The Tiger and I

For the longest time my father ignored my existence.

He was a noble, a rich, wealthy man who had a short affair with my mother, a maid in the palace. When they realized she was pregnant, he drew away from her in disgust and my mother was soon rendered to yet another nameless maid, soon working in the southern palace instead of the main one.

But time stops for no man, least of all him. My father’s real wife never felt the swell of her belly nor held the body of a child. And time slipped through their fingers, fine golden grains, passing them by with no mind to how desperately they would cling. 

I think it was because of this I started receiving his attention. Little things, small pats on the head on Christmas Eve and a tiny wooden horse appearing on my nightstand. 

Everyone knew I was his, though no one mentioned it to his face. They did to mine, though, and it wasn’t long before I learned to wear a hood to cover the telltale blonde hair and duck my head to hide my strange eyes. Honey, amber eyes, different from both my father and mother.

I would be cast out of the palace eventually, a disgrace, something easier to swallow when I was out of sight and forgotten.

I was sixteen when I asked him if he would legitimize me. He had no legitimate heirs of his own.

He said no.

I asked again when I was seventeen.

He said no.

I asked again when I was eighteen.

He sent me away without a word, and I thought, this is it. I  am done. Soon I will receive a letter banishing me from the palace.

Except the next day he told me this:

If I could find him gold, I would be recognized as his heir.

It was common knowledge (though we all pretended it wasn’t) that my father’s wealth was declining, that his lands had not been harvesting so well and those under his jurisdiction had been so unhappy with tithe they threatened revolt.

I didn’t know how to find gold. Luckily, rumor reaches the ears of many. The old man who oversaw the stables offered a proposition:

I can take you to my son. He lives near a river in which I used to find gold in my childhood, enough to buy my way to the capital and get a job here. There must be more under the swamp of untouched riverbanks.

Nothing comes for free, and this case was no exception. In exchange for his help, I would lower the tithe when I took over my father’s position.

I didn’t see any choice but to accept, so I was given directions. Soon, I was riding off to the countryside.

It was not fun. The road was bumpy and my ankles soon throbbed in their stirrups. To me, the road stretched out forever.

It took me a while, but I reached the yellow barn the old man had described. The fence was a gray, molded thing - threatening to fall over at any second. I knew someone lived there from the telltale squawks of chicken, yet no one answered the door.

I tied my horse to the fence, waiting.

I finally started to wander, exploring around the barn, peeking into a window or two, eventually finding my way into the leafy forest. A small pathway, created from millions of footsteps, was my guide..

Then I saw him.

He stood with a pair of bow and arrows, trained on something in the distance that I could not see. I leaned closer, not wanting to break his concentration by snapping a twig or rustling a bush.

There, half hidden by foliage, was a tiger.

It did not see the man, though the man saw it. I watched as his fingers tightened on the bow, drew it back.

The tiger’s head lifted, its eyes locking directly on mine.

I screamed.

The tiger’s eyes captivated mine. Amber, honey colored eyes - where had I seen them before? Where had I seen them?

Frightened by my scream, their gaze broke abruptly. It disappeared, and as the thunk of an arrow hit the tree behind it, the tiger was nowhere in sight. 

That’s when the man turned to face me.

I was struck by how godlike he appeared, dark angry eyes, framed by the rays of light seeping through broken leaves, seeking plantlife and finding him instead. His eyes glared so fiercely into mine I wanted to look away as though I was staring not into a pair of brown eyes but the depths of earth.

“Now what,” he seethed quietly, “did you do that for?”

I had just scared away his prey, a tiger, something that would be so highly prized on the market the man was likely to not have to work for months. I had done it on a whim, yet when I remembered those bright amber eyes, twin suns, I found I was not sorry.

“I’m sorry,” I said anyway. “Does your father work in the palace?”

I watched as the anger faded into confusion, then surprise.

“Do you know him?”

I explained the reason I was here, intruding upon him so abruptly. Gold.

His gaze remained angry, and throughout it I ignored the pointed comments insulting my father and his rule. Yet I could not ignore the muttered insult against the blood in my veins.

“I understand you are angry at my father’s harsh taxes,” I snap, “But do not take that anger out on me. If you want to change something, then you can help me find that gold. I will not be so unjust in my rulings when I take his place.”

Finally, his gaze softened. I accepted his apologies when we returned to the barn and he led me down yet another trail.

“You thought we slept in the barn?” He laughed when I glanced back, having been confused.

I frowned, admitting nothing. “We?” I asked instead.

“My mother.”

He did not elaborate, but when we arrived, an elderly woman opened the door to a small cottage, ushering us inside. We made introductions, explanations…

“Gold?” The old lady said. “If you wanted gold, you should have followed that tiger you saved! It owes you a life debt now. Tigers have golden spirits. It will aid you the best it can.”

I smiled indulgently.

The next day, the old man’s son and I made our way to the lake. We continued to do so for days after, and I grew fond of our time together. Yet found nothing, so the next day we returned, and returned, and returned, until a week had passed and I was getting desperate.

I did not return to the lake but to the leafy foliage of the forest. Feeling foolish, I cleared my throat.

“Tiger,” I said, and it did not feel magical at all, merely silly. Childish antics. “Tiger, I call upon the debt you owe me. I need gold.”

I waited a moment before standing clumsily. I thought of laughing at myself, but was too soon- I had started to hope what the old woman said was true.

I returned to the cottage.

I slept.

And in my dream, in the darkness, I thought,

I think someone is watching me.

I was dreaming but still opened my eyes, and it was then I saw this:

A tiger, stalking towards me, lighting everything in its path on fire. It was orange, but the leaping hues of the fire made it appear a deep, bleeding red. The flames touched my skin but did not burn. The tiger circled my body but came no closer.

Then it sat. Eyes cloudy, monstrous jaw gaping to reveal razor like teeth. Sinewy chest ceased breathing, and a golden shimmer arose. Those amber eyes, honey gold… still seemed trained on mine. Previous thoughts echoed.

Where had I seen them before? Where had I seen them?

A piece of that shimmer made its way to me. It enveloped my body, sank into my pores, until I was certain it had surrounded my own soul like a shield.

Tigers have golden spirits.

As the dream started to slip into a hazy awakening, I heard a deep rumble.

Gold is superficial, a material belonging. Close to worthless. Not near repaying the life debt I owe you. So I can continue without the weight of debt and burden, one more favor, to be granted at any time. I will decide when. For now, wake. Find the gold I have given you.

Wake I did, gasping, clutching my chest. Yet I found no gold, so I dismissed it as a dream and made my way to the river along with the old woman’s son.

Again, we found nothing. Aggravated, I scooped up a large rock and made to throw it. Gold, I thought. I need gold.

And a hand clamped down on my wrist until I released the rock, only to look down and realize it was not a rock at all, but gold, a huge shiny chunk of gold that I could have sworn was a rock but there was the proof in front of me.

The hand holding my wrist released me in stunned silence, and I looked up into those earthy eyes of the elderly man’s son. His eyes held me for a moment, holding quiet joy and a glimmer of hope. Those eyes, fertile soil, depths of earth. For a moment I wondered what sapphires, what buried treasures laid behind.

Then he let out a shocked sound of startled laughter.

“You found your gold,” he said. “There must be more.”

But there was not. Dejected, I scooped up my bag, the word gold echoing in my mind.

My bag was now gold, the same gold of a tiger’s eyes.

I dropped the bag in stunned silence, partly because it was heavier but mostly because shock had a way of slackening both your grip and your jaw. My mouth hung open, and I met the man’s eyes, which were as wide as mine.

More laughter, though it was frantic and half hysterical. I knew I had to speak with the old woman.

So I did.

“Ah,” said the woman when I explained the events. “I told you tigers have golden spirits. It seems they have given you a piece of theirs. Use it wisely.”

“Excuse me?”

“The tiger owes you a life debt. Whatever you wish to be gold, it will be so.” She was unfazed, for she already believed that such things were possible.

I  politely excused myself and sat on my bed, wondering why I was so disappointed to leave. Then the woman’s son walked in, eyes warm, and I knew why I didn’t want to go as he sat beside me and offered his silent support.

Maybe it was the fear of being right that led me to my horse the day after, prepared to make the journey back. Now that I had the gold, and the ability to make more, I was ready.

Yet the man insisted on following me, making sure I was safe on these long, bumpy roads.

I’m afraid my heart was too weak to say no.

The roads to the palace were just as bumpy, but all of the sudden they seemed much shorter. All too soon the palace guards were opening the gates for me.

I turned to the man, steeling myself for goodbye, and he met my gaze with no small amount of uncertain hope.

“I better follow,” he said. “Just in case something happens inside.”

It was a silly of me when I knew nothing would, but all the resolve I scraped together for our goodbye vanished as I gratefully agreed.

The next day I showed my father the gold I had.

“I can make more. However much you require until I am named your heir.”

“To make you legitimate would require a good reason.”

The next day he has me enter the throne room. A layer of gold for everything there.

The day after he had me change entire wagons to gold, and the day after it was silverware and plates.

The man from the barn did not like it.

“I see greed in his eyes. There is something there that reeks of it. This is a wealthy man who has tasted what it is to lose money. He never wants to taste it again.”

I pretended not to hear.

The next day the dining tables were gold.

Finally, however, I placed a hand on a doorknob and found no matter how hard I tried, it did not turn gold.

The tiger’s golden spirit had run out like the cheapest currency, worthy only for fingers sticky with ale. A fool gambler who has spent their winnings on a complicated game they did not understand.

As I did not understand that my worth to my father ran out as soon as my ability to make gold did.

The next day I was thrown into the dungeons when I called him father.

They said it was slander, a crime.

They said my father’s wife was rumored to be pregnant.

With a child on the way, what was his use of me, the illegitimate daughter?

The next week I was put on trial and sentenced to life in prison. My father did not look me in the eye when the judge sentenced me, but I noticed the bulge in the judge’s robe pocket. I’d grown familiar with the shape of gold. The feel of it. A bribe.

Guards pushed me to my knees in front of my father, telling me to apologize. They shamed me, mocked me.

Doors slammed open. I heard guards shouting protests as someone strode into the room.

“Enough,” an angry voice said. I looked up into deep brown eyes. The color of earth. Soil. Life. The man from the barn.

I could fall into those eyes forever.

I looked at the swords pointed at him in horror. ”Leave him be,” I pleaded with my father. “If me being your daughter meant anything to you.”

My father trembled in rage. “Slander!” He shouted, stabbing a stubby finger my way. Behind the judge, his wife laid a protective hand over her stomach and gazed at me reproachfully as though my very presence threatened her unborn baby.

The guards grabbed me again. Shoved me to my knees. The man from the barn- 

(He came for me, I realized. With a pang I thought he may have felt the very same for me as I did him.)

-the man is grabbed, pushed into the wall, sword hovering over his throat. Ready to make that life ending cut.

“Throw her in the dungeons. I don’t want to see her face again,” my father said.

“Why?” I shouted as they start to drag me away. “Do I remind you too much of your own shortcomings? Mistakes?”

His voice raised, like it would cancel out my own. “And kill the man. How dare he interrupt court proceedings?”

“No!” An anguished noise, pitifully powerless.

The guard drew their sword back, prepared to make a swift stab. I caught my gaze in it. I remembered the tiger, its eyes, those honey amber eyes.

Where had I seen them before?

Now I knew.

The reflective surface caught my own eyes. Honey amber. 

I had seen them on myself.

The guard’s sword neatly pierced the man I loved in the chest. A stab to the heart, no doubt, and it felt like my own heart had been struck.

As the guard let his body slump to the floor and another guard roughly grabbed my arm, I heard that deep rumble I had heard in my dream just before I woke up. This time it felt like I was falling into a terrible dream.

This, I heard a rumbling voice say, will pay back my debt to you. A life without love is no life at all, but at least now - retribution.

My bones twisted, chest turning sinewed and striped, teeth turning sharp and dagger-like.

I heard another rumble. It was coming from me.

The sword, which had cut the man’s chest, now clattered to the floor as I pounced on the owner of the weapon.

I twisted, clawed at another guard who ran away in horror. This, this fight, was reassuring. Like the spirit of the tiger had not just surrounded my soul but infected it. Like they had gotten twisted together in this transformation.

My father stood in front of me, eyes bright and feverish with hate. “Monster,” he murmured. “Monster.”

I felt like one, as I launched my new body at him. My teeth soon tasted metal and sweat.

When I drew back, a shiny golden plate snagged my eye.

I had changed that plate. Made it gold, just yesterday. How strange to think that the day prior the man from the barn had been alive. How terrible. Something in my chest ached, like a rip tearing a whole through my chest. An awful, gaping wound.

Now i lumbered over to that plate, sniffing my way there like the great beast I had become.

I stared down on it, that golden plate. So shiny and perfect.

It was a perfect reflection, too.

I saw not myself, or rather, the self I knew, but a tiger. A tiger with blood on their maw and honey amber eyes. The blood from my mouth dripped onto the plate with a violent splatter, and I was reminded of my dinner last night. 

Rabbit. Cut open, it had been a violent red. Raw, the cook had explained apologetically, absolutely mortified.

The cook had taken it away, but not before I saw a drop of blood trickle down the meat and onto my plate.

Now I stared down at the golden plate and wondered why that rabbit had to die.