The Flames of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  “Not even close. All this will do is let you follow her movements. She’s still an exceptional fighter. Even if you match her speed, you’ll have a long way to go to surpass her. Don’t worry about that for now though. It’s better if you focus on what’s right in front of you. If you knew the next step, it would only depress you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means this is the easy part. The hard part is yet to come.”

  Iren groaned.

  “Don’t give me that. This is what you said you wanted. Oh, and before I forget, I have one piece of advice for you. When your father underwent this training, he did it not for minutes or hours, but for days on end. He would move at full speed until he collapsed, and then he would sleep. When he awoke, he would accelerate himself again. He followed that pattern over and over, never slowing down for weeks. By doing that, his eyes and mind adjusted and began to think moving at that speed was normal. That’s what this training requires.”

  “I can’t train that way on the farm. Goro and Chiyo might see me.”

  “True, but when you’re alone, you should do everything as quickly as you can. The more time you spend at high speed, the faster your mind will adjust.”

  Iren nodded. “All right, I guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Divinion laughed.

  * * *

  Goro’s eyes snapped open. He’d run this farm for more than two hundred years. He knew every sound it made, so when it made an unexpected one, he caught it immediately.

  He pulled himself out of bed and dressed himself. It was well after sunset. No one should be about this late at night, especially not in the uphill forest.

  Yet that was where the sound had come from. He was certain of it. It was the only place nearby where trees could fall.

  Chiyo looked at her husband, bleary-eyed. “Goro? What’s the matter?”

  Another crash came from the forest. That made four now. One he might understand; trees did die and fall down on their own. But not this many so close together. It was a windless night, and there had been no heavy rains that could have weakened the soil. There was only one explanation. Someone was cutting down trees.

  At best, it was one of the neighboring farmers being stupid and trying to catch up on his firewood. At worst, it meant someone was stealing their timber.

  Goro cursed. The forest up there was the source of firewood and building materials for all the local farms. They shared it and cared for it, and there was always enough for everyone. If someone was sneaking away wood to sell, though, it would be easy for them to overcut the forest and hurt all the farmers. Goro couldn’t allow that.

  Chiyo had a worried expression. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Goro realized he hadn’t answered her the first time she’d spoken. He gave her his most reassuring smile, trusting in the dark to hide its falseness. “I forgot to lock the tool shed,” he lied. “It’s probably fine, but it’ll keep me up all night unless I take care of it. I won’t be long. Go back to sleep.”

  His wife didn’t look convinced, but she seemed too tired to argue. She rolled over, murmured, “Be careful,” and started snoring again.

  Goro walked to the door and grabbed the lantern. He didn’t have any real weapons, but a good farm implement could serve in a pinch. He ran to the shed, unlocked it, and pulled out a pair of kamas, one-handed sickles used for harvesting rice. He kept one in his dominant left hand and put the other in his belt behind his back. Holding the lantern in his right hand, he set out across the farm toward the forest.

  As he passed into the trees, Goro heard more crashes. Now that he was closer, he realized the sounds were different from when a tree hit the ground. These sounded more like something heavy hitting the trees.

  Goro followed the crashes deeper into the woods, wondering what could make so much racket. None of the wild animals would cause such noise. Someone had to be up here.

  At last Goro caught the sound he’d really been listening for: a person speaking. Right after one of the impacts, he heard from somewhere not far ahead of him, “Ow! Damn!”

  The farmer edged forward and raised his lantern and kama. “Who’s there?” he shouted. “Come out! What are you doing out here?”

  The woods went silent. Goro peered into the darkness. At the edge of the lantern’s light, he caught a glint from a pair of eyes. Goro stepped forward, and for a second the lantern shone on a man with tan hair and blue eyes wearing a dirt-stained kimono.

  “Katsu?” Goro asked. Relief and shock poured into his voice with equal measure. “What on Raa are you doing out here?”

  The man didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. Goro watched him another moment, and then, without warning, Katsu vanished as though he’d never been there at all.

  “Katsu?” Goro called. “Katsu! Where are you?”

  There was no response. Goro waited fifteen minutes, but the man, if he had been there at all, made no further sound.

  Goro hiked back to the farm. The entire way, he warred with himself. Had that really been Katsu? It didn’t seem possible, yet the person he’d seen had looked just like the farmhand.

  Whoever it had been, it was all the more reason to figure out who—or what—Katsu was, and to figure it out soon. Because if Katsu could hit trees with that much force and walk away, then he wasn’t just some wanderer. He was something else. Something dangerous.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lyubo

  Minawë stared into the flames of the Kodamas’ campfire. She longed to lose herself in them, but she couldn’t escape. She kept hearing that terrible conversation over and over.

  “So you’ll choose revenge?” she’d asked. “I told you before that revenge can’t make you happy. It can’t make anyone happy.”

  “You think I care about happiness?” Iren had shot back. “My happiness vanished eighteen years ago when Rondel took away my parents.”

  “I tried to stop you today. What if I do that again?”

  Iren had paused for only a second. Then he’d said the words that had shattered her, “I don’t know if you’ll believe me or not, but I do still care for you. That’s why I’m walking away tonight. I could have killed Rondel while she was helpless. I held back on your account. But I will fight her again; that’s a promise. If you get in my way when that day comes, I’ll kill you as well.”

  Minawë hugged herself. Iren had changed so much. Just two years ago he’d been an immature teenager who hadn’t even realized the mess he’d landed himself in. But even though Minawë had mocked him, he’d risked his life to save her. He’d become the Dragoon to protect her and everyone else in Ziorsecth Forest. He’d been a hero.

  Not anymore. What Iren was now Minawë didn’t know, but “hero” wasn’t it.

  There was a shuffling across from her. Minawë looked up to see Uncle Narunë take a seat on a rock.

  “You’ve barely said a word since you returned last night,” he said. “I miss hearing your voice.”

  Frustration flashed across Minawë’s face. “You had plenty to talk about with Mother,” she spat.

  Minawë’s eyes flicked across camp to where the old Maantec lay. She wondered if the woman was really asleep, or if she was just waiting for Minawë to drift off so she could abandon her.

  Narunë sighed. “I’m sorry. Frankly, though, I understand where Rondel’s coming from. She doesn’t want to hurt you any more than you already have been.”

  “I know that,” Minawë said, “but what would hurt me more is knowing that one of them killed the other and that I did nothing to stop it.”

  For a moment Narunë said nothing. He took a few deep breaths as though steeling himself. At length he said, “You don’t have to be loyal to him, you know. He turned his back on you.”

  Minawë flared. “What makes you think you know anything about it?”

  Narunë didn’t rise to her anger. Instead he smiled, and when he did his eyes glittered in the firelight. “Even though I’ve only known you a
few months, I think of you as the daughter I never had,” he said. “I want to protect you, just as I’m sure my brother would have wanted to protect you. Whatever I say, no matter how hard it is for you to hear, it’s for that end.”

  He stood. “Minawë, I have a request to make of you. When we get back to Sorengaral, I’d like you to stay with me for a while.”

  “I’m going where Rondel goes,” Minawë replied. “There’s no point in discussing it.”

  “You can’t be a slave to Rondel or Iren,” Narunë said. “You’re not just any Kodama. You’re our queen. We need a strong leader. Don’t run away from that responsibility.”

  Minawë scowled. “I’ll consider it,” she said in a tone that made it clear she would do no such thing. “Until tomorrow, Uncle.”

  Narunë bade her good night and headed off to sleep. Minawë stayed up, watching the flames. She knew she should sleep too, but too many thoughts were knocking around her head.

  “You’ll go blind if you don’t blink,” a male voice said from the other side of the fire ring.

  Minawë raised her head. A young-looking Kodaman man stood six feet away. Minawë hadn’t noticed him until now. He was one of the members of their party, one of the scouts if she recalled.

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  Minawë shrugged and gestured to the stone her uncle had vacated.

  The Kodama sat. He wore the same wild outfit as the rest of them, and in the firelight he looked frightening. He’d scrubbed the brown paint from his face, but he couldn’t hide the black jaguar tattoos on each arm.

  “I’m Lyubo,” he said. He put his right hand in front of his chest and raised his first two fingers in the Kodaman friendship sign.

  Minawë returned the gesture. “Minawë,” she replied. “You know, it’s funny. You and I traveled all the way from Sorengaral to Shikari, and this is the first time we’ve talked.”

  Lyubo looked into the fire. “About that. In truth, I’ve wanted to talk with you since before we left Sorengaral. I could never bring myself to do it. Queens tend not to be approachable.”

  “I’m no high and mighty ruler,” Minawë said. “I’d have thought you’d gather that much from seeing my uncle in action.”

  Lyubo laughed. “He’s not exactly the picture of formality, is he? Still, I didn’t know what to expect from you. You’re so strong and determined. I was afraid.”

  Minawë looked at the man with respect. It took a lot for someone to admit what he’d just shared. He must have been thinking about this meeting for a long time. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Minawë said. “I haven’t had the chance to get to know many Kodamas on my journey.”

  She paused. There was something familiar about Lyubo, something deeper than just his being another travel companion. “Have we met before?” Minawë asked. “I mean, before we set off for Shikari?”

  Lyubo gulped. “Well, that’s the other reason I was afraid to talk to you. Remember the Kodamas who ambushed you when you first came to Aokigahara? I was part of that team. I was the one who bound your hands.”

  Minawë shuddered. Those weren’t memories she enjoyed. It had turned out all right once they’d reached Sorengaral, but for a while she’d wondered whether her own kin would murder her.

  “I worried you would hate me for what I did to you,” Lyubo said.

  “You didn’t know we weren’t a threat back then,” Minawë replied. “I can’t hate you for doing your job. If anything, I should thank you for taking such good care of this forest. It’s all any of you have. It needs to be protected.”

  Minawë shook a second time. She hadn’t meant to say that, but now that she had, she knew it was true. This forest did need protection. Her uncle’s request came back to her.

  Lyubo met her gaze. “I’m afraid I have to apologize again. I overheard a little of what you and Lord Narunë were saying. That’s not an easy choice, to decide between your people and the man you love.”

  Minawë didn’t answer. The man she loved . . . was it really that? Did she love Iren? Maybe a year ago she had, but now? How could she love what he had become?

  Lyubo stood. “I’m beat. I’m a little nocturnal, but this is too much even for me.” He made as if to leave the fire ring, then paused. “Say, Minawë, there isn’t much I can do for you. I can’t stop Rondel or this Iren guy. I’m no Dragon Knight, and I don’t even have a lot of magic. But I won’t pressure you like Lord Narunë. If you need to vent, I’ll listen.”

  He smiled, and his genuine warmth surprised Minawë. No one had looked at her that way in a long time.

  She blushed. “I might take you up on that,” she said.

  “Until then,” Lyubo replied. He disappeared into the night.

  For a long time after, Minawë sat up next to the fire. Conversations swirled in her head. What was she supposed to do?

  The answer wouldn’t come.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ronin

  Chiyo placed the bowl of rice porridge in front of Katsu and went to retrieve her own. By the time she came back, Katsu’s breakfast was gone.

  The farm woman blinked. “That was fast.”

  Katsu wiped his face and grinned. “It was delicious, Chiyo. Thank you.”

  Sitting at Katsu’s left, Goro looked up from his porridge. His eyebrows dropped. Chiyo tried to stop him with a glare, but the man either couldn’t see her or chose to ignore her. “What happened to you last night?” he asked Katsu.

  “Oh, you mean this?” Their new farmhand tugged at his kimono. Mud stains covered it. “I fell.”

  Goro’s eyebrows lowered even farther. If he wasn’t careful they’d drop right off his face. “You fell.” His tone betrayed his disbelief. “What, off a cliff?”

  “Something like that. It was dark last night. I had a little trouble finding where I usually sleep.”

  “That’s why you should sleep here,” Chiyo interjected, her bright smile aimed as much at her husband as at Katsu. “We only have the one futon, but we have a spare blanket or two. They would serve just as well. You could sleep here in the kitchen.”

  Katsu shook his head. “I’ve imposed on you enough as it is. I’ll be more careful tonight.”

  Chiyo sighed. She’d made the same invitation to Katsu twice a week ever since he’d arrived, but he always refused her.

  Still, it didn’t keep her from asking. Katsu was so gentle. It pained her to see him suffering.

  “Well, just watch yourself out there,” Goro snarled. He could be so dense. “I hear there’s all sorts of crazy things in the forest at night. Ghosts, demons, and others of a more ordinary sort. Timber thieves maybe.” Her husband locked eyes with Katsu as he said those last three words.

  Katsu started to raise an eyebrow, seemed to think better of it, and then shrugged. “I’ll be on the lookout,” he said. “One thing’s for sure: I won’t let anyone steal your timber.”

  Chiyo smiled at that, but Goro’s frown didn’t lessen. What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see Katsu was trying to help? Men just didn’t understand people.

  Katsu rose from his seat. “I should go weed the rice paddies. Goro, are the kamas in the shed in case I need them?”

  Goro started. “Of course they are!” he said, louder than was warranted. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “No reason. I just wanted to be sure. See you at dinner.” Katsu left the house.

  “I wish he’d stick around sometimes,” Chiyo said. “He doesn’t always need to think about work.”

  “He sticks around too much,” Goro growled. “He could have picked any farm to bother. Why’d he go and choose ours?”

  “Goro!” Chiyo cried. Her husband met her glaring eyes and instinctively shrank back. “You promised.”

  “Promised what?”

  “You promised no more questions.”

  “I know what I promised. But you didn’t see what I saw last night. It was him, Chiyo. He was the one out there knocking down the trees. That’s why he’s all banged up. I do
n’t know what he’s doing out there, but it isn’t normal. He isn’t normal.”

  “We’ve been over this. He’s a blessing. So what if he’s a little odd?”

  “Aha!” Goro cried. “So you do think he’s odd.”

  Chiyo reddened. “That isn’t what I meant. I meant he’s in pain. Something happened to him, something terrible. I can tell. He needs us, Goro, and we need him.”

  “Do we?”

  “If we want a nursery someday, then yes.”

  That line always stopped Goro. He wanted a family as much as she did. Mentioning that desire was the ultimate way to win any fight between them.

  Except today. “If we want a nursery, we need safety as much as money,” Goro countered. “That man isn’t safe to have around. Think about it. He works harder and faster than the two of us combined, yet he’s never tired. He can spend all day chopping wood one-handed like it’s nothing. Normal folk aren’t like that. There’s only one answer, Chiyo. He’s highborn.”

  Chiyo kept her mouth shut. She’d guessed Katsu’s status the moment he’d arrived on their farm. It wasn’t just the man’s strength. The way he spoke, how he carried himself, and his eyes—especially his eyes, blue as the summer sky—all shouted that he was of noble birth.

  She had never told Goro. He held a deep resentment toward the upper classes.

  Goro took advantage of Chiyo’s silence to continue his tirade. “If he’s highborn and came all the way out here, it’s obvious what happened. He’s on the run. He’s an outlaw. He’s a ronin.” Goro spat the last word.

  Chiyo put her hand to her mouth. It had of course occurred to her, but she had never accepted that it could be true.

  “That’s why we have to get rid of him,” Goro said. “If he’s a ronin, how long do you think Lord Melwar will let him wander free? Men will come looking for him. If they find out we’ve helped him, we’ll be as guilty as he is. They’ll kill us, Chiyo. I won’t let that happen. I promised your father I’d protect you until my dying breath. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”