Falada’s Head
When I looked in the dressing glass, Dongzhen stared back with a faraway gaze, inexplicably wearing my red wedding cheongsam, my wings pinned to my back underneath. What was wrong with my reflection? It made no sense. I stood and paced around the pristine bridal suite—free of trip hazards thanks to the near-silent tidying bots—but my knees grew wobbly, and I collapsed in the nearest chair.
A malfunctioning cyborg’s alarm blared outside the window. A misfire with its AI, most likely. Dressed so prim in its groundskeeper’s garb, it grabbed fistfuls of wildflowers and yanked, heedless of its original programming; colorful petals stained the air. Its touch on those stems, so unlike Dongzhen’s. My memories of her always brushed light as goose feathers. Hot tears burned my eyes.
Where was Dongzhen? I missed her. My heart ached in her absence, and I longed for her carefree laughter. Desire stirred in my lower belly as I recalled our lovemaking last night: her pubic hair, prying her open, and plunging my tongue inside her. Her taste still lingered longer than any flavored stem. My namesake, Empress Wanrong, fell victim to opiate addiction, but Dongzhen was my drug.
Dongzhen. My nails dug into the chair’s pliable wood. I cut a harried glance to the mirror and saw different hair, a different profile. A different—
Dongzhen’s name signified “eastern jewel” in Chinese, and it suited her well. Unlike her notorious namesake who had been executed for espionage after the Second Sino-Japanese War, my Dongzhen was loyal—both to me and Xinjing, our motherland. She called me Muhong or admirable swan. The pet name both flattered and embarrassed me. Growing up, I was a goose girl; my family kept and bred geese in the palace pond. Under the veil of night, I would sometimes turn into a goose and swim with the flock to distract myself from my responsibilities.
The geese had wet, reflective eyes. I recalled this and smiled. Would they recognize me when I no longer recognized myself? Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. My life had always been a stitched tapestry of names and identities. I stood and reached for a Kleenex. I dabbed my cheeks. I kept my back to my reflection.
I went by Elizabeth elsewhere, and I dubbed Dongzhen “Lulu” after Louise Brooks’s femme fatale in the 1929 German silent film Pandora’s Box. Dongzhen had a Lulu-like amoral air about her. As a student of history, I had always hoped to fare better than Empress Wanrong who died in prison at the age of thirty-nine. My mother, indirectly descended from the ill-fated empress, barely outlived her.
As the official story went, Mother succumbed to the new coronavirus strain, but the whole country suspected foul play, and the Empire of Osaka was the prime suspect. I gritted my teeth as I pondered the terrible curse that had befallen the women in my bloodline.
Dongzhen had accompanied me to Osaka, but she had declined to be present at my wedding; she couldn’t bear to see me marry another woman, let alone our sworn enemy. Beneath the veneer of glamour and glitz, princesses were mere pawns to secure political alliances, and I wasn’t an exception. My dalliance with Dongzhen had only helped me escape my fate for a moment.
“If your mother only knew of this wedding, her heart would break!” Falada’s severed head on the wall let out a neigh of lamentation. To my relief, the mare retained her ability to speak despite beheading. To be precise, recent advances in AI enabled interspecies communication. Thanks to this technology, humanity had discovered many domestic animals matched humans in intelligence. Falada disapproved of my impending marriage, and above all, my intended betrothed. I had no feelings for Shinobu, but this marriage was the only way to infiltrate enemy lines and avenge my mother’s death.
The transporter—a device designed to convert matter into energy and send it to a target point, and what would eventually send me to Osaka—had malfunctioned and decapitated Falada. I didn’t know how, but the transporter also appeared to have altered my appearance. Though, this wasn’t the first time my reflection had perturbed me.
A week ago, Falada had commented on my “new look” when I had visited her in her stable before our departure for Osaka. Her crystal gaze reflected a twentysomething woman with wavy chestnut hair and honey-colored eyes. It took me a second to realize it was me. My reflection still matched my mental image of myself, but there had been something strange in my gaze, something I couldn’t quite pinpoint. In the end, I blamed the lack of sleep for distorting my vision.
“Are you alright?” Falada asked, bringing me back to the present. I was far from alright, but I nodded.
A knock on the door startled me. A female voice with a thick Osaka accent asked if the bride was ready, and I gave an affirmative answer. I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling, and the salty taste of blood filled my mouth. After covering my face with the veil, I fought nausea as I touched the loaded gun inside my purse. My weapon was 3-D printed and undetectable.
The melancholy notes of a shakuhachi wafted through the closed door. The music signaled the start of the ceremony, and I bolted out of the room and hurried down the aisle unescorted.
The damp, stifling air bathed me, and sweat broke out on my forehead in the seconds I walked toward Shinobu. I scanned the pews for Dongzhen, but she was nowhere in sight. A white silk tsunokakushi veiled Shinobu’s head. She wore purple lipstick, which made her lips appear dead. I cringed at the thought of kissing her, let alone waking next to her every morning for the rest of my life. The two of us faced the Shinto priest who was also clad in white. The clergyman, a barrel-chested bull of a figure, regarded me with eagle-sharp eyes.
He then launched himself into a predictable sermon. An eerie calm befell the temple, and I tuned out.
“We must unite against Western imperialism.” The priest’s voice droned. Unity, however, meant Osaka’s dominance over the rest of Asia. A live-conflict map of the region popped into my head, and I shuddered to imagine golden Shachihoko, a dragon-like sea monster who adorned the roof of Osaka Castle, gobbling up Xinjing and beyond. Our kingdom in Northeast China had regained autonomy under my mother’s brief reign thanks to the military applications of AI, but my nuptials would again cement our subjugation. I would be more of a hostage than a bride unless I acted fast enough.
Outside the temple, cicadas shrilled incessantly; I was certain tomorrow would never come.
To slow my heartbeat, I pictured Dongzhen sleeping beside me in bed, her soft breathing scarcely audible in the royal chamber. The fancy AI alarm clock gifted to me by Shinobu buzzed, and Dongzhen stirred under the covers. My engagement ring—another cursed gift—glistened on my finger. Dongzhen’s black helmet bob framed her heart-shaped face. My darling Lulu. I reached out to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen over her cheek.
“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest’s somber voice intoned, and dread filled me. Shinobu lifted my veil and pushed it backward over my hair. When she saw my face, however, she gasped.
“You’re not Elizabeth!” she cried and shoved me away. “Who the hell are you?”
“She’s the lady-in-waiting!” a female voice shouted. The familiarity of its cadence sent chills through my veins. She sounded like me.
A flap of wings rushed overhead, and panic seized me. With a trembling hand, I reached into my purse and pulled out my gun. I cocked it and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Shinobu in the chest and ripped through her. She pressed her hand over her wound, but the blood quickly spread and soaked her kimono like a crimson blossom. The guests erupted into frenzied screams and shoved each other in a near stampede. Shinobu dropped to her knees before toppling over like a plastic doll.
I spread my wings, but in vain; they were too weak for flying. I pressed the cold barrel against my temple. With my eyes shut, I squeezed the trigger, waiting for the blast, but the damned gun jammed with a dry click. The priest tackled me, and my weapon slid across the floor. Our bodies tangled, and we fell in a heap. Before my vision went blurry, then black—like an analog TV shutting down—I saw the other me staring back from the crowd.
#
A cold draft woke me. My wings throbbed, but they weren’t broken. I sat up. A mixture of sweat, urine, and something akin to wet dog assaulted my nose with each breath I took. I blinked until my vision adjusted, and I realized I was in a cell. Slabs overlaid with plaster lined the four walls. The floor was covered with damp straw. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. The sight of Falada’s head, however, brightened my dampened spirits.
“Dongzhen, darling.” Her familiar voice further soothed my nerves. “If Wanrong only knew, her heart would split in two!”
“What do you mean? I’m Wanrong!”
“I’m sorry.” The mare neighed. “Not anymore.”
“Everyone thinks I’m Dongzhen. Why?”
“Because you are Dongzhen.”
I didn’t know what to say. For whatever reason, I had ceased to be Wanrong, and I had no choice but to go along with it.
“How long have I been here?”
“A few hours.”
“Something tells me”—I forced fake cheer into my voice—”due process isn’t a thing around here.”
“No.” Sadness clouded her eyes. “You won’t get out of here alive.”
“Why haven’t I been killed yet?” I sighed. “Let me guess: Osaka wants to maintain the appearance of justice only to avoid incurring further sanctions.”
She nodded.
Fury boiled inside me, but there was nothing I could do. I silently cursed my jammed pistol.
I recalled my last argument with Dongzhen. It all seemed trivial in hindsight, but I shivered at the memory. In the royal chamber we shared in Xinjing, we had fought over who would accompany me to Osaka.
“Shinobu says their servant robots are more than adequate.” I had paused to gaze at Dongzhen. “But I want you to come with me.”
“But I’m not a maid—” Hurt had clouded her face.
“Wait, that didn’t come out right,” I had hurried to add, my cheeks flushing. “Of course, you’re not a maid. That’s not why I want your company. You misunderstood me.”
“Whatever.” She had shrugged. “You already know how I feel about this wedding.”
“I’m fully aware of the risk I’m taking, but this will be my only chance to step into enemy territory.” I had raised my voice without meaning to. “I want you to inspect the transporter and get it ready for immediate use. I’ll get you the coordinates of our destination as soon as I can.”
Dongzhen had lowered her gaze and remained silent.
I had closed my eyes and pictured a flock of geese flying across an endless blue sky before being forced to maneuver through a maze of Osaka skyscrapers.
“Excuse me.” To my dismay, she hadn’t stopped me. I had clamped my straw hat on my head and walked past guards and attendants in the meandering hallways. Some of them had greeted me, but I had ignored them. Outside in the courtyard, the bright sunshine had blinded me.
What would I do if I ever lost my Lulu? The thought had iced my veins despite the warmth of the golden rays. What a desolate place the world would be without her!
“Dongzhen, someone’s here to see you.” Falada’s voice broke my reverie.
No, I’m not Dongzhen! I still wanted to protest, but I swallowed my words.
My visitor was a woman. A stranger. She held a badge up to the guard, and he frowned, but he unlocked the cell door and walked down the hall, leaving us alone. The woman sat beside me.
“The League of Nations has sent me here to interview Osaka’s prisoners,” she said. “We want to make sure everyone is treated as humanely as possible.”
“That’s great,” I said, not hiding my sarcasm.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything. We exchanged glances, and this fission of awareness passed between us. When she broke eye contact, my heart fell to my stomach.
“I’ve come to say goodbye.” She sounded like she was close to tears.
“Goodbye?” I couldn’t help repeating the word. I knew that voice.
“Xinjing needs you more than ever,” she barely managed to say. “You must go home.”
The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a familiar, broken transporter. Before I could say anything, she pressed a green button, and her features blurred. A different profile gradually emerged. At the same time, my face tingled. Itched. It was the oddest sensation. I blinked, and there was my Dongzhen in front of me. I reached out to caress her hair, and the strands slipped through my fingers like satin. The lavender scent of her shampoo wafted to my nose.
“How? What are you doing here?”
“Don’t worry.” Dongzhen sighed. “It’s all going to be alright.”
She took my hand and led me, as if in a dream, to the cell door. She pushed it open with a small smile.
“You look like the League of Nations representative.” She handed me the badge, and she undressed, shedding her jacket and shoes. “You’ll be able to escape in disguise.”
My heart raced, and her fingertips went numb. “I’m not leaving you behind, Dongzhen! If I do, you’ll—”
She put her hand over my mouth. “Quiet, before the guard comes back.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I love you, darling, but you’re Xinjing’s princess. Our home’s only hope. You have to survive.”
Dazed, I dressed in Dongzhen’s discarded clothes. She handed me Falada’s head. “How is this happening?”
Dongzhen looked like she wanted to laugh. “The malfunctioning transporter? It beheaded Falada, but it also did something to us. Our swapped appearances? I don’t really understand it myself, but after the guards took you away, I figured I needed to use it.”
I wanted to hug her and never let go. I wanted to apologize for hurting her. For all of this. I wanted both of us to run from here and go home so we could tend the geese together, but if no one paid for my crime, Osaka would wage war. The truth was as cold and hard as any bullet.
I prayed, selfishly, that my guilt wouldn’t crush me.
We held hands. Our fingers intertwined, and our palms pressed together.
“What am I going to do without you?” My voice broke into a sob, and she pressed her lips to my forehead. “How am I going to live with this?”
“You’re going to walk out of here, Muhong, and you’re going to make sure our people are safe. That’s how. You’re going to live for them.”
I kissed her hard one last time. I caressed her wet cheek. Tears blurred my vision as I walked out of the cell. When I got outside, my wings caught the wind and lifted me off the ground. I soared toward the azure clouds.
I heard a horse’s neigh and peered down. Far below, Falada, her body fully restored, galloped; her hooves drummed the dry dirt.
Toshiya Kamei
Toshiya Kamei (she/her) is a queer Asian writer who takes inspiration from fairy tales, folklore, and mythology. Her short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Cutleaf, Mount Hope, and New Croton Review. Her piece “Hungry Moon” won Apex Magazine’s October 2022 Microfiction Contest.