“It was a scuttle beetle. Caught us by surprise on an island we thought was safe. We’d stopped for fresh water and a rest. A chance to get solid earth under our feet again. I told Kirro to go to shore—he’d been begging. He doesn’t fare well on the waves. Makes him sick, so I thought it would be good for him . . . Never regretted a decision so much. The doctor says . . . We don’t know how much time he has left. Could be weeks. But could be hours.”
Now that she knew the name, she could picture the page in the text. Waterhorse spit counteracted the poison of a beetle bite. It couldn’t heal the damaged skin, but it kept it from getting worse. He shouldn’t be dying! She’d never known anyone to die from a scuttle beetle bite. “Did you ask a waterhorse to spit on the bite mark?”
The captain frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It heals scuttle beetle bites.”
Beside her, Ji-Lin nodded. “There’s a story about a waterhorse who saved a soldier—”
“Yes, that’s right!” Seika knew that story too. It was in a book of children’s tales. “The soldier was alone, separated from the rest of the imperial guards—”
“A scout,” Ji-Lin added. “They were searching for a place to build the imperial palace, and the scout put his hand into a nest of scuttle beetles. Howling in pain, he ran for the nearest river and plunged his hand into the water. The waterhorse heard his screams—”
“He was trying to sleep, you see,” Seika said. “It’s really a funny story. ‘You are a rude man,’ the waterhorse said, and spat all over the soldier. And the man was cured!” Yes, that was it! Waterhorse spit cured scuttle beetle bites. Everyone knew that.
The captain’s bushy brows were low over his eyes as he scowled at them. “This is my son’s life we’re talking about. I don’t find it funny.”
Seika shrank back, then reminded herself she was a princess and he was an intruder. A rude intruder. “It’s not a lie. I swear on the honor of our father’s throne. Ask your doctor.”
He scowled at them for a moment, muttered under his breath about thrones, and then spun around and barked to one of the sailors, “Get the doctor!”
Seconds later, a woman bustled up onto the deck. She wore an ankle-length coat that was covered in pockets and purses, and she carried a wooden box, which she set down with a thump. Her hair was braided in a style Seika had never seen. “Where’s the patient?”
The captain waved his hand at the princesses. “These two claim that waterhorse spit will cure my boy. Are they telling the truth, and if so, why haven’t you cured him?”
The doctor studied them. “The records claim that it was a viable cure, but we don’t have access to any waterhorse spit. Waterhorses were hunted out of existence in Zemyla thirty years ago.”
Glaring at the princesses, the captain pivoted and shouted to the nearby sailors. “Secure them in the hold! They’ll be useful when we find their emperor, if they aren’t telling another story about that.” Several sailors advanced on the princesses.
Useful . . . So the hostage idea had occurred to him. “It’s not just a story!” Seika said. She felt her face flush and her hands start to shake.
“Don’t raise his hopes,” the doctor scolded. “Impossible remedies are no better than—”
“It is not impossible.” Standing, Alejan flexed his wings. He spread the feathers and ruffled them. “Not here.”
Six sailors readied their swords and axes. Ji-Lin drew her sword and stepped in front of the lion, between him and the sailors. Don’t fight, Seika thought at them all. Please don’t fight!
Deliberately, the lion yawned, displaying his teeth, and said, “The Hundred Islands of Himitsu have plenty of waterhorses. Just like we also have winged lions. All you need to do is find one, and he’ll be cured.”
The doctor gasped. “The Hidden Islands!” She spun to glare at the captain. “You didn’t tell me we’re here! If it’s true, and if they really still have waterhorses, this changes everything!”
The captain held up a hand, and the sailors halted. Ji-Lin glared at them, sword extended, turning slowly in a circle to see them all.
“I’ve read theories—” the doctor began; then she interrupted herself. “Captain, you hired me for my expertise not only in medicine but in isolated ecosystems. The presence of the lion confirms my hypothesis that even in only two hundred years, there can be significant differences, due to hunting and climate—”
“To the point, Doctor,” the captain said. “Are you saying you believe these children? They have delusions of grandeur. They claim they’re princesses.”
The doctor studied them, circling both Seika and Ji-Lin, examining their clothes and their hair, peering into their eyes as if cataloging every shade of iris color. “They are children of wealth. You can tell by the quality of the stitching. And look here—” She pointed to the embroidery on Ji-Lin’s sleeve. “It’s clear this is a uniform. See the variation on the Zemylan imperial symbol?”
Enough of this, Seika thought. We’re wasting time. They needed to get back to the Journey! They were supposed to be at the shrine tomorrow! “I am Princess Seika d’Orina Amatimara Himit-Re, and I swear on my father’s throne that every word we have spoken is the truth. These are the islands of Himitsu, and there are waterhorses that can cure the captain’s son. And now we must continue on our quest. It is of the utmost importance.”
“I know it is difficult for you to trust when you feel so much fear,” the doctor said to the captain, “but you must consider that they may be telling the truth.”
“They’re children!” the captain protested. “Scared children who are telling us what we want to hear.”
Alejan shifted, his wings fluttering. He stretched his claws.
His wings are dry, Seika realized. If they could get on his back without being skewered . . . Seika had a burst of inspiration—she could help the boy and avoid being held hostage. “As a show of good faith on behalf of the people of Himitsu, let us take the boy to be healed before we continue our quest.”
Ji-Lin elbowed her. “Seika? What are you doing?”
Seika ignored her. “It would be our honor and privilege.” One of the court ladies liked to say that. Seika always thought it sounded very dignified.
“He’s my son,” the captain growled. “I’m not letting you take him anywhere.”
He wasn’t going to respond to court manners, Seika saw. She switched tactics. “He’s dying,” she said bluntly. “If you don’t let us take him temporarily, then death will take him permanently.” She saw the captain pale. “I promise on my honor, on my people’s honor, that we will do what we can to help your son.”
“Captain, with all due respect, I must insist you seriously consider accepting this offer,” the doctor said. “It is highly probable that these girls do have access to a cure. I have long speculated about the presence of flora and fauna on the Hidden Islands that have gone extinct on the mainland. Your boy is beyond my skills . . . Please, let them try to save Kirro.”
The captain seemed as if he couldn’t decide who to glare at—the doctor, the princesses, or the entire world. “Then we sail to where this waterhorse lives. I’m not trusting two delusional children and their pet monster with my only son! And the waterhorse itself—it could be dangerous. There’s a reason they were hunted.”
The doctor put her hands on her hips. “You don’t have time to wait for your ship to be fixed. He could have days to live, but it could be only hours. Don’t be foolish. This is an opportunity! Your son doesn’t have to die!”
“Let us help,” Seika said.
In her ear, Ji-Lin whispered, “Are you crazy? Let him find his own waterhorse. He’s not really that sick—you saw him. He’s fine. The doctor must be exaggerating.”
He wasn’t fine. Seika could tell from the doctor’s eyes, the concern that wrinkled the corners. If they didn’t help him, he could die. And they’d still be stuck here, prisoners on this ship. This was their best option: a compro
mise, diplomacy—exactly what she’d been trained for.
Kirro’s voice drifted through the hull. “Father? I want to go.” His head popped up as he climbed back onto the deck. “I don’t want to die.” All the fear that he’d hidden before was plain in his voice and on his face. His hands were shaking, his cheeks were pale, and his eyes were bright with tears. “The winged lion is their friend, so they can’t be all bad. And they saved us from the sea monster. I saw them dive into the water to draw it out. They didn’t have to do that. They didn’t have to come help us at all.”
“You aren’t going with them alone,” the captain said. “I will—”
“I cannot carry more than the three children,” Alejan interrupted. “I may look as strong as any lion warrior, but I . . .” His voice dropped to a mumble, as if he didn’t want to admit it. “I have limits.”
Seika crossed her arms and tried her best imperious voice, hoping it was good enough. “We’re offering to help you. It’s up to you to decide if you trust us.”
The captain opened and shut his mouth and then heaved his shoulders forward with such a heavy sigh that he seemed to deflate. “Bring him back safe, or you’ll wish we were pirates.”
“We will,” Seika said. “We promise.”
Chapter
Fourteen
THE BOY, JI-LIN decided, was going to be a problem. He would not stop shrieking in her ear every time Alejan changed altitude. “Whoo-hoo!” He punched his fist into the air as if he wanted to punch a cloud, and Ji-Lin ducked to the side to avoid being hit. As Alejan dipped down, Kirro hollered, “Eeeeee!” They skimmed the surface of the sea. Waves flashed beneath them, catching the sun. Leaning over in the saddle, Kirro tried to touch the surface.
Ji-Lin twisted around to glare at him. “Honestly, don’t you have any common sense? Alejan, fly straight. Don’t encourage him.” Ugh, she couldn’t believe Seika had brought this boy along. He didn’t seem sick at all, no matter what the doctor said.
Thinking of the bite spreading across his arm, she felt a twinge of doubt.
“You are no fun,” Kirro told her.
“And you are acting like . . . like a child.” She delivered the last word in the most scathing voice she could manage, the voice of one of the masters. Didn’t Seika realize they were helping the enemy? He was from Zemyla! Okay, so maybe the Zemylans hadn’t been enemies in two hundred years, but still . . . She didn’t want him with them. Especially after his father basically said he’d planned to use them as hostages.
The boy snorted. “You’re the one pretending to be a princess on some all-important quest. How old are you? Ten? Eleven?” He poked her shoulder.
Ji-Lin knocked his finger away. “Twelve.”
“I’m thirteen, or I will be soon, and my dad says he won’t even let me steer the ship until I’m fifteen. Admit it: you snuck away to have an adventure. It’s okay. I admire that.” He threw his arms into the air. “Seriously, you need to try this. Raise your arms! We can’t fall. We’re belted in.”
Behind Kirro, Seika was laughing. Glancing back, Ji-Lin saw she was waving her arms in the air too. Traitor, Ji-Lin thought. She shouldn’t be listening to this boy, this Zemylan. He didn’t understand. He thought Alejan was a pet and that they were out here for fun. Flying was a privilege. It required seriousness, and respect for the wind and the sky and for the earth and its pull. It called for trust in the strength of Alejan’s wings and knowledge of air currents. Also, she did not sneak away to have an adventure!
Granted, Seika had tried that, but it hadn’t worked.
“Don’t you think this is amazing?” Kirro asked, shouting over the wind. “Come on, admit it. It’s amazing! Beyond amazing! Stupendously amazing!”
“It is amazing!” Seika agreed.
Fine. Yes. Of course it was. At least he appreciated that.
Ji-Lin remembered the first time she’d been hoisted onto Alejan’s back. She’d met him the night before, when she’d been crying and he’d brought her out to see the stars. On her way to breakfast, she was called into the courtyard and found Alejan and Master Vanya waiting for her. He requested you, Master Vanya told her. Let’s try out this pairing and see how it works. And then one of the older students came up behind her and, before she had a chance to protest or ask questions, tossed her into the saddle and buckled the straps. Trust me, Alejan had told her. The sky will heal you. And if it doesn’t, I’ll catch you a really juicy antelope. Antelopes always cheer me up. And he’d leaped into the air. She’d screamed for the first two minutes and then looked down and realized she could see the imperial city, caught in the valley, with its ribbons of canals. After the flight ended, she didn’t cry again. She’d left her tears in the clouds.
Leaning to the side, Kirro spread his arms as if he wanted to catch the wind. Ji-Lin felt the weight in the saddle shift—Seika was leaning over too. “We can’t play,” Ji-Lin said. “We have responsibilities.” Seika should have been the one saying this. “Right, Seika?”
“Forget them,” Kirro said. “Just for a few minutes.”
“I can’t. And I don’t know how you can forget you’re dying.” She still didn’t believe he was really dying.
The saddle shifted as he sat upright again. “I want to forget.”
“Ji-Lin, that wasn’t nice,” Seika scolded.
Ji-Lin felt herself blush. She hadn’t meant to be cruel. It was just that they were supposed to be in this together, she and Seika and Alejan, not the three of them plus a sailor boy from Zemyla. It was good just her, Seika, and Alejan. She thought of how good it had been camping, before the quake, listening to Alejan’s story. Even hiding in the cave from the weneb had had its slice of fun—they’d giggled about bugs. And they’d flown together, comfortably, for hours. “He’s an enemy,” Ji-Lin muttered.
“Two hundred years ago, yes,” Seika said. “But now? Besides, we’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to do: going to the next village. We’ll be back on track very soon!”
Alejan rumbled beneath them. “She’s correct. The next village is Heiwa-su, on the island of Heiwa, which is our prescribed route.”
“And then we’ll be on the Journey again, like nothing ever went wrong,” Seika said. “We can make up the time, if we fly fast enough, and still be at the shrine by Himit’s Day. Isn’t that wonderful? Doesn’t it make you feel like celebrating?”
Well, yes, it was good. But Ji-Lin still wasn’t happy about the Zemylan ship or the sea monster. And she wasn’t happy having an extra person on what was supposed to be their special journey. Especially a person who kept insulting her. “The Journey is supposed to be the heir, the sibling, and the lion.”
Seika shifted uncomfortably, rocking the saddle. “I know, but . . . It’s a compromise. Don’t you see, Ji-Lin? The captain wouldn’t have let us leave otherwise.”
Ji-Lin shook her head. She’d never have guessed that Seika would be the one compromising on tradition.
“How do we find a waterhorse?” Kirro asked.
“Ask Seika,” Ji-Lin said. “She’s the expert.” She couldn’t stop herself from adding: “I’m just the one out for an adventure.” Exactly how did this boy think they’d snuck away, anyway? Seika had tried to escape the palace for just one day and failed. The two of them could never have snuck away even for lunch, much less a cross-island adventure. Ji-Lin told herself she didn’t care what he thought. He was a stranger. Not even an islander.
“Most villages have a few waterhorses near them,” Seika said.
“Whoa, isn’t that unsafe?” Kirro asked. “I mean, they’re dangerous, right? Especially to children. That’s what the legends say. That’s why they were hunted.”
“They are not dangerous,” Alejan said. “I’ve met a few. Kind of aloof.” Ji-Lin wished Alejan would stop being so friendly too. The boy was an interloper. Wasn’t anyone else bothered by his being here?
“They keep the water pure for drinking,” Seika said, “so people like to encourage them to stay near towns a
nd villages.”
“Huh. How do you ‘encourage’ them?”
“I read they like apples. And they’re supposed to like stories. The books say you can lure a waterhorse to you if you tell a story they haven’t heard.”
“These same books say waterhorse spit can cure me? And you believe them?”
Ji-Lin heard the doubt and fear creep into his voice, and she suddenly realized he’d been pushing that fear down with all his annoying antics and shrieking. She knew what it was like to push down fear. Maybe he really is dying, she thought. For a brief moment, she felt guilty for being so irritated with him.
A very brief moment.
“Yes,” Seika said. “I know that part is true. It’s confirmed in enough accounts. Sometimes, though . . . well, sometimes the books exaggerate to make a better story, and you can’t always tell what’s true and what’s not.”
“There are a lot of tales about waterhorses,” Alejan volunteered. “They’re made of water. I know a poem about a waterhorse that fell in love with a rainbow.”
“That can’t be true,” Kirro said. “I mean, I’m sure there’s a poem, but a horse made of water? How does it eat? Can you see its stomach sloshing around?”
Ji-Lin wanted to growl. Here they were, helping him, in defiance of tradition, and he was arguing. All her new sympathy evaporated. “Are you calling us liars?”
“Hey, I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth! It’s like you want to not like me. Are you always this grumpy?”
“Only sometimes,” Seika said.
Ji-Lin turned again to glare at her.
“It’s true,” Seika said. “You aren’t always grumpy.”
“You’re not helping,” Ji-Lin said to her. To Kirro, she said, “How about no more talking? We’ll take you to the waterhorse, and you can see for yourself.” And then they’d return him to his ship and be done with him. They’d continue the Journey with no more interruptions. With luck, they’d still make it to the volcano island before the end of tomorrow.
Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 13