“What are you thinking about?” Key asked from across the deck.
Simon tried to smile. “Girls.”
Hours later, they said good-bye at Sachiko’s mansion, and while Taro tried to stop Fenwick from tearing up a garden trellis, Aldric glanced over at Sachiko. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You knew the spell that hides emotion. You knew it from the start. I keep wondering if there’s a word for ‘irony’ in Japanese. I mean, you would’ve helped Alaythia if she’d known to come here in the first place, wouldn’t you?”
“This group doesn’t welcome people easily,” she answered. “In the end, we may have needed to battle a Dragon just to know she was trustworthy. Taro would have needed a long time to make that decision.”
“He’s that selfish?”
Sachiko’s face hardened. “‘Samurai’ means to serve others. It means sacrifice. He is not afraid of that. He has a responsibility to Japan above all else; it is written in the code we follow. Loyalty number one is to the island. I do not know what he would say, but he is learning to trust more as time goes on.”
“I can tell you one thing,” said Aldric, and he looked over at Alaythia across the Japanese garden. “This Warrior code has not been served well by keeping secrets.”
Sachiko smiled. On this they agreed.
Mamoru gave Simon the Dragon netsuke, to show he forgave him for conking him on the head, and Kisho wandered over, crushing flowers onto Simon’s shirt, for reasons no one understood. He told Simon, “Always set your clock by nature’s hand.” Whatever that meant.
Simon just nodded. “Thank you, Kisho. Thank you.” Key seemed relieved Simon withheld his laughter, and treated the man with respect.
Later on, Simon watched Alaythia and Aldric find each other in the garden, and they seemed right together, as maybe they always had.
The evil wrought by the world’s Dragons would be divided now, Simon knew, by two sets of Warriors on either side of the globe, though it was likely their paths would cross many times over. In this conflict alone, two entire cities had nearly been burned away. Unity was needed.
The war seemed limitless. On the journey back to Japan, Simon had remarked that there seemed no end in sight to their battle, with scores of Dragons in the White Book of Saint George still remaining. And Taro had replied, “Why should we want it to end? We would have no purpose.”
It seemed they saw the world as fighting to achieve balance, not as a war in which one side would dominate. It was the fight itself that mattered. It was supposed to go on and on.
It was Simon’s honor, before he left, to see Key given his proper swords of battle, long and short, the daito and the shoto. Taro placed them in his son’s hands, and Sachiko laid before him two beautiful fabric containments for the swords, and atop them, fusahimo, ornate gold cords used to tie the bags closed.
It was the beginning of something, and the end.
At last, when the Ship with No Name was finally ready to leave the island, Sachiko gave Simon a gift, too. It was a package of ordinary pills for his stomach, marked in Japanese, though he hadn’t ever told her about the anxious, burning pains he suffered. She said to him, “The trick is to bear the weight of the world, and still smile despite the burden.” At the time, it seemed like she was joking, but Simon would think about it for a long time afterward.
Chapter 37
SMALL SACRIFICES
SIMON RETURNED TO NEW ENGLAND, and to Emily, the girl from the novelty shop.
He rode his horse beside her on the way to school. But it was as if, in the months that had passed, she had forgotten him. She behaved as if he were a passing acquaintance, as if they had never spoken to each other. Life in this little town had gone on without Simon, and there was no way he could fit himself back into it.
“I thought,” he said, “you might want a ride.”
“A ride?” She gave half a laugh. “I don’t think so. It’s a long way to fall.”
He would rather she had been disappointed in him, or angry. Instead, she was polite, and sort of looked at him sidelong with half a smile, as if he were an odd quirk of Ebony Hollow to be enjoyed, but at a distance.
“I was afraid, all this time, people were, like, going around thinking I was a pyro or something,” Simon said, letting the horse set its own pace. “I didn’t start that fire at your shop.”
“No one really thought that,” she said. “The firefighters said it was a freak accident.”
And so the conversation went. He wanted to explain everything to her. Every last detail. But she was keeping him so far away.
She had been flirting with him, that’s all. She was a nice person. She wasn’t going to be rude, but it was all the same to her, whether he was there waiting on the morning walk to school, or not.
When he returned home, Simon tried to tell Alaythia what happened with Emily, but the words couldn’t find a way out.
On the television, there were images of war in Africa, and coal miners lying sick in Virginia who were kept away from doctors by the company they worked for, and there were reports of children in a North Korean orphanage who were starving because their headmaster had taken the food and resold it.
And it seemed incredible to Simon how many Serpents there must be to have caused all of this rottenness in the world. How the Dragons must love this planet, what pleasure they must have felt in finding so many people who, instead of adding candles to the darkness, were blowing out the light.
Epilogue
THE DYING EMBERS OF THE DAY
HE RODE HIS HORSE out beyond the Ebony Hollow forest to the seashore.
And he thought about evil.
EXTRAS
Samurai
A Note from Jason Hightman
A Q&A with the Author
A Sneak Peek at Goodraven
A Note from Jason Hightman
This book exists to get boys to read.
In an age when male readership seems to be getting smaller, and the reading choices for that audience seem to be dwindling, I set out to try to capture a part of that group with the most intense kind of storytelling I could manage. This book was intended to be LOUD. It was made for speed, gleaming with sharp, twisting angles, and roaring with energy. Maybe it was crazy to try, but the reasons for this approach are obvious.
Grabbing attention is not easy these days; books have to compete with an astonishing array of entertainment—interactive games, comics, music, blockbuster movies and television shows, even website creation and custom video-editing projects.
A book, any book, has an incredible uphill climb.
It’s enough to make a writer commit seppuku.
When faced with such a challenge, any author might resort to the use of an arresting image like…a samurai.
It all started with the simple question, what if the St. Georges were not the last Dragon hunters? I wasn’t interested in repeating the same events as in The Saint of Dragons. I wanted to strike out for new territory, for this adventure to stand on its own. This is how Samurai was born.
Medieval history has always intrigued me. The Asian soldier of the period has all the trappings to fascinate young people, especially boys—the strange and magnificent armor, the meticulously crafted weapons, the complex modes of conduct, the unique, imposing castles, and the mystical temples wreathed in fog.
I decided for the sequel to The Saint of Dragons, I would do something that would work in Japanese history. The location gave me a chance to explore new avenues of danger for the hunters—Tokyo! Bullet trains! India! Tigers!—as well as providing new emotional worries for Simon and offering a fuller picture of the history of Dragon slayers.
The image of a modern samurai instantly appealed to me. How would a samurai fight the ancient battles in cities of neon and concrete? How would he view the use of a gun when faced with such a terrible enemy? We know from history that the rise of the firearm spelled doom for their warrior way of life, but what if circumstances pushed the hunters to accept the new weapon, or face c
ertain death? How would the warrior incorporate the gun, and with what reservations? How would people from this tradition deal with other technology, and the expanding role of women?
But the idea was to not only imagine how a samurai would meld his ways with changing times and the Japanese “group dynamic” of the present day, but also to smash together an American/European way of thinking with the Asian fighter’s ethics and styles. Simon St. George represents just about all American-and Western-born kids, who so often consider themselves as individuals first, without thinking very much about service to others or the community around them. On the other hand, the Japanese character, Key, must discover the power of individuality and witness the glory of being the lone hero.
With Samurai, I also entered a new world of Serpent lore. It was interesting for me to consider how Dragons—who hate each other fiercely—would have to deal with each other sooner or later or face the extinction of their entire species. Questions of good and evil play a big part in this series. I’ve received mail from readers who loved the idea that the wickedness in the world could be chalked up to Serpent influence, while others complained it took human beings off the hook for their own immoral actions. For me, allowing Simon to wonder about the chicken-and-egg relationship of humans and Serpents was more important than drawing a final conclusion. In this way, of course, the issue is much the same as accepted Christian ideas about people and demons: can the devil make you do evil, or does he just offer you the opportunity?
At the end of the book, Simon is beginning to question why evil exists on Earth. While he may never quite figure it out—since no one really can—pondering the reason is going to make him a better, stronger, tougher, and smarter person.
Where the story goes from here is certainly left open. But I feel there are enough hints and clues as to the way Dragon hunting will continue in the future to satisfy a reader. The kindhearted “Light Dragons” that the Chinese serpent once proposed may finally come into being. One can only guess how Aldric would deal with a castle full of Dragon children who are learning to combat their own kind in the interest of a common good. That story may never be written, but the raw materials are here to stoke anyone’s imagination.
Jason Hightman
A Q&A with the Author
What initially attracted you to writing about Dragon fighting?
Dragons are an interesting and time-honored symbol of evil. I was drawn to the chance of enriching our understanding of how these evil creatures might interact in a modern setting. The Saint of Dragons was all about a group of Serpents trying to work together, but thwarted by their own instincts to lie and cheat each other. I was intrigued by the obvious issue that arose out of that: How does such a hateful species ever reproduce itself? How do the rival Dragons ever set aside their differences long enough to create new young?
Do you identify with Simon St. George? Is he based on anyone you know?
Simon is a pure creation of fiction, but every writer finds parts of himself in his characters. I can relate to his feelings of aloneness, his worrying about the world. But Simon is angrier, tougher, more rebellious, and quicker to action than I ever could be.
How did you happen to find inspiration in the Far East (or Japan) for Samurai?
With so much going on in Japan’s manga and anime culture, it seems amazing more mainstream books don’t merge the worlds of East and West, of knights and samurai. Once I started thinking about warrior culture all over the world, I saw all-new possibilities in a focus on the Far East.
What do you like about writing for teens?
The audience is less jaded. Teens are more open to different ideas and reinvention. I’ve found adult readers sometimes object to the whole concept of Dragons and Serpents in contemporary culture. They are trained on traditional fantasies with more familiar-looking creatures, and don’t want anyone messing with the usual elements of these stories. Young people are more willing to let you experiment.
How does your background as a screenwriter influence the way you write novels?
Action, action, action. Quick writing, painting a scene with few words—that’s what movie writing is all about. I don’t know if my background helped or hindered this particular novel. Sometimes the demands of a story ask for a different approach. This time I was trying to concoct a dose of literary adrenaline.
Your next novel, Goodraven, is quite a change from Dragon lore. What intrigues you about this new topic?
The Saint of Dragons and Samurai try for a reinvention of Dragons, and Goodraven aims for a reinvention of witches, but that’s where the similarities end. With Goodraven, I wanted to create a monster that evokes the primal response a reader gets from Dracula and Frankenstein, but in a fresh adventure, presented specifically for a younger crowd, with youthful heroes.
At its heart, Goodraven is a shivery ghost story about a teenaged Victorian couple who find themselves lost in a bitter snowstorm, with a legendary Salem villain stalking them. Just forget everything you know about witches. You’ve been told only lies.
A Sneak Peek at Jason Hightman’s Latest Novel, Goodraven
Tobias and Tess stood apart from the flow of people through the station gates; as always, the two of them against the world, watching it pass by.
“Last chance to turn back,” Tess murmured.
“Nonsense. We’re about to find out if there really are witches up there.”
A stooped old conductor ambled past them. “A lot of out-of-town folk here; train’s crowded,” he muttered. “You may need to sit apart.”
Tobias looked down at the train worker. “Oh, we’re never apart.”
“What do you mean, never?” barked the old man. “She’ll be sitting with other women…no scandal to it.”
Tess felt her heart flutter, but Tobias calmed her panic with confidence. “She’ll be sitting with me, sir. Thank you.”
“Dangerous to need each other so much,” the old man replied. “I’m a widower; I can tell you a thing or two about that—”
“And no new lady has snatched you up?” mumbled Tobias, under his breath. “You wonder how this could be possible.”
“You’d better get in. They’re boarding up,” the old man said, not listening, heading into the gates.
Hiding a smile, Tobias imitated the man’s fearsome voice, “They’re boarding up…”
Tess considered him. “You don’t have the right inflection. You have to sound more like you’re hiding a human head in your coat.”
Tobias tried again, darker, more convincing. “They’re booooarding up…”
“Much better. The human-head element was right there. Palpable.”
“Tobias! Tess!”
Celia Harnow, the innkeeper, shouted from behind them, her golden curls bouncing as she ran. She was a bubbly, boisterous woman whom Tess found somewhat likeable, for all her stumbling kindnesses, and whom Tobias found quite annoying, which he openly admitted.
“You forgot your train tickets!” she said, her baby face flushing red from running. “Here, now, they might’ve had to seat you apart—”
“Thank you, Miss Harnow,” Tess said politely.
“I’m so jealous of you two, tighter than two doves. Me, I’m stuck with the old goat, he wants me to stay with the inn and feed him and his firemen friends. I can’t even go to the Carnival.” “The old goat” was her husband, the usual target of her complaints.
“Yes, thank you, ma’am, we’ve got to be going now,” said Tobias, moving Tess along as he whispered, “The Dead hate to wait.”
As they neared the line for the train, Tess saw four little girls near a scowling, thin woman arguing with a porter over some boxes. She was saying, “Be careful with those, they have my dolls in them. I’m going to display them for sale at the Festival.” And Tess saw the woman rudely warn one of the girls, “Don’t touch these, they’re not for playing with.”
Tobias watched one of the sweet, tiny girls turn sad. Out of spite, he reached over and swiped one of the thin w
oman’s boxes. Tess hid her amusement. As the woman fussed over the loading, not even noticing him, Tobias broke open the box and pulled out a boy doll. He looked at the little girl. “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked.
Tess watched the little girl stammer. “Mmm, something…”
Tobias grinned, handing her the doll. “Like this?”
“Something scary,” the tiny girl giggled. Tess laughed with her.
“You’re a strange man,” said the girl.
“Yes,” said Tobias, good-naturedly. “Yes, I am.”
Tess shook hands with the little girl. “Tess Goodraven,” she introduced herself, and gestured to Tobias. “My husband, Tobias Goodraven.”
“Husband?” the girl laughed. “You’re too small to be married.”
“Not at all.” Tess smiled back.
Just then, the girl’s father turned, calling the child angrily, and Tess could see Tobias tense up. “What I love about Christmas is it always brings out the best in people,” she said, hoping to ease the situation.
Tobias took on a mock-scary voice. “And all the ghosts get homesick.”
She kissed him. “I feel brave.”
They moved toward the train. Its magnificent, huge black engine breathed steam over the beautiful station, itself a tiny jewel of architecture, covered in dazzling latticed iron and crowned with a small glass dome. Steam unfurled over the waiting crowd.
Several youngsters turned to her, shocking her with their gaze, for their eyes were pearly white and fixed upon nothing in particular. Others nearby stood with closed eyes, she noticed, and carried canes to help them along. They were blind children, from a school in Salem, she knew. They stood with their chaperones, and Tess felt a pang of sadness that they could not see the beauty that the train and the station created together.
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