The Flames of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  Iren didn’t need to ask who Divinion referred to. “Balear was better than all of us,” he said. “He fought to protect Lodia even though everyone here hated him. Why did he have to die?”

  Divinion looked across the ocean. “Some questions even gods can’t answer.”

  The dragon and Iren sat together on the beach for a long time. At last Iren sighed. “Divinion,” he said, “when we were inside the Muryozaki, my father said there was a memory I should see. Would you show it to me?”

  Divinion was silent a moment. The dragon couldn’t make facial expressions to the degree people could, so Iren didn’t know what his partner was thinking or feeling. Still, something about the glint in Divinion’s eye made Iren think the dragon was dealing with some strong emotion.

  “I will show you,” Divinion said. “The person you are now should be ready to handle it.”

  The ocean faded into darkness, and Divinion disappeared. Iren stood alone in a farm field, his home in the distance. The barn was in good repair, and so was the house. He was in Saito’s memory.

  He had worked a long day in the field. Even for the former Maantec emperor, it had proven difficult work. But the spring planting was done, and the crops were growing well. With good weather and diligent effort, they would have a large harvest this year.

  They would need it. Carita was now eating for two.

  Saito still couldn’t believe he was a father. When Carita had told him she was pregnant last year, he hadn’t thought it possible. Now that Akio was born, it seemed even more ludicrous. Someone like Saito, with all the sins he’d committed, didn’t deserve a child.

  He reached the back of the house and walked around it toward the porch. He was nearly there when he stopped. Carita’s voice reached his ears, low and soft. Who was she talking to? They never had visitors.

  Saito pressed himself against the side of the house. The Muryozaki rested inside on the mantle, but that didn’t matter. If it came to a fight, he’d go bare-handed. He wouldn’t let anyone harm his new family.

  He crept around to the porch, then stepped back in surprise. Carita was by herself. She had dragged one of the rocking chairs onto the porch and sat with Akio in her arms. Saito was behind her, so she hadn’t noticed him. She looked west past the house to face the setting sun.

  “People will hate you,” Carita said. “I know they hate me. Even the people I grew up with won’t talk to me anymore. If they act that way to someone who loves a Left, I can’t imagine how they’ll treat her son.”

  Saito’s eyes dropped to the ground. Carita was right. Akio would have a difficult life no matter what happened. Even if Rondel never found them here, it would only be a matter of time before the villagers decided they could no longer tolerate a Left nearby. The family would have to pack up and move on. That would be Akio’s whole life: hiding and running.

  “But even though they’ll hate you,” Carita continued, “don’t hate them back. They don’t understand you. If you turn into some devil to spite them, you’ll only justify their feelings. Don’t let that happen. Love them instead. Love them with all your heart, the way I fell in love with your father. Live like that, and you will be loved in return. You might never be accepted, but you’ll find friends who care about you, and people who will stay with you even when we’re gone. If you can do that, I know you’ll live a happy life, Akio.”

  She smiled at the baby burbling in her arms. “You will be loved.”

  Saito fell against the side of the house and wept.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  On a Moonless Night

  Rondel heard the crunching of boots on dirt behind her. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t rise from her kneeling posture. She didn’t have to. She knew who it was.

  “I wondered if you might come here,” Iren said, “but I didn’t expect us to arrive at the same time.”

  The old Maantec opened her eyes. It was a new moon, and stars filled the sky. The bundle of lilies she’d brought lay amid the weeds before her. She shook her head. “It’s less of a coincidence than you think,” she said. “I’ve been here since dawn.”

  Iren stepped into view. He wore the new Katailan tunic Dirio had given him to replace his torn, salt-encrusted kimono. He knelt alongside Rondel, bowed his head, and put his hands together. “The last time I visited this farm, I didn’t know where Amroth had buried my parents,” he said. “Thanks to Father’s memories, now I can come here and pay my respects.”

  Rondel faced the man next to her. If he noticed her eyes on him, he paid her no mind.

  It was hard to imagine that only two years had passed since they’d first spoken. Back then Iren had been an immature fool, brought up alone without anyone to guide him. At eighteen, he’d acted like a twelve-year-old. But now . . .

  “You’ve grown up,” Rondel murmured.

  Iren raised his head. “If I did, it’s because of you.”

  Rondel’s mouth fell open.

  Iren went back to looking at his parents’ unmarked graves. “You hated me,” he said. “You killed my parents. Yet despite all that, you taught me. You made me better, stronger, smarter.”

  Rondel lifted an eyebrow. “Smarter?”

  Iren half-smiled. “Well, you were more successful in some areas than others.”

  “It wasn’t out of loyalty to you,” Rondel said. “It was the only way I could make the dreams stop.”

  “The dreams . . . you told me about them before. You said you saw my eyes, and that you saw me in pain or dying. Why do you suppose that was?”

  Rondel shrugged. “It was guilt. I left you to die.”

  “You’ve followed Okthora’s Law for more than a thousand years. Did you ever feel guilt about any other deaths?”

  Rondel frowned. She wasn’t used to people needling her like this. “What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped.

  Iren still didn’t look at her. He kept his face directed at the weeds in front of him. His hands remained pressed together. “How many people have you killed in Okthora’s service?” he asked. “How many of their family members gave you nightmares? How many of them did you teach? What made me different?”

  For a long time Rondel couldn’t answer. She looked up at the stars. They were cold and distant.

  That was what she wanted to be. That was what she was supposed to be. That was the Storm Dragon Knight.

  That wasn’t her.

  “I don’t know how many people I’ve slain in the name of Okthora’s Law,” she said at last. “I never questioned it, at least not outright. ‘Evil must be annihilated.’ That’s the code the Storm Dragon Knight lives by. But what is evil? Who gets to decide? What if I, the judge, am evil? Were all the people I killed evil? I thought they were, but that night, your mother changed everything. She wasn’t evil. I wasn’t exacting justice on her. I murdered her.”

  She sighed. “That’s what made you different. You made me realize my path was wrong. I couldn’t admit it to myself back then, but now it’s obvious. Without thinking I deprived you of the most important person in your life. I could never undo that, and I could never replace her. But I had to try. I looked after you because I wanted to be the mother I never let you have.”

  A wetness slid down Rondel’s cheek. “Damn you,” she said. “You and all the Saito’s. I wanted so badly to forget, to run away, but you all kept dragging me back into this life.”

  “No one’s dragging you back,” Iren said. His voice was level. How could he speak so calmly when Rondel herself was on the verge of breaking down? “You killed my parents. Whether we’re friends or enemies, the one thing we’ll never be to each other is nothing.”

  This man was incredible. What had changed in him? Back in Shikari, Iren had been obsessed with vengeance. How could he kneel here and talk to her this way?

  Rondel decided. “Iren,” she said, “kill me.”

  For the first time since he’d arrived on the field, Iren lost his composure. His head snapped up. His hands dropped to his sides.
He stared into Rondel’s tear-stained eyes. “What did you say?”

  “Evil must be annihilated. Even if I followed Okthora’s Law in killing Saito, I didn’t when I murdered Carita. I’m as evil as Saito was. I deserve death.”

  Iren stared at her for a more than a minute. She didn’t flinch from his gaze.

  “Melwar’s still out there,” he finally said. “Minawë would not approve.”

  “Minawë’s not here. As for Melwar, you can stop him. I know you can. You don’t need my help.”

  Iren’s breathing increased. His hands worked. His left one inched its way to the Muryozaki’s hilt.

  He stood. The Muryozaki left its sheath.

  Rondel smiled and closed her eyes. Death this way would be a mercy. In the old world of Maantecs, she would have committed seppuku for her crime. Now she could die quickly at the hands of a fine young man.

  The katana whistled. Rondel heard it plunge into the ground in front of her. She felt nothing. It truly was a mercy. The Muryozaki inflicted no pain even as it stabbed its victims. She smiled again as she waited for her heart to stop.

  “Open your eyes, Rondel,” Iren said.

  She obeyed. When she did, her head reared back. The Muryozaki stood up in front of her, pierced into the ground. Iren hadn’t struck her at all.

  Rondel looked at him. The man was shaking. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Why?” Rondel asked.

  Iren wiped his face. “You asked me that same question when I saved your life on the junk. Back then I didn’t have an answer. Now I do. Killing you isn’t what Mom would have wanted.”

  Rondel shifted her gaze to the Muryozaki before her. “Are you saying you forgive me?”

  “No,” Iren replied, and the sudden coldness in his voice surprised her. “I have a more difficult punishment for you than death. Live, Rondel. Live with the sins you’ve committed. That’s the judgment Divinion gave to Father a thousand years ago. Because you cut his sentence short, it’s only fair that it should pass to you.”

  Rondel pressed her hands into the dirt. She cried, but she smiled too. “You’re a harsh judge, Iren Saitosan, much harsher than Okthora. I will bear this punishment.”

  Iren retrieved the Muryozaki and sheathed it. “Let’s find Minawë and get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow we should head to Haldessa Castle. Melwar’s waiting for us.”

  Rondel activated Lightning Sight. With it she took in every detail of the grasses, weeds, and soil that surrounded Saito’s and Carita’s unmarked graves. They deserved better. At least they had a son they could be proud of.

  Rondel stood. “For twenty years I avoided coming here. The emotions of that night wouldn’t let me approach. Now, though, I was finally able to visit.” She paused and looked at the graves one last time. “I promise to come again.”

  She found Iren’s gaze. “Do me a favor,” she said. “Wait two days before going to Haldessa. There’s something I need to do first.”

  Iren’s brow furrowed. “What could be more important than stopping Melwar?”

  Rondel smirked. “I said I was confident you could handle him. That’s still true. All the same, there’s one more advantage I think I can gain us.”

  “And that is?”

  Her smirk blossomed into her full-blown sarcastic grin. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  A Risk Worth Taking

  Shogun Katashi Melwar paced the ghostly corridors of Haldessa Castle. No one had lived here for more than a year, yet it still stank of humans. Its harsh lines and heavy stone anchored it to the ground. It lacked all the subtlety, grace, and refinement of Hiabi.

  But it would have to do. It was the closest thing to a military center in this uncivilized land. Commanding it would make wiping out the Lodians that much easier.

  Of course the need for it would have been less had Hana done her job. When Commander Daichi had returned in defeat, Melwar had almost ordered him to commit seppuku. The man should never have followed the words of a clear traitor like Hana.

  Melwar calmed himself. It was not Daichi’s fault. The fault lay with Hana for letting her emotions take control, and with Melwar himself for trusting her to complete so important a task.

  No matter. Though Hana had not returned, she was powerless on her own.

  More distressing was the loss of the Rock Topaz. Once Melwar finished restoring the Maantecs, he would use the Water Dragon’s magic to locate and retrieve it. It would be a near-impossible task, but he had the time. No matter how long it took, it would be worth the effort.

  The tapping of metal on stone caught Melwar’s attention. He turned to find Commander Daichi approaching.

  At the sight of the shogun’s face, Daichi knelt and put his head to the floor. Melwar strode up to him.

  “Do you have a report for me?” Melwar asked.

  Daichi did not rise. “I do, Shogun.”

  “Stand then, and deliver it.”

  Daichi got up. “A group of scouts has returned from the south,” he said. “They report that the Lodian forces have left Kataile en masse. They’ve gathered in a wilderness area twenty-five miles southwest of here.”

  Melwar frowned. “A wilderness area?”

  “The scouts indicate that there are a few houses, but otherwise it’s just thickets and farm fields.”

  “Tropos,” Melwar murmured, “how appropriate.”

  “Shogun?” Daichi asked. “Excuse my stupidity, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Melwar saw no reason to explain it. “Prepare the army to head out,” he ordered instead. “I want every soldier available. We will crush the Lodians with a single battle.”

  The shogun’s pulse rose in anticipation. Why the Lodians had chosen Tropos as their rallying point he could not say, but their mistake was made. It was an indefensible open field. Nine thousand Maantecs would descend on the humans, and that would be the end of Lodia. Tacumsah, Ziorsecth, and even Aokigahara would follow.

  Melwar smiled. It was about time.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Reminiscence

  “Hey, little girl, are you all right?”

  The five-year-old fluttered her eyes. She lay on hard ground, and standing over her was a grownup Maantec woman wearing a tan kimono. On the adult’s hip sat a katana with a plain wooden hilt and sheathed in a plain wooden sheath.

  “I think so,” the girl answered in a monotone.

  The grownup looked pleased. Her pinned-up black hair held firm against the light breeze. “You’re probably in shock,” she said. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

  The girl struggled to sit up. She shook her head. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m Caly Thara.”

  Caly Thara . . . the name wasn’t familiar. She wasn’t one of the local farmers, at any rate.

  “What’s your name?” Caly asked.

  The girl frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know your own name?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  Caly folded her arms. “It doesn’t surprise me. You took a hard blow.”

  “What happened?”

  “Look around.”

  The girl craned her neck and gasped in horror. The charred remains of more than a dozen bodies lay strewn across her family’s garden. The ground was scorched, and the house that she had lived in her entire life was a pile of ashes.

  Flashes of memory came to her. She and her brother had been playing in the fields. They’d heard their mother call them, but the girl had tripped and fallen.

  By the time she’d climbed to her feet and reached the house, everything had been in flames. Her father had stood over the burned corpses of her brother and mother while a dozen masked men in black descended upon him with steel and magic. They’d killed him and then come for her. She’d run to her father’s corpse, clutching his dagger as though it would keep her safe against the murderers.

  Then she’d felt a great power surge inside
her. It had rumbled in her body like thunder. She’d blacked out.

  “What happened?” she asked again.

  “They’re called the Akushi—servants of the Dark God, Plutanis. I’m impressed you survived when so many attacked.”

  The girl looked numbly at the scene before her. “I don’t know how.”

  Caly’s face filled with sympathy. “Nor do I,” she said, but the girl noticed that Caly didn’t look her in the eye when she spoke those words.

  “Well,” Caly continued after a brief pause, “why don’t you come with me?”

  The girl folded her brow, confused.

  “You can’t stay here by yourself,” Caly said. “I’ll take care of you.”

  The grownup offered her hand. With more than a little hesitation, the girl took it.

  “There you go,” Caly said. “Now I suppose you need a name seeing as you don’t remember your old one. And in any case it’s appropriate because that part of your life is over now. Say, I have an idea. Instead of me giving you a name, what would you like to be called?”

  The girl rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. Nervous at being put on the spot, she picked up her father’s dagger and held it to her chest, seeking security in its familiar shape.

  An idea came to her. “What’s this thing called?” she asked. She held out the dagger for Caly’s inspection.

  “This?” Caly took it and looked it over. “It’s called a dagger,” she said, “but I don’t think you should name yourself that. It would sound too weird.”

  Caly started to return the weapon, but then she stopped short. “Well, now, there is something,” she murmured. “This dagger, when I look closer, it really is something special. You see this round hilt? The pommel and crossguard are round too.” She pointed to each part of the weapon in turn. “This isn’t a Maantec weapon. It’s human, from a faraway place called Lodia. A long time ago I visited there, and I saw a dagger like this one. They had a special name for it. They called it a rondel.”