Rum Pi Shinta

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

“What?!”

 

My mother turned to me with a small frown, a frown she only wore when she knew she had done something rash but didn’t want to admit it. It was also the look she gave me when I was being ‘difficult’.

 

“Do not speak to your mother in that common fashion,” she said severely. “I will not have it in my house.”

 

“Do you know what you’ve done?” I railed on. “You could be killed for this! I could be killed for this!!”

 

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she said snappishly. “The emperor’s wife, Ling! No other girl has that chance out of rank, not even for the other ministers’ daughters.”

 

“But you’ve promised something impossible. I can’t weave invincible armor for his army! I can’t even manage a straight shirt!”

 

Mother glared at me again, sifting through my clothes for things to pack to the palace. She knew as well as I did that as soon as I got there I would be treated as a queen, prospective or not. But the things I was sent with would reflect on her status as well as mine. It was the farthest thing I could care about, but that glare sent shivers up my spine nonetheless. “You will be empress—once he sees you and your beauty he won’t care if you can weave invincible armor or even darn a sock. This was never about the weaving, Ling. The emperor will see you, will see your face. Even his consorts don’t have that privilege half the time. Now I don’t want to hear another word about it. The emperor’s men will be here at dawn, and we have little time to prepare.”

 

I turned away as she pulled out my finest dress, a beautiful emerald with golden birds and cream rivers speckled in flowering branches. But now it looked pale and ugly, a herald to my impending funeral robes. If I was even offered those. To deceive the emperor…I did not know if it had been done before. They might not leave enough of me to bury. I swallowed back my tears of rage, rage that my mother had again put me in a difficult position, this time with the highest head of state. Wordlessly I tiptoed to my room and threw myself on my cot, determined to spend what I considered my last night in peace and misery.

 

 

When dawn approached and the stern-faced soldiers of the emperor appeared on our doorstep, I was still pale with grief. Of course my mother rejoiced—denied makeup for the journey, I was a ghostly beauty by all standards, my cheeks scrubbed free of tear stains. I did not look at my family as I was borne away in a carriage with golden trim.

 

About halfway there I discovered yet another problem I had not considered. If this was pulled off, which I highly doubted, I was to be the emperor’s wife. I had never thought of marriage until now, always managing to elude or ignore my mother’s plotting for prospective husbands. But now I had no choice. Weaving or no, if the emperor decided, I would be forced to become his empress, head consort, and entitled to providing him an heir. I twisted my mind away from the idea quickly, my heart fluttering and clogging my throat in panic. I would probably be dead before I had to worry about that again.

 

I confess I fell asleep during the ride—I had not slept at all the previous night and could not hold back my improper yawns any longer. I suppose being jolted awake by the rough, but polite, voice of one of the soldiers was less embarrassing than yawning in front of the emperor.

 

The next hour was a flurry of motion and colors. The palace was breathtaking, but I had no time to admire before I was hustled inside, undressed, washed, and redressed in such expensive, beautiful clothing that I was almost afraid to move. My long hair was coiled and pressed, braided and tucked into what seemed a million different intricate ornaments and embellished with gold and flowers dyed sapphire. My dress was the same color, adorned with a large center image in real gold thread and obsidian jewels no bigger than the tip of my pinky finger.

 

Next I knew I was standing before the massive doors of the emperor’s court. I did not think my heart could beat any faster. Someone yelled something in a loud voice and the doors creaked open. I felt blind as I felt my way down the long hall, eyes on the floor, my breath frozen in my chest by my thundering heart. Someone stopped in front of me, I stopped. I heard my name and dropped to my knees instinctually as the preceding feet moved aside.

 

I saw the tips of the emperor’s shoes, and they were gold. I felt my heart stop and I could not move even if I had wanted to. I heard something in the back of my mind, a command, and I looked up.

 

He was young—about my age. I was too scared to appreciate that I was not betrothed to an old man. His clothes of rank and his hair were even more elaborately designed than mine, and his kind face was set in a cool mask of propriety. But as he looked at me I saw something flicker in the depths of his eyes. I flinched, but it was probably not seen beneath the swaths of my dress. His eyes moved over me, and I could not deny that he was handsome, breathtakingly so.

 

But I did not want to marry him.

 

The roaring in my ears stopped as he began to speak, another blessing. He said my name softly, as if tasting it. Then he lifted his chin and addressed me. “It has come to my attention that you are the girl who can weave magic cloth for my men in battle. Such a blessing would be a true miracle in our time of unrest.” For a moment he closed his eyes, as if already he heard the screams of soldiers on the field. Then he opened them, and the challenge in his gaze was so severe that I dropped mine. “Three days. You will live here for three days. At dusk each night you will be locked in your room. You will have till dawn each night to weave five hundred shirts. If by the third night you have fulfilled this claim, you will become empress.” He closed his eyes again. I was dismissed, without even hearing the dreadful What if. I dared not ask, but I thought it. What if? What if I failed?

 

 

The night came too quickly. I was locked in my room with nothing but the loom and yards and yards of cloth. I stared at the loom with blurry eyes. I sat down at the chair, determined to do something, anything. But my hands were shaking and the tears spilling down my face blinded me from touching the cloth. I sat there and sobbed silently.

 

I heard the sound of bells and smelled sweet cinnamon before I saw him. One moment I was crying, and the next he was there, leaning arrogantly against the loom with his black eyes fixed on me in a way no man had ever dared look at me. I jumped back, almost knocking the stool over, but I managed not to fall. “Who are you?” I said angrily.

 

He eyed me again, his full lips twitching into a small smile. I realized I was only in my nightgown and grabbed my overcoat, slinging it around my shoulders with a vindictive glare. He ran his hand along the strings of the loom and turned his eyes again on me. “You’re in trouble.”

 

I swallowed hard. He knew. He must know. The cinnamon smell still pervaded the air like a provocative perfume and I trembled. “You are a demon, aren’t you?”

 

“Demon? No!” he said scornfully. “Petty demons don’t dare come near me.”

 

His answer was not at all reassuring to my question.

 

“No,” he continued. “I am far more than any mere demon. I can help you. I can weave these shirts for you.”

 

I stared, stunned. “Why?” I whispered hoarsely.

 

“You and I both know you can’t,” he answered back sharply. He smiled, and again his eyes raked my figure. “Besides—it would be a great loss to the world if you died.”

 

I clutched my robe tighter and wished I could stare daggers into his eyes. “You are taking advantage,” I said huskily. “And if you do this, what do you want in return? Demons never do anything for free.” I ignored the slight irritation that crossed his face at my repetition of the label ‘demon’, as well as my sinking terror at the idea of making a deal with a spirit.

 

“Nothing much,” he said. “Certainly not what you imagine. Tonight, I want a lock of your hair.”

 

I blinked and stared at him, then convulsively gripped at my long locks. “That’s it?”

 

“That’s it.” His eyes bored into me, but this time they were fixed on my eyes.

 

I swallowed and considered. I would rather be indebted to a demon and forced to be the emperor’s wife than die. But I did not know what the demon would ask for the next night, or the next. “Alright,” I said slowly, “but I am free to refuse you tomorrow or the day after if what you ask for is too great.”

 

He smirked and sat down at the loom. “Of course,” he purred. “But come sit where I can see you.”

 

I hesitated again, but then I pulled up a chair just beyond the loom and sat. For a while I was uncomfortable as the loom whirred, glancing at him every now and then to realize he was not looking at the loom but at me. Soon, however, I was asleep.

 

Just as dawn touched the horizon I felt breath on my neck and heard the laughter of bells. “My reward,” he whispered, and I heard the snick of a pair of scissors. I jumped awake, but he was gone. A tendril of hair shorter than the rest fell into my eyes as I stared at the room packed with gleaming shirts neatly folded and stacked. Five hundred magical shirts.

 

The door opened and the emperor himself came in, flanked by ministers and a full guard. He looked surprised, and I quickly swallowed my own shock, replacing it with a mask of deference and nothingness. The ministers exclaimed mightily under their breath as the emperor took the shirt and draped it over his own arm, dragging the sword from one of his soldier’s belts, and slashing at his own wrist. I jumped, amazed that he would risk his own flesh, but the blade glanced away from him as if it had struck an inch of steel. He looked at me with a flush in his cheeks and wide eyes, but turned away without a word. The shirts were removed and I was allowed to leave my room.

 

The woman assigned to me exclaimed and scolded over the missing lock of hair. I hastily stammered an excuse—the lock had gotten caught in the loom…I had cut it to free myself. She clucked and did not look convinced, but it stopped her wonderings and I escaped.

I wandered the gardens aimlessly, nervous for night and jumpy should the emperor come and try to figure out my secret method of weaving. I could not lie to him, I knew that much, but I was terrified of revealing the truth. Thankfully, night neared again without a sight of a living soul from the palace and I rushed back to my room to be locked in, the corners filled with linen, and a single loom standing in the center.

 

 

I waited patiently, and right as the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness, I smelled cinnamon and heard the chuckle of bells. He appeared behind me this time, his arms snaking around my waist as quick as butterfly’s wing. I jumped and pulled to get away, but he clung tight.

 

“I forgot to mention,” he breathed in my ear. “Granted I know you won’t tell about me, to save your hide, but I can’t help but fear you will tell that prying mother of yours. One word, and you will encounter a poltergeist so fearsome you won’t sleep a wink for the rest of your very short life.” He squeezed me slightly and let go, walking straight to the loom.

 

I pressed my hands against my chest to calm my frightened gasping. Once I was in control of myself, I glared at his straight back. “And what is your price tonight, demon?”

 

He glanced at me and a little of his smile was gone. I did not know if it was because of my jibe about demons again. Perhaps I was hurting his feelings, and he would not come back. Immediately I cursed my own prickliness and vowed to be sweeter. “When the dawn comes,” he said, “I will collect a single kiss.”

 

I felt a blush sting my cheeks and I opened my mouth to protest, but he was whirring away, staring pointedly at the chair I had occupied the night previous. I bit my lip and sat so he could see me. Besides, a single kiss was better than death.

 

Again I nodded off to the sound of his movements and the feel of his gaze on my shoulders. Dawn warmed my back and I stirred awake just as he finished, the loom quieting once more. His cinnamon scent washed my face and I felt lips brush mine in a teasing way. But again, just as I fully woke, he was gone, leaving the warmth of his mouth on mine.

 

Again the emperor appeared and performed the testing ritual. He was still surprised, but less so, and he gazed at me with a possessive pride I did not entirely like. But he came and kissed my hand, and I felt my heart flutter.

 

He found me in the rose garden towards mid-afternoon. I jumped at his approach—his golden shoes made no noise on the stone pathways. I saw his guards not far off and snapped my eyes back to my hands in my lap.

 

He sat beside me with a small sigh, stretching. “When you first came I was afraid you were just a bragging mother setting up her daughter for status.” I cringed inwardly as he smiled. “But…you have indeed performed miracles.” He glanced at me. “And you are very beautiful. I do not know why I never heard of you before. You come from the…”

 

“Sa family,” I replied in a whisper. “My father is one of your ministers.”

 

“Hmmm,” he answered. He seemed bored, distracted, and my inner spirit rebelled. He wasn’t interested in me—just a pretty face and a way to ensure his heirs. I shifted away from him slightly and felt tears well again in my eyes. What was it I was saying was better than death?

 

 

He left me as the sun set, tucking a flower behind my ear and kissing my hands again. But I rubbed the kisses away as I reached my room. The yards of cloth were there, and the loom, but I sat on my bed and cried.

 

I did not smell his cinnamon through the salt of my tears. I did not hear the bells over my sobs, but he was lying with his head propped in his hand behind me. He realized I was crying and did a double take, like a performer realizing his audience has absconded to another stage. Then he sat up and rested his chin on my shoulder, his hand wiping away some of my tears. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and there was impish concern in his face. I grabbed that concern and cried into it—I so desperately needed a friend. He sat quietly until my crying ceased and then he pushed me back to see my face. “Why this sudden deluge?” he joked.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered. “The emperor isn’t interested in me as a person, no matter how much I want him to. I’m just a consort to provide an heir and live my life in ritualistic obscurity. Somehow death seems more preferable.”

 

“Death is never preferable,” he snapped. “Are you gone mad?” He sat up and left me on the bed, sitting down at the loom. Immediately his hands started whirring.

 

Halfway through the night I left my sulking spot and sat in the chair, staring at him. He did not look at me this time, but bent heavily to his work. By the time the sun was peeking at the windowsill I was sure he had sewn one thousands shirts. He stopped, resting his hand on the loom with a small sigh.

 

“And what is your price tonight?” I asked limply. I did not have the will to care.

 

He looked at me with a deep and troubled gaze. “You do not appreciate life,” he said simply. “And you give in with little willpower. You would be unhappy no matter where you are.” He stood up and strode to the window, pausing at my side. “You will live, and you will become the emperor’s wife. And you will be happy. But a year from now I will come for your firstborn child and take him as my final price. Perhaps then you will learn to appreciate the gifts that are given you.”

 

I stared at the spot he had occupied, but he disappeared with the dust motes of the dawn. The door opened, but I did not turn to see the emperor arrive. I heard the cries of amazement at the double portion of shirts—enough to clothe his entire army.

 

Suddenly I was swept up in a hug entirely improper for the new emperor’s wife, even from the emperor. He was crying slightly, his face glowing. “You are a miracle,” he wept. “Now no woman will have to fear her son and husband departing forever.” He smiled at me like a child, but his emotions were beautifully courageous. “You have provided us with a great gift.” He bowed at my feet, and as he did, the rest followed suit.

 

I stared down at the emperor in amazement. He did not want an invincible army for the sake of conquest, but for life. I trembled and fell to my knees, hands spread in genuine shock. “My lord,” I whispered.

 

He sat up and his joy was again hidden beneath the veil of manners. He glanced at his ministers but his gaze found mine again. “Come to my chambers at noon.”

 

They left quickly, taking the shirts with them, and I sat stunned, fearful. I did not continue the thoughts his command inspired.

 

At noon I appeared in his private quarters, beautifully garnished in the full regalia of empress. The dress I had appeared in first paled in comparison, but I barely saw it.

 

The emperor was sitting at his desk, writing frantically on rice paper in neat, swift characters. He looked up immediately as I entered. I was taken aback, fully expecting him to make me wait, but he broke off his correspondence to turn to me.

 

He stood up and approached me cautiously. “I am afraid I have been very abrupt these few days,” he said, “but I had to ensure that you were truth. But do not worry—your days of weaving are over. You are now empress, and will be provided with the full privileges according.” He bowed his head and his hands were trembling. “And I would love to learn more about you…if you are…willing to talk to me.”

 

My eyes widened and I felt my heart leap into my mouth. He cared about me, more than just a pretty face and a womb. I placed my hands on top of each other and knelt. “I was hoping you would say that,” I confessed. “I was afraid you just thought of me as another consort.”

 

He looked startled. “I don’t have any consorts,” he said.

 

I was even more startled. “You don’t? But…”

 

“My ministers spread the tales of my harem only to make it seem like I was behaving like a normal emperor,” he said grudgingly. “They find my stubbornness hard to handle, and so they lied. You aren’t angry?” his eyes pleaded with me.

 

I started to giggle and then I started to laugh. “No!” I said. “I’m not. I’m very glad.”

 

His face lit up again and I was reminded he was my own age. He took my hands and squeezed them, and then he kissed me.

 

 

We were married a week later, with the tiny white tree blossoms falling around our golden robes. His hair and mine were braided together and bound with golden ribbons, and we strode the rose garden hand in hand, our long hair joining us together.

 

Half a year later I was pregnant and bore our first child, Shu Lin Ko. Until that time I had not forgotten my demon, but I had ignored his proclamation. Now, with the beautiful babe in my arms, I remembered the promise and the payment I still owed.

 

The first few nights I lay in constant terror, still bedridden from childbirth, my child clutched tightly in my arms. But I was not disturbed. The scent of cinnamon did not haunt my dreams.

 

Once we were moving about my fear lessened—perhaps my demon had forgotten me, moved on to more interesting prey. We spent a day playing in the rose garden with the emperor. When dusk fell, I felt a strange urge to stay the night in the old chamber, where the loom still stood. Perhaps I wanted to see if he would appear. Perhaps I just wanted to come full circle and tie off the ring that my life had taken. My husband was confused by my request, but he did not deny me. “I will miss you,” was all he said.

 

The day faded and I held my child close to my chest, feeling my heart flutter just as it had that first night. The stars blinked to life, like tiny eyes watching my vigil. And I waited.

 

At high moon I took a deep breath, thinking myself safe. I drifted, rocking my child as I half-dozed.

 

The curtains fluttered open and I smelled cinnamon, but I was still sleepy enough to think I was dreaming. Only when I felt his touch on my cheek did I fully wake.

 

He was staring at me with burning eyes, again rakishly grinning. But he glanced at the baby in my arms and most of his mischief fell away. “Ahh,” he said. “A pretty whelp. Didn’t take you long, now did it?”

 

My cheeks flushed at his hidden implications and I glanced at my baby. “I hoped you wouldn’t come.”

 

“I never break a promise,” he said. “I suspect you’ve learned to live, and live well as it looks, but have you truly understood the precious gift of life?” His hands reached out for the child. “Now you will.”

 

“No!” I screamed.

 

He stared at me, his hand gripping my wrist tightly. “Oh? A year ago you were so eager to give it all up, simply because you were afraid he didn’t love you. Two thousand shirts, do you remember? I remember. Do you wish to see?”

 

He held out his hands to me and I closed my eyes. The palms were scarred and bruised, not the smooth palms of a young man…well…demon. Scarred from the sewing he had performed for the meager gift of hair and kiss. I glanced down at my baby and held his little hand. “I’m…I’m different now. Then it was all so difficult, so sudden. When you realize your only choices are death or marrying a complete stranger, you tell me how you would react!”

 

The demon raised his head, looking down his nose at me. “I would live,” he said coolly. “I would live.” He eyed me. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, his mischievous gleam returning. “If you can guess my name on the third night, I will let you keep your baby. I will return each night for your guess. If you cannot, the child comes with me. Sort of a delicious mirror irony, isn’t it? Are we agreed?”

 

I didn’t have any other choice. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. Then I looked back at him. But he was gone.

 

 

The next morning I was in the library, my hands on every book of old lore I could find, searching for the names of demons. I left the baby with his nurses and avoided the emperor, afraid of the questions he might ask. I wandered from shelf to shelf, opening any book that had an interesting title. I was amazed at the size of the emperor’s many libraries. I wandered for hours, finally giving in and asking a few servants to help me find books on old lore. They only blinked and wandered off to fulfill my request. What they thought to themselves I had no idea.

The books gave me nothing specific, but I found the name of an old spirit renowned for guiding the lost and the confused: Liu Ba.

 

Well, it was my only hope—the only definitive name of a spirit in the whole library. There is a superstition that recalling the names of demons will summon them to the writer or speaker, which worked against me and stuck out its tongue at my endeavors. Dusk was upon me and I trudged back to my room, feeling dejected and only slightly hopeful.

 

The moon hit its peak and I sat with my hands folded on my lap, dressed in my nightgown. He appeared at the window as one stepping through a door, his hand on one sill and his foot still raised. He saw me in the gown and raised a dark, arching brow. “Trying to seduce me?” he joked.

 

“You do that for yourself,” I replied darkly. He laughed and sat on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him.

 

“I trust your day was eventful.”

 

“Busy,” I said shortly. “I was…studying.”

 

“Oh I’m sure,” he drawled. “Well, give it your best shot.”

 

I hesitated, afraid of failure, but I had two more guesses if I were wrong. I closed my eyes and sighed. “Liu Ba.”

 

He laughed, long and hard. “That old fool?” he crowed. “No!”

 

“Don’t laugh at me!” I said sharply. “I still have two more guesses.”

 

“Ahh,” he agreed, “but you’re looking in the wrong place. Keep this up and your child will be mine. I think I’ll call him after me, you know. He’ll be a good servant, once he’s old enough.”

 

I bit my lip and tried not to cry. But when I looked up he was gone.

 

 

The next day I went to my father’s apartment and talked to him. We sat in the rose garden, drinking budded tea with little blossoms floating on the surface. His servant made sweet bean paste rolls, and for a moment I enjoyed the peace of letting my rank slip. We covered a wide range of topics, and finally I rested on folklore. I had always been able to talk to my father about anything, and I didn’t see any reason I couldn’t now.

 

“Father,” I said, “some of the librarians in the palace have mentioned an old tale about a spirit, or demon, who arrives in the night to help those in need, but for a price. When the price is not paid he gives the debtor three tries to guess his name. Have you ever heard of such a story?”

 

My father stroked his beard thoughtfully and shrugged. “I have never heard of such a story. But…I have heard of spirit of aid…name of…’The Fox’.”

 

“The Fox?”

 

 

He laughed even louder the second night. I think I saw tears.

 

“One more chance, sweetheart. Or I take my reward.”

 

 

I sat in the laundry district in some of my lesser clothes…which means it was bedecked in only half of my weight in jewels and gold…to attract less attention. Yes the serving women glanced at me askance, but I didn’t care. I was considering the loss of my child. I was ready to dissolve.

 

“Mistress? Is there anything I can get for you?”

 

I hadn’t realized I was crying. One of the younger girls, probably fresh from the farms, was knelt fearlessly beside me. I stared at her bewildered, almost not recognizing what I was seeing. Then I shook my head. “Not unless you have some guardian angel to fly me free.”

 

She obviously didn’t understand me, but she was trying. “Well, maybe Rum Pi Shinta will help you.”

 

“Rum Pi Shinta?”

 

“Yes. Kind of a guardian angel, but with a vindictive streak. He does favors for little rewards. He’s a household spirit in my old hometown, and my mother used to say he would take me away if I was naughty.”

 

I stared at her with glassy eyes. “Rum Pi Shinta, you said?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 

He stared at me. His eyes were like the deep sky, or the deep sea which I had only seen once. I had never felt more afraid of him—not when he had scanned me like a piece of meat, not when he had bargained a kiss, not when he had almost taken my child away. Now he was the true demon.

 

“So,” he said. “You found it. Where, might I ask?”

 

I smiled. “A country girl,” I whispered. “In the cleaning district.”

 

“A sacrifice of status,” he said with a small smile, “to go there. Or perhaps the depths of despair. But because of your child.” He smiled again. “So you learned.”

I drew a flower from my hair and handed it to him. “Thank you,” I said softly. “Though I am glad you did not win, thank you.”

He stared at the flower and smirked. “Rum Pi Shinta. A pity you’re married. But I’ll see you again, Empress. And perhaps one day I’ll come tell your child bedtime stories about two thousand magic shirts.”

 

I smiled and touched my short lock of hair, slipped my fingers on my lips, and stroked my baby’s hair. “Perhaps.”

 

I blinked and he was gone, the curtains of my window fluttering in a sudden breeze. I tasted his old kiss on my lips again and my ears were filled with bells and laughter. For a moment I thought I saw him silhouetted against the stars, but then he was disappeared entirely.

 

I made my way back to mine and my husband’s rooms. He was sitting up, staring into a candle. The baby was asleep in his crib against the wall, and when I approached he looked up as if startled from deep thought. He smiled at me. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he guessed.

 

I smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I did,” I said. “But what I want is right here.”

[troubled sleep]

I said it in the real world, and I'll say it again on the internet: I love this story. Rumpelstiltskin was one of my favorites as a child and your retelling has only made me like it more.

 

More specifically, I like the way you string your sentences together. I like how you the story moving without, hitting familiar plot points without falling into the trap of being either cliched or repetitive.

[Wyvern]

Nice re-telling of Rumpelstiltskin (or however you spell it) Kikuyu... taking an old folk tale and placing it into a new setting is a nice source of inspiration and a cool concept for a story. :-) I like how you depict the interactions between Ling and Rum Pi Shinta, as well as the way that the clothes are for protecting soldiers rather than making gold from hay. If I had to make one complaint, it would be that "Rum Pi Shinta" follows the original story of Rumpelstiltskin very closely and I feel like there could be more room for creative twists and interpretations (as long as the original story is credited, of course). Also, I was curious about what the oni Rum Pi Shinta looked like in terms of physical appearance... though the details of his smells and sounds are very well done, and perhaps the vagueness of physical detail has to do with him appearing different ways to different people.

 

Anyway, cool piece o' prose Kikuyu. Thanks for sharing it here.