Dipping low to the ground, he angrily blasted an elm with lightning, splitting it down the trunk. The world had seemed so bright, so open, and so amazingly happy a moment ago. This … this was not what he wanted. Freedom at the price of tea wasn’t freedom at all.
“I don’t want to be a stupid dragon anymore,” he howled with a blast … well, a tiny blast … of wind. “I want to be me again.”
Whoever that was. He couldn’t even remember how he had become a dragon. One minute, he’d been … some sort of special being that had a master … and the next minute, this.
Hold on to thoughts of tea, he told himself. Pure green, the leaves picked from the highest peaks of Tengba Ren; pale, golden white with hints of lavender; bold black spiced with vanilla and a hint of lemongrass and orange peel … you can lose any other memories, but to lose the knowledge of tea is to lose your … humanity?
With nothing more than tea on his mind, the little dragon rose up through a thick bank of cumulus clouds and into the deeper, bluer sky. Where he was immediately blasted by gale force winds, pounding hail and rain, and tremendous bolts of lightning so intense they could even hurt a dragon … well, a tiny dragon … made of storm. Body aching, brain going haywire, tea recipes slipping away, he spiraled crazily down toward the earth. What would happen if he crashed? He didn’t know. He hadn’t been a dragon long enough to know such things.
Beating his wings ferociously, he regained control and pulled up out of his dive, just short of impaling himself on the spire of a temple pagoda. He breathed in the scent of a peppery oolong tea … ah, priests always made acceptable tea, so much free time on their hands.
A thunderclap shook the earth and knocked the air out of his lungs. A dense bank of angry black storm clouds roiled above. Out from those clouds raged another storm dragon … a proper storm dragon … well, more than that … a really big and bad storm dragon. The tiny dragon gulped, and a stream of rain ran down his tail.
The big bad storm dragon plummeted down toward him.
He had to fight.
Wait … could he fight? Did he know how? Fighting was a lot more than just flinging some bolts around. He knew that much.
If he did fight, could he — no, don’t be silly, not a chance. Outrun it, that’s what he had to do.
He sped away, zipping over mountains and fields and forests. Faster than any bird, as fast as the wind. A few drops of hail cracked against his spine, and puffs of hot wind swept across him, like the breaths of a —
No, no, no — can’t be — I’m quick and small — no way —
He glanced back, and groaned.
The big bad dragon had big bad wings.
It was almost on top of him. The tiny dragon spun around. No choice but to stand his ground and —
“Aiyee!” he screamed as the big bad dragon opened his maw and snapped down on him.
Darkness, screaming, darkness, pain, more screaming and … was that Zangaiden mint green tea?
Chapter Two
Chonda Enashoma smoothed out her casual peony outer robe — it was starting to bunch above her wide hips, the result of a recent growth spurt. Across the room, Iniru stared out the open window at the red-gold sunset that was nearly the same color as her velvet fur. Her catlike ears twitched as she eavesdropped on the muffled conference going on in the garden.
With a tinge of jealousy, Enashoma admired her friend’s sleek, muscled form and her confident, I-can-take-on-anything stance. She would never be so powerful and important as Iniru; she would never have so much freedom.
Enashoma was a fourteen-year-old baojendari girl with ivory skin, silky black hair, and a heart-shaped face. She was pretty, talented, and from a noble line in the Chonda Clan … yet hardly anyone noticed her. This was the result of living in the shadow of a famous, and recently controversial, brother who was the heir to the title of High Wizard. But it was probably also because she didn’t have one speck of interest in the kinds of people who were supposed to be interested in her … and maybe because, much to her mother’s constant dismay, she did her best to avoid as many of the rules and requirements imposed on a noble girl as she could possibly get away with.
On the other hand, at only sixteen years old, Iniru was already considered an adult by her people, the k’chasans. But the fact that she was beautiful and confident and the only k’chasan in Ekaran Province wasn’t the reason she couldn’t walk from this room to the next without everyone noticing. Iniru was an assassin, one of the feared qengai whose missions were guided by a mysterious book of prophecy.
Enashoma found it ironic that by going on dangerous adventures, Iniru was actually fulfilling her family’s expectations of her. Enashoma wished her life could be like that. Thanks to Enashoma’s own controversial behavior, her mother was struggling to arrange a suitable marriage. This gave her the slightest hope … unrealistic, she knew … that she might stay unmarried forever. Then, even if she couldn’t be a wizard like her brother or an assassin like Iniru, at least she wouldn’t be trapped as some nobleman’s wife — doomed to host teas and luncheons forever, doomed to never see anything outside Ekaran … or ever do anything truly meaningful.
It seemed like everyone got to do important and exciting things — except her. Even Enashoma’s father, Noboro, had been an explorer, and she knew it was in her blood, too. He had braved the unknown on behalf of the Chonda Clan so frequently that she hardly knew him. Maybe he could’ve helped her live the life she dreamed of … or at least find her a husband who’d like to travel. But she didn’t know her dad well enough to even guess whether he would have helped her or not.
She sighed … she would never know now. He had died during Turesobei’s quest to capture the Storm Dragon’s Heart. It was that quest that brought Iniru here to Ekaran. Without her help, Turesobei would be dead. As it was, his well-being was in doubt.
“The doctors and the wizards have finished conferring,” Iniru said. “They … they don’t have a clue what’s wrong or how to help him.”
“Do …” Enashoma could barely bring herself to think it, much less say it. “Do they think he’s going to survive?”
Iniru shrugged. “Will you be okay without me tonight?”
With a sigh, Enashoma sat her bowl of steaming mint green tea on the side table. “I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself for a change. You need to get some rest — you haven’t fully recovered.”
“I’m k’chasan. I heal fast.”
“Niru …” Enashoma said, using her friend’s familiar name.
“I’ll sleep all night … promise.”
Iniru knelt and gave Turesobei’s hand a firm squeeze. A strained expression crinkled her face. Enashoma knew exactly what she was thinking: Turesobei might not make it.
“You will wake me if they return, right?” Iniru said. “If they figure out anything … if he wakes up or —”
“Yes — of course. Get Imi and Shurada to draw a bath before they turn in for the night. Promise me.”
“Okay, okay. I promise. You’re awful bossy for a fourteen-year-old, you know.”
From the first moment they had met a few weeks ago, Enashoma and Iniru had gotten along like old friends. For Enashoma, who had few friends, this was a big deal. Iniru was in love with Turesobei, and Enashoma more than approved of the match, but she knew the clan would never allow them to be together. Eventually, Iniru would have to leave, and then … Enashoma snapped her focus back to the present. She couldn’t bear to think about that, either.
Iniru paused at the door, tugging at the collar of the lilac and peony robes Enashoma had loaned her. Proper baojendari attire annoyed Iniru, but not as much as her qengai assassin outfit bothered the populace of Ekaran. One day of families scurrying away for safety and the city guard on edge, watching and following, had convinced Iniru she had to drop her combat uniform. But Iniru’s normal clothes showed off far too much skin … or fur, rather … than what was considered proper in baojendari society. She could get arrested going around the way she normally dr
essed. Hence the formal robes meant for an aristocratic girl.
“He will wake up,” Iniru said.
“Of course he will. Nothing can stop my big brother.”
Enashoma knelt beside Turesobei. He was lying perfectly still on his plush sleeping mat. Though his vital signs were good and his breathing deep, he never moved and showed no reaction to any sort of stimulus. From time to time, his body would even glow. The wizards thought this was a release of excess energies, but they weren’t certain. There was no precedent for any of this. Grandfather Kahenan might know, but he was unconscious and in rough shape after getting injured while rescuing Turesobei and Iniru from the Storm Cultists.
Near Turesobei’s head sat a thick book with silver wire binding and a rune-embossed leather cover that had been polished until it was almost amber in appearance. Enashoma touched the cover, and a spark of magic pricked her fingertips. She lifted the book and flipped the crisp, white pages. They didn’t look nearly so worn as they should, based on the apparent age of the cover. All the pages were blank.
Iniru tsked. “I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why?” Enashoma asked. “It’s not dangerous … is it?”
Iniru shrugged. “Well … not really …”
Suspicious, Enashoma cocked an eyebrow. “I can feel the magic in it, but the pages are blank, and it looks like an old-fashioned diary.”
“It is a diary.”
“A magic diary … that no one has written anything into?”
Iniru clenched her eyes shut, her shoulders sagging. “Just … just keep it safe, okay? I can’t tell you what it is or why it’s important. Only Turesobei could do that.”
Enashoma took pity on Iniru. “Okay, I’ll keep the book safe.” She set the diary aside. “And I won’t mess with it anymore. Promise.”
Saying goodnight, Iniru stepped out into the hallway and slid the paneled door back into place. Enashoma couldn’t even hear her walking away toward her room, which was unfortunately on the far side of their small but highly respectable Copper Ward house — Wenari had placed Iniru as far away from Turesobei's and Enashoma’s rooms as possible.
Enashoma was disappointed that her mother hadn’t shown more concern about Turesobei. She only came in twice a day for a half hour or so. But she and Turesobei had gotten into a big fight before he went off to Wakaro, and Wenari was not one to forgive or forget easily or quickly. Naturally it didn’t help that Iniru was always there. Just because she had to accept the scandal of having a brazen k’chasan under her roof — for now, by the king’s orders — that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Enashoma touched the symbol that took up half of Turesobei’s left cheek. It was a black storm cloud within a circle pierced by a thunderbolt — the Mark of the Storm Dragon — the result of him taking in the storm energies when he destroyed the Storm Dragon’s Heart, sacrificing himself to stop an explosion that would’ve killed thousands and thousands of people.
“Sobei,” Enashoma muttered, taking one of his hands. “What have you done? You’ve got to come back to us. Grandfather will never recover without your help. And you can’t leave me here by myself. I don’t think I can stand it with you gone again. When you’re around it divides Mother’s attention. Without you here …” Enashoma shuddered.
She sipped from her bowl of tea and sighed. Her eyes fluttered — her hand slipped — she splashed tea on the floor — dizzily, she set the tea down and clutched her head. Why was she suddenly so intensely sleepy? A shadow on the far wall — the shape of a tall, thin man with sapphire eyes peeled itself off the wall and stepped toward her!
A demon?! Here?! Now?!
Enashoma tried to shout, to call for help, but her words tumbled out in an incoherent mutter. She slumped over onto her side as the shadow stalked toward her and Sobei. This was it? This was how she was going to die? A random shadow demon out of nowhere, a demon that made her so sleepy she couldn’t run or fight back?
The cover of the ancient diary flipped open beside her. The pages riffled of their own accord, backward and forward, building speed. Spinning, the book rose up off the floor.
The shadow demon saw it and hesitated.
With a pop, the book burst into a glowing, swirling amber cloud that steadily condensed until — Enashoma’s drooping eyes flared open despite the demon’s magic. The diary-turned-cloud turned into the form of a … creature … a demon … well, a tiny demon … with smooth amber skin, a pot belly, fluttering bat wings, a swishing spiked tail, and a hairless head punctuated by fangs that poked onto its bottom lip and big, beady, black eyes. On its chest was the Mark of the Storm Dragon!
The little demon came into the world with a high-pitched wail of terror that Enashoma thought would surely alert the guards and everyone in the house … maybe everyone in the town … possibly even wake the dead.
But surprise and fear and popping eardrums could no longer sustain Enashoma. She fell into the dark of sleep.
Chapter Three
As big as a house cat and twice the trouble, Lu Bei was on the loose! — screaming like a castrated shrieker demon:
“Oh please please please, by the fourteen gods of book fetches, let me —”
His eyes flicked around.
This — this wasn’t the belly of the beast!
In fact … sparsely furnished room, early evening, a single flickering lantern turned low, red-stained bamboo panels, reed mat flooring of the highest quality, a big open window, a paneled door depicting two lions — his master lying still on a sleeping mat — sister Enashoma curled up nearby … he was in Master’s bedroom!
Whew!
Lu Bei pinched his arms and belly, flapped his wings — oh, glorious wings. He wasn’t made of lightning, wind, cloud, and rain anymore. He was one hundred percent, all natural … well, all magical … book fetch.
A dream — only a dream. The sheer terror must have awoken him. It was just a dream, right? Yeah, had to be. No way he could be an actual dragon up in the sky one moment and then the next moment back in his regular old —
Lu Bei patted his belly and his stumpy thighs, glanced at his shadow, and flew up beside the lantern hanging from the ceiling — the one that was normally bigger than him. His eyes went wide. The lantern wasn’t bigger anymore.
“Holy Gods of Cats, Bats, and Squirrels, I’m freaking huge!” Even though no one was listening, he added, “Um, you know, relatively speaking.”
Being a dragon had confused him so much he hadn’t realized he’d grown! Where once he’d been a foot tall, now … now he must be almost two feet! He’d doubled in size and — he glanced down. Oh, that wasn’t good. The Mark of the Storm Dragon was now tattooed onto his chest. That was bad, very very bad bad. He was full of storm energy. That’s why he was bigger. That’s why he had … dreamed? … he was a dragon.
He zipped past something shadowy moving through the middle of the room and stopped in front of the small mirror on the opposite wall. Hovering, he rotated one way then the other.
“I look good.” His tail was longer, too, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the spike was sharper. “I look real —”
Lu Bei finally saw the shadow he’d zipped by. “Oh, crappers.”
The featureless, man-shaped, shadow-made-solid demon was a tukukagi, a wizard leech — a rather unique monster. Only seven existed; Chonda Lu had created them himself, shaping them out of shadow energy. After a disaster of a first mission, he realized how bad an idea creating them had been and locked them away. How on earth had one gotten free?
“Master, wake up! Lady Enashoma!”
Neither budged. Double crappers. The tukukagi’s magic had put the girl dead asleep. But the somnolence aura couldn’t affect Turesobei because of Chonda Lu’s kavaru. That meant Master Turesobei was still too injured to wake and was perhaps dreaming he was a dragon like Lu Bei had, since he also had a storm mark tattoo now. They had probably shared a dream … Master was probably the big dragon that had tried to eat him.
Lu Be
i was, thankfully, also immune to the somnolence effect. He flew between the demon and his master. “Get back, villain! Or else, I’ll …”
What? He couldn’t do much of anything these days. His powers had faded since the old days. He could claw it, but that wouldn’t do much, and the tukukagi would just beat him to a pulp anyway.
The demon hissed, stepped forward, and swatted him aside. Lu Bei flapped his wings hard and narrowly avoided splatting into the wall. He spun round and, out of pure reflex and newfound instinct, thrust his palms out and fired blue-white sparks at the wizard leech.
Ooh, magic powers!
The tukukagi wailed in pain, then growled at Lu Bei. He sparked the demon again, and it plodded toward him. Were those sparks doing any good? Was he actually hurting it, or just making it mad?
Have to protect Master, have to give it my all.
He connected to the storm mark mentally, and with every bit of force he could muster he unleashed a streaming blast of energy at the beast.
“Take that, you fiend!”
The demon threw up its arm, shielding itself, and staggered back. Its form flickered with purplish light. Huzzah — it was working! He was hurting it. If he could just add a little more oomph, Lu Bei was sure he could kill it. The flow of sparks sputtered. “No, no, no!” He needed more power. Screwing up his face in concentration, he shoved as much of the storm energy as he could into the blast. The stream went solid again … then sputtered a moment later. The demon stepped toward him.
Chest heaving, head pounding, Lu Bei was fast tiring out. His little spark-bolts were only getting weaker, and the demon would recover quickly if he didn’t blast it apart.
Just as his storm energy fizzled out, the paneled door leading into the room thudded back and in stalked Iniru — sickle weapon in hand. Dripping wet, her fur was slicked down against her skin, making her look ten pounds lighter and several years younger. And that was far from the most embarrassing detail: she was wearing around her midsection a fluffy, pink towel.
Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3 Page 31