Mulan Page 4

  The crowd slowly broke up, and, shamefaced, I began to scuffle to my father. But before I reached him, a peasant woman swept in and came up to me.

  She was not from our village—she was someone I had never seen before. She was old, hundreds of wrinkles lining her face, and so sun-darkened that her eyes seemed light amber in her face. “Mulan,” she said, “for you.”

  And she handed me this cloth rabbit. It’s all old and worn now. But back then it was bright reddish orange with all the regular poison-fighting animals—the viper, spider, toad, centipede, and scorpion—embroidered in bright colors on it around some flowers. I remember thinking it looked so brilliant and new in her old, dappled hand.

  I took it, and before I could even say thank you, she turned and left. She hadn’t yelled at me or shaken her head or looked at me with disapproval like everyone else. Instead, she had given me a gift. I was confused.

  My father was waiting for me, so I quickly put the stuffed toy in my sleeve and continued to him to begin my apologies. Later, I showed it to Xiu. She loved it right away. She hugged it and played with it, so I let her take it to bed. After that, I just let her keep it.

  And it was for the best, too. That rabbit was Xiu’s favorite toy, so much so that even now, years later when she’s outgrown and almost forgotten about it, Auntie Ho still hoped it would lure her spirit back.

  As Mulan said those last words, a wave of sadness and fear came over her, like an icy wind. The memory of her past disgrace stung, as did the thought of her sister, rosy and happy, when now she lay in the darkness, as white and as still as death. Tears burned in Mulan’s eyes, and she was glad when the sounds of Black Wind galloping grew louder and he came to her, his black form outlined by moonlight. Hiding her tears, she avoided looking at the Rabbit and, instead, outfitted the horse with his saddle, tying her bag with the toy in it securely. Then she began to twist and knot the blanket around her waist and shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” the Rabbit asked. “What’s that for?”

  “It’s for you,” Mulan said, scooping up the Rabbit and placing him in the folds of her blanket. As she adjusted the sling so she could carry him on her back, she heard him make noises of disgust.

  “Like a baby,” he said grumpily. “A baby!”

  Mulan grinned to herself as she climbed up on Black Wind. The moon’s splendor overflowed onto Earth, brightening it almost to daylight.

  “Which way?” Mulan asked the Rabbit.

  “Since I am stuck in this shape,” the Rabbit said, still grumbling, “we’ll need help. We can find an old friend of mine in the City of Rushing Water.”

  “The City of Rushing Water?” Mulan faltered.

  “You’ve heard of it?” the Rabbit said. He pushed his paw free of the sling and waved. “That way.”

  “Ah, yes,” Mulan said, not willing to admit that she had heard of it only as a place so far away that it was rumored to have a different sky. She clicked at Black Wind to start him moving. “It’s quite a distance.”

  “Yes,” the Rabbit said as Black Wind galloped. The land was soaked with moonlight and their figures swooped across it like shadow puppets pulled by an unseen master. “That is why we are leaving now.”

  THE NIGHTS and days melted into each other. Black Wind seemed to fly, galloping so quickly and effortlessly across the earth that Mulan suspected that it was the Rabbit’s manipulations. Rice terraces, the stacked layers of land jutting out like a dragon’s backbone, made way to jagged mountains softened by greenery. They passed small villages and the huts of friendly farmers, all left curious by the vague answers given by the girl traveling with her pet (which further irritated the Rabbit and amused Mulan). Then, to Mulan’s awe, the landscape brightened as trees turned coral and amber. Fan-shaped leaves fluttered around her like golden butterflies and the pounding of Black Wind’s hooves was quieted by the tree-created carpets.

  They rode deep into the night and then rose at sunrise to ride again. As Mulan traveled through lands she had never seen before, she began to think about Ba’s old stories of when he was a warrior, traveling through the empire to help defeat the evil Emperor Zhou and fight the Rouran invaders. He would have raced through these same fields and passed these same trees. How magnificent Ba must have been! A great warrior who had brought such honor to their ancestors. Mulan felt a wistful guilt. If only she could do the same.

  The air chilled, and one evening, as the sky was beginning to bid a somber goodbye to the sun, Mulan found herself shivering.

  “You’re cold,” the Rabbit said in Mulan’s ear. “We should stop.”

  They were traveling on a little-used forest path, and Mulan slowed Black Wind in a small clearing. She got off the horse and helped the Rabbit wiggle out of the pouch.

  “It’s colder in this area,” the Rabbit said. “We should make a fire. It’s not good for a mortal like you to get chilled.”

  Mulan nodded, her teeth beginning to chatter slightly.

  “Go get some wood,” the Rabbit said, reaching for his bag. “I’ll make you something that will help.”

  Mulan nodded again, wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and left the Rabbit rummaging in his bag with Black Wind supervising. She wandered into the light-dappled forest, searching for fallen branches among the fallen leaves. The leaves crunched under her feet, making a crisp, welcoming sound, but dry sticks were surprisingly rare, and Mulan meandered from tree to tree like a hungry sparrow looking for seeds.

  She was getting colder and colder and beginning to despair of ever finding enough wood for a fire when a sunbeam temporarily blinded her. Mulan shaded her eyes and then saw that a stream of light, a glistening radiance slipping through the rampart of trees, was creating a path. On the ground in front of her, a stretch of leaves was lit by the sun like unrolled yellow silk. The air shimmered, the curtain created by the dying sun glittering and beckoning. Mulan could not help following.

  It led her to an enclosure of trees. Bending tree trunks and gnarled branches had grown and twisted together, making an arched, glowing doorway. Mulan peeked in and then gasped.

  There, in the center of the glade of trees, stood the most beautiful woman Mulan had ever seen. She was as exquisite as if she had been carved of jade, her face as delicate and as fine as a flower petal, and her black hair floating gently like a cloud. Her white robes flowed around her, waves of silk billowing. The brilliance of the sun cascaded down upon her, and her eyes sparkled as she saw Mulan.

  “Hello,” the fairylike creature said as if expecting her, her cherry lips curving into a smile.

  Mulan stood silent for a moment, dumbfounded. She herself had given up on trying to be pretty long ago. “You always look like a wild crow, Mulan!” Ma would say when Mulan rushed into the house, her hair flying. She was so different from Xiu, whose hair was always smooth silk neatly framing her gentle face. Everyone in the village, including Mulan, admired Xiu, but even Xiu was a common blade of grass next to the lotus-flower face of this woman. Truly, no mortal, no normal person could be so incredibly lovely. Mulan threw herself onto the ground in a humble kowtow. This must be some sort of Immortal or goddess! What else could she be? As Mulan prostrated herself, she heard the woman laugh, a tinkly sound like the ringing of tiny bells.

  “Stand up, child,” the lady said. Mulan pushed herself up, feeling like a scrubby chicken as she tried to brush away the leaves clinging to her clothes and hair. “But you’re not a child, are you?” the woman continued. “You’re almost a young woman. Now, who do you think I am?”

  Mulan gawked, her mind racing through names of fairies and goddesses. Who could she be? Who would be this beautiful and smile at her with such delight, as if actually pleased to see someone so graceless and gawky? Mulan realized she had never seen anyone look at her with such delight and approval. Even Ba, with his loving smiles, always looked at her with a shadow of worry.

  The graceful being laughed again. “Well, you may not know who I am,” the woman said. Her voice was like the strumming of a zither, lulling and smooth. “But I know who you are.”

  Mulan stared as if her tongue had been broken. Her eyes could only widen in wonder as a response.

  “Yes, Mulan.” The woman smiled, revealing her small teeth, like pearly pomegranate seeds. “And I know you are traveling with the Rabbit to save your sister.”

  Mulan nodded, but her mouth felt clumsy and numb. Why was she as mute as a gaping fish? Words had always come easily before—too easily, as they usually burst out of her mouth before she could stop them. Ma often despaired of her, and Mulan had tried many times to be as quiet as Xiu. But she had never been able to, until now.

  “I’m here to help you,” the woman said. “That rabbit has his points, but he’s quite limited. He doesn’t know mortals the way I do. Why, look at you, half-frozen! He doesn’t care about you!”

  “No,” Mulan protested, the thought of the Rabbit loosening her words. “He sent me for wood so we could make a fire.”

  “He sent you, shivering and cold,” the woman said, “into the forest—not worried if you got lost or if wild animals attacked. You poor thing! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

  The woman waved her hand in an elegant gesture. Mulan followed her motion and saw a heap of wood on the ground. Mulan jerked in surprise, unsure if the magical woman in white had made the wood appear or if it had been there the whole time.

  “Yes, it’s for you,” the woman said to Mulan’s astounded eyes. “Take it.”

  Mulan quickly began to gather the wood into her arms. It made an awkward collection as the knobby sticks refused to pile evenly, jutting and shifting. When she finished, she saw the woman was still smiling at her as if highly entertained.

  “I have another gift for you as well,” the beautiful woman said. From her sleeve, she took out a small glossy flask of creamy ivory. With a willowy movement, as if she were dancing in water, the woman stepped to Mulan. Her white hands whisked off the top and she brought the flask to Mulan’s face, a sweet aroma wafting.

  “Honey,” the woman said. She dipped a long, slender finger into the flask. “Your rabbit might use it for medicine, but I think you should savor its sweetness.”

  She brought her finger toward Mulan’s mouth, the honey clinging like golden dew. The fragrance seemed to encircle them, and Mulan was swathed by perfume and light. She suddenly felt lost in its splendor, as if floating on rushing water. Spellbound, Mulan raised her face, awaiting the anointment of the honey on her lips.

  But before the white finger could reach her, a stick dropped from the clumsy bundle in her arms. Its bulbous knot struck her foot sharply, and Mulan yelped, jerking back. More sticks escaped, clattering to the ground with the clumping sound of an ox.

  Mulan hurried to gather the fallen wood, catching a flash of annoyance on the woman’s face. The enchanted moment was broken, and Mulan found herself clutching the wood tightly. But when Mulan looked up, the woman was smiling at her again. She laughed another tinkling bell laugh.

  “Here,” the woman said, slipping the flask into Mulan’s sleeve. “You can enjoy it later.”

  Mulan nodded, the strange muteness coming over her again.

  “You’d best go now,” the woman said, “or the Rabbit might actually worry about you. But I will see you again.”

  Mulan, arms full, bobbed a farewell like a humble peasant to his lord. What is wrong with me? she thought, mystified by her own behavior. She was filled with uncomfortable feelings of shyness and timidity—feelings she had never quite felt before.

  “If you need me,” the woman said, “just call for me and I will come.”

  Mulan stopped and turned. “What should I call you?” she asked, forcing the words from her lips.

  The woman smiled again, so radiant that it dazzled Mulan even from this distance. “You may call me Daji.”

  HIDDEN IN the shadows, underneath the falling leaves and crooked trees, she could feel herself trembling. She told herself it was fatigue—scuttling about and gathering all the fallen branches in the forest for Daji had been exhausting. But deep down, she knew it was not the labor of collecting wood that made her shudder. It was the honey.

  She remembered that honey. The golden drop like a pendant of amber hanging from Daji’s finger, glistening and glowing. The soft brush against her lips, the overwhelming sweetness, the sticky syrup clinging to her lips—she remembered all of it.

  And just like this girl—this girl who was now disappearing into the falling darkness, stumbling with all the wood—she, too, had seen Daji as a goddess. So beautiful, so graceful and kind. I’ll take care of you, Daji had said to that girl. Daji had said those same words to her, as well, long ago. How long ago had it been? All she could remember was the intoxicating feeling that had overwhelmed her. To be taken care of meant to be wanted. And how she had yearned for that! She hated when they called her the Unwanted Girl. But that was before she found out what they would call her as Daji’s servant.

  “The girl’s gone!” Daji snapped. “Come here!”

  She crept from the cover of the trees, keeping her copper-colored fox head bowed.

  “I want to talk to you!” Daji said impatiently.

  She willed the sickening feeling in her stomach to burst through her blood as she transformed, her black hair streaming from her head as her pointed fox nose melted into a human face. In a moment, she was kneeling before Daji, just as she had when she’d been as young as the girl who left a moment ago.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she said.

  “The girl didn’t eat the honey,” Daji said in annoyance. “She’s such a clumsy ox, I couldn’t place it on her lips.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” she repeated. She knew Daji didn’t really want to talk to her. Daji just wanted someone to unleash her temper on.

  “But the bottle will keep her quiet enough,” Daji said grudgingly. “Yes, the girl will taste it soon. I will simply have to bide my time.”

  She nodded, unwilling to repeat herself a third time.

  “Though it is time that I must not let them have,” Daji said thoughtfully. “I will have to slow them down.” Then Daji looked sharply at the woman before her.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she said, swallowing her sigh. She had learned long ago not to offer suggestions or voice any opinions. They were never wanted or needed and usually resulted in a scathing insult or a box of the ears.

  “Come!” Daji ordered, clapping her hands. “You have things to prepare for me.”

  Daji waved her sleeve, and as it swirled in the air, she changed into the White Fox, her tails swaying.

  She had no choice but to follow, returning to her own red fox form. But for the first time in a long time, she felt a resentful wave rush inside her. I am not just your servant. I have a name, she thought. I am Xianniang.

  WITH THE wood she’d been given, Mulan was soon able to sit at a crackling fire, sipping a concoction brewed by the Rabbit. Whatever it was, the drink warmed her from her toes to her vitals. She watched the sparks fly from the fire in what should have been reasonable comfort, but her buzzing thoughts made her uneasy. The strange encounter with the beautiful Daji had left Mulan puzzled and unsettled, as if she were being woken from an enchantment. She kept looking at the Rabbit, willing herself to tell him, but her lips stayed closed.

  Her sleep that night was also uneasy, the small bottle of honey in her sleeve resting heavily in her head. Visions of a giant, attacking spider filled her dreams, and she found herself running through a river of honey in an attempt to get away. Just as the terrifying creature was about to catch her, Mulan woke up, gasping. She could still see the spider’s evil black eyes, the giant sharp teeth, the nine pointed white legs…Mulan straightened, a cold breeze brushing her face. This was Xiu’s spider! Mulan remembered Xiu’s lifelong fear of spiders—had Xiu been plagued by these same dreams? Her heart twisted as she thought of her sister, tormented. Poor Xiu! She was always so awestruck by Mulan’s daring. Not that it’s ever been something to be proud of, Mulan thought ruefully.

  The fire still crackled, casting a dim light on the Rabbit, who was in the deep sleep of the guiltless. Black Wind nickered as if feeling her unease, and she patted his nose. Then, careful not to disturb the sleeper, she crept to their bags and untied the red string the Rabbit had used to fasten their belongings together. She groped through their things, finally pulling out Xiu’s stuffed toy. Her fingers stroked the silk embroidery threads, smooth and fine like the hair of her gentle sister. Mulan hugged the toy to her, wrapped herself with a blanket, and lay back down. This time, when Mulan closed her eyes, sleep fell upon her heavily, swaddling her so tightly that she did not even stir when Black Wind’s squeal filled the air.

  Morning came abruptly. The sun glared into Mulan’s face, but it was the Rabbit’s sound of dismay that forced her up.

  “It’s gone,” the Rabbit groaned.

  “What’s gone?” Mulan said, alarmed.

  “Everything!” the Rabbit said.

  And everything was gone. The Rabbit stood forlornly next to the burned-out fire, ashes blowing in the wind like snowflakes. Mulan’s plain cloth bag with the food and clothes and supplies was nowhere to be seen, as was the Rabbit’s rich silk bundle.

  “Where’s Black Wind?” Mulan asked, panicked. She whistled and was relieved to hear a whinny and approaching hooves in the distance.

  “Smart horse,” the Rabbit said approvingly. Black Wind nuzzled at Mulan, who gratefully wrapped her arms around him. “He ran away before they could get him, too.”

  “Before who could get him?” Mulan asked, clutching the horse close. “Did someone steal our things? Who would do that?”

  “The foxes, of course,” the Rabbit said. “They’ve been following the whole time, you know.”

  “They have?” Mulan said. She released Black Wind and fixed her gaze on the Rabbit.

  “Yes,” the Rabbit said, “just waiting for the right time to cause mischief. I wonder how she was able to finally undo the red thread?”