like being unswaddled all higgledy-piggledy. You gotta give it respect.”

  “Oh, I will be sure to do so,” says Picket with a knowing smile. “I’ll go home straight away to plant it. You really are the most wonderful girl in the whole valley.”

  “That sweet-talk business don’t work on me,” I tell him.

  He turns and runs into the woods. I shoot a big, satisfied grin at his back and scoop up my basket to get to work on the gar
den. I listen closely to the sounds of the woods while I’m crouched down. A Chickadee is singing to his sweetie somewhere.

  And then I hear it. A high-pitched wail comes sailing out of the woods. I step up onto the fence and gaze through the Trees.

  Here comes Picket, chasing after a little critter with a walnut shell nose and a curly green shoot for a tail, squealing and skittering just out of Picket’s grasp. Picket makes a dive for it and misses.

  “Ha! I got you back real good!” I shout to Picket. “Couldn’t stop yourself from peeking before you got home, huh? Don’t bother trying to catch it anyhow. It’s just Pigweed. There ain’t no plant like the one I told you about, just like there ain’t no Rabbit Grass like you told me about!”

  Picket is sitting up where he fell down, just staring at me with great big eyes and his mouth open and clutching the paisley kerchief to his chest. It’s hard to make out in the dappled sunshine, but I think he’s all flushed from embarrassment. I almost feel a little bad for tricking him, he looks so stunned. But then I remind myself I was only doing him a turn like he did me, so I set back to work on the garden with the sunlight leaning on my back.

  * * *

  Picket don’t come back for a long time. I wonder if he’s vexed with my trick, but that would be awful hypocritical of him. I’m surprised to find I miss him a little, but if he can’t take what he dishes out, then good riddance to him, I say.

  Just as I’m ready to give up seeing Picket ever again, I see him in his usual spot just beyond the fence. Except he’s sitting down and staring at his worn patent leather shoes.

  I come up to the fence and try him. “Is that you, Picket?”

  His head snaps up like he never noticed me coming—which is pretty odd for a fellow with such long ears. He leaps up and cries, “Aril! Good morning!” but his little voice cracks under some kind of strain.

  He’s smiling, but he’s pale, and he’s got dark circles under his eyes. Did my trick really upset him that bad?