The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Chapter 23: Softshell Turtle, Again

This time, it was early spring when I hatched on the banks of Black Sand Creek. I knew because the willows overlooking the river had sprouted furry grey catkins, and the water temperature, while still cold, was not baby-turtle-killingly so.

The water spirits were more subdued, staying close to home as they waited for spring to begin in earnest. I didn't see nearly as many customers frequenting the pubs, and the Water Court gateway looked more woebegone and deserted than ever. (That sign really needed replacing before it rotted clean away. I was a little surprised Nagi hadn't noticed.)

As for the mortal fish, they were busy preparing nests and laying eggs. I glided back and forth along the river, devouring insects and whatever else was small enough for me to get my jaws around, and memorizing the locations of clutches. I was looking forward to this year's baby fish. The existing ones were too big to attack, and I was sick of eating bugs.

While I counted the days until my food hatched, I considered the Lord Silurus problem. Although I hadn't approached his stretch of river, I also hadn't heard any water spirits shrieking about his latest appearance, so presumably he was still wintering in his lair. At any rate, the river was too cold for human children to play in (or, more to the point, for human parents to allow human children to play in), so I didn't need to worry about another Maila-type fiasco yet. What in the world was I supposed to do about that overgrown catfish anyway? How did Flicker expect a turtle with a soft shell to kill a demon?

Worst advice ever.

But fine. I could work with this. For a start, I'd grow as big and strong as possible. Depending on my growth rate, it might take a few years, but compared to the centuries I'd already spent languishing in White and Green Tiers, what was a handful of years? I could afford some patience. And in the meantime, I'd save up positive karma in other ways – and stay far away from Lord Silurus so I couldn't see him eating any humans.

When the first batch of catfish eggs that I was monitoring hatched, I was ready.

Out of the hole poured a stream of thin, silvery fry about half my length, waggling their bodies clumsily. Hidden behind a clump of eelgrass, I watched them bumble into open water and form into a messy school. Somehow, they reached a consensus about direction and started moving, inhaling water bugs as they went.

By chance, it happened to be in my direction.

Creeping closer, I studied them. Already, there were noticeable size differences between the largest fry and their siblings. With my eyes, I marked several that would make a decent meal. My stomach rumbled. For how slowly this body grew, it was constantly hungry.

One of the fry I'd selected turned on its neighbor, which thrashed its tail but couldn't get out of the way fast enough. The large fry ripped off a chunk of flesh and lunged for a second bite. Click click click click click! The small fry were panicking and scattering, while the other large fry fought for their share of sibling.

In all the confusion, I glided out from my hiding spot, barreled into my closest target, and bit down on its back. My jaws crunched through its spine, filling my mouth with tender, juicy succulence. I gulped down a huge bite.

Mmmm. So fresh. So sweet. However much I enjoyed cooked meat, raw flesh had a silkiness that nothing could match.

The fry's mouth was opening and shutting, its front fins flailing. I ripped off a second hunk from its side and chewed happily, taking time to savor the flavors. With its spine severed, the fry wasn't going anywhere. Ahhhhh. So much tastier than bugs, which were mostly shell and barely had any insides to speak of. While the crunch was interesting, I'd really missed muscle and fat. Too bad this fry didn't have much of either. Once I was big enough, I'd have to try a full-grown catfish.