Tags: altered mental state, animal transformation, bipoc character, character is a murderer, chinese mythology, cultivation, daoist character, fox shifter, harm to animals, interspecies romance, magic user, mentions of death of a child, mentions of drowning, nature spirits, off-screen death of a sibling, past tense, pov alternating third person limited, reunion, rusalka, russia, slavic mythology, western europe, wlw
*
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Alisa Rusakova groaned at the coffee stain sinking into her blouse, turning the embroidered pink-and-green flowers beige. She lifted her head, mouth opening to reply, then froze.
In front of her was one of the most beautiful women Alisa had ever seen. She was about Alisa’s height, wearing a soft-looking purple sweater; the front-most tresses of her long black hair, sleek and shining in the café’s overhead lights, were pulled back into a mal’vina hairstyle. Her thick brows were drawn down in concern, warm brown eyes darting between her half-empty coffee cup and the plastic lid on the floor between them.
Alisa caught herself staring and swallowed. “It’s fine,” she said, ducking her head. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
When the silence went on too long, Alisa looked back up only to be caught by the woman’s stricken gaze. Then, Alisa watched that beautiful face transform, eyes and mouth forming arcs of open delight.
“It’s you!” she exclaimed. “You’re alive!” Her free hand lifted towards Alisa’s face and faltered. “But I thought you were human.”
“Wh—” Alisa spluttered. She grabbed the other woman’s hand where it had frozen centimetres from her face and dragged her out of the way of the other customers. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Oh, uh, Liran,” she said. Her accent was Russian but not her name. Chinese, if Alisa ventured a guess. “Liran Yan. I’m— You saved my life! It was, well, it was a hundred years ago, and I look pretty different now, but—”
She must. Alisa would definitely remember saving the life of a girl this gorgeous, even with a hundred-years distance.
Liran was still talking, words pouring over themselves with the kind of nervous energy Alisa most associated with the youngest rusalki—the ones who lived in young mountain springs, deer-swift and hungry. Alisa had once had many sisters quite as beautiful as Liran, the better to lure landfolk into the river.
“Look,” she said, cutting Liran off. It was too late to deny anything, her reaction too compromising, but she could still do damage control. “We can’t talk about this here. Why don’t I buy us some coffees, and we can start over?”
“Oh!” Liran exclaimed. “I can’t let you do that. I ruined your pretty blouse. Let me at least buy your drink.”
Alisa pursed her lips. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “How about I replace your coffee, and in exchange you clean my shirt?” Luckily, she always kept spare clothes in her messenger bag, just in case. “I’m Alisa, by the way.”
“Alisa,” Liran repeated, brightening. “Sure, sounds great.”
*
Liran watched Alisa head to the washroom, pulling a blue T-shirt out of her bag as she went.
She tried to ease the flickers of doubt running through her now that her initial excitement had faded. Fox eyes and human eyes perceived very differently, and it had been so long ago… Liran couldn’t be sure she remembered correctly. So she looked again, filling in details that had faded with the years or that she’d never known.
Alisa had fair hair—that strange intermediate color between blond and chestnut—and pale, lightly freckled skin. She was of a height with Liran, but her long, narrow limbs gave the impression of her being taller, like the hooded cranes that used to alight for a rest in Shifu’s garden. In the early days of her cultivation training, Shifu had a senior disciple supervise her meditation in that garden. It must have made quite the picture—the fox and the cranes and the stern-faced Daoist. Alisa’s face was angular—high cheekbones, sharp jaw. Her mouth was wide, though, made for laughing, for all that she’d been grim-faced since Liran ran into her.
But Liran remembered the laughter that long-ago day, one that had started out as the worst of her life.
Liran still dreamed of it sometimes, could still hear the baying of those long-nosed Borzoi hounds, with their persistence and pack instincts and sharp teeth. And behind the dogs were the men with their rifles. The shots sounded like trees exploding in the too-cold Siberian winter, and the bullets, when they connected, hurt worse than anything she’d experienced before or since.
When she came upon a narrow brook, she leapt in without hesitation. She paddled through the freezing water with her wounded leg, hoping against hope that crossing the stream would be enough to enable her to escape. That hope was rewarded; as her back paws touched the far bank, she heard a canine yelp, abruptly stifled, and turned to see the brook had risen behind her, the lead dog pulled under by a sudden current. The others stopped short, not wanting to risk the treacherous waters.
Liran kept moving, relieved that the pursuit was stalled but certain she was not yet safe. She limped through the underbrush, slower now as relief stole her strength.
It was then that she came upon the girl. She wore a light sarafan in bright colors and laughed as she leapt down from a tree branch. Her laughter rang through the woods like chimes, carefree, at odds with Liran’s terror and pain.
“There, little fox!” she said in Russian. Then her expression changed, her mouth shaping into a near-perfect “O.” “But you’re hurt!”
Liran had ignored the pain as best she could, too focused on her escape, but with the girl’s words, she felt it again, stronger than ever. She stumbled and then growled warily as the girl stepped closer.
The human held her hands up placatingly. “Let me help you,” she said. “I can hide you from those men and their dogs.”
Liran hesitated—torn between the promise of safety and the wary mistrust that had been her watchword for five years—but she could feel the pain of her wounds, the bullet in her leg. She kept up the low rumble in her throat, unwilling to express surrender, but she didn’t try to bite the girl. The girl picked Liran up with surprisingly strong arms and carried her to a place where the trees grew close together. Their intertwined branches hid a clearing, beyond which Liran could still hear the brook.
“You’ll be safe here,” the girl murmured as she set Liran down.
In the weeks that followed, as Liran healed in that little clearing, an ember of determination lit inside her. Before, all Liran had known of humans was anger and hurt. This human girl taught her that there was kindness, too—hiding her from predators, binding her wounds with gentle hands, bringing her food. Liran swore that she would find a way to take human form and repay that gift.
*
Alisa took her mocha from Liran, exchanging it for her stained blouse. Alisa could take the water out of the shirt herself—easy, even with no waterway to fuel her power—but removing the coffee residue required mundane skill rather than rusalka magic. She was happy to hand that task off to someone else, even someone who… knew her from Russia? Knew what she was?
But no. I thought you were human.
Liran had been surprised to see her, surprised to find her still alive a hundred years after their supposed first meeting.
If nothing else, Alisa was curious. She hadn’t met another non-human person in decades. The mermaids here in the West lived far out to sea; the rusalki back home—those who still survived—were tied to their rivers and streams. Alisa had spent a long time hiding what she was, blending in among humans, making up for centuries of mischief with a century of better deeds.
She wondered what Liran was, who she was.
They found a spot in the park a few blocks away from the café. Alisa sat down, resting her elbows on the table, cradling her disposable cup in both hands as the chocolatey steam wafted towards her.
“All right, then,” Alisa said once she was certain there weren’t any humans within earshot. She spoke in Russian, too, for added security. “Explain.”
“What’s there to explain?” Liran asked, shrugging. “It’s as I said—you saved my life all those years ago. I owe you a debt of gratitude, one I never thought I could repay, since I believed you a mortal girl. But look at you! Here, now, all these years later and kilometres away—you look and sound just the same.” She tilted her head consideringly. “Except you smile less.”
Alisa froze, a hot wash of anger rushing through her body. She had no idea what her face was doing, but it wiped the easy smile off of Liran’s. She set her cup down carefully lest she crush it.
What did this strange girl think she knew about Alisa’s smile? What right did she have to comment on her affect?
“Did I say something wrong?” Liran ventured after a moment of tense silence.
Alisa shook her head sharply and took a sip of her mocha, buying time. “Forget it,” she said, unable to soften the harshness of her tone. “It’s a good story, but I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“I did say I look different, didn’t I?” Liran spread her arms wide; Alisa winced in anticipation of another coffee mishap, but this time Liran managed to gesture broadly without spilling a drop.
Alisa raised a challenging eyebrow. “Then what did you look like a hundred years ago, Miss Yan?”
The corner of Liran’s mouth tipped up into a smirk. “It might be better to show you,” she said.
Alisa leaned forward across the table, as if Liran were about to dispel a glamour. Anticipation coiled in her belly; it didn’t help that Liran’s lips looked good smirking. She had this strange mix of nervousness and confidence in equal measure, compelling in its contradiction.
“Do you know the park at the north end of the city?” Liran asked. “With the triumphal arch at the entrance?”
Alisa leaned back in her seat again, frowning. “What about it?”
“There’s a wood, deeper in the park.”
“I know it.”
“Let’s meet there tonight.” Liran leaned forward, mimicking Alisa’s posture. Her gaze was direct, her smile inviting. “I’ll give you back your blouse—cleaned up, I promise—and you can see exactly what I am.”
Alisa toyed with the little plastic tab on her coffee lid as she thought it over. There was no denying there was a pull in her heart towards Liran: this supposed connection to her past, the secrets they both held… and, well, her attraction, too. “All right,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”
Liran beamed. “You won’t regret it! Nine tonight, all right? There’ll be fewer people around after dusk.”
*
Liran sat on the bench in the fading light, Alisa’s freshly cleaned blouse folded neatly beside her as she watched the path into this section of the park and jiggled her legs impatiently. She tried to wait calmly, but the minutes until their meeting dragged. She jumped to her feet, the nervous energy driving her into motion. This would be the first time since leaving North Wudang Mountain that she would show someone her native form.
What would Alisa think?
Would she remember Liran and their time together?
Was she even going to come?
Liran paced worriedly, alternately making a circuit of the benches and zigzagging between them.
When she had first arrived at North Wudang Mountain, she’d already had her second tail, proof that her untutored attempts at cultivation were going in the right direction. The old Daoshi had recognized from the beginning that she was more than a normal fox. It had taken time to convince him to take her on as a disciple, but the flame of her life debt had burned in her heart, spurring her on through his trials. Shifu understood jiuming zhi’en, but he’d warned her that she might never have a chance to repay it. Will you be satisfied with your cultivation if the only result is living a worthy life? he’d asked.
Liran had thought she would be, but when she went down the mountain after attaining the human form she’d coveted, she went back to Russia first. Some part of her had always been searching for Alisa.
She shook off the recollections and sprang up onto the back of her bench. Walking back and forth along it like a balance beam took up enough of her concentration that she missed Alisa’s arrival.
“I didn’t think coming out as a gymnast required this much secrecy.” Her enren’s voice rang across the path, as clear and high as that first “little fox,” though the dry amusement was new.
Liran wobbled before she caught herself, scooping up the blouse as she hopped off the bench. She came to a stop in front of Alisa.
“You came!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t sure you would.” She smiled, too wide, too eager, entirely out of her control. “Here.” She held the blouse flat across her palms like an offering. “Before I forget.”
“Thank you.” Alisa accepted the blouse and put it in her messenger bag. She didn’t check for the stain. Liran wondered what that meant—a show of trust?
“Shall we?” Liran asked, tilting her head towards the trees.
“Let’s.” Alisa’s eyes—green, Liran remembered from that morning, and wasn’t that a benefit of the human shape? Learning the color of her enren’s eyes—narrowed, and she walked down the paved path into the denser wood.
Liran hurried after and quickly overtook her. Once they were farther in, she led the way off the path into the trees. Alisa followed wordlessly.
*
After traversing the forest after Liran for a while, Alisa spoke up. “I’m beginning to think that I wronged rather than helped you in the past, and that you’ve lured me out here for revenge.”
Liran laughed. “I haven’t lured you out into the woods so I could find a secluded place to strangle you.”
“Have you heard of the ‘Suspiciously Specific Denial’ trope?” Alisa retorted.
“No,” Liran said, and then, apparently judging that they were far enough off the path, stopped and turned back to Alisa. “I guess I haven’t been human long enough yet.”
“Not human—?” Alisa broke off as Liran transformed before her.
The light of the moon above collected around Liran, soaked into her. Between one breath and the next, where a woman had stood there was now a fox—silver fur shading to black on its muzzle, so that in the moonlight-dappled woods, she seemed almost a ghost. Five tails waved behind her like riverweed in an invisible current.
“Oh,” Alisa breathed. “It’s you.”
Alisa remembered the fox, of course. She’d only had the one tail, then.
Rescuing the fox had been a whim, as so many of her decisions were in those days. She’d been dangling upside down from the branch of a favorite tree when she heard the sounds of a hunt, felt fox-feet splashing in her water, and decided to cause some trouble. Humans seldom came out as far as her little brook—a tributary of a tributary of a tributary of the Amur—so Alisa usually had to travel downstream to one of her sisters’ waterways if she wanted to do them mischief.
It was the work of a thought to melt enough snow farther upstream to turn her brook into a deluge. The lead hound was swept away by it, and she laughed at the men’s consternation.
She was still laughing when she slid off her branch, flipping neatly to her feet before the fox. She hadn’t expected the concern that washed over her when she saw the fox’s limping steps, the blood matting its fur.
She cradled the fox to her chest, ignoring the bloodstains on her sarafan—she’d stolen it off a clothesline and could steal another if need be. The bower where she hid the fox was her particular secret. Her brook ran near it, but not through it, and few other rusalki came this far.
The fox snapped at her when she dug the bullet out of its leg, but weakly. She tore the sleeves off her sarafan for bandages and wrapped the fox’s leg and side, working more from instinct than experience.
Thus began a strange period of Alisa’s life. She gathered wild berries and snapped small animals’ necks. She lay on her belly in the bower for hours watching the fox eat and take halting steps on its healing leg. She didn’t meet her sisters for weeks. Alisa had never been so invested in another creature’s well-being. But, having rescued the fox, she wanted to know that her efforts were not in vain.
The first time the fox touched her, bumping its forehead against her hand, Alisa squeaked in surprise. The fox shoved its muzzle into Alisa’s hand more insistently, and Alisa tentatively stroked the black fur nearest its nose. After that, the fox would take the berries directly from Alisa’s hand, and Alisa would bury her fingers in its fur, relishing the soft, fluffy texture.
The day the fox left, it twined around Alisa’s ankles, rubbing its silky fur against Alisa’s bare calves before turning to face her. It chattered at Alisa the way foxes do when fighting, but Alisa had the distinct sense that the fox was trying to tell her something.
“It’s time for you to move on, isn’t it?” she asked. She crouched down to stroke the fox’s silvery head and scratched the brown patch behind its right ear. “Be safe,” she said. “Stay away from humans from now on, all right?”
The fox barked at her, licked the tips of her fingers, and leapt away. Alisa watched it go until it disappeared beyond the trees. Then, she walked into her stream.
“Where’ve you been hiding these weeks?” Nastya asked when Alisa swam down to the confluence of their streams where they turned into Dina’s river. Alisa smiled, sly and secretive, the kind of smile she knew infuriated her sisters.
Dina shoved her hard until Alisa stumbled into a tangle of roots. “Don’t be a brat, Liska.”
Alisa scrabbled among the roots and threw a clod of wet earth in retaliation, and amid the scuffle that followed, Nastya’s question was forgotten.
It would be years before Alisa understood how the fox had opened her heart.
Once again, Alisa squatted down, getting to eye level with the fox—with Liran. “You really did recognize me,” she murmured.
Liran took three steps forward and bumped her muzzle into Alisa’s hand. Alisa laughed at the familiar gesture and stroked the soft fur around her nose.
“You don’t owe me anything, you know,” she said quietly. “Or, I owe you as much, in a way.”
Liran barked sharply, and then light coalesced once more around a fox-shaped shadow. Alisa watched raptly as the shadow twisted and lengthened, shifting into human form. Then, Liran was before her, her cheek cradled in Alisa’s palm.
Alisa snatched her hand back, blushing.
“What do you mean?” Liran asked, head tilted just the same as it had been in fox form.
Alisa gripped her right wrist with her left hand; her fingertips tingled with the phantom sensation of Liran’s skin. “Why did you think I was a mortal human?” she asked in turn.
“You looked, smelled, and moved like one.” Liran shrugged. “What else was I to think?”
“Smelled like one?” Alisa exclaimed, affronted. “How on earth—”
“It was a hundred years ago!” Liran pitched forward, startling a yelp out of Alisa before she realized it was intentional. A moment later, Liran sprawled on the ground, grinning up into Alisa’s face. “I was wounded! I don’t remember the specifics. Have pity on me, sestrichka. The impression I went away with was that a beautiful human girl saved my life.”
Alisa huffed and shook her head, smiling despite herself. She set her hand down on Liran’s forehead, letting the shape of her skull curve her palm. “All right,” she conceded. “It was a reasonable assumption.”
Liran pressed her head into Alisa’s hand, exactly the way she had as a fox a century ago. “So what are you?” she asked. “How did you survive ’til now?”
The smile dropped off Alisa’s face. It was the logical next question, of course, but she still wasn’t prepared to answer it. She’d kept her secret for so long—thirty years among humans, away from her own kind—that it stuck in her throat now.
Liran’s grin faded slowly as the silence stretched out between them. She opened her mouth to say something, and then her stomach growled.
Alisa smiled again, wryly this time. “Perhaps it would be easier to show you,” she said. She rose, held out her hand. “The park café should still be open.”
Liran took her hand.
*
The park café was open. Liran followed Alisa back through the woods to the main road and into the centre of the park, where old-fashioned street lamps lit an array of tables and chairs around a central structure. Running water flowed through a manmade channel, winding around the tables on the south side of the café before flowing elsewhere through the park.
The gnawing hunger in Liran’s stomach shouldn’t have surprised her—her first time in years changing shape would take a toll. She tried to think past it, though, to figure out what Alisa was thinking.
The girl she remembered from those weeks in the forest had been carefree, generous with her time and her gifts, lighthearted even when she struggled. Liran had kept the memory of that girl in her heart as she toiled her way through unfamiliar practices that took her closer to humanity.
That playful girl was still somewhere inside Alisa, but now she was wary and skittish—teasing and defensive by turns. Liran wondered what had happened.
They ordered coffee and sandwiches—Liran ordered two—and then Alisa led them to a table near the artificial stream. She pulled out a chair for Liran.
Liran sat, blushing, and set her coffee down. “Thank you.”
Alisa nodded and sat across from her, back to the water. “Watch closely,” she said.
She closed her eyes and took a sip of her ristretto. Liran leaned her chin on her hand and watched as instructed. For a long time nothing happened. Alisa sat with the ceramic cup cradled in her palms, eyes closed. The street lamps glowed above them. Customers at the other tables chattered over coffee and wine and food. The stream flowed merrily along.
Then, so gradually that Liran didn’t notice at first, the water in the stream rose. The flow past their table slowed, and the build-up from upstream caused a wave to grow—rising, cresting, but not breaking. Liran’s breath caught at the sight; she flashed back to the way the brook had betrayed the pursuing hounds. She’d thought nothing of it at the time, too focused on her own pain, but seeing this, Liran realized—Alisa had done it. Liran owed her more than she’d realized.
Alisa let out a sigh and set her cup down. Her eyes opened. Behind her, the wave broke, crashing against the sides of its bed before rushing on downstream. The lamplight glinted off foaming rapids. Alisa sagged, resting her elbows on the table between them.
“I’m—” she began. Her eyes were distant, fixed on a point beyond Liran. “I was—I am a rusalka. That stream you crossed was my stream. I heard the shouts, felt your paws in it, and came to see.”
“Felt my paws,” Liran echoed. “But you were in a tree when I saw you!”
“Everything that happens in a rusalka’s stream, from spring to mouth, she feels.” Alisa broke off as a waiter brought their food.
Liran’s hunger, momentarily forgotten during the revelations about Alisa’s nature, came back full force, and she bit into her first sandwich with gusto.
“Your home stream—” Liran said with her mouth full, then swallowed when Alisa snickered. “Sorry. Your home stream is far from here, though.”
Alisa laughed again, a hard, bitter sound this time. “My home stream no longer exists.”
Liran froze halfway through another bite.
“It was a little more than thirty years ago.” Alisa waved a hand, and Liran remembered herself and began chewing again. “I started losing touch with rusalki in nearby streams. When my downriver sisters and I looked for them… well, the humans were dredging and damming and digging out new waterways, killing the spirits in their way. The leshiye were dying too. When it happened to me… what can you do? The machinery they have… it doesn’t matter how old you are, how strong your magic is.” She gestured to the artificial stream behind her. “My stream died just as my sisters’ did.”
Liran grew cold at this recitation. Alisa’s voice was full of old hurt. No wonder she didn’t laugh as she used to. “But you survived?” It came out a question.
“This I owe you for, I think.” Alisa’s hands came back to rest around her half-empty cup.
Liran blinked and set aside her food, focusing on Alisa. “How— What do you mean? I was long gone by then.”
“I can’t explain it,” Alisa said, “but I was different, after you. I came to think—that fox, she was a person with her own wants, and I began to notice—not just the spirits of the forest, but the mortal creatures were people too. You drown a boy, it’s funny while he thrashes, but after— that’s a person, gone.” Alisa shrugged; Liran hoped she hadn’t flinched at that last bit. “Nobody thinks like that, you understand,” Alisa continued. “No rusalka. We aren’t—weren’t—creatures who worried about others so much as the pleasure of the hour.” She drained the last of her ristretto and set the cup down with exaggerated care. She hadn’t touched her food at all. “I think, perhaps, by the end, I was not rusalka enough to die.”
“Alisa, I—” Lost for words, Liran reached across the table to take Alisa’s hand in hers. Alisa stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“You asked what I am,” Alisa said. Liran’s heart clenched at the ache in her voice. “What’s a rusalka without her stream?”
“Maybe,” Liran said slowly, feeling out the idea as the words left her mouth, “you’re not entirely rusalka, the same way I’m no longer entirely fox. Perhaps… you’ve been cultivating to a human shape.” She said the phrase first in her teacher’s Jin dialect, then translated to Russian as best she could.
Alisa blinked, brows furrowing. “How’s that? I’ve been human-shaped all along.”
“Perhaps not all of you.” The more Liran thought about it, the more it made sense; she felt the excitement of discovery rushing through her. “Think about it!” she exclaimed, leaning towards Alisa. “When we were younger, we had no notion of past or future, of any concerns beside our own. But now—we think, we plan, we empathize. Rusalka streams must have strong natural spiritual energy, or else you couldn’t arise in them! It takes conscious effort to cultivate, of course, but isn’t that what you described? You may not have known that’s what you were doing, but you made it so you could survive the death of your stream.”
“Is that what you did?” Alisa asked sharply, straightening in her seat and pulling her hand free of Liran’s. Liran didn’t know what she’d said wrong this time.
“I wanted to take a human shape because I wanted to thank you personally. I didn’t know then what it would take, or I might have found the prospect too daunting.” Liran smiled at her own past naiveté. “You need time for it, time and lots of spiritual energy. The energy in your stream was all tied up with you, so I couldn’t even sense it. But there’s lots of places with strong natural spiritual energy between Siberia and Shanxi. I didn’t know the first thing about cultivation, but these were enough to sustain me until I found a teacher.”
“So you… taught me”—Alisa stumbled over the unfamiliar term—“cultivation without knowing it. Is that what you think?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Liran raised her eyebrows challengingly.
Alisa shook her head. “I have no idea. All I know is that, after a while, it became too painful to be around the rusalki who still had their streams, so I went west. For almost three decades now, I have been entirely alone. Until tonight, in all that time, nobody has called me sestrichka.”
Liran swallowed and reached for Alisa’s hand again; this time, Alisa gripped it tight.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Liran said. “I took this shape not knowing you were still in this world. Now that I’ve found you, I’m sticking around.”
Alisa laughed, startled. “That’s a hell of a declaration.”
“You don’t honestly think we’re going to have two coffees and then never talk again, do you?” Liran ran her thumb along Alisa’s knuckles. “After a hundred years and thousands of kilometres, we meet again—tell me it means nothing.”
Alisa’s mouth shut. She looked at Liran for a long moment, until Liran fidgeted, sure she’d overstepped again.
Then, Alisa shook her head. “Well, why not?” She squeezed Liran’s hand, a smile growing on her face. “Liran, will you let me take you out on a proper date sometime?”
Liran felt her face splitting into an answering grin. “I’d love that.”