“Please don’t recite them,” Ji-Lin interrupted. “He’s our uncle, remember? We’ve heard his poetry. He recited some at a Winter Ritual once. We were six, I think. I fell asleep.”
“It was beautiful!” Seika said. She’d read a lot of his poetry. Mostly he wrote about what had been lost and forgotten when their ancestors had fled from Zemyla. She thought of the story from Tsuri and how he’d wanted to be a scholar.
“I remember you read him your first poem.”
Seika squinched up her face, remembering. It had been about a rock. A very nice rock. “That was not beautiful.” She looked again at the cliffs beneath them. “Would you really jump if I weren’t here?” Below, the pearl divers began climbing back up a path that was barely more than notches cut into the rock. The climb up looked nearly as treacherous as the plunge down. Amazing, she thought.
“I laugh at danger.”
“Ooh, ooh, the poets should say that when they write about you!” Alejan said. “And they’ll say that I fearlessly roar in the face of danger!” He swelled his lungs as if he were about to let out a mighty roar.
“Don’t!” Seika said quickly. “You’ll startle the divers.”
He exhaled a huff of air.
“You wouldn’t dive?” Ji-Lin asked. “Just to see what it’s like?”
Seika twisted around to see the divers again—from this distance, they looked like ants clambering up the rocks. She wished she dared do that. “I don’t think the heir is supposed to dive off cliffs.”
“So? And what if she were? Would you do it then? If it were a tradition? On her twelfth birthday, every princess is supposed to climb hundreds of feet into the air and plummet into the sea.”
“It’s not a tradition.” Instead, I just have to talk to a dragon. Seika shuddered. She wished she felt as fearless as the divers. She wondered how they felt the first time they dove off that cliff. Were they scared or eager? Or both? Did they feel ready?
“Hey, it’s okay,” Ji-Lin said. She’d clearly felt Seika’s shudder. “You don’t have to do any plummeting into the sea. Sorry I asked. I was just joking.”
It’s not that, Seika thought. But she didn’t want to talk about how she didn’t feel ready to face the dragon. “I’m okay.”
Flying on, they saw shrines on the tops of the towering rocks. Shepherds led flocks up and down narrow paths to plateaus covered in grass and flowers. The shepherds’ houses were tucked into the cliffs themselves, carved into the rocks, with ladders that led to their doors. They were painted the same white and blue as the fishing village.
“I hope sending the bird was enough,” Ji-Lin said after a while.
“The lions and riders will help them.” Seika wondered if she should apologize for keeping Ji-Lin from hunting the monster. She didn’t believe she was wrong, and her etiquette tutor, Master Pon, liked to warn against royal apologies: Princesses take responsibility, not blame. Still, Ji-Lin didn’t seem happy.
“You’d better be right.”
“For all we know, it might not have been a koji after all. The caller said it could have been a wolf with a taste for sheep. Or a hungry bear.” She wasn’t certain bears ate sheep. “If they’d been sure it was a dangerous koji, they would have fled to their koji shelter.”
“Maybe.” Ji-Lin didn’t sound like she believed her.
“And besides, they said it left. No sheep deaths last night.”
The lion spoke. “A koji shouldn’t be there at all. It should be on the other side of the barrier.” Alejan angled away from the island. “Look toward the south. You can see the shimmer of the barrier against the sky. Isn’t it pretty? You know, Master Shai once flew the entire perimeter of the barrier without stopping for more than a few hours’ sleep.”
“I love that story,” Ji-Lin said.
Seika studied the southern sky. She didn’t see—Yes, she did! There it was! It looked like heat rising off stone in summer. The air wrinkled, and the solid line of the horizon wavered as she stared. Colors were caught in it, faint, like fish in a net. “It’s beautiful.” You couldn’t see that from the palace.
“It’s a promise,” Alejan said, “to keep us safe from the world beyond. That’s what Master Vanya always says.”
“Ever wonder what’s out there? Beyond, I mean?” Ji-Lin asked.
Seika hadn’t, really. She’d spent hours imagining the world beyond the palace walls and beyond the mountains that cradled the imperial city. She’d dreamed of someday seeing all the islands. But the world beyond the islands . . . that seemed impossibly far.
“I bet they have amazing feasts,” Alejan said. “The old stories are full of roast gazelle and antelope and great horned augi bulls . . . Supposedly they had multicolored spiral horns and tasted peppery. We never had those on the islands. And they made something called honey dragonberry bread that no one here knows how to make, even if we had any dragonberries. But the koji probably eat all their feasts and wreck all their celebrations.”
They’re probably scared all the time without a barrier to protect them, Seika thought. “We can’t let our people live in fear. We have to complete the Journey.”
“We will,” Ji-Lin said. “Four more days, and that’s counting today.”
They flew parallel to the barrier for a while longer, over more islands, until the sun was low in the sky. Beneath them, on the island of Acara, shadows stretched, and the rocks were tinted burnt orange in the dying light. As they glided between the rock formations, Seika hoped they’d see the next village soon—Gyoson, she remembered it was called, on the island of Okina.
The Emperor’s Journey was designed with clear stops for each night. Alejan knew the direction and the pace to fly. Seika’s only job was to be a passenger. Still, she couldn’t help worrying. If they missed the village, what would they do? Off the imperial island, villages were spread apart. Many islands were uninhabited.
“Gyoson is up ahead,” Alejan said, “and it is strangely dark.”
Seika felt Ji-Lin lean forward. The next island, Okina, was a cluster of low mountains. The village of Gyoson was nestled at the foot of one, beside a harbor. “Where are the lights?” Ji-Lin asked. “The fires? Someone should be cooking something. We should see smoke from the chimneys.”
They should have seen lights from the houses and the streets. It was only dusk, but the villagers should have begun to light the lanterns. There were sunset rituals that Seika knew of, but those should have already happened . . . “We can ask them when we arrive.” If she was lucky, maybe this time there wouldn’t be such a crowd. She didn’t think she could face another mass of people, all of them looking at her expectantly, as if she were a figure out of a tale instead of a person. Not after flying all day.
They circled the village.
No one came out of the houses. No one waved. No one shouted and pointed. She didn’t see any children. “There’s no one here,” Alejan said. “They’re all gone.”
“That can’t be,” Seika objected.
But as they flew lower, she realized he was right.
The town was empty.
Chapter
Seven
IN THE ABANDONED town, Ji-Lin held still, listening for voices, footfalls, anything. But all she heard was the dull ring of the buoy bells and the wind as it rattled down the street.
Beside her, Seika raised her voice. “Hello? Is anyone—”
“Shh!” Quickly, Ji-Lin clapped her hand over her sister’s mouth.
But she wasn’t quick enough.
Ahead, in the gloom of the darkened street, a shadow shifted, waking.
Ji-Lin heard the heavy whoosh of wings as the shadow lifted into the air. A deeper darkness spread across the street—something with a wingspan as wide as a building flew overhead. It was enormous. Beyond enormous. “Hide,” she whispered. She motioned to Alejan to retreat. He backed into an alley and huddled between barrels. Ji-Lin pulled her sister under an awning. They crouched, barely daring to breathe, but the huge winged crea
ture flapped upward.
“There’s something out there,” Seika whispered.
“Yeah, I noticed.” Ji-Lin peered through rips in the awning. The sky was dusty gray. Soon it would be dark. Her heart was beating so fast that it felt as if it wanted to jump out of her rib cage. “I guess that’s the reason everyone left town. We were lucky it was asleep when we arrived.”
Crouching in the shadows, Seika curled into a ball. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”
Ji-Lin’s mouth was dry as sand, and her hands felt slick and sweaty. She wiped them, hoping Seika wouldn’t notice. Ji-Lin was supposed to be the imperial warrior, the guardian of the heir, a future hero of the empire. But that thing had scared these villagers so badly that they’d all fled. A hundred or more people, up and gone.
“We can’t stay here,” Seika said in a tiny voice. “It’ll come back.”
“Then I’ll fight it,” Ji-Lin said immediately. Except that it had looked so very large. When she’d imagined fighting the koji back in Tsuri, she’d pictured a monster about the size of Alejan—something big enough to eat a few sheep but not big enough to eat a whole flock in one bite.
“You can’t fight that! It’s huge!”
Maybe it was a bit too large for just her and Alejan to fight. It was okay to admit that, wasn’t it? “We could do it,” Ji-Lin said carefully. “But it might be smarter to leave before it comes back.” I’m not being cowardly, she told herself. I’m being practical. Keeping Seika safe was her primary responsibility, as she’d said that morning.
She wished she knew where the villagers of Gyoson had hidden themselves. There had to be a koji shelter nearby, but where? Entrances were always out of sight, for obvious reasons. If there were just someone here to tell them where to go, to tell her what to do . . . But there was no one. Even Alejan wasn’t close enough to talk to. He was hidden in the alley.
She hadn’t expected to feel this way when she encountered her first monster. She’d thought she was ready. It was a shock to realize that maybe she wasn’t as ready as she’d believed. If it weren’t so big . . .
Ji-Lin heard the whoosh again. Much closer. A shadow passed over the street, and she shrank back farther into the darkness. She held herself still, not breathing. She heard Seika next to her, her breath fast.
Then the shadow was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Seika whispered.
Ji-Lin shot her a look and saw she was hugging herself tightly, staring up at the slivers of sky between rips in the awning. Her hair had slipped from the jeweled pins.
“This is my fault. I woke it.”
“It’ll be all right,” Ji-Lin told her. “I’ve trained for this.” But training isn’t the same as doing, she thought. She wished Master Vanya were here. Or anyone.
“What do we do?” Seika asked.
Ji-Lin felt a flush of pride—her sister was asking her what to do! She believes in me. Chewing on her lower lip, Ji-Lin thought through their options. It was clear they couldn’t stay here, and it was equally clear they couldn’t fly away without being seen. It was sheer luck they’d made it this far safely. “We’ll go on foot. Stay in the shadows and then find a place outside town to hide for the night.” She tried to sound confident.
“Outside?” Seika’s voice quavered.
“Maybe we’ll find the villagers’ koji shelter and spend the night with them.”
Seika swallowed so hard that Ji-Lin thought it would echo. “That would be good.”
“Follow me.” Ji-Lin signaled to Alejan as well, and then she crept out from under the awning, keeping close to the sides of the buildings. Left, right, straight . . . Every footstep sounded extra loud. She listened for the sound of the wings. Around them, the houses were all dark and silent.
Her skin prickled. It wasn’t natural. A town was supposed to have noise: Kids playing. Adults talking or cooking or cleaning or working. Dogs barking. She’d even have settled for a rat, but there was no noise except the wind. Finally, they passed the last house on the street. It was half collapsed, its roof caved in like an undercooked cake. She couldn’t tell if it was due to damage from a tremor or from the winged intruder.
Ahead was a moonlit mountain. Keeping in the lead, Ji-Lin climbed a narrow, rocky path that zigzagged up, away from Gyoson. She watched for clues to the koji shelter—it would be well hidden, and it could just as easily be in the opposite direction.
“Maybe we should have hidden in the town?” Seika whispered, looking down at the village. Ji-Lin glanced back too. Below, the dark town was quiet, nestled against the blue-black water of the harbor. The boats bobbed in the waves.
“Whatever’s out there is in the town.”
“It’s just . . . I’ve never spent the night outside before.”
“We’ll find a place that’s out of sight.” Ji-Lin scanned the area around them. They were on a rocky slope, punctuated by scrub brush and gnarled trees. Entirely too much in the open, she thought. If the whatever-was-out-there lost interest in the town, it would see them in the moonlight. Maybe Seika was right and this wasn’t the best idea.
Softly, Alejan whispered, “Look there. Refuge. When Emperor Himitsu himself first came to the islands, it is said that he hid in caves until the first fortress was built, on the volcano island. We’re going to that very same fortress. So hiding is almost traditional.”
Looking up, Ji-Lin saw an outcropping with a broad shadow beneath it—a possible cave. Perfect! They could wait in there until sunrise and then—
Beside her, Seika’s skirt caught a bush, and she pitched forward. Leaping toward her, Ji-Lin caught her just as Seika grabbed Ji-Lin’s arm.
“Thanks,” Seika said.
“Are you all right?” Ji-Lin noticed that Seika was wearing dancing slippers, and her so-called travel dress was silk. Not practical sneaking-around-a-mountain clothes. Ji-Lin helped her straighten. She belongs in a palace, not out here, Ji-Lin thought. And a treacherous little part of her mind added, You don’t belong out here either.
Testing her ankle, Seika said, “I’m fine.”
Ji-Lin exhaled. “Good.” Last thing they needed was a twisted ankle. Actually, the last thing they needed was to be found by that winged thing. An ankle could heal. She led Seika to the shadow, helping her over the rocks. Sword drawn, she peered beneath the outcropping. The wedge of darkness was almost as high as she was tall.
“Any bugs?” Seika asked.
Seriously? That was her concern? “You should be worried about whatever that giant flying thing was that scared away the villagers.”
“Okay, any monsters?”
“I don’t see any.” Bending over, Ji-Lin walked into the shadows. As her eyes adjusted, she saw they were in a hollow-shaped curve of rocks that could have been a den for a bear or a large cat, but there was no trace of any animal now. “Nothing will be able to see us here.” They’d be nicely tucked out of sight. “Good find, Alejan.”
“Everyone should always travel with a very observant lion.”
“You are very observant. And brave.”
“Even though we’re hiding?” He sounded anxious.
“Yes,” Ji-Lin said firmly—and she hoped she was right. She’d never imagined hiding from anything, but there was Seika to keep safe . . . I’m hiding for her sake, right?
Entering the alcove, Seika sank to the ground. Alejan squeezed in beside her, filling the tiny cave with the musky smell of lion fur and the old-fish smell of his breath. Ji-Lin heard his stomach rumble as he settled in, trying to neatly fold his wings so they wouldn’t bump either Seika or Ji-Lin. “Hungry?” she asked him.
His eyes seemed to glow in the shadows. The rest of him was shrouded in darkness. “Is that a trick question?”
“I know, I know. You’re a growing lion.” She dug into the packs. They’d eaten while they flew—the last village had given them meat rolls—but there must be at least one left . . . Aha! She pulled it out. It had become a bit mashed in the packs. Splitting it into thirds, s
he gave a piece to each of them.
Alejan inhaled his in a single swallow.
Seika bit in, and the juice dribbled onto her chin. She wiped it away and regarded her hand as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Lick it off. I didn’t pack napkins,” Ji-Lin said.
Seika hesitated again and then licked her palm quickly, as if she was afraid a court lady would see her.
Ji-Lin laughed and then muffled her laugh into a snorting kind of giggle. “Do you think the bugs are going to criticize your manners?”
Seika swallowed a giggle too. “I’m sure bugs are very polite.”
And just like that, hearing the laugh in her sister’s voice, Ji-Lin felt better. It was okay that they were hiding from a monster, because she was with her sister and Alejan. Tomorrow, she’d figure out what to do next, and everything would be fine.
They finished the meat roll and drank from the canteen. Ji-Lin gave Alejan most of it, pouring it into his mouth directly. She left a little for morning. “You two sleep,” she said. “I’ll stand guard.”
“You’re certain?” Alejan asked. “As your steadfast and true companion—”
“I can do it.”
“You must be tired too,” Seika said.
“I’ll sleep tomorrow as we fly. I’ve done it before.” She’d dozed occasionally while flying and had nearly fallen off Alejan, but she didn’t mention that part. She would just strap herself firmly into the saddle.
Seika seemed to believe her, though, which was good enough.
Ji-Lin rooted through the pack. They should have emergency supplies, like blankets and bandages, even a tent, but in the dark, she could only find a woven jacket. “This could work as a blanket.” She handed it to her sister. Seika wrapped it around herself and curled up against the pack as if it were a pillow. “You’ve never slept on the ground before?” Ji-Lin asked.
“I fell out of bed a few times, after you first left. That’s not the same, though.”
Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 7