The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng

by K. S. Villoso

  “Yuebek’s chamber was empty,” she said. “I remember everything that happened, but I think the entire time I was just sitting in that empty chamber while my real self wandered this place. I thought Yuebek left me these cryptic messages to get me to forget Rayyel.” She sat down on a sofa, gesturing at a Hanza set on the table in front of it.

  Khine sniffed the edges.

  “Do you play Hanza, Khine?”

  Not very well.

  “That’s surprising. I figured you were an expert. All those tricks…”

  Lo Bahn tried to teach me before. I find it too stiff. Finite options. I like marks that move by themselves. Saves you so much work.

  “Maybe you’re just saying that because you’re bad at it.”

  That, too.

  She nodded towards the pieces. “Every time I find myself here, the pieces are always in the same spot. An unwinnable game, unless you sacrifice the king.”

  Apt.

  “Blunt and subtle at the same time. Too subtle for Yuebek, though. He wanted to be my king; my father would have me rule alone.” She got up and this time moved towards a door, which opened into a library. There were books everywhere, but one particular one caught his eye.

  “That one, too,” Tali said, noticing his gaze. “Can you read it?”

  No. It’s in Jinan.

  “You’d think I would’ve noticed that. I can read Zirano, but your letters make me dizzy.”

  You were disoriented.

  “I’ll recite it to you. Once, there was a soldier whose king was on his deathbed.

  “The soldier was utterly devoted to his king and swore he would remain by his side until the very end.

  “He stood guard at the door. He no longer had a sword, so when wild dogs came, he fended them off with his fists. But there were too many, and they ate his knuckles.

  “When the crows came, he beat them with his stumps and his elbows. But there were too many, and they made off with his nose.

  “When the vultures came, he smashed them with his head. But there were too many, and they pecked out his eyes.

  “When the king’s enemies came, he had nothing. He charged at the voices, but they only laughed and walked past him and they killed the king.

  “What is the moral of the story? The moral of the story is that you can suffer in silence and the world will not care.” She swallowed. “He was warning me.”

  That’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit, Tali. Look. He nudged her knee with his nose.

  “He designed this place to protect me after that final spell. Because he always knew I would sacrifice myself; that I would do what no one else would. And then what?” Her voice sounded bitter. “Congratulations, Father, your plan worked after all… let’s ignore that it came at the expense of my whole life.”

  It’s over. You don’t have to listen to him anymore.

  She shook her head and closed the book, her thumb scratching a line over the cover. “It’s not that simple.”

  Then help me understand.

  “It’s all over and he’s still not here,” Tali said with a gasp. “Why isn’t he here, Khine?”

  She said it simply, nothing more than a child seeking a parent’s hand. He had no answer. What she desired… was a simple thing. Everyone had it. Patients close to death had whispered it in his ear. To know the world you were born into made sense, that you were wanted, that it was all designed to fit perfectly together and there was a reason for every hurt and injustice and suffering. But it didn’t work that way. Life didn’t work that way. The mess was all you got.

  Look at us, he wanted to tell her. If everything came out just right, we wouldn’t have this.

  But it felt presumptuous to say so—to assume she wasn’t allowed to grieve the man who was still her father, no matter what he was in life. He watched her drift to the door in the corner of the library. Her hand lingered at the knob before she turned it. It was locked.

  “He was down in the dungeons here that first time,” Tali said. “So I can’t tell if the cells belong here, or in Yuebek’s realm. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. I just know that this whole place… reeks of him. Everywhere I look, I see the details only he would’ve known to put. Messages to me, things that meant something to him. Only he’s not here.”

  How do you know that?

  “I tried to look, and…”

  Let’s look harder.

  She didn’t argue, allowing him to lead the way. He pushed the door back to the great hall. The main doors were still closed, but he took her down to a room that was lined with fish tanks wall-to-wall. Monstrous fish peered at them from behind the glass, razor-sharp teeth glinting with blood. There was a door at the very end of the hall.

  She hesitated at the entrance.

  “I don’t want to go down there.”

  You are looking for him, aren’t you? Why didn’t you check down here?

  “I don’t want to, Khine.” The fear was clear in her voice now. She had been lying to herself. She knew what waited at the other end.

  He walked back to her, nudging her hand under his head. I’m here. We’ll do it together.

  Her fingers gripped his fur. She took a deep breath before nodding. They strode down the hall, the monstrous fish watching them with every step. She opened the door.

  The next room was filled with small skulls, just like the ones in the basement of the dragon-tower in Yu-yan. There was a throne in the middle of the pile. An old man sat on it, staring at them from behind strands of greasy white hair.

  “Father,” Tali said.

  The old man lifted his head. “Come to me, child,” he said.

  Tali didn’t move.

  Yeshin placed his hands on his knees and laughed. “You’re finally here. Which means it worked. It’s all fixed. Now you need to go back down there and claim your rightful place.”

  She stared at him in disbelief before slowly shaking her head. “No.”

  “Don’t test me, daughter. You’ve come this far! We’ve made it. We—”

  This isn’t really your father, is it, Tali?

  She shook her head, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “The Ikessars won’t know what hit them,” Yeshin said, still rambling. “You want to know what’s wrong with Jin-Sayeng? The people don’t know who to obey. Their families? Their clans? Or is it their warlords? Shouldn’t it be the Dragonlord whose words eclipse all? A strong hand—it’s what the nation always needed. The people grow bold, otherwise. Which, if they were the sort of people who understood their responsibilities and what sacrifice meant, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But in Jin-Sayeng, we need strength! We need strength, or the people will falter!

  “Except they won’t listen that way, either. The Ikessars get by because the romantic is more palatable than the practical. So here: They have their hero, their champion. Go back there and take what’s rightfully yours, Talyien. You’ve earned it!”

  “No,” she repeated.

  His eyes flashed. “You’d defy me? You? After all these years, child, you still—” He reached forward, as if to strike her.

  She cringed.

  Suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. He was pacing along the edges of the room. “So much sacrifice,” he said. “All these children, these people who died for you, for us…”

  Tali, Khine murmured. You don’t have to listen to this.

  “I do,” she whispered back. “I have to understand everything.”

  You already understand. What more is there to learn?

  “He’s right about all the people who died. About everything. I—”

  Tali. This isn’t your father.

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  He glanced at the figure. It’s a ghost. A figment of the past. In here, only you and I are real.

  She shook her head, refusing to listen.

  We still have our bodies keeping us suspended in here. Yeshin? Yeshin is dead.

  “Listen to the boy,” Yeshin suddenly said,
pointing at us. “He’s right. I wanted a place to contain all my memories, everything I cared for.”

  This is all a stamp, an imprint of when he made this place, his memories working with yours.

  “The ghosts of Taraji, and my mother…” she began.

  “Everything, Talyien,” Yeshin replied.

  “You lied to me all my life.”

  Yeshin returned to the throne, his bones creaking. “What if I did?” he asked. “It was all for the good of our people. Now the Oren-yaro will rule Jin-Sayeng, all thanks to me. All thanks to you.” He nodded towards her.

  “Did you even love me at all, Father?”

  He stared back at her, eyes hard.

  This time, his twisted face grew soft. “Ah, child,” he said. “Is this what this is all about?” He smiled. “Do you remember the story I used to tell you?”

  “I do. You only had the one.”

  “Only because it was the only one you ever asked for.” He held his arms out. “Come, child. Forgive an old man his eccentricities. You know I never meant to hurt you.”

  Don’t listen to him, Tali.

  Tears streamed down her face. He was confused at first, until he realized that the answer was startlingly simple. She loved her father. It was forever the conflict of her life—that she knew exactly what they were, these people she cared for, and it never stopped her from giving what she’d been looking for herself. What they couldn’t give, in return. It was what drew him to her from the very beginning—all that love, given without ever a care or thought about what it did to her. She loved, even when it ruined her.

  He grabbed her by the hand, pulling her away from the room. She didn’t resist, though he could tell her feet dragged a little. The ghost allowed them to leave.

  Instead of the hallway with the tanks, they found themselves in a courtyard, reminiscent of the one in Oka Shto.

  Tali.

  She wasn’t responding. He nudged her again.

  “Tali.”

  His hackles rose at the familiar voice, which was slightly higher-pitched than he was used to. There was a boy standing at the edge of the path—tall, lanky, the beginnings of fuzz on his lip.

  “Agos,” Tali said, looking at him with what seemed like both longing and grief.

  Not real, he reminded her.

  “I know,” she whispered, placing a hand on Khine’s head. But she approached the boy, who rubbed his cheek with a sheepish grin. “Hello, Agos,” she continued out loud.

  “Hello,” he replied.

  “You… look well.”

  “After what happened to me, you mean.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “Your memories and your father’s, remember? Hey…” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Better than fine. We all die. It’s what we leave behind that matters.” He glanced in the distance, and Khine followed his gaze to see other forms. Three young men and another boy, all resembling Tali in some way. Her brothers, perhaps. Ozo. A woman he recognized from the castle, Ingging. And then, a little closer to them than all the others—an older man with grey hair and a white beard, whose appearance seemed to catch Tali off guard.

  He gestured at Tali, who hesitated.

  “Go on,” Agos said.

  She swallowed and started walking. Khine whined, bounding after her.

  The man was sitting under a frangipani tree. The fragrance of fallen flowers made Khine’s nose itch. He watched as the man picked one up and tucked it into Tali’s ear.

  “The flower of death,” he said with a smile. “And yet I can almost forget that, looking at you. Some people may find it ghastly, but it’s fitting. You have to understand the world that came before you were born. The thousands dead. The isolation your father insisted on for you.”

  “Did you know about it, Arro?” she asked. “Did you know what they were doing?”

  He looked startled before breaking into a smile. “That has been bothering you awhile, hasn’t it?”

  “Answer me, Arro.”

  Instead of replying, he smiled again, looking off into the distance. A woman approached them.

  “Mara,” Arro said, holding out his hand. The woman came to take it. “My wife,” he continued, turning to Tali. “You don’t remember her?”

  Tali shook her head.

  “She was friends with your mother. With Ingging. After your mother went mad and your father sent her away, we… all of us… took care of you.”

  “Arro the most of all,” the woman said. “We couldn’t have children of our own.”

  Tali looked at the woman with disbelief. “I do know you,” she finally murmured. “In my father’s throne room. I saw you there.”

  “Your father killed me in that room after I discovered his plans,” the woman replied.

  “He couldn’t have been that careless.”

  “No,” Mara said. “He wasn’t. But what I learned was enough.” She glanced around. “To do all of this, he needed to burn a spell into your mind. I caught his mages during that first attempt. Arro wasn’t in Oka Shto, but I stole you away and sent a message to Peneira to get us out. It didn’t… work. He killed me, and they did what they did to you. The procedure must have erased your memories of me.”

  Tali looked down, tears in her eyes. “And you, Arro?” she repeated, voice so clearly a child’s.

  “I didn’t know a damn thing.”

  She didn’t reply.

  Arro laughed. “I’m dead, child. Ozo had me killed in Anzhao. That was never an accident. Because if I knew, none of this would have ever happened. I would have never let them touch you.”

  He placed his hands on Tali’s shoulders. “I know what you are really asking. You want to know if there is a way to wash out all the pain and bitterness, if he could’ve loved you better if you had done better, or if he would’ve loved you even if you were worthless to his grand plans. You want to lift this shroud of pain and suffering and find the life you always wanted, the happiness you dreamed of, the family you deserve. But it can’t be like that. It will never be like that. He was… what he was. I can say he loved you in his own way, but I know that is worthless in the face of everything he has done. Still, you don’t have to let it define you. He is dead and you are still alive. You don’t have to carry that burden forever. There are others in this world. Have you forgotten that I loved you, child?”

  He pulled her close, allowing her to sob in his arms. Khine, realizing he was treading on private grounds, turned away.

  They returned to the room, where Tali watched her father from the doorway—a child again, frightened of getting yelled at. But eventually, she balled her hands into fists and came up to him, her chin held high. She kept her jaw tight. He could tell she was awash in fear, but even that didn’t stop her from facing the object of her terror head-on. That was courage, wasn’t it? To stand your ground when it was easier to walk away.

  “Arro’s poisoned you,” Yeshin snarled. “He was always trying to turn you against me. Him and that wife of his…” He spat to the side before straightening his back, revealing a crown on his knees. It was a small, golden thing, etched with figures of wolves.

  Tali gazed at the crown and swallowed. “I’m…”

  No, Khine warned. You’re not sorry. Not anymore, Tali.

  The old man, seemingly noticing her hesitation, pulled his head up sharply. “You speak of love, but what need do you have for it now? You have everything. You’re queen, and now queen without question. You’ve saved the land. If they doubt you again, all you need is to remind them and the rest will rally behind your banner. Do you not see that all I did, I did for you?” He held the crown out.

  “I do,” she managed, looking away from it and into his eyes. “But it won’t happen, Father. I won’t take that throne.”

  “Don’t be foolish. This little tantrum will subside.”

  “I did my part. You’re right about that. Others did, too. Arro, Agos, Ingging, Ozo, Chiha… everyone who gave their lives
for this cause. We all did what you couldn’t—what you wouldn’t, because in the end you cared more about power than fulfilling your promises to the people who believed in you. Now it’s over. Ryia can have it all if she wants.”

  Yeshin’s face was red with rage. “Ridiculous child. You’d undo everything I worked for?”

  “I would rather die than sit on the throne again.”

  “You—!” He sat up, grabbing the crown. With one careless motion, he flung it against the wall, where it smashed into a thousand pieces.

  In the silence that followed, Khine thought he could hear the spectre breathing. Sunlight danced over the shards on the floor, dazzling in their brilliance. A single red gem rolled down the aisle. It shone the most, casting streaks on the two figures. Yeshin’s form was shadowless.

  Tali glanced at the ground, at her father’s feet, before looking back up. Resolve filled her expression. She stepped over the throne to embrace her father. Surprise flitted through Yeshin’s face.

  “I love you, Father,” she whispered. “But now I have to say goodbye.”

  She turned to Khine. “Kill him.” He heard it around him, a clear thought that pervaded the air. He didn’t hesitate. He lunged, crushing the ghost’s neck between his teeth. Yeshin screeched and gurgled and toppled to the side.

  Tali pushed the body away and turned to him, covered in her father’s blood. “And now me,” she said.

  He stared into her eyes once before doing as she asked. It took him all but a moment to rip out her throat. Unlike the old man, she never uttered a sound.

  It was dawn, and warhorns were blasting so loud across the horizon that they could hear them even from the mountain. Rai stood at the edge of the lake, staring at the melting ice with half-lidded eyes. His robes fluttered with the breeze.

  “How old are you, Lamang?” he asked as Khine came up the hill to join him.

  “That’s an odd question,” Khine said, scratching the back of his neck.

  “I’d just like an answer.”

  “Twenty-six by the end of summer.”

  Rai’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t realize you were that young.”

  “Thank… you?”

  “I’m thirty-one, and I still feel hopelessly ill-suited for… for what’s out there,” Rai said. He sighed. “Then again, she was even younger, and she managed to keep it together for five years.”