They waited. And waited. And the torches burned lower.
“Seika, we can’t stay,” Ji-Lin said at last. “Our light is dying.”
The torches were flickering pitifully. Looking at them, Seika nodded. How long had they been here? She’d lost track of time. The stifling heat made her feel dizzy. “The dragon didn’t come. We didn’t complete the ritual. I promised I . . . Ji-Lin, what do we do?”
“Don’t think of it as giving up. It’s . . . finding another way. We’ll come again, with more torches so we can explore. We’ll search the whole volcano if we have to.”
We’re not giving up, Seika promised herself. With one last look at the silent and empty cavern, she turned her back on the rocks and the bones.
Sticking close together, they began to climb up the tunnel. When the light died, they held on to each other and kept climbing.
Chapter
Nineteen
THE PEOPLE HAD stood vigil outside the shrine. Ji-Lin saw their lights like starlight. Above, the sky was crowded with clouds, but the people stretched down the road, all carrying candles. She halted at the entrance.
She didn’t want to tell them they’d failed.
Everyone was staring at them.
Ji-Lin tried to make her mouth work to say the words.
Instead, it was Seika who spoke, who took the responsibility and was brave enough to admit the truth. “The dragon did not come.”
The sigh swept through the people like wind, an exhalation that was closer to a groan. The candles dipped. A few were extinguished.
Alejan flopped down on the stones beneath the archway, and Ji-Lin knelt by his side. His breathing was hard and heavy. She felt the same way, as if she’d been squeezed like a lemon. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Tired. Thirsty. But I’ll be fine. Just . . . must rest.”
The lioness was walking toward them with grave, measured paw steps. “Master Shai is coming,” Ji-Lin whispered to Alejan. “You might want to try to stand. She doesn’t look happy.” She drew herself upright and tried to look strong and responsible and brave.
Alejan’s head shot up and he struggled to stand on all four paws. His legs wobbled, but he still managed to look regal. “Master Shai!” He inclined his head.
“Do not blame yourself for this tragedy,” the lioness said. Her voice carried down the mountainside. “It was, perhaps, destiny.”
Alejan let out a moan.
Putting her arm around Alejan’s shoulders, Ji-Lin said, “We aren’t giving up. We’ll try again tomorrow, after we rest.” They’d been through a lot today. Sleep would help. It wouldn’t all seem so grim and awful in the morning.
“You cannot,” the lioness said, alarm in her voice.
What? Of course they had to try again! “But . . . we have to!”
Alejan bumped against her with his head. “Ji-Lin, careful. You don’t argue with a master. Especially this master.”
Ji-Lin stepped away, ignoring him. She felt as if she heard ringing in her ears, as if a voice inside her were shouting, No, no, no! “We can bring more torches, water, food. Stay longer. Shout louder.” Maybe it was the wrong time of day, or maybe they hadn’t yelled loudly enough. Maybe the dragon was asleep or away or . . . dead, a little part of her whispered.
“That is not the tradition,” the lioness objected. “Tradition is that the heir enters the volcano and bargains with the dragon on Himit’s Day. There are no second chances. You have failed.”
Down the path, the people began to wail. The children were crying, and the adults weren’t stopping them—instead, they were joining in, keening as if at a funeral.
“This isn’t about tradition,” Seika said. “This is about the barrier. This is about the safety of the islands! Let us go back in the morning. We can search more, beyond the place with the bones. We’ll explore farther. We’ll find her!”
“It is not the way it is done,” Master Shai said.
Ji-Lin balled her fists. This was crazy! Seika needed to talk to the dragon; the dragon needed to fix the barrier. “The way it’s done didn’t work, so we need to try a different way.”
Seika was nodding vigorously. “We can’t just give up! Everyone is depending on us!”
Burying his face in his paws, Alejan moaned again.
“We are the Guardians of the Shrine,” Master Shai said in a regal voice. “It is our duty to see that the ritual is performed according to tradition.”
“But the barrier is already falling!” Seika said.
“Yes!” Ji-Lin said. “The koji are—”
Still cringing in front of his hero, Alejan hissed, “Ji-Lin, Seika, stop! This is Master Shai! You can’t argue with a legend!”
Ji-Lin didn’t care if the lion was a legend or a hero or any of it. Master Shai wasn’t making any sense. There was no rational reason why they couldn’t just try again tomorrow! It was tradition, not law of nature, and the dragon had already changed tradition by not showing up. Besides, from the look of the cave, she didn’t think the dragon kept a calendar. Plowing forward, Ji-Lin finished her sentence. “The koji are already here. How much worse could we make it?”
The lioness growled. “Worse. You do not understand the forces you interfere with.”
Uncle Balez placed his hand on the lioness’s back. Gratefully, Ji-Lin turned to him. Surely he’d see sense! “Uncle Balez, tell her we have to try again.”
His friendly face looked sad and crumpled. “I am so sorry, Ji-Lin. You are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of our home, but your part in this is done. We thank you for your efforts.” His voice was soft, but it was loud enough to start a new chain of whispers spreading through the crowd. The whispers sounded like a sigh, kicking off another round of keening. Ji-Lin wanted to clap her hands over her ears.
This didn’t make sense! Why wouldn’t they let them try again? She felt the same way she had back in the first village, when she’d been kept from fighting the koji—except this was ten times worse. The people sobbed against one another as they processed back down the stone road. Candles were being blown out, like stars fading from the sky.
At least this time, her sister was on her side.
“It’s not over!” Seika cried. “It can’t be!”
“When your father arrives, we will discuss the future of Himitsu without a functioning barrier,” Uncle Balez said. “Perhaps it is time for the world to change.” He patted Ji-Lin’s shoulder, as if to comfort her, and then he smiled—actually smiled! Why would he smile?
Both Seika and Ji-Lin began to argue, but their uncle held up his hands as if shushing them. “You have done much, children. But now it is time to rest and let others take the lead. Be proud that you tried.”
“You may mourn your failure, of course,” the lioness said, “for it is your burden to bear. You will gather many such burdens before you reach adulthood. We will speak no more tonight, for this is now a time of contemplation and sorrow.”
Ji-Lin decided she did not like the lioness. And she wasn’t feeling so fond of their uncle, either. Alejan was looking as if he’d had his mane shorn off. Dejected, he walked down the path with his head low and his paws dragging. She kept a hand on his back as she walked alongside him. Seika walked on his other side.
Partway down the winding road, Seika stumbled. She fell against Alejan. Shaking, she pulled herself upright. Ji-Lin was panting too. After the fight with the koji, the fall into the ocean, and now this disappointment . . .
“Ride on me,” Alejan offered.
“You’re tired too,” Seika protested.
“Climb aboard, both of you,” Alejan said. “We can sorrow together. Like the heroes who have no tales, the ones who never became heroes.” He sighed heavily. “The failures.”
Ji-Lin hesitated, then saw Seika’s face across the lion’s broad back. She wasn’t going to be able to walk much longer. The heir to the empire couldn’t collapse in the middle of the road. “You’d tell us if you couldn’t carry us any farther?�
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“Indeed. I know my limits now. But I am at least good for this.”
The two of them climbed onto his back. He plodded behind Master Shai.
By the time they reached the fortress, only the original guards were still with them. The villagers had all dispersed. At the courtyard, the lord and lioness left them quickly with bows and murmured polite words, and the guards brought the princesses and Alejan inside and handed them over to a servant, who silently led them first to the baths and then to their rooms. Alejan was allowed to stay in Ji-Lin’s room, and pillows had been piled near the window for him.
After the servant delivered them to the rooms, Ji-Lin heard a knock on her door. She opened it. Seika stood outside, holding a mound of blankets and pillows. Ji-Lin let her in without a word, and they set up a nest on the floor, near Alejan.
Side by side, they slept.
“Hey.” A boy’s voice, whispering. “Hey, wake up!”
Seika peeled open her eyes. She glanced at the window. Outside the fortress, the sun wasn’t up yet, though the sky was lighter. The moon was pale silver.
Kirro bounced into her view. “Are you awake?”
“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” Her mouth felt dry, like paste. She pushed herself up to sitting and ran her tongue over her teeth. Beside her, Ji-Lin stirred. “Where have you been?”
“Exploring. There’s something you need to see.”
Ji-Lin pried her eyes open. “Oh, yay, the sailor boy is back.”
Standing, Seika felt the cold stone on her bare feet. She wrapped her night robe tighter around her. It was embroidered enough to pass for a dress. “What do we need to see?”
“It’s important. Really important. But I don’t think you’ll believe me if you don’t see for yourselves. I wouldn’t believe me.” He was so excited that he was practically doing a jig in front of the door. “Come on. Before everyone wakes up.”
“You know, I’d just started to like you.” Groaning, Ji-Lin got to her feet and pulled her leather armor on over her nightclothes. As Seika stepped into slippers, she saw Ji-Lin buckle her sword belt to her waist. “Alejan, are you awake?”
“Here.” His voice came from the darker shadows of the room. He padded out into the faint moonlight. His mane was matted on one side, and his wings looked rumpled. He shook them out and laid them crossed over his back. The saddle leaned against the wall, as did their packs. Ji-Lin helped him put on his saddle and tried to untangle his mane. “Is there breakfast? There was no feast last night.”
“This is better than breakfast,” Kirro promised.
“I find that hard to believe,” Alejan said.
Kirro opened the door, peeked out, and then slipped into the hall. “The guards are mostly at the doors to the outside, but still, be quiet.”
“If my grumbling stomach gives us away, it’s not my fault,” Alejan said.
Seika stuck behind Ji-Lin, and Alejan crept quietly after her. It was dark in the hall. No torches were lit, and the thin predawn light filtered in through a few slits near the tops of the walls. Most of the hall was bathed in shadows. Seika was certain Uncle Balez wouldn’t like them sneaking around before dawn.
“It didn’t go well in the volcano, right?” Kirro whispered.
“The dragon didn’t come,” Seika said. Saying the words made it even more real. She felt as if a pit had opened up inside her. We failed, her mind whispered to her. You failed your quest. You don’t deserve to be heir. You don’t deserve to be a princess.
“What if she couldn’t come?” Kirro whispered.
“I refuse to believe she’s dead, or doesn’t exist,” Ji-Lin said. “I don’t care what—”
He flapped his hands at them. “I mean, what if she was somewhere else?”
“Where else?” Seika asked. She glared at him, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “She’s a volcano dragon. This is where she belongs.”
“Besides, someone would have seen her if she left the volcano,” Alejan said. “She’s unmistakably large.”
Seika heard a scrape ahead and grabbed Ji-Lin, stopping her from walking forward into the intersection of two corridors. They all flattened against the wall, within the shadows. Seika felt her heart beat faster.
One of the servants walked by, carrying a stack of sheets so high they blocked his face.
When he was past them, they continued. They crept down a set of stairs. Seika used a reflection in a mirror to spot a guard before they continued. After another turn, she figured out where Kirro was taking them: to the Great Hall.
The fire no longer blazed in the hearth. The room was dark, cold, and empty. Only a few lanterns were lit, enough to create more shadows. “So while you were out in the volcano—which still sounds weird, by the way—I did a little exploring. Lots of expensive stuff everywhere. And it’s all kept really neat and clean and shiny. Except in the Great Hall, there’s the big tapestry with the rip in it. And I thought: Why keep it there when everything else is so fancy?”
“It’s an heirloom?” Seika suggested.
“They’re too busy to fix it?” Ji-Lin offered.
“Or . . . it’s hiding something! Like a dragon!”
Seika stared at him, then at the room. “That’s ridiculous. Why would the dragon be behind a tapestry? How would she even fit?”
“I don’t know, but look.” He hurried across the room and pointed at the tear in the tapestry. “This could have been done by a dragon.”
“Or a sword, or . . .” Ji-Lin trailed off. “Anyway, rips happen. Not necessarily because of a dragon.”
“Look behind it,” Kirro said. “Go on.”
Walking toward it, Seika put her hands on the woven wool. It rippled as she touched it. Keeping her hands on it, she walked to the edge and then pulled it back from the wall. Just stone. “Nothing here.” Except she felt a warm breeze. “Wait—”
She pulled the tapestry out farther and slipped behind it. Instantly, she was shrouded in darkness. She felt like a little kid again, looking for a secret passageway. She walked along, one hand on the back of the tapestry and one on the stone wall—and then the wall disappeared. “Ji-Lin . . .”
“Hold on,” Kirro said. “I left a light.” He darted behind the tapestry, held up one of the lanterns, and lit it.
They faced a tunnel, a large one, carved directly into the mountain, receding from the fortress. Seika peered into the darkness, trying to see the end. “Kirro, where exactly are we?”
“We’re in the volcano,” Ji-Lin answered for him.
Seika sniffed the air—it didn’t smell like rotten eggs. Or rather, it did, but only faintly. It smelled more . . . coppery, and almost sweet. “The whole island is the volcano. That doesn’t mean it’s all connected.” She wondered what the smell was. And why the Great Hall had a hidden tunnel.
“But it does connect,” Kirro said. “I heard you while you were looking for the dragon. Your voices echoed. I was going to call to you, but I was afraid I’d get caught. And I couldn’t figure out how to get to you. You were above me.”
Seika heard a soft noise, like a whoosh of wind, and then again, and again. They all halted. Kirro shuttered the lantern, plunging them into darkness. They crept forward.
And Seika bumped into something soft, smooth, and cool. She felt forward and touched plates of . . . metal? Not metal. But this was the source of the sweet, coppery smell. She drew her hands back. “Ji-Lin, I think . . .” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I think I found it.”
“Found what?”
“Her.”
She heard a moan, like the wind low through the trees. It shivered through her bones, and she took a step back. Ji-Lin’s voice was soft. “Seika?”
“Kirro, the light,” Seika whispered.
He unshuttered the lantern and held it up.
And they saw the dragon.
The sleeping dragon.
She was breathing evenly, and her eyes were shut. She was stretched along the cave, w
ith her head resting against the rocks. As the light from the lantern flickered over the dragon, Seika thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
The Dragon of Himitsu was very long, like a snake, with iridescent scales that flashed with ruby-red, sapphire-blue, and gold. White feathers grew from her face like a magnificent crown. Her wings were small and delicate, like a dragonfly’s, laid across her back.
Everything about her was elegant and powerful, from the sinewy curve of her coiled body to the feathered antlers that looked like painted flames on the sides of her head. Her scales shimmered with an array of colors on the surface of the deep red. Seika walked the length of her and then back. If the dragon hadn’t been breathing, Seika would have thought she was a sculpture—the most magnificent statue she’d ever seen.
“We have to wake her,” Ji-Lin said.
Seika recoiled from that idea. It felt wrong. Like scribbling over a painting. But Ji-Lin was right. The dragon needed to fix the barrier. Raising her voice, Seika said, “Please forgive us, O Dragon of Himitsu, but we must speak with you.”
The dragon kept sleeping.
“Dragon of Himitsu!” Climbing over the rocks to the dragon’s head, Seika raised her voice again. “Dragon? Please wake! We must speak with you!”
Ji-Lin joined in. “It’s important! Wake up!”
“Shh!” Kirro said frantically. “You’ll wake everyone up!”
“Yes! We should wake everyone! We’ll get the lord and the lioness and all the guards. We’ll get drums and trumpets. Together, we can wake her!” Seika began scrambling toward the exit of the tunnel.
“Whoa, stop.” Kirro caught up to her. “They know she’s here.”
Seika stopped.
“The tapestry over the hole screams ‘hiding place.’”
He’s right, she thought. Of course Uncle Balez and Master Shai had to know—it was their fortress, and they were the Guardians of the Shrine. She thought of the rip in the tapestry. If they weren’t hiding something, they would have ordered the tapestry taken down and repaired. Such a small detail, but Kirro had noticed it. “But . . . I don’t understand. Why hide her? Why not tell us she was here? Why not try to wake her?” Their uncle and the lioness had seemed so happy that Seika and Ji-Lin were here to complete the Journey. They’d even given them advice. None of that made sense if they’d known the dragon was here all along, asleep.
Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 20