She felt a smile pulling at her face. She was doing it! Really, really doing it! Ji-Lin was going to be so surprised. And happy. I keep my promises.
She hurried. Up ahead, she saw it: the elegant curve of the black gondola.
She also saw a figure in the boat.
He had painted gold skin, a fake lion’s mane, and swan-feather wings, and he was sitting calmly, legs crossed, hands on his knees, as if he’d been waiting for her for hours.
“Father?” Seika said, slowing.
The Emperor of Himitsu inclined his head. “Daughter. Care for a boat ride?”
But . . . But . . . She’d been so quick and so clever! How did he . . . How could he . . .
He signaled one of his guards, who stepped out of the shadows and into the gondola. He held a polelike paddle for steering. Seika glanced around and saw more of her father’s guards blended in with the dark walls of the tunnel. Hitching up the hem of her skirt, she climbed into the boat. It rocked as she settled into a seat directly across from her father. She set the lantern between them.
She peeked up at him. He didn’t look angry.
Standing on the back of the gondola, the guard rowed them out of the tunnel. Above, the night sky was dressed in stars. “If I may ask, how did you know?” She kept her hands in her lap, eyes respectfully down. She thought her voice sounded admirably calm and steady, considering she’d just been caught.
“Spies,” he said bluntly. “I had you watched.”
The gondola slid through the water. “Oh.” She should have known. She was watched all the time, of course, but she’d thought that during the Spring Ritual she’d be lost in the crowd, indistinguishable from the other unicorn maidens.
“I am disappointed in you, Seika.”
Ouch. His words felt like rocks dropped on her toes. She slumped in her seat. She’d thought he might be annoyed, but she hadn’t thought he’d be disappointed. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“Someday you will be empress, and all of Himitsu will look to you for guidance and inspiration. You will be responsible for the rituals that give our people’s lives meaning, that elevate them from primitive animals to enlightened beings, that ensure safety for both the young and old.”
With every word, she felt as if she were sinking lower and lower. She wished she could sink into the water and disappear. She shouldn’t have left during a ritual. But it was the one time she’d thought there were no eyes on her. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“I must be able to depend on you to respect our traditions. You must complete our rituals. They are important to our people and our way of life. Promise me you will never abandon one again.”
“I promise.”
His eyes bored into hers. “Promise me you will always do your duty. You will think of our people, and you will do what is needed.”
“I will! I promise! I won’t let you down again.” She hadn’t thought he’d be this upset. She’d only meant to spend the day with her sister. She was going to come right back. “I just . . . missed Ji-Lin.” Her voice was so small that she wasn’t sure he heard her.
When he replied, he did not give the answer she expected. “You’ll see her tomorrow.”
She straightened so fast that the gondola rocked from side to side, water sloshing against it. “Really?” Her voice squeaked. “Oh, Father, that’s the most wonderful—”
He held up one bejeweled hand, stopping her. “Tomorrow, you will begin the Emperor’s Journey. You will go alone, with your sister-guard and her lion, as in the tales of old. You will follow the path of our most beloved ancestor for five days to Kazan, the island of the Dragon’s Shrine. You will speak with the dragon before the sun sets on Himit’s Day, and you will keep our people safe, as generations have done before you.”
She couldn’t stop staring at him, even though she knew it was not proper manners. Her mouth was hanging open too, in a way that would have caused her etiquette tutor to tap her jaw with a fan. “But I . . . But that’s . . . I don’t . . . Truly?” The Emperor’s Journey?
“Truly.” He clasped her hands. His palms felt smooth, soft, and cool. “Fly straight and fast. Do not linger. Do not veer. Follow the path of Emperor Himitsu. Our people will ensure you have all you need as you travel—food to eat, places to sleep, wisdom to share.”
“But . . . I’m not ready!” She hadn’t completed enough lessons, hadn’t memorized enough of the rituals, hadn’t ever ventured that far away from the palace or Father before.
“Remember what you have promised: you must do your duty. All of Himitsu depends on it.”
Seika swallowed hard. “I will keep my promise.” Ready or not, she had no choice. Please, please let me succeed!
Chapter
Three
FLYING ON ALEJAN, Ji-Lin heard the drumbeats. And then she saw the drums themselves, at the top of the palace spires, poking through the mist that covered the city. Each drum was so large that it looked as if it was going to topple off, and each drummer was strapped on with ropes so she wouldn’t fall. Kicking off the roof, the drummers swung up and out, away from the spire, raised their drumsticks with both hands, and then swung back, crashing drumstick and feet first into the drum. Swerving between the spires, Alejan flew between the drummers. The beats were so loud they echoed into Ji-Lin’s bones. “Are we late?” she called.
“Exactly on time,” Master Vanya said, flying beside them. “They herald our arrival.”
“Oh.” Ji-Lin had never been greeted with drums before.
“It’s really loud,” Alejan complained. “Can I roar at them?”
“No,” Ji-Lin and Master Vanya said.
“Just one roar?”
“No.”
“A little roar? A meow?”
“Imperial guardians are always dignified,” Master Vanya said. “You would do well to remember that. People will look to you, and to you, Princess Ji-Lin. It is the role of the imperial family to be the spirit of Himitsu. If you do not act as you should, uphold our traditions, and lead our rituals with confidence, our people will feel fear.” She circled a spire. “Fear is our enemy. Fear leads to stupidity. Stupidity leads to danger, death, and destruction. Therefore, you must both be on your best behavior, no matter what comes.”
“Yes, Master Vanya,” Ji-Lin and Alejan said.
“Good. You will learn, as you age, that the world is more fragile than it seems, unbalanced by a single poor decision or broken promise. Now, follow me.” Master Vanya flew down into the mist above the palace. Alejan followed, and Ji-Lin leaned forward against his mane. Droplets hit her face as they plunged through the low clouds.
A streak of red-orange flame darted in front of them. And then another. And another. As the clouds began to lighten, Ji-Lin saw a trio of fire moths twisting around her, breathing tiny flames, burning away the mist with every exhale. One zipped past Ji-Lin’s shoulder, and she flinched. She patted her shoulder to be sure there weren’t any flames. Yay! I’m not on fire. Must mean I’m doing something right.
Alejan spiraled lower, and soon they dropped through the bottom of the layer of mist. Below, the imperial city was suspended between two green slopes with dozens of bridges and canals, so many that it looked like a maze.
In the center of the city was the palace.
Ji-Lin always felt a jolt of awe when she saw it from above. All the spires, all the courtyards, all the tiered roofs—so elegant and so huge. I’m home! she thought.
They circled above a courtyard. Like the temple courtyard, it was stuffed with art: statues of past emperors and their finest victories. It was also stuffed with people: lords, ladies, guards, magistrates, cooks, cleaners, craftsmen . . . all of them crammed onto balconies and rooftops, hanging out windows, and crowding into doorways. All the people were shouting and waving and cheering, but Ji-Lin couldn’t hear them over the drums and the conch-shell trumpets. She just saw their mouths moving and hands flapping around.
She scanned the crowd, looking for Seika. Her sister shoul
d be here. It wasn’t like she could have missed all the fuss being made for Ji-Lin’s arrival. But where . . .
There!
She saw Father first, on a throne balanced between two rocks. He was smothered in purple and green silk and draped in dozens of gold tassels. Behind him were his guards, all dressed in identical ceremonial armor, with swords crossed on their backs. And beside him, to his right, was a smaller figure, also swathed in purple and green. Seika!
Ji-Lin waved at her. But her sister looked at Father and didn’t wave back.
Master Vanya landed in the dead center of the courtyard. Wind from her wings blew the scarves that hung from every window. The drums fell silent. Trumpets, silent. People, silent.
Startled by the sudden hush, Alejan dipped his wing too far, faltered, and landed hard. Ji-Lin was jolted forward, her face into his mane, fur in her mouth. “Oof!”
“Sorry! I’m sorry, Ji-Lin! Are you okay?”
She spat out fur as she sat up. “Fine. I’m all right.”
Everyone was staring at them. Her father’s face was immobile. He might as well have been carved from stone. Ji-Lin heard Master Vanya sigh lightly. “Go and greet your sister. I must address the emperor. Remember: dignity.”
Ji-Lin slid off Alejan’s back and ran across the courtyard, toward Seika, who bounded toward her. Her sister looked longer, as if she’d been pulled by her head and stretched. Even her face was longer, and her hair had been brushed back into three tight braids that were wound together with gold string. But she had the same Seika smile on her face.
Ji-Lin opened her arms to hug her sister . . . but Seika skidded to a stop and said quickly, the words tumbling over each other, “You’re supposed to greet me with a bow, and then I bow back to you. Everyone’s watching, so it has to be done correctly.”
Ji-Lin clasped her hands together and executed a sloppy bow. She straightened quickly, but Seika was already bowing back to her, gracefully and slowly, as if she’d practiced it a thousand times.
The crowd cheered.
Seika smiled again, looking at the crowd. “They’re happy! That means we did it right! I wasn’t—” The rest of her words were swallowed by noise from every direction, including the roof. Some of the audience had come with their own horns and drums, which added to the shouting and clapping.
“Seika . . .” Ji-Lin began, but she was drowned out by the crowd.
Over the cheers, in a voice as loud as a roar, Master Vanya said, “Your Imperial Majesty, I have come to tell you a tale.”
“And I have come to hear it,” the emperor said, his voice carrying across the courtyard.
Everyone fell silent again—all the lords, ladies, guards, cooks, everyone. Ji-Lin hadn’t known that that many people could quiet so quickly. She shot another look at her sister. On her tiptoes, Seika was watching the crowd. She seemed far more interested in the ritual than in a reunion with Ji-Lin.
The emperor repeated, “I have come to hear it, for I am the Keeper of Stories and the Guardian of Memory.” This was the role of the emperor, retelling the old tales and leading the most important rituals.
She should have guessed there would be a whole ritual around her homecoming. She tried to look interested, even though all she wanted to do was grab Seika’s hand and run into the palace and shout, I’m home! We’re together! She didn’t want a ritual right now. Couldn’t it wait?
“Once, long ago, my people were not free,” the lioness said. “Enslaved by the cruel emperor of the vast land of Zemyla, they were his warriors. They fought whom he told them to fight. They killed whom he told them to kill. They were given no choice, offered no trust, shown no respect, but only fear. They were his blade and his hammer, his mindless tools.”
Seika was still watching with rapt attention. Ji-Lin tried—and failed—to catch her eye. She wanted to tell her sister about the test she’d taken, the flight here, her winged‑lion companion, Alejan.
Standing, his robes swirling around him, the emperor said, “Once, long ago, my people, too, were not free. Ruled by the cruel emperor of the vast land of Zemyla, they thought what he told them to think. They loved whom he told them to love. They were given no choice, offered no trust, shown no respect, but only contempt. They were his bowl and his brush, his mindless conveniences.”
“Until one of my kind befriended one of yours,” Master Vanya said. “And together they began to dream of peace and freedom and harmony.”
The words finally caught Ji-Lin’s attention. Wait a minute—this doesn’t sound like a homecoming ritual. It was the Tale of the First Emperor, which was saved for the most important occasions. Why are they telling this now? Ji-Lin wondered. Her coming home wasn’t that momentous—at least, not to anyone but her and Seika.
She opened her mouth to ask her sister, but before she could, Seika whispered, “Are you really here? Is it really you? Can I pinch you?” Her hand darted out of her sleeve.
Ji-Lin felt a pinch on her arm, just above her elbow. “Ow! I’m real.”
A cymbal chimed, and acrobats poured through a curtained doorway. Silk billowed behind them as they spun and flipped in the air, acting out the story of their ancestors. Wow, Father really pulled out all the stops, Ji-Lin thought. Could it be he missed me?
She shot another look at her father. He wasn’t looking at Ji-Lin. He was studying the acrobats as if they were priceless. He’d barely acknowledged Ji-Lin.
No, he’d sent her away because she wasn’t the one who mattered. She wasn’t the heir. She wouldn’t lead any of the all-important rituals, and she didn’t want to. She wanted to be in the tales, not telling them.
“You look different,” Seika whispered. “Strong.”
Ji-Lin thought of the hours spent raising her arms and legs into proper defensive position, only to have one of the lions swat them with his or her tail until she moved them exactly right. She’d run up and down the temple stairs countless times. She’d swung arm to arm across ladders. Yes, she’d grown strong. “You look . . .” She couldn’t think of an adjective to match it. “Pretty.”
Seika giggled. “The court ladies did my hair.” She pointed to the piles of braids. “I think birds are going to want to nest in it.”
At least Seika still laughed. They used to laugh together all the time. Nothing’s changed, Ji-Lin told herself, and hoped it was true.
Master Vanya spoke again in her grand, trumpeting voice. “ ‘Let us take to the sea,’ my ancestor said, ‘and find our people a new home, a safe home.’ And together, they flew: the lion and the man, with the man’s warrior-sister as his only guard, until they found a string of newborn islands, beyond the eastern shores of Zemyla.”
“New islands, summoned from the sea by a rare and remarkable koji: a dragon,” the emperor said. “Created with the dragon’s power, for the dragon’s purpose. Cooled and hardened by the dragon’s will.” He swept his right arm open wide, and firedancers emerged from another doorway.
Running to the center of the courtyard, the firedancers swirled torches. Flames streaked as they spun faster and faster. Tossing the torches into the air, they somersaulted and then caught the torches again.
“Wow,” Ji-Lin said.
“They must have been practicing this for days,” Seika whispered.
“But that doesn’t make sense. No one could have known I’d pass the test.” She shot another look at Father, who was watching the firedancers with a polite expression. He wasn’t looking at the princesses.
“Everyone must have expected it,” Seika said. “You can’t pull together a performance like this without a lot of preparation. And the banquet, too—that takes at least a week of planning.”
A week ago Ji-Lin hadn’t even known she was taking the test. She’d been in classes, memorizing maps and practicing her sword exercises. No one could have known she’d pass. Unless it wasn’t a real test, she thought. If this performance was already being planned, Father could have ordered Master Vanya to pass her, regardless of what she
did. The test could have been just for show.
Ji-Lin looked at Master Vanya. The lioness had overruled the others. But if it wasn’t a real test, if it was fixed . . . did that mean they didn’t think she was ready for the actual test? And if they thought that, then why had she been allowed to come home? What was going on? Seika was still talking. “I wish they’d told me sooner. But even if I’d had days, I still don’t think I’d be ready for the Journey.”
Ji-Lin stared at her, test forgotten, firedancers forgotten. “You mean the Emperor’s Journey? To the Shrine of the Dragon? But that’s—” Before she could finish, the acrobats joined the dance right in front of the princess. Three of them spun around the firedancers, close enough that their scarves touched the fire and burst into flame—they’d doused them in oil.
Blazing golden red, the fire danced with the acrobats as they swung the burning scarves in circles and figure eights. Ji-Lin felt the heat as they twirled past her, and she backed up against Alejan. Seika was swept sideways, away from the flames—and from Ji-Lin.
Craning her neck to see Seika, Ji-Lin applauded with the crowd as the acrobats and firedancers bowed, and the emperor and Master Vanya continued the tale:
The dragon koji had created the islands, calling on the lava deep beneath the sea, to be her own. She planned to encase the islands in an impenetrable magical barrier to protect herself while she healed from a mighty battle. And so the man bargained with the dragon: let our people stay within your barrier; in return, we will protect you while you heal.
“It’s getting near our part,” Seika whispered. She was back next to Ji-Lin.
We have a part? Ji-Lin thought. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say or do. The Emperor’s Journey! It was the most important ritual that the heir, her sibling-guard, and a winged lion were ever called to perform, but they weren’t supposed to go on it for years. Why hadn’t Master Vanya warned her? Ji-Lin shot a look at the ancient lioness before whispering to Seika, “What’s our part?”
Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 3