The Dragon Gods Box Set

by Resa Nelson

  Njall’s head jerked up slightly.

  “What?” Frayka said. “How did she die?”

  “The family took her immediately to the royal court, and the emperor found her guilty. He ordered her to be boiled in water until she died.”

  Frayka swallowed hard, stunned into silence. All her life she’d heard about how other countries perceived Northlanders as fierce and ruthless warriors. But the Northlands had been decimated when Frayka was an infant, and she had lived her life in a Northlander settlement in the Land of Ice. While they followed Northlander law, the most heinous crime tended to be petty theft. The punishment for breaking any Northlander law was payment in silver.

  “We stay close together,” TeaTree said before resuming his place behind GranGran.

  “Take heart,” Njall whispered behind her. “Like TeaTree says, we stay close together. I’ll let no harm come to you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  It didn’t take long to walk to the edge of Zangcheen and enter the countryside. Once beyond inquisitive city eyes, Frayka and Njall walked alongside GranGran and TeaTree on a wide dirt road. Their path cut between dozens of finger-like mountains jutting from the landscape outside the city. Terraces sliced into each steep mountainside like the teeth of a comb. Frayka looked up at the terraces, each soupy with water and crops of blade-like plants. A white heron swooped from one terrace down to the next and then ambled on long legs through the water. Moments later, it snatched a fish with its beak and swallowed it whole.

  Layers of gentle and low-lying mountains edged the distant horizon, pale blue and indigo and lavender. TeaTree identified them as the Mountains of Dawn.

  Throughout the morning, they followed the road past the last of the fingerling peaks to the edge of a deep gorge. Startled to see GranGran step over its edge, Frayka discovered a narrow stairway carved into the side of the gorge. Tender tumble-leaf trees clung to its jagged and rocky walls. Amazed at the sure-footedness of her great-grandmother, Frayka strained to keep up with her pace. Looking down into the depths of the gorge, Frayka couldn’t help but think of how painful it would be to fall. Fighting dizziness, she clung to the wall and willed herself down the stairway.

  To Frayka’s chagrin, Njall walked ahead of her and had no trouble with the descent. He paused, standing on the outer edge of a step that looked worse for its wear. “Frayka, look!”

  Pausing so she could squeeze next to the rocky wall and take hold of a thick vine hanging from a tree growing above her head, Frayka saw Njall point to a thin ribbon of a river. It branched into two streams: one stream followed the bottom of the gorge, while the other forked into a thin space bisecting the opposite cliff. The journey down to the bottom of the gorge promised to take time and careful attention.

  When Frayka joined everyone else at the bottom of the gorge, GranGran led the way across the series of flat rocks just above the water’s surface at the shallowest section of the river. Once more, Frayka marveled at the way her great-grandmother moved with ease, carrying her cane across her shoulders and using it to maintain her balance as she hopped from one rock to the next. On the other side of the river, they tracked the river’s path as it forked through the thin space carved into the cliff.

  After an hour’s walk, the cliff sloped until it leveled with the ground. The thin space in which they traveled opened onto a massive barren plain of cracked earth.

  The low-lying blue and lavender Mountains of Dawn stood on the other side of the barren field. Squinting at the mountains, Frayka realized a single fingerling peak was situated at the far end of the barren field, rising like a sentinel to guard the mountains.

  “There.” GranGran pointed at it. “Gate of Air.”

  “What does that mean?” Frayka said.

  “The dragon gods of the Far East don’t deign to live among mortals,” TeaTree said. He hesitated and then added, “Not anymore.”

  “Anymore?” Njall said. He then took a sharp breath and waved his hands as if trying to erase the question he had just asked.

  Frayka understood why. All their lives, Frayka and Njall had heard legends from their Northlander families about the old days and the dragon gods. Her own father claimed to have known a blacksmith woman who knew several of those dragon gods. Frayka’s father had a reputation for embellishing his stories, and Njall’s father had the same repute. While others laughed at those stories, Frayka had always wondered if they might be true.

  From the startled expression on Njall’s face, she suspected he now wondered the same.

  TeaTree continued without acknowledging Njall’s question. “Before you can convince the dragon gods to make peace with your Northlander gods, you must find them. In order to find them, you must pass through the Gate of Air, which is located on top of that peak.”

  Frayka squinted hard enough to make her head hurt. “I don’t see a gate.”

  “You will when we get closer.”

  For the next few hours they crossed the plain, its dry surface crunching beneath their feet. When they reached the other side and stepped onto a patch of brown and brittle grass, GranGran gestured for everyone to stop. She scanned the landscape and sky ahead, her face tense with concern.

  The fingerling peak loomed ahead, and wispy clouds drifted past its pinnacle. Sidling next to Frayka, TeaTree pointed up and said, “Watch closely, and you’ll catch a glimpse of the Gate of Air.”

  “Where the clouds are?” Frayka said.

  “Yes,” TeaTree said. “If you’re patient, you’ll see the gate between the clouds.”

  Keeping her gaze fixed, Frayka saw nothing but clouds at first. Then she saw a hint of a luminescent surface behind a wispy cloud.

  “I see it!” Frayka said.

  “Where?” Njall said. “All I see is haze.”

  “No time for talk,” GranGran said. She nudged Njall with the end of her cane. “Move.”

  Another short trek brought them to the base of the fingerling mountain. Frayka tilted her head back to examine the sharp incline of the mountain. Seeing no path, she said, “How do we get to the top?”

  “Warning!” GranGran said in a low voice. She pointed at a white heron gliding high above and around the side of the fingerling mountain.

  Frayka remembered the heron she’d seen flying from one terrace to another on a similar peak just outside Zangcheen this morning. Studying the peak now before her, she saw no terraces. No sign of farming. No sign of any mortal existence.

  When TeaTree spoke, he kept a hushed tone. “Impossible! It’s been 20 years since the great drought. No one lives here. It’s a spirit town.”

  Startled by his words, Frayka spun toward him. “Spirit town? Ghosts live here?”

  “No,” TeaTree said. “It’s a manner of speaking. This used to be a thriving farming community. But no ground in this vicinity can be farmed anymore. The town that once surrounded this empty field is long gone. It’s the town that has become a spirit, not the people who lived here.”

  A few men stepped into view from each side of the fingerling mountain.

  “Aiy yah!” GranGran called out in surprise. She ran forward, creating a protective gap between her and the Northlanders and TeaTree. She gripped her cane in one hand and held it in front of her like a sword while shifting her weight back on a bent leg.

  Before Frayka and Njall could reach for the daggers hidden beneath their shirts, TeaTree whispered, “Not yet. Best to let Madam have a chat with them first.”

  Before Frayka could speak, TeaTree silenced her with a grim look.

  Maintaining her defensive stance, GranGran spoke angrily at the approaching men while keeping her cane pointed at them.

  The entire group of men gathered in front of GranGran. They stood still and listened to her tirade. A middle-aged man appeared to be their leader, and he watched GranGran with a sharp gaze, his eyes inquisitive and black as midnight. The other men resembled him, and looked to be his brothers.

  When GranGran finished speaking, the leader bowed, pointed to himself a
nd said, “Ming Mo.” He then pointed at Frayka and spoke rapidly.

  Frayka looked at TeaTree, troubled to see the color had run out of his face. Remembering his advice about how to protect Njall by treating him like a servant, Frayka ignored her husband instead of turning to look at him to gauge whether his instincts were leaning toward a fight.

  The sound of GranGran’s cane slamming against the ground startled Frayka so much that she jumped.

  The Far Eastern men laughed at GranGran’s stern manner.

  Frayka calmed herself by remembering how she could still defend herself, despite the strange Far Eastern clothing she wore.

  Thank the gods for TeaTree’s advice to wear our shirts over our belts. These men don’t know we have daggers. And they don’t know I’m a Northlander who knows how to fight. They think I’m a local woman. And other than GranGran, these Far Eastern women seem to be weak and mild.

  The leader who called himself Ming Mo spoke with such a condescending tone that Frayka didn’t need to understand his words.

  She’d heard men like him speak with that same tone before. Men who had no regard or respect for others—only for themselves. Men like that wanted what they wanted and didn’t care what they had to do or who they had to hurt to get it.

  Ming Mo leered at Frayka.

  She tensed and knew that Njall did likewise, even though she still chose not to look at him.

  “Steady,” TeaTree whispered to them. “Let Madam handle this.”

  When Ming Mo walked past GranGran toward Frayka, the old woman knelt while whipping her cane around and struck behind his knees with a resounding crack.

  Yelping in pain, Ming Mo crumpled to the ground.

  Frayka’s heart sang with delight.

  GranGran hovered above the fallen leader and yelled at him.

  But Ming Mo called out above her voice, and the other men charged forward.

  With an alert response, GranGran sidestepped a man lunging toward her. She then spun and thrashed him with her cane.

  But the few remaining men evaded her and ran toward Frayka.

  “Run!” TeaTree shouted. “Frayka, run!”

  CHAPTER 18

  In a flash, Frayka considered her options.

  She could stay and fight with her great-grandmother, husband, and TeaTree.

  But the terrified expression on TeaTree’s face when he shouted at her to run convinced her to believe the man who had done nothing but help her and Njall so far. TeaTree knew these people, and he wouldn’t tell her to abandon her husband and great-grandmother without good reason.

  She could run around to the back of the fingerling mountain and hope to climb it faster than the men running at her. If she reached the top first, maybe the dragon gods would help her. But she saw no path on this side of the peak—what if there was no way up? The Mountains of Dawn were too far away to reach in time to search for a place to hide.

  Frayka turned and sprinted back toward Zangcheen. She knew the way: across this barren plain to the river, through the gorge, and then through the fields outside the city. She remembered the way back to GranGran’s house through the maze-like and hilly streets. She could figure out how to ask the neighbors for help to rescue the ones she left behind.

  A strange whizzing noise clipped past Frayka’s ear, and she saw a piece of rope with weighted pouches on each end land ahead on the cracked earth, stirring up a dust cloud. Determined, she dug her heels harder against the ground and ran as fast as she could.

  In the distance behind her, she heard Njall yelling. It sounded like he battled to protect her. Then TeaTree cried out, but Frayka couldn’t tell if his cry was in anguish or triumph.

  Don’t look back. Every moment counts.

  Moments later, Frayka caught her breath when another rope connected with her back, and its weighted ends wrapped the rope tightly around her chest. The force threw her off balance and Frayka crashed to the ground. The last thing she remembered was the dust surrounding her and cutting the sky from her view.

  CHAPTER 19

  Frayka didn’t know if she was alive or dead.

  She remembered sprinting away from a group of Far Eastern people after TeaTree told her to run. Frayka remembered being knocked to the ground by a flying, weighted rope whose ends wrapped around her body.

  But now she stood alone, free of the binding rope, and surrounded by walls of mist. The sight of the mist gave Frayka hope, because it meant her mind had traveled to the familiar and mystical place where portents presented themselves to her. She’d been coming to this place since childhood.

  Frayka prepared herself to see a portent of something fated to happen in the future. When nothing presented itself to her, she became impatient.

  “Help me, please!” Frayka shouted. “I don’t know what’s happening, but we need help!”

  The mist shimmered with the colors of sunrise.

  “It’s not just me,” Frayka said. “We all need help. My husband. My great-grandmother. And TeaTree. We’ve all been attacked!”

  Typically, the mist would greet her and then fade away to reveal a portent. This time the mist stayed in place.

  A young woman stepped through the mist and came to a stop in front of Frayka. Like all Far Easterners, she stood shorter than Frayka and looked to weigh as much as a leaf. Her long black hair streamed in the wind even though the air felt still and quiet to Frayka. The woman wore a long silvery robe with wide sleeves. In a flash, the robe turned from silver to red and back to silver again.

  Taking a closer look at the woman standing before her, Frayka realized the robe she wore wasn’t made of cloth.

  It was made of dragonflies. When the dragonflies rested with their wings extended, they appeared almost transparent with the exception of their shimmering surface. But when the dragonflies lifted or fluttered their wings, the motion revealed the red color hiding behind the shimmering surfaces.

  Who is this? I’ve never met anyone in a portent before. I’ve only seen pictures of what will happen. Is this woman real? Can I trust her?

  Frayka decided the only way to get answers to her questions would be to ask.

  “Who are you?” Frayka said. Even though Frayka knew her body remained in the mortal world, she felt her own physical presence inside the portent. Frayka rested her hand on top of her dagger’s pommel, ready to pull the weapon free if needed.

  “We will meet outside your portent soon enough,” the woman said. “Introductions can wait until then. This is a critical time, and I’m here to deliver a warning: you must heed your great-grandmother’s advice.”

  “GranGran?” Frayka said. “I am taking her advice already. Why are you really here?”

  Seeming to be spooked, the thousands of dragonflies forming the Far Eastern woman’s dress burst away from her and flew in all directions. Their absence revealed slim white pants and a shirt, both as white and soft as clouds. One dragonfly remained and perched on her shoulder. “I am aware,” the woman said. “But you must understand how severe and dire your circumstances might become.”

  “I do understand,” Frayka said in frustration. “We’re being attacked! We need help!” She gestured to the mist surrounding her. “This is no time for a portent. I need to go back and help.”

  “There is no help,” the mysterious woman said. “Only the need to commit to what you must do.”

  “Yes!” Frayka said, feeling her frustration grow by the moment. “GranGran told me to learn respect for my elders. I am. She told me to pretend my husband is a servant. I am. She told me to learn the Far East language. I am. What more do you want from me?”

  “You must remember everything you’ve promised, and stay true to your promises.” The woman then became transparent and faded into the mist surrounding Frayka.

  With a jolt, Frayka awoke and found herself surrounded by darkness. She remained still and kept her breathing quiet while she strained to gain her bearings. Lying on her back, she felt a cold surface beneath her. The chilly air made her shiver.
<
br />   It’s night. If the air is cold, it must be night.

  Her side throbbed, reminding Frayka of the weighted rope that had been thrown at her, wrapping her arms against her side and causing her fall.

  I must have hit my head hard against the ground. It happened in the afternoon. The fall must have knocked me out.

  Dim light filtered from an open window in the slanted ceiling high above. Peering closer, Frayka saw the stars, but within minutes they began to fade with the approach of dawn. The fresh scent of pine entered on a soft breeze. The pale light revealed a small room with wooden walls.

  She sat up slowly, and her head pounded with pain. The way the Far Eastern men had captured her as if they were hunting an animal ignited Frayka’s anger. Looking around the room, she saw no one else.

  What happened to Njall? And GranGran? And TeaTree?

  Frayka remembered how they had protected her. GranGran fought men like a true warrior, even disabling Ming Mo. TeaTree had yelled at Frayka to run and save herself. She believed TeaTree and Njall had stayed by GranGran’s side to fight the Far Eastern men.

  But the little that Frayka had learned so far about Zangcheen and the Wulong Province made her worry.

  Would men like that allow an old woman to live after she defeated their leader? Or would they punish her?

  Frayka considered what TeaTree had said about protecting Njall and how her husband needed to pretend to be a slave for his own safety.

  Would they question a slave who stayed behind to fight instead of taking the opportunity to run to his freedom? Did they figure out that Njall is my husband?

  What if the Far Eastern men killed them all? What if I’m the only one left alive?

  Before she could panic, Frayka reminded herself that she didn’t know the truth about what happened. The others could be alive or dead. They might be close by or elsewhere. For now, she would have to live with the unknown.