The Dragon Gods Box Set

by Resa Nelson

  Frayka noticed a faint hum, as if a swarm of insects waited up ahead. Instead, when they approached a large grassy field, she realized the hum came from the hundreds of people standing on that field.

  Upon closer inspection, Frayka grasped the fact that those hundreds of people weren’t standing still. They were simply moving very slowly while humming softly. Mindful to keep her mouth shut in case the Far East man might protest again, she nudged Njall and nodded toward the field of people.

  All ages moved in unison: children, parents, and those whose hair had turned from pitch black to snowy white. As if of the same exact mind, each raised one arm while lowering the other and turning with a step forward.

  It’s like a dance. But instead of dancing with a partner, they dance together as one.

  And yet, Frayka realized, it wasn’t a dance. Ever so slowly, the hundreds swept arms aside, leaned forward, leaned back, turned, and kept moving in unison. Instead of music, they hummed, but it had no melody beyond one note. Instead of dancing around in a lively and joyful fashion, they moved as gently as a soft breeze. And every face Frayka saw appeared peaceful and content.

  She wondered if that might be how they talked to their gods.

  For a brief moment, Frayka noticed a man who didn’t look like the others. Not a Northlander, but someone tall and fair who might be from a nearby region. He appeared to be old enough to be her father. Although he wore dark and slim-fitting clothes, the bright red and yellow silk scarves looped around his neck caught Frayka’s eye.

  The Far East man she’d earlier offended by talking to Njall stomped to stand directly in front of Frayka and yell at her again. This time he gestured toward the hundreds of people still performing their slow dance and then jabbed a finger in Frayka’s face.

  “Hey!” Frayka said. “I didn’t hurt anyone. I was just watching!”

  Njall sidled close to her. “Stay near me,” he said.

  The agitated man shouted with fury at Njall. Although his companions surrounded him and spoke in soothing voices, he ignored them and continued his tirade.

  Frayka turned her face away from him and toward her husband’s shoulder as if seeking shelter from a sudden storm.

  The slight but persistent sound of an old woman’s voice pierced the outburst until the angry man fell silent.

  The Far East men stepped back when a crooked wooden cane stabbed at the empty space between them.

  Once their retreat opened enough space, a tiny woman hunched with age hobbled forward. Though she struggled to walk, she carried herself in a way that suggested it would be wise to treat her with respect. Her white hair formed a neat bun on top of her head, and two black lacquered needle-like sticks pierced it. The woman’s golden skin crinkled like ripples on a lake. A milky film covered her black eyes. She wore a simple full-length black robe, and heavy, sturdy shoes enveloped her feet.

  A yowl sounded from around the corner of a nearby house at the street’s edge.

  Squealing with alarm, the old woman rapped her cane against the legs of a Far East man and whimpered, pointing in the direction of the sound. She held her hand against her heart and cradled one arm as if holding a baby. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

  The man responded to her mild assault with a bow and words that sounded assuring. He ran from the group toward the sound.

  Frayka cast a confused gaze at Njall.

  What’s going on?

  But Njall’s eyes scrunched with the same bewilderment that Frayka felt.

  The old woman continued her chatter. When another yowl sounded, she covered her mouth with a shaking hand and let loose a soft cry.

  Two more Far East men bowed to her and muttered a few words before following in the footsteps the previous man had taken.

  The man agitated by Frayka leaned toward the old woman. His voice lilted with something that might have been a question.

  The old woman cried out as if he’d struck her.

  People walking in the street paused and stared. A few called out to the old woman as if offering help, and she responded by gesturing at the Northlanders’ captors. The by-standers hovered near the Far East men and the Northlanders.

  The old woman turned toward Frayka and Njall. While planting the cane on solid ground to keep her balance, she placed her free hand on Frayka’s arm and pushed with surprising strength toward the grass growing alongside the avenue.

  The agitated man shouted in protest and stepped forward to block them.

  The sight of a red silk scarf hurtling through the air startled Frayka, especially when it wrapped around the neck of the agitated man, smacked his face, and knocked him to the ground.

  When the remaining Far East men rushed to his side, the old woman bent forward and smacked her cane behind the knees of one man, who fell with a howling scream of pain.

  At the same moment, a bright yellow silk scarf flew around the knees of the remaining Far East man, hobbling him. When he toppled over, the man’s head connected with the ground so hard that he fell unconscious.

  How can scarves have such power?

  Frayka darted to the side of the unconscious man and examined the yellow scarf, surprised to find one end of it covering a round object that carried just enough weight to make it dangerous when thrown.

  “Frayka, no!” Njall said. “Stay away from that magic!”

  “It’s not magic,” Frayka said, removing the scarf from the knees of the unconscious man and holding it up for inspection. “Someone sewed a weight inside the end of this scarf. They’ve turned it into a weapon!”

  “And we may need it again,” a soft male voice said.

  Looking toward that voice, Frayka saw the man she’d noticed earlier—the unusual man who wore slim-fitting clothes and bright scarves looped around his neck. With a start, Frayka realized he had used those scarves as weapons and now came to retrieve them. At the same time, Frayka realized he spoke her language. She said, “You’re a Northlander!”

  The man shook his head. “Midlander. I’m certain we’ll enjoy plenty of time to talk later, but Madam wishes for us to leave at once.” With the flip of the wrist, he took the yellow scarf from Frayka’s hands and then just as quickly retrieved the red scarf from the other Far East man, still doubled over and yelling in pain.

  At the same time, the old woman flicked one of the long sticks from her hair and used it to slice open the thin cords binding the Northlanders’ wrists.

  Remembering the by-standers who had paused to watch, Frayka looked at them with anxiety.

  The people in the crowd grunted with satisfaction and went about their daily business.

  The old woman spoke briefly to the Midlander and then waved her cane at Frayka and Njall.

  “Move quickly,” the Midlander told them. “I disabled the other men she sent my way, but they won’t be disabled much longer. The time has come to find safe haven.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Frayka said.

  The old woman let loose a small cry and rapped Frayka’s hand with her cane.

  Startled, Frayka glared at the old woman and rubbed the pain out of her hand.

  “Now,” the Midlander said. “We’ll have the luxury of time to speak later.”

  The old woman tucked the cane under her arm and darted down the avenue. She turned down the first side street, disappearing from sight.

  The Midlander followed on her heels.

  Taking her husband’s hand, Frayka said, “Let’s go.” Together they sprinted in pursuit.

  When they reached the outskirts of the city, an array of side streets ran up and down small hills jammed against each other. Rickety wooden houses crowded streets so narrow that a stone could be tossed from the window of one house into the window of its neighbor on the opposite side of the road. Children chased geese, ducks, and pigs, blocking the Northlanders’ every step. Frayka and Njall stayed on the heels of the old woman and the Midlander, who both ran with ease.

  After the old woman and Midlander turned down an eve
n tinier street, the sound of sorrowful singing made Frayka hesitate to follow. The heavy beating of drums reverberated in her bones.

  Still holding her hand, Njall hesitated, too. Nonetheless, he pulled Frayka along with him.

  Now onto a new lane, the Northlanders stopped when faced with a crowd of people marching directly toward them. Men and women walked slowly while wailing and weeping. Frayka spotted a few women ringing bells, and a man at the front of the crowd banged a pair of cymbals together.

  “Frayka, this way!” Njall yanked on her hand and guided her to the side where they found barely enough room to squeeze between the mournful parade and the front of a house leaning into the road.

  Although it took several minutes for the crowd to pass by, Frayka saw the advantage.

  This is good. If those men who tied us up are trying to chase us, these people will make it harder. It gives us more time to get away.

  A moment later, guilt nudged at her when she saw the men at the rear of the crowd shouldering a long plank that bore the dead body of an old man. She didn’t like feeling happy for herself when others had lost someone they loved.

  Once the funeral procession passed them by, Frayka and Njall caught sight of the old woman and the Midlander disappearing over the crest of the hilly lane and ran after them. Once again panting for breath, Frayka marveled at their endurance. She never imagined an old woman and a middle-aged man would be better at running up and down hills than two young Northlanders.

  Assuming their destination would be the outskirts of the city, running into what appeared to be its thriving center surprised and distressed Frayka. Every time she reached the peak of a hill, Frayka caught sight of the walled golden palace she’d noticed when they first arrived at the city. Finally, she and Njall followed their new companions into a simple wooden house that looked no different from all those surrounding it.

  Stepping inside caught Frayka off guard. Based on the small size of the house and its simple wooden exterior, she expected its interior to be plain. Instead, she felt as if she had walked into the home of a king.

  Embroidered red silk covered every wall in the main room where they stood, pulled aside at a front window that allowed sunlight to stream inside. Instead of chairs or benches, large yellow satin cushions lined the floor around a low wooden table in the center of the room. Graceful lanterns hung from the ceiling of exposed wooden beams. A pair of songbirds trilled from a cage hanging among the lanterns.

  Closing the door shut, Njall leaned against it, still out of breath from running up and down the hilly streets.

  Frayka turned toward the Midlander. “What happened? Who are you?”

  “Of course. Please allow me to introduce myself.” The Midlander gave a deep and sweeping bow, while his hands drifted like flowers in the wind. “I am TeaTree, and I am at your service.” The man spoke with such a relaxed manner that he seemed bored.

  Frayka looked toward the old woman, expecting to learn her name. But the old woman had left the room, leaving her cane leaning in one corner.

  She must be his servant.

  TeaTree gestured toward the floor cushions. “Please. Take a seat.” He winked at Njall and grazed a gentle hand across the Northlander’s shoulder.

  Frayka saw that Njall didn’t notice the Midlander’s friendly touch. TeaTree reminded Frayka of a flowery man in their home village. Although that man spent his time gazing at men, he fought just as well as any other Northlander man or woman when need be, so everyone accepted him as a friend and neighbor. She’d already seen TeaTree fight just as well and that put her mind at ease.

  Accustomed to sitting on benches, Frayka found the cushion she chose surprisingly comfortable. Njall plopped on another one next to her.

  Sitting across the table from them, TeaTree said, “What happened is that you made the understandable but dangerous mistake of venturing into Zangcheen without first having applied for permission and also without having made formal arrangements for entrance.” TeaTree shook his head in wonder. “You’re quite fortunate no one shot you on sight. They’re terribly particular about procedure and protocol around here.”

  “Zangcheen?” Njall said. “I thought we landed in the Far East.”

  “Quite so,” TeaTree said. He adjusted his sleeves even though they appeared to already be in place. “The land is the Far East, just as your people come from the Northlands and I come from the Midlands. However, we are in the Wulong Province, and Zangcheen is the capital city of Wulong, ruled by the emperor Yuan Po.” TeaTree brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders. “A dangerous man. I advise you steer clear of him.”

  “Then we can’t be safe here,” Frayka said. “Lots of people saw us escape with you. Along with the men who took us! Unless Zangcheen has a big population of Midlanders, they probably know where you live.” She took Njall’s hand. “We should leave before they find us here.”

  TeaTree laughed. “Not to worry! I might be the only Midlander in Zangcheen, but only my neighbors know where I live—and they have reason to keep quiet.”

  Unconvinced, Njall said, “Why?”

  “I have a knack for finding treasures.” Beaming, TeaTree gestured to their surroundings. With an ever-widening smile, he said, “One of the few advantages of living in the Far East is how they do marvelous things with fashion, which is constantly changing. It’s rare that you’ll see much of it in this part of the city, I’m afraid, but do enjoy the magnificent outfits you’ll see once we enter the royal complex.” TeaTree paused, and his voice softened. “In the old days, I made my living as a merchant. I specialized in acquiring such treasures—mostly clothing and fine cloth—from the Far East and selling them in the Southlands, Midlands, and on occasion the Northlands.”

  His tone darkened. “Unfortunately, my finest client turned out to be a madman who nearly brought about the demise of the entire world.” TeaTree shuddered. “I felt sorry for the man. I could see the pain he’d suffered in life before rising to the station of warlord and why he embraced a horrible new religion.”

  He shook those thoughts away. “Fortunately for me, I escaped in time and came to Zangcheen. I travel from time to time in search of new goods, but I mostly stay here because the emperor is convinced the day will come when the Northlands and its neighboring countries will rise again. I’m the only one in all of the Far East with the experience and knowledge to trade with them. And I’m the only Midlander who speaks Far Eastern.”

  “You said the Northlands will rise again,” Frayka said.

  TeaTree offered a mysterious smile. “It’s what the emperor believes.”

  It’s a good sign. It means I’m in the right place. If I’m here to convince the Far Eastern gods to appease the Northlander gods, wouldn’t Zangcheen be the best place to begin?

  “Madam!” TeaTree said with a start. He jumped to his feet and hurried toward the doorway where the old woman stood holding a tray bearing a small teapot and simple cups. “Ni shu! Please, allow me. I thought you had gone to rest. I should have done this myself.” With gentle hands, he took the tray, placed it on the low table, and then offered a helping hand when the old woman approached the floor cushion next to his at the table.

  After seeing the old woman’s speed and strength, Frayka doubted she needed assistance to sit on the floor.

  The old woman laughed and waved his hand away, opting instead to grip the edge of the table to steady her balance while she eased onto the cushion.

  She must be 100 years old!

  The old woman gestured toward the tray and said, “Tea!” Pointing at Frayka and Njall, she added, “Them!”

  “That’s very kind,” Njall said to the old woman. But then his face froze in surprise.

  Frayka said to the old woman, “You speak Northlander!”

  The old woman grinned and said, “Some.”

  TeaTree poured steaming liquid into four small cups. He placed the first cup in front of the old woman, who nodded her approval.

  A realization struck Frayka.
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  The old woman isn’t a servant to TeaTree. He’s a servant to her.

  TeaTree then placed cups on the low table in front of Frayka and Njall. Finally, he placed a cup before himself and put the tray still bearing the pot to one side. “Please,” he said to the Northlanders. “Drink.”

  Instead, Frayka and Njall continued to stare at the old woman, dumbfounded.

  “Who is she?” Frayka said. A new thought struck her. “And why did you help us?”

  TeaTree sagged, unable to hide his disappointment in himself. “How careless of me! I suppose I assumed it would be obvious.”

  The old woman laughed again, wagging a playful finger at him.

  The gesture made TeaTree smile in relief. “Frayka, this is your great-grandmother. You may call her GranGran.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Within the walls of the royal complex, surrounded by the city of Zangcheen, the Emperor Yuan Po knelt before a small altar crowded with burning candles and incense inside the Temple of Dark and Light, a small and secluded room.

  Unlike most men in the Far East who shaved their heads every day while allowing beards to cover their faces, Emperor Po did the opposite. He offered a naked face to the world and kept his long black hair tied at the nape of his neck.

  Wearing a white silk robe embroidered with scenes of the city he ruled, Emperor Po prayed to the emperor who ruled the realm of the dragon gods, a world existing alongside the mortal world but invisible to it.

  “I thank you for the great gifts of prosperity and peace,” Emperor Po said. “I pray that you continue to bless my city and province with such generosity.” He then leaned forward to place his hands and forehead against the polished marble floor. “Mighty Emperor, I obey you through the will of my people.”

  Something rustled outside the closed wooden door that separated the Temple of Dark and Light from the rest of the palace. It caught Emperor Po’s attention. Ending his prayers, he stood and then extinguished the candles and incense on the altar. Moments later, he exited the temple, unsurprised to find his eldest child waiting for him outside.