Whoa! Marcius? Is that you?! It’s been so long! What have you been up to these five centuries?

Heedless of his personal space, I flew at him again.

He backed up yet again. Soul, we are not permitted to interact in the waiting room. The Bureau of Reincarnation is a place for meditative contemplation of and reflection on our past lives before we move on to the next.

I couldn’t help but sigh. That was just Marcius all over. Always so law abiding and judgmental about it. He’d always thought that everyone else should act exactly like him. As Cassius’ adviser, he’d never grasped the concept of tolerance. Or flexibility. Or an embrace of mortal and immortal foibles.

This situation required an eyeroll – except I didn’t have eyes. So I rolled my entire soul.

Aww, come on, Marcius. Stop being so stuffy. We haven’t seen each other for five hundred years.

Somehow, the soft, glowing ball of yellow light gave off an impression of heat and pressure. My name is no longer Marcius. And as for seeing each other, I believe we have met more recently.

We had? But the last time I remembered seeing Marcius was at the morning court when Cassius demanded he prove his loyalty by offering up his heart. Literally. I’d gotten sick of the man’s nagging, feigned chest pain, and convinced the court doctor to report to Cassius that it could only be cured by consuming special medicinal dishes made from the heart of a virtuous man.

By that point, there was only one of those left at court. Maybe there had only ever been one of those at court.

Regardless, that morning before the Dragon Throne, Marcius had seen the futility of further resistance. As a final act of defiance, he’d stabbed himself through the heart in an attempt to render it useless.

(It hadn’t, of course. After being sliced and pan-fried with garlic, ginger, green onions, and other herbs, hearts tasted the same whether they started with an extra cut or not. Also, it wasn’t like I’d had an actual disease that needed curing in the first place.)

Anyway, after that, Marcius had been very dead, and then he had been the Star of Scholarly Song, and then – oh, right! I had seen him more recently! When Flicker brought me to that audience with the Goddess of Life, the Star of Scholarly Song had been there too, petitioning not to be kicked out of Heaven for trying to reform the Bureau of Academia.

Heaving another sigh, I rolled myself once more. Some people never learned.

Okay. Fine. You’re right. But what have you been up to recently? What have you been reincarnating as? What deeds have you been performing to win positive karma?

The last time I saw him, the Goddess of Life had kicked him down to Black Tier, which was precisely the Tier I was at the bottom of right now. I could use some tips for earning more positive karma, even if I didn’t want to accumulate so much that I overshot my chance to reincarnate as a fox. Other souls could strive for Yellow and Red Tiers. Not me. No thanks.

However, the soul that refused to be addressed as “Marcius” exuded more heat and pressure. I have no intention of answering your inappropriate questions. Now please do us both a favor and meditate quietly until it is your turn to be reincarnated.

Awww, come on, Mar– soul! Just a hint? Just a teeny tiny hint? I can tell you what I was doing in Green Tier in case you ever drop down there.

Given how irritating he was, sooner or later he’d run afoul of another god, and then he’d thank me for the advice.

I appreciate the offer – but no thank you.

His tone suggested that any action I committed was certain to be criminal or at the very least morally repugnant and hence unworthy of him. Humph.

Well, I’ll have you know that I am extremely good at earning positive karma, I bragged. I don’t know what you were up to, but I’ve been feeding humans as catfish and bringing joy into their lives by being an adorable pets.

Not-Marcius rose two inches to express his skepticism.

It’s true. Never doubt my ability to be cute, no matter what form I take.

At that, he deflated all of a sudden. Literally. Light streamed out of him in a long whoosh, and he caved in on himself and shriveled up.

I wasn’t even aware that souls could do that.

After a moment, the light flowed back into and re-inflated him. He sounded mortally fatigued when he spoke. Yes, I am very well aware that “cuteness” is your most potent weapon. But as we no longer have anything to do with each other, in and out of life, there is no need for you to turn it on me. Please, just leave me alone.

But that was so much more boring. To quote Anthea’s hanger-on, it was the boring-est.

However, the soul that had once been fated to found a new dynasty and rule Serica looked so dejected that I took pity on him.

(Also, I could practically see Stripey’s frown. “Stop harassing bystanders,” he’d say.)

So, channeling my inner Bobo, I bobbed a generous nod at Not-Marcius, floated all the way to the opposite side of the waiting room, and let him have his meditative contemplation of and reflection on his past lives.

I could pester Flicker about what he’d been up to anyway.

Hey Flicker! That’s Marcius out there in the waiting room! was how I greeted the clerk.

Flicker shut the door behind me and drooped into his chair. “Hello to you too, Piri. I have to say, even for you, I’m impressed by how quickly you found humans to feed.”

Found humans to feed?

Oh! He assumed that I’d let that farmgirl wring my neck on purpose? After all my catfish lives, it wasn’t unreasonable, I supposed.

At any rate, I saw no reason to confess that I’d just been careless.

Well, you know, that’s just me. I could tell they were hungry, and I’m just altruistic all over and into the deepest crevices of my soul.

Flicker not-quite snorted. He really was getting more relaxed around me, wasn’t he?

Anyway, what’s Marcius been up to? What’s he going to reincarnate as next? Where’s he going to reincarnate?

I wasn’t really expecting answers, so I wasn’t surprised when Flicker glared at me. But instead of scolding me about privacy regulations and all that, he retorted: “That’s what’s most important to you?”

I blinked my whole ball of blackness. Ummm, I kind of assumed I’d reincarnate as a sparrow near Lychee Grove again, but is that not the case? At the prospect of a different animal and a different location – maybe one closer to Honeysuckle Croft! – I perked up. What am I going to be next? Where am I going to be?

Flicker sighed. “A sparrow, and a nest near Lychee Grove. But that wasn’t what I meant. Aren’t you at all interested in what happened to the people you knew in the Claymouth Barony? Weren’t they your friends?”

He seemed oddly distressed on their behalf.

Of course I’m interested! Why do you think I was flying north? I defended myself, forgetting in my indignation that I was pretending to be obsessed with earning positive karma.

Wasn’t it Stripey who had told Flicker, “Heaven forbid that she admits that she actually cares about people,” or something along those lines? Ugh, I hated the relieved smirk that spread across Flicker’s face. What did he think I was – some sort of poster child for how reincarnation succeeded at transforming us into better people?

Anyway, why do I need to worry about them? Lord Silurus is dead. Baron Claymouth won’t ever dare raise taxes on Honeysuckle Croft again. Taila’s going to school so she can become a mage –

“You still haven’t asked what happened to that army of demons from the Jade Mountains.”

I blinked my blackness once more. What about them? Didn’t they go home after we won?

“Yeah…about that….”

Two months ago, the night of the Battle of Black Sand Creek:

“What do you mean, you’re planning to stay?!” Den shrieked. When Floridiana pursed her lips, he caught himself, straightened his back, arched his neck, and spoke in a more regal way. “Lord Magnissimus, Captain Rock, please clarify your intentions for the future.”

In response, the wild boar demon belched. His belly was bulging out in all directions after he’d gorged himself on, well, the majority of Lord Silurus.

Behind him, the people of the barony and the surviving rock macaque soldiers were celebrating with a raucous feast. Mistress Jek had organized the diners into a line that wound back and forth across the ice. She and a few of her neighbors were stationed next to the giant roasted catfish, carving it up into individual portions. The Baron and Baroness had opened their storehouse to contribute rice and soy sauce, and Anasius was bustling down the line, handing out wooden bowls and bamboo chopsticks. People who’d already received their food sat on the grass and laughed and chatted, rock macaques side by side with humans and duck, cat, rat, and other spirits.

Lord Magnissimus, unsurprisingly, hadn’t bothered with utensils or the line. He’d simply torn hunks of flesh straight off the bones until he was too full for another bite. And then he and Captain Rock had come to find Den and Floridiana.

To say that they planned to stay.

They planned to stay?! Why in the names of all the gods did they want to stay?!

Since Lord Magnissimus was too busy belching to explain, Captain Rock said, a little nervously, “My soldiers have been talking. They like it here. Lots of sunshine, warmth, open space, plentiful food, good farmland.”

Good farmland? For the life of him, Den could not imagine a bunch of demon soldiers settling down to plant rice seedlings and harvest spoon cabbages. “Do they know anything about farming?”

“No, but how hard can it be? All these people figured it out.” Captain Rock pointed at a random group of humans.

Well, to be honest, Den didn’t have personal experience with agriculture either, but everyone knew that it was backbreaking and unpredictable, what with the droughts, crop diseases, and marauding armies. (Not that middle-of-nowhere Claymouth had had to deal with that last one, up until now, anyway.)

Floridiana pointed out, “Agriculture is much more difficult than you can imagine, but the primary issue here is that there may not be enough farmland, much less good farmland, in the barony for all of your soldiers. Also, doesn’t King Haplor expect you to return? Doesn’t he want you back?”

The rock macaque shrugged his furry grey shoulders. “Not enough to send an army after us.”

“What happens if you discover that you don’t like farming? Will you return to the Jade Mountains? Will you swear fealty to King Haplor once more?” pressed Floridiana, even though she must have known the answer already.

“No. We won’t go back, not unless we want to fight for our own fief. King Haplor would never accept our oaths a second time.”

Slowly, Den said, “So what you are telling us is that you have decided to turn your backs on the Jade Mountains forever and make new lives for yourselves….”

But it didn’t have to be here, he consoled himself. There was a lot of Serica for them to spread out across.

“Iiiif it’s just a matter of not enough farmlaaaand, all we haaaave to do is claim moooore.” Lord Magnissimus stopped burping long enough to offer the least helpful suggestion ever.

Captain Rock’s back straightened. He threw his shoulders back. “Yes! Of course we can!”

Oh no. Oh, dear gods, no!

“Before you start a border war, talk to the Baron,” Den stressed. “Maybe he can find other jobs for you and your soldiers. And, uh, Lord Magnissimus? Are you really planning to take up farming?”

Honestly, the wild boar seemed a lot more interested in consuming than producing food.

But Lord Magnissimus nodded gravely. “I have seeeen these piiiigs of which little Tailaaaa spoke. I belieeeeve I can start a piiiig farm.”