The Healer had been tall and lean, but now it was as if the sky pressed an invisible weight upon him to make him shorter and stockier. His silver hair was shortening, too. It spread over the skin of his neck like fur. His clothes adapted to his size, and when he appeared almost egg-shaped, two pointed forms sprouted out from his head. They were long and white, like two crane feathers. Were they ears? Yes, they were! This is impossible, Mulan thought. I must be imagining this.
But her eyes continued to show her senselessness. Because the Healer was shrinking even further! He was now the size of a dog. Mulan stared, her mouth gaping and her hands still pushed into the ground. The sky filled with the yellow light of the sun casting its colors behind the distant forested mountains as it fought its fade to darkness. The Healer’s new pointed ears were tipped in this last golden light, but the grass mostly obscured his diminishing, round figure. The Healer stopped suddenly and shuddered. His clothes fell from him like the petals of an opening peony flower, and for a moment he seemed a soft mound of silver fur, brushed with the colors of the sunset. But then, in a sudden motion, he straightened, his long ears pointing upward, and Mulan’s eyes widened to echo her perpetually open mouth. For against the orange-and-pink-streaked sky, the Healer’s figure made an unmistakable silhouette. He had turned into a rabbit.
THE RABBIT bounded forward in a smooth, fluid motion, and Mulan saw that the Healer’s robes had also somehow transformed, becoming a bag that was slung across the rabbit’s back like a thin crescent moon. The sky was now tinged purple, the night finally winning its struggle with the sun. The rabbit leapt again, a silver, sinuous curve soaring above the grass.
But then, as if made from the shadows of dusk, two canine creatures burst forth and surged toward the rabbit like shooting arrows. Foxes!
One was small and dark. The other was larger and gleaming white, even in the dimming light. It was the larger one that shrieked so viciously that Mulan flinched. It attacked first, its sharp claws glinting as it pounced upon the fleeing rabbit. Mulan watched in horror as the rabbit collapsed, crumpling to the ground like an autumn leaf.
“No!” Mulan heard herself shout. She momentarily forgot about the Healer’s strange transformation, the sleeping village, and her sister and parents, and saw only the pouncing foxes—savage beasts about to kill a helpless animal. She bolted up from the earth and rushed toward them.
Oddly, however, instead of devouring the fallen rabbit, the foxes were circling it as if watching for a return attack. Their snarls became a combined growl that seemed to grow larger and larger in the wind, filling Mulan’s ears with a menacing melody punctuated by the drumming of her heart and feet.
She squinted. Perhaps it was the dimness of the night or the quickness of the foxes, but did the white fox have more than one tail? Mulan couldn’t count them all and did not even try, for the white fox had pulled itself upward. She could see it preparing to strike again; its bared teeth and extended claws glittered against the now-black sky.
“No! Stop!” Mulan shouted again. Without thinking, she reached to the ground, grabbed a stone, and threw it at the white fox—just as she had thrown at thieving crows hundreds of times before. Even in the dark, she was a good shot, and the white fox yelped in anger and surprise. Mulan scooped up another handful of stones and wound her arm, ready to continue, when both foxes turned to her.
Their eyes met and Mulan froze. The moon broke through the night gloom, casting a soft light onto the quivering shape of the helpless rabbit. Now she could see that the smaller fox was red, the color of cinnabar. But it was the other fox, the white fox with many tails, that had startled her to stillness. The white fox’s eyes glinted like black diamonds, cold and hard, and Mulan felt them bear into hers with the sharpness of a knife. A chill of terror crawled up her neck, but Mulan clenched her teeth and forced herself to raise her chin.
The white fox’s piercing eyes narrowed, glaring with such fury that Mulan tightened her grip on the stone, tensing all her muscles. Then, with a toss of its head, the white fox dismissed her, spat in the direction of the rabbit, and shot away into the night.
When Mulan turned back, she saw that the red fox and the rabbit were locked in an unreadable gaze. Mulan glanced back and forth between the two animals, the red fox’s eyes flickering like a wavering flame, while the rabbit’s were as steady as moonlight. Finally, the rabbit shook its head sadly.
“Will you ever find your place?” the rabbit said, still looking directly at the fox.
Mulan’s eyes bulged. The rabbit talks? she thought. She suddenly remembered all the oddities she had just seen and began to feel almost dizzy with shock. The stones dropped from her hand, thumping onto the ground like a dull rain.
The red fox swiveled its head toward the sound and hissed at her with spite. Then it turned and ran away, disappearing into the darkness just as the white fox had.
MULAN STOOD in a daze. What was happening to her? Was she still Mulan, the older, untalented daughter of the Hua family? Once, when she was younger, her father had told her the story of the Jade Rabbit on the moon who used a mortar and pestle to make medicine. She had been so enthralled by the story that she had wheedled the job of pounding the rice into flour just so she could pretend to be the great Jade Rabbit. Mulan tried to do her job dutifully, but there had been one grain that repeatedly escaped her. Determined to do well, she had struck at the grain with all her might. And then, crack! From the force of her blow, the mortar split in two and the rice flour flew up into the air, covering her in white dust. Ma had run out, crying, “Mulan! What are you doing? Control yourself!”
Maybe I have lost control of my mind, Mulan thought. Or maybe it’s not that everyone else is asleep; maybe I’m the one who’s sleeping, and all this is a dream.
“Could you help me?” a voice called politely. It was the rabbit. “Please?”
Mulan hesitantly walked over to the fallen rabbit. But as she came closer, she tried not to gasp. What she had thought were spots on the rabbit were really blotches of blood. Four black gashes on the rabbit’s hind leg were seeping, staining the fur like spilled crimson ink. The rabbit looked up at her with serene eyes even while his body trembled with pain and weakness.
“You?” the rabbit said, sounding more amused than annoyed. His voice was still the Healer’s voice, but somehow smoother and more flutelike. “You should be asleep with the rest of the village. But I am glad for your help. Could you get my bag, please?”
Mulan shook away all the confusion and reached for the rabbit’s bag. It had fallen off during the foxes’ attack and lay unharmed in the grass, gleaming pale and silvery in the twilight. As she grasped it, the rich silk felt as smooth as water in her rough fingers.
“Take out the blue bandage,” the rabbit said, and stretched out his wounded leg, “and tie it here.”
Mulan reached into the bag and found a blue cloth in her hand. It was light and soft as goose down, and when she held it up, it was like holding a piece of the sky. She knelt next to the rabbit and, as gently as she could, lifted his leg. Dark liquid continued to drip from the evil-looking slashes, so she quickly wrapped the cloth around the leg, making sure she covered the entire wound. As she tied the cloth securely, she saw a strange look in the rabbit’s eyes—a mixture of admiration and respect. Mulan smiled to herself. Somehow, she had impressed this extraordinary talking-rabbit-healer being.