8 Striped Cycles

The whispers had begun before the crowd had even dispersed. Daozong wasn’t home that day. Someone was needed to haul a cart laden with sacks of sticky rice to the neighboring town that day (supposedly, the priests there had run short), and no one else wanted to make the trip alone through the old crossroads that weaved through the thickets of bamboo and misty crags. The old washerwomen by the river loved to spread tales of travelers losing their way in the rolling fog of the peaks, or of young children straying too far into the grove and hearing strange, echoing wails reverberate through the shoots. Daozong never put much stock into the sorts of stories they told, and money was money, so he had set off early the morning prior, before the sun had even cleared the horizon. He only learned that something was wrong when he passed by a father and his young son right before arriving home, just past the city gates.

The kid, who couldn’t have been any older than nine, was tugging at his father’s hand and whining, while the man with the scruffy black tuft on his chin merely pressed forward, eyes widened and gazing at nothing. Daozong lifted a hand from the cart in greeting, raising his voice hesitantly when that failed to elicit a response. “A-are you alright, sir?”

The father snapped to attention, locking eyes with Daozong. He spoke with grim certainty. “Turn around, son. There’s a beast hiding in this town, and it’ll eat every last one of them.”

With that, he pulled his son tighter to his side and walked past him without another word, even when Daozong called after him.

***

Daozong quickly overheard the full story from the men at the market, where much of the town was ablaze in chatter. Apparently, Daozong’s neighbor, an old man who had enjoyed spying on their house since as long as Daozong could remember, had been skulking around their property when he spotted a hint of orange and black fur from within the house. The same house his mother was in. Within the hour, he had raised an uproar, and a quarter of the town had gathered around the small house armed with spears and guns, waiting in panicked silence for one of them to make the first move. After several minutes without a hint of the beast’s presence, one of them finally had opened the doors and had found. . . nothing. Daozong’s mother was still asleep in her bed, having slept through the entire event, and aside from an open back door, there was no sign of the tiger anywhere. The old man insisted that he was sure that he had “seen a monster,” and while it was clear that he was enjoying the attention more than anything, the governor had arranged for additional patrols during the night as a “precaution.”

He entered their home around suppertime, breaking the silence that had settled uneasily in the small space with a hesitant announcement of his return to the empty hall. His mother responded from down the hall, calling him to the dining table.

When he entered, his mother met his eyes with a furrowed brow he was well familiar with. He cast his eyes to the ground almost instantly. “You’re late. Dinner is cold.”

“Yes, mother. S-sorry, mother.”

“Don’t give me that. You were off enjoying yourself. Probably fooling around with some girl in another province. Shameful.”

“No, m-mother, I-I-”

The table rattled, plates clattering loudly against the wood. He tried and failed not to flinch. She continued on, louder this time. “You don’t care about me. After all I’ve done for you, you don’t have a shred of decency or respect.” Daozong was silent. The room smelled of muddled wine.

After several heartbeats, the energy that possessed her seemed to dissipate. She slumped, hair coming free from her bun to sweep over her eyes. “It’s not you, child. I’ve done bad things. Another life, I was. . .” She trailed off, unfocusing in a way Daozong was familiar with. He let out a breath.

“Yes, mother.” He stepped over to his side and, with hands no longer trembling, helped her out of her seat.

“I’m going to be transformed, child. It won’t be the same.” She murmured under her breath, but there was an urgency to her words, like she had to force them out of her lungs now, lest they be stuck there forever. Then again, this wasn’t the first time she had spoken with such conviction.

“Alright mother. You should lie down. Try to rest.”

He was just about to leave her bedroom, having pulled the blanket over her frail form, when she called out from the dark. “I’m sorry.” Daozong froze, before slowly shutting the door without turning around.

***

Four days after that evening, his mother disappeared.

***

Two weeks, sixteen encounters, seven attacks, and four deaths after that point, the village once again found themselves gathered around Daozong’s home. This time, it was not the panicked cries of the old man that summoned them, but the wailing, pained cries from within the house. The priest from the next town over stood at the front of the crowd. He had been fetched once the attacks started, as the washerwomen said that he could walk freely through the crossroads, for his faith was so strong that even a tiger could be convinced to turn from sin if he spoke with it. Though the people would rather see the beast burnt from gunpowder and run through with spears than conversing with them about karma, they still stood at the priest’s back, hoping that it would offer them protection. The man of faith finally stepped forwards to open the doors, and beyond them laid the source of the voice that echoed through the twilight sky.

Daozong was bent over the bloodied body of a tiger three times his size, blood staining the black stripes red and seeping into the floorboards beneath them. Tears flowed down his chin and splattered onto the matted orange fur.

The priest stepped forwards, but recoiled backwards when Daozong stumbled to his feet.

“Sh-she. . .” He began, throat ragged and waterlogged from crying. “Sh-she d-d-did this. . .”

Immediately, the men from the marketplace that crowded Daozong’s front door exploded into murmurs. The priest took another step forwards, hands extended outwards. “Child? Is this beast. . . Was this beast your mother?”

Daozong wiped at his cheeks, but tears continued to fall. “Sh-she hurt p-p-people! She hurt m-me, and then she just g-gets to. . . t-to leave!” The priest straightened slightly, and when he spoke next, it was with practiced authority. “No one truly leaves, child. Her soul has re-entered the cycle-”

Daozong cut him off, stepping over the body of the tiger and pointing his finger squarely at the priest’s chest. “Why?! Why d-did she deserve this? W-why did those p-p-people she. . . w-why did I-I. . .” He trailed off, eyes lost, as if looking around for something. A way out, a way to wake up, a way to. . . A few voices cried out from the crowd.

“Is he alright?”

“The grief’s drove him mad.”

“He’s gonna become a tiger too! We should kill him!”

“Priest! It’s your job to convert him, isn’t it?”

Hesitantly, the man of faith took a step towards Daozong, attempting to grab his hands, “Child, karm-”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Daozong shrieked, reacting on instinct as he swung at the figure reaching for him.

The crowd suddenly fell into a dead silence. It was only without the sound rushing in his ears that he realized he had shut his eyes. When he opened them again, it was to the sight of the priest, having stumbled back into the crowd and supported by his arms, with three wide, bloody claw marks arcing across his chest.