“A day will come, indeed it may be at hand, when he will call the lesser beasts to himself. He will drive them with the strength of his own malice—for it was this reason alone that he spawned them—and they will answer his call. It will be a time of terror, of annihilation, of complete and utter destruction.”
Song considered his words, his spine prickling. He did not know what to believe. “And your companions whom you summoned,” he asked, “they are also members of your council?”
“They are.”
“Are they all sent to fight the dragon?”
“We work in cooperation with one another, but each member of the Wise has his own appointed task.”
“They seek other dragons?”
“Not dragons.”
“Then what?”
“It is not my place to share their assignments. But there is much more to the world than what can be seen with the eyes.”
Song paced to the window and looked up into the darkening sky. “So now what? How do we deal with Ju-Long?”
“We wait for the fulfillment of prophecy.”
“For the tree to grow again?”
“And for the brothers to rise.”
Song’s heart thumped. The feud with Keeto had been resolved. He could not be a brother, could he? “How will you know who they are?”
“I know one already.”
Song sucked in his breath. “Who?”
Instead of answering, Li-Min pulled the brass handle off his staff and handed it to him. “Tell me what you see.”
Song lit a candle in the waning light and held it close to the hollow tube. “I see runes covering the entire face, but I cannot read them. I have seen them before, on the hilt of the broken knife.”
“They are the same,” the old man confirmed. “It is the language of Zuminka, the first city. They tell the stories I have told you, of the gifts, and the tree, and the dragon, and the brothers.”
“A recorded history,” Song breathed.
“So it would not be forgotten. What else do you see?”
“Nothing.” He turned the handle carefully in the light. “Wait, I see…” he pulled the medallion from under his tunic. The star and the sickle were duplicated exactly on the top of Li-Min’s staff. “I see Lord Dolisu’s family seal!”
“The star and the sickle. The sign of life accompanied by the sign of death. It was the coat of arms of the royal family of Zuminka. Lord Dolisu is a direct descendant of Zumari.”
Song’s eyes grew round in the darkness. “But which one?” he gasped.
“Think for yourself. Remember the story.”
Song recalled the tale told to him by the walnut-faced man. The Elder son was murdered by the Younger. But why? He was jealous of something. Of the blessing. Of the promise of greatness and success.
“Lord Dolisu is a son of the Elder!” he exclaimed.
Li-Min smiled. “You have guessed correctly.”
“But who is the Younger?” Song asked.
“The Wise do not yet know. But finally, after many long years, I believe the time is ripe. Soon you will see many things come to pass. Tomorrow, we must travel again to the Keeping Stone. I must consult my council.”
Song rolled the staff handle slowly between his hands. He had learned much, but something still disturbed him.
“I have one more question,” Song asked in a subdued voice, “though I think I know the answer. Who were the people who died on the mountain in the fire that night?”
It took Li-Min several moments to work out the words. Even so, they came out as a whisper.
“Your parents.”
Chapter 18
“Do you usually materialize yourself to the Keeping Stone, as you did on the mountaintop?” Song asked Li-Min as they walked along the Chin-Yazi path at dawn the next morning. The big, golden dog trailed at their heels.
“Rarely. Kintu cannot travel in such a manner. And I cannot foresee who may be waiting nearby when I reappear,” he replied pointedly.
“Then why did you do so yesterday?”
“Because I had so little time. Karina spent all day in the clearing, waiting for you to return.”
Guilt dug a hollow in Song’s stomach. He would have to make it up to her.
“Why did you need to go to the summit anyway?”
“To keep my eyes open for Ju-Long’s next move. He often returns to the same haunts. It is why I took up residence here twelve years ago, near the scene of your parents’ death.”
They walked in silence. Song could think of no more questions, but he knew one thing the wise man did not know. “Nori asked us to move into her house.”
Li-Min looked up in surprise. “Why has she done such a thing? I am available anytime her father summons me.”
“She did not want you. She wanted me. She thrives on danger.”
The old man nodded. “She is bored.”
“She is also manipulative,” Song added.
“I am pleased that you have seen this. Then you will not be manipulated.”
“I fear she molded me to her will quite easily yesterday. I was flattered by her attention.” He felt so foolish now. “But she cares nothing for me.”
“And in learning this,” Li-Min nodded with understanding, “you did a great disservice to one you truly care about.”
Song groaned. “And I may have placed us in jeopardy. When I turned Nori down, I angered her.”
Li-Min pursed his lips together, musing over the situation. “Nori may be Lord Dolisu’s weakness, but he is no fool,” he stated. “He will act judiciously.”
The miles fell away under their walking slippers. Before the sun rose straight above their heads, they were climbing toward the circle of cypress trees.
As before, Song felt like he was stepping into another place and time. The air within the glade felt cool and damp and knowing, as if its memory stretched beyond the lifetime of the giant trees. The thick carpet of moss and needles absorbed sound, and the interlaced boughs guarded against all other intrusions.
The members of the Wise, in their colored robes, waited around three sides of the Keeping Stone. Li-Min opened his sack and pulled out his own blue garment. Then he took his place on the western point of the compass.
Together the Wise took up their staffs and began chanting in a language unfamiliar to Song. As he watched, their earthly veils slipped away, and he saw them revealed in their true form: tall, straight bodies with rounded muscles and coal-black hair, brows high and proud and unlined, eyes burning with the light of truth.
They were no longer fragile, bent old men. They were formidable forces with the strength of Mutan in their fists and the wisdom of the ages written on their staffs. They exuded power and majesty.
Each robe began to glow, softly at first, then brightening to fill the circle. And where their colors merged, in the exact center of the clearing, a globe of clear, white light settled above the Keeping Stone. In this globe, figures began to move.
Song watched, fascinated, as the old tales played out, pantomimed before his eyes. He watched the birth of mountains and the gathering of mighty waters. Grass and trees sprang up in an instant. A golden sun burst upon the scene. And then—he gasped—was he seeing the real image of Zumari and his wife and children? Was that truly the Guardian Tree splintering before his eyes?
Suddenly Ju-Long flared up within the globe, and Song fell over backward in alarm. But the dragon flew away until he was only a small speck flying around Kamiratan’s miniature heights.
Song clung to a branch of a cypress tree as he watched story after story: the fight between sons, the image of a star descending from heaven to rest in the palm of a mighty warrior, armies, battles. Ages passed in a breath. Civilizations rose and fell. And then a seedling appeared and blossomed in a moment into a beautiful young tree.
The glowing colors suddenly faded, and darkness filled the clearing. A red haze filled the bottom of the globe. Then flames leaped high, licking to the top of the sphere. A house appeare
d within; a large estate that sprawled like a lazy cat on the side of a mountain. Lord Dolisu’s house! And it was burning!
A great, winged figure suddenly blocked the flames, and the sphere of white light died away, spent.
The glade returned to normal, and four old men stood facing each other in the center of it.
Song trembled among the cypress branches. “What—what did that last image mean?” he whispered.
Li-Min turned to him, the weight of centuries resting on his shoulders. In a voice weary with sadness, he answered, “Ju-Long has attacked the manor.”
Chapter 19
“His power has grown if he has dared to attack in broad daylight,” spoke the purple-robed man.
“Or his arrogance,” said the one in crimson, “and that may be construed as a weakness.”
Li-Min turned to Song. “I must go now, even at the expense of counsel. Can you find your way back alone?”
“I—I think so,” Song answered.
“If you lose your way, Kintu will guide you. He has made the trip many times.”
“And you? What will you do?” Song asked.
Exhaustion filled the old man’s words. “Whatever I can.”
And then he was gone. Vanished.
The other members of the Wise filed past Song, each laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of compassion. The last one, the one with the walnut face, comforted him. “Nothing happens beyond the will of the High One. When it is your turn to take your place among the players in this drama, you will find you have the courage and the strength already inside you.”
And with those words, they were gone.
The air was suddenly stifling, the glade as still as a tomb. Without the presence of the men, the ancient circle felt eerie and oppressive.
“Lead on, Kintu,” Song commanded, following the big dog down the mountain trail.
From the heights, Song looked far into the distance and could see smoke rising beyond the ridge of hills. He feared for Nori and Lord Dolisu and the scores of people who called the estate their home. It would be hours before he reached the scene of destruction.
And once he arrived, what could he do? Even the Wise, whose power and strength and magic he saw revealed today, could do nothing but wait for events to unfold as they were predicted.
Yet there was encouragement in their words, in the thought that all this was foreseen. The old tales, the prophecies, the teachings of Li-Min, they were part of something that was meant to be. With that comfort, Song could go on waiting with the rest, trusting in a hope.
The hours grew tedious with no one but the dog to talk to. He missed the company of Grandfather.
Not Grandfather, he corrected. Li-Min.
But the new name seemed silly. After all, the man had not changed. Only Song’s perception of him had changed. He was still the one who had raised him, and the bond of affection that tied them together had not vanished with the removal of the mask.
No, Song resolved, he would continue to call him Grandfather.
The path drew near the river, and Song gazed out across its vast expanse. Beyond, a fold of the Kindoli rose up to command the river’s course, and Song had an unobstructed view of its bulk silhouetted against the sky. What he saw there made him leap beneath the cover of a nearby tree. For circling above the mountain’s crown was the form of Ju-Long!
Fear locked the breath within his chest, and his knees trembled at the sight of the hideous, twisting body. He fumbled to remove his only weapon from the satchel tied around his waist.
The smooth wood of the Guardian Tree eased his panic, and he soon realized this dragon was not Ju-Long at all. This serpent was smaller, with a dark green body that glinted silver in the sunlight.
He watched the monster ride the updrafts that pushed along the cliffs. It glided as gracefully as a bird of prey. Then with a mighty stroke of its wings, it flew northward, straight for Kamiratan.
Ju-Long was calling his sons to himself.
He must tell Grandfather! Already, the sun dipped toward its rest. He must make haste!
He crept from beneath his shelter and jogged down the village path, his knuckles whitening around the wooden box. Then beneath his fingers, Song felt a movement, as if the face of the box had shifted.
Slowing, he inspected it more closely. He had not been mistaken. A section of one side panel had slipped out of alignment.
A sick feeling rose in his stomach. In his carelessness, he had marred the only thing that connected him to his father, to his past. He had disfigured a priceless heirloom that had endured since the beginning of time.
He pushed at it, trying to realign the edges with the rest of the box. At the slightest pressure, it slid back into place. He pressed it again, and it slid back out with a small click.
Songs lips parted and his fingers tightened around the wood. He had not broken the box. He had discovered its secret. The heirloom was a puzzle!
He walked along with hurried steps, but his whole attention was now focused on the box. With the first panel open, he turned it about, pushing and pulling at other areas. Under his probing fingers, the whole left side abruptly slid away, leaving a gap large enough to admit the tip of his pinkie. It would budge no further. There must be another step.
The puzzle absorbed him, and by the time Song arrived at the intersection of Lord Dolisu’s road, he had discovered seven more moves. But still the box did not open. He worked by touch alone now, for full darkness had overtaken him.
The reek of burned timber lay heavy in the low river valley, yet the pillar of smoke that had darkened the afternoon sky had long since dwindled away to wisps. And the excitement, he was certain, along with it. There were many others who would have gone to the aid of the lord, and Song was weary.
He continued toward the hut. Grandfather knew when to expect his return, and he would send word if he was needed.
“You are safe, then.”
Song started at the unexpected sound of a voice. The old man sat alone inside the darkened hut.
“Grandfather! Why are you not at the manor?”
“I have been turned away.”
“What?” Song lit a candle and peered at the old man in the flickering light. “What do you mean?”
“I was not allowed inside the gates to help. On Lord Dolisu’s orders, I was asked to leave. He blames me for this tragedy, for reasons I do not understand.”
“I thought Lord Dolisu was a man of integrity and wisdom,” Song mumbled. “He is the good brother.”
“He has been a great ally. I confess I did not expect such an event. It fills me with foreboding. There is evil at work here that I have not discerned. Evil that will seek to thwart what we must accomplish.”
“But what are we to accomplish?” Song cried in frustration. “What can we do?”
“We can live and learn and prepare, and wait for the next sign.”
Song paced the hut from door to window, raging against his complete helplessness. He clenched his fists, squeezing his fingers around the puzzle box.
“Grandfather!” he remembered. “I made a discovery!”
He rushed to show him the unsolved box.
“A puzzle!” the old man breathed, taking the box reverently in his hands. “Never once did I guess!” He fingered one of the sliding panels.
“I have a strong suspicion…” Grandfather murmured. “We must solve it as quickly as possible.”
“It has taken me the entire walk back to get this far,” Song told him. “I am not sure it can be done.”
Grandfather handed the box back to him. “It will open this night. Of this I am certain.”
“Then I will keep trying.”
Song settled on his sleeping mat with a stub of a candle, methodically testing every panel. Grandfather sat across from him, watching intently. Only Kintu snored.
Two hours later, the boy discovered the last move. The entire top compartment slid away, revealing a space about two inches square. Song peered in wit
h bleary eyes.
A small object was tucked inside, nestled snugly in its ancient hiding place. As Grandfather waited expectantly, Song tipped it out into his hand.
It was a seed, dry and dimpled, like the pit of a peach.
Chapter 20
“The lost token!” Grandfather gasped.
Song gaped at him. “You mean this is the sign of the promise that Mutan gave to Zumari? That the curse of Ju-Long would not endure forever?”
“It is the very thing of which you speak. Long has it been hidden from the Wise, and yet all this time it has been under my protection, and I under its.
“Things are falling into place rapidly,” Grandfather went on. “Time grows short. Soon Ju-Long will raise his army and make a bid for dominion. Little now remains hidden from my sight.”
“Grandfather, I saw another dragon on my walk home!”
Grandfather turned sharply to him. “You are certain it was not Ju-Long?”
“It was green.”
“Then the seed must be planted without delay.”
“Where?”
“On the summit of Kamiratan,” he said without hesitation. “It is a place of strong magic, one of the secret places of the world. You have always sensed this.”
Song now saw that he had.
“We must go.”
Song blew out the candle and followed Grandfather, grabbing a shovel from among the garden tools that rested against the wall.
The moon was veiled, and the path to the summit lay shrouded in darkness. Trees rose up to block their way, but both climbers knew instinctively where to dodge each stray branch. Their feet found sure ground, free of root and rock. Not long after midnight, they arrived at the mountain’s peak.
“Where shall I plant it, Grandfather?” Song’s whisper sounded harsh in the stillness.
The old man did not answer. Instead, he paced the boulder-strewn clearing in search of something Song could not guess. Back and forth he walked, kicking aside the grass and shrubbery.
Song rested atop his boulder. Its base lay sunken deep within the earth. He squeezed the seed, feeling the sharply pointed ends press painfully into his palm.
Song of the Mountain (Mountain Trilogy, 1) Page 9