The Flames of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  “Watch.” Lyubo pulled out his machete and hacked off a three-foot section of vine. He raised one end, and a few drops came out the bottom. He let them fall on his hand.

  “They’re clear,” he said, “and they don’t burn. This one’s good to drink.” Lyubo tilted back his head and raised the vine above it. Minawë thought he’d only get a little, but water gushed from the vine like it was a giant cup.

  Lyubo wiped his mouth. “Now you try,” he said. He handed her his machete.

  Minawë cut off a chunk and raised it above her head. Before she could tilt it though, Lyubo grabbed the vine. “Test it first,” he said.

  She shrugged and lowered the plant. She did as he had and let a small amount pour onto her hand. It was milky white and stung her skin.

  “Some of the vines are poisonous,” Lyubo said. “There’s no way to know which ones unless you test them. If you’d drunk that, it probably wouldn’t have killed you, but you wouldn’t have had a comfortable night either.”

  Minawë dropped the vine and tried another one. This time the liquid ran clear. She looked to Lyubo, and he nodded. She raised the vine above her head and drank. The water was warm but refreshing.

  “All right,” Lyubo said when Minawë had drained the last drops, “let’s get after our quarry again. He won’t escape this time.”

  They traveled another hour before Minawë felt a tingle from the plants around her. She reached a hand out and touched one of the trees. Her eyes closed. A few hundred feet out, something large shuffled through the forest. It was bigger than any Kodama by at least a hundred pounds.

  She gulped. “He’s close,” she whispered. “He isn’t aware of us yet, but he’s facing our direction. He’ll see us before we get in range.”

  Lyubo’s gaze drifted to where Minawë’s hand touched the tree. He examined the spot for a few seconds before saying, “In that case, let’s get up in the canopy.”

  He swung his arm around a low-hanging branch and leapt up. Using the multi-layered forest, he climbed higher and higher like a monkey.

  Minawë frowned. She didn’t think she could manage the complex maneuvers Lyubo had just done. Fortunately, she knew a better way. Pulling out the Chloryoblaka, she transformed into a sparrow and fluttered up to meet her fellow Kodama.

  Lyubo folded his arms. “That’s cheating.”

  Minawë returned to her Kodaman form, ran a hand through her long green hair, and winked. “Not for me.”

  “We’ll work on your climbing tomorrow,” Lyubo pressed. “You may not always be able to rely on Dendryl’s magic.”

  Minawë doubted that would be the case. Still, the idea of learning to leap among the trees like Lyubo got her excited, so she kept her feelings to herself.

  Lyubo looked ahead of them down to the jungle floor. “You were right,” he said. “There he is.”

  Minawë followed his gaze. Sure enough, she saw a shifting brown mass two hundred feet in front of them. “I can’t get a solid view through all the brush,” she said.

  “That’s no problem,” Lyubo replied. “We’ll go from tree to tree until we get a clear shot.”

  He took off, moving with a practiced precision that made Minawë jealous. She changed back into a sparrow. Cheating or not, she wasn’t about to let her poor climbing spook their opponent.

  A hundred feet from the target, Lyubo stopped. Minawë transformed again. She could see it clearly now.

  “So that’s a tapir?” she whispered.

  Lyubo nodded but said nothing.

  It was a weird animal, to be sure. It walked on four legs like most of the forest creatures Minawë had grown up with, but it was shorter and stockier than them.

  It was heavier too. Only Ziorsecth’s bears could match it in weight.

  The animal’s strangest feature, though, was its snout. Instead of a short nose, it had a long trunk that extended past its mouth. The tapir was using that trunk to grasp low-hanging branches and strip them of leaves.

  “I have a shot,” Lyubo murmured.

  Minawë eyed up the scout. He had his bow out and an arrow nocked. Lyubo was a skilled marksman, and Minawë had no doubt he would hit the tapir at this range.

  Yet something made her reach out and touch his bow. He looked at her quizzically, and in answer she pulled out the Chloryoblaka. He smiled and put his own bow away.

  Minawë sized up her target. To Lyubo the tapir was food for the traveling Kodamas. To Minawë he was something more. She had connected with plants and animals in the past. She heard their voices in her sleep, and at times even when she was awake. Lyubo could hit the tapir, but his single arrow wouldn’t bring down a beast this large. The Chloryoblaka had more power in it than Lyubo’s short bow. If they were going to kill this animal, Minawë would do it quickly and cleanly.

  After a long wait, Minawë exhaled. Her fingers released.

  She felt a brief stab of pain as the tapir died and its voice ended. “Thank you,” she said, “and I’m sorry.”

  Lyubo was already climbing down the tree. Minawë transformed into a sparrow and flew to the tapir’s body before changing back.

  “That was a great shot,” Lyubo said. “I don’t know if I could have done that.”

  “Let’s just get it dressed and head back,” she replied. She appreciated his praise, but it wasn’t something she wanted to be praised for.

  Lyubo took the hint and got to work in silence. Minawë helped. She had felled the tapir; the least she could do was be respectful of it. At first Lyubo tried to keep her away, but he soon gave up.

  The meat was a lot even for both of them to carry, but Minawë refused to let any of it go to waste. Lyubo packaged it in two skins he’d brought with him in his pack, and he handed one to Minawë. Dinner for the group secured, they started back toward the others.

  Minawë led the way. In spite of the wrapped meat weighing her down, she walked without hesitation.

  “I’m impressed,” Lyubo said from behind her. “This path should put us on a direct line back to the others. But how did you know exactly where they are? That takes complex estimates of how far both we and they have gone today as well as precise knowledge of directions. It’s a challenge even for me, and I’ve scouted in Aokigahara for centuries.”

  “The forest tells me,” Minawë said. “The trees know what’s moving among them. They have to so they can protect themselves from threats. If you can hear their voices, they’ll tell you what’s around.”

  “Can they tell the difference between a Kodama and a Yokai?”

  “It’s not that they have names for them, but you can get a good idea from what they do know. I sensed the tapir because it was big, heavy, and alone. I can sense the group because of the number of people and the way they’re walking.”

  Lyubo paused. “That’s how Lord Narunë knew you and Rondel were approaching our camp.”

  “The trees’ roots likely felt the vibrations of two animals moving toward him, both on two feet. He figured it had to be us.”

  “That would be an amazing skill for a tracker to have,” Lyubo said.

  “You can’t do it?” Minawë asked. “I thought since Uncle could do it, lots of Kodamas could.”

  Lyubo shook his head. “You two are part of the Kodaman royal family. I don’t know of anyone in Sorengaral who tracks by listening to the trees.”

  Minawë smiled. “It’s not that hard once you can hear the trees’ voices. Why don’t I teach you? We’re at most an hour from the others, and we have plenty of daylight left.”

  “Why not?” Lyubo said. He set down his pack and the meat he’d been carrying. “My arms could use a rest anyway.”

  Minawë put her load next to Lyubo’s and walked to the largest nearby tree. “This one will do well,” she said. “She’s old, so she’ll have a lot of stories.”

  Lyubo didn’t look convinced. Minawë placed her left palm against the tree’s bark. “Like this,” she said.

  Her fellow Kodama mimicked her. “What am I supposed to hea
r?” he asked.

  Minawë shut her eyes. “It isn’t what you’ll hear,” she said. “It’s what you’ll feel. Trees aren’t like Kodamas or tapirs. They live slow, steady lives. Their voices are vibrations, hums in the forest.”

  There was a pause, then, “I don’t hear anything. Or feel anything. It just feels like bark.”

  Minawë already had the thrum of the tree’s voice echoing through her mind. How could she help Lyubo experience it? Uncle Narunë could connect with the trees even though he wasn’t a Dragon Knight, so surely Lyubo could do it too.

  An idea came to her. “I couldn’t hear the voices for most of my life either,” she said. “I had to be the Forest Dragon Knight before I became sensitive enough to connect with them.” She pulled the Chloryoblaka from her back and held it out with her right hand. “Grab onto this,” she said. “Keep your other hand on the tree. Maybe you’ll hear the tree through me and Dendryl.”

  Minawë let herself sink deeper into the tree’s soft rhythm. The old woman indeed had lots to tell. She told of fires old and new, of rains that flooded, of countless animals that had wandered past. But she did not know what to make of the pair touching her, nor of the circle the three of them made.

  The circle . . .

  Minawë’s eyes snapped open. She looked to her right. She hadn’t noticed before because she’d been connected with the tree, but now it was obvious. When she’d told Lyubo to hold the Chloryoblaka, he’d misunderstood.

  He’d grabbed her hand instead.

  “I never realized trees could share so much with us,” Lyubo said. “You’ve opened a new world for me.”

  Minawë said nothing. Lyubo opened his eyes and looked at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She pulled away. Her heart smacked against her chest. “It. . .it’s nothing. It’s getting late. We’d better hurry, or Uncle will worry about us.”

  They gathered their supplies and the meat from the tapir. Within a few minutes they set off.

  Their journey back to the others took another hour. The whole time, Minawë kept silent.

  It wasn’t because Lyubo had upset her. It was because he hadn’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Mizuchi

  When Hana Akiyama arrived at Awakimundi, the largest of the Tacumsah Islands, she had never been more grateful. She’d spent most of the three-week voyage in her cabin trying not to vomit. She’d failed miserably.

  More unsettling than her seasickness had been the loss of her dragon’s magic. At almost six feet long the Stone Dragon Hammer wasn’t a subtle weapon. There was no way she could have had it aboard without everyone on the ship knowing. Instead she’d let it follow her belowground as it always did. Out in the ocean, though, the distance between them had been miles.

  Even had she been able to bring it on the ship, the hammer’s power would have been useless. There’d been nothing but water all the way to the horizon in every direction.

  Hana rushed off the gangplank and jogged down the wooden pier until she reached the shore. When her feet struck the sand, she laughed aloud. She didn’t care who saw her. She took off her shoes and rubbed her bare toes in the beach. The Stone Dragon Hammer met her, the tip of its long handle pressing against the bottom of her heel.

  The moment Hana felt her dragon’s magic, she used it to harden her skin into her invisible layer of armor. The lack of that armor had been the most disquieting part of the journey. Alone on a ship of primitive, low-class thugs, anyone could have attacked her. More than once she’d felt a crewman’s eyes on her. She would have held her own had it come to a fight, but she hated the idea of those filthy humans touching her bare skin.

  With her armor in place and magic restored, Hana at last felt comfortable enough to take in her surroundings. The Tacumsah Archipelago was famous throughout Raa for its surpassing beauty, and Hana could see how it had earned that reputation. Awakimundi was lush with palm trees and forests that reminded Hana of Aokigahara, though less dense and therefore more inviting. The white-sand beach around her was flat, and the island sloped up gradually to its peak in the center.

  Oval-shaped wooden huts dotted the island’s perimeter. Most were here around the dock, but a few were scattered about in rough villages of perhaps thirty or forty inhabitants.

  None of the homes looked like anything special. They didn’t even have walls; they were just simple pole structures. Roughly constructed, they used a mishmash of logs, driftwood, and broken planks. Thatched palm fronds formed the domed roofs.

  The huts looked even more pathetic compared with the island’s most dominating feature. Atop the mountain at its center sat a castle that matched Haldessa’s before its fall. The stone structure was the tallest point on the island, and its eight turrets aligned with the four cardinal directions and their midpoints.

  That castle was the place to start. With that vantage point, Hana would be able to see every part of the island.

  Yet even as she started walking, Hana felt doubt gnaw at her. She had no idea where the Water Dragon Knight might be, or even who he or she was. The Tacumsah Archipelago had more than a hundred islands, and while Awakimundi was the largest, most had at least a few hundred residents. If she had to search them all, she would never find her quarry.

  Hana left the beach and headed inland. She initially had to dodge large groups of dark-skinned Tacumsahens working near the docks. After fifteen minutes though, she passed through the rings of huts and found her way to a packed-sand road that led toward the castle.

  As she hiked, Hana marveled at the stone structure before her. It had an architecture unlike anything she had seen in either Lodia or Hiabi. In contrast to the sharp angles of Lodian design, or the graceful concave arcs of Hiabi’s keep, this castle had a teardrop shape. The southwest-facing portion was wide and bulging, while the part opposite it tapered to a point. The turrets all bore a similar cross section.

  “She’s a beauty, ya?” a slow, musical voice called from behind Hana. She jumped. She hadn’t noticed that she’d stopped walking to gawk at the castle.

  Hana turned around. Approaching her was a dark-skinned man of medium build, perhaps twenty years old. He wore simple clothes: a wide-brimmed straw hat, short-sleeved linen shirt and shorts, and straw sandals. In one arm he carried a stick with a cloth satchel tied to the end.

  “By de glory of Mizuchi,” the man said, “now she’s lookin’ right at me!”

  Hana started. Mizuchi was the Water Dragon. What did this bum know about him? Could he be the Water Dragon Knight?

  She doubted it. The man was unarmed, and there was no way he could fit even a weapon as small as Rondel’s Liryometa in that satchel. If this guy was the Water Dragon Knight, he didn’t have the Zuryokaiten with him.

  Still, the man was the best lead Hana had for the moment, so she decided to play along. “Hey,” she said, twirling her hair, “were you talking about the castle just now, or me?”

  “Well you are both beautiful, ya?” the man answered with a fast, low laugh that came from deep in his chest. He walked up to Hana and offered his free right hand. “I’m Faro.”

  Hana shook the man’s hand reluctantly. It was smooth and supple, not what she expected of a drifter.

  “Hana,” she replied. “I’m from Lodia.”

  “Long way for a young lady to come,” Faro said. “What brings you to Awakimundi?”

  His voice was like the waves on a beach. The words flowed into each other without a care on Raa. Hana could get used to it.

  She could also get used to his eyes. They were black, with no difference between the iris and pupil. Others might find them creepy, but Hana wanted to fall into those bottomless pools of night.

  She shook her head to clear the thought. She was here on a mission. “The Lodian civil war,” she lied. She had practiced this potential conversation numerous times on the ship. “My parents were sheepherders, and they died early on in the fighting. I scrounged up what money was left in the farm and bought one-way passage here. I figu
red I’d start my life over.”

  “Well, you picked a good place to do it. Tacumsah’s de safest place in de world dese days. I’m sure you can make a good life here. If you need help findin’ your way around, you just ask anyone where old Faro is. I’ll help you out.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Hana said. She blushed. “I do have one question, if you don’t mind. You mentioned ‘Mizuchi’ when we first met. What’s that mean?”

  Faro threw back his head and laughed. “Hoo, if you don’t even know Mizuchi, you got a lot to learn about Tacumsah. Tell you what. I’m headed to de castle. Why don’t you come with me? You can learn about Mizuchi dere.”

  Hana smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

  They walked up the sandy trail together. With each step, the castle’s proportions came more and more into focus. Hana had thought it looked huge from the shore, but as they neared it, she realized she had underestimated it. It wasn’t as large as Hiabi, but it dwarfed the former Haldessa Castle.

  “Who rules that place?” she asked.

  Faro smiled. “Dat’s de home of Awakimundi’s chief, Iokua.”

  Hana looked over her shoulder at the distant beach. The huts along it were almost invisible now. “It’s hard to believe he could command such a place,” she said. “There’s such disparity of wealth here. You’d think the people would overthrow him.”

  She turned back around to find Faro staring at her. “You say fancy stuff for a farm girl,” he said.

  Hana swore inside her head. She was supposed to be playing the ignorant sheepherder. “I guess it’s the civil war,” she improvised. “I can’t get away with only thinking about whether my sheep are fed anymore. I don’t want to have traveled all this way just to get caught up in another war.”

  Faro’s solid black eyes bored into her another moment. Then he laughed, reached out, and touched her on the shoulder. “No worries, ya? You’re not in Lodia anymore. What happened dere can’t happen here.”

  “Why? Because Iokua has a big army?”

  “No, because he rules at de will of de people. A chief who doesn’t share isn’t chief long.” He pointed at the fortress ahead of them. “See dat castle? Iokua lives in it, but he doesn’t own it. De people of Awakimundi own it. When de storms come, dat’s where dey go. Everyone on de island takes shelter dere.”