The Twelve

by Cindy Lin

  Usagi raised an eyebrow. “Mori was the model Heir to all Warrior Heirs. Don’t get full of yourself!” She tweaked the crown of flowers on her sister’s head. Ever since they’d lost their parents, Usagi had dutifully recounted the stories her mother had told her about the Warriors of the Zodiac. She would huddle together with Uma and Tora and tell them like dream tales before they all fell asleep. In those moments, they would forget that they were hiding in the forest, hunted for their powers, with no family left to protect them.

  Screams and shouts erupted in the distance. Usagi stiffened at the high-pitched cries. “Do you hear that?”

  “All I hear are cicadas,” Uma piped up.

  “Gods, those bugs never stop,” Tora said, annoyed. “We should collect a few for dinner.” She paused and looked more closely at Usagi. “What is it?”

  “Something’s happening by the rice fields.”

  A loud bang cracked the evening air, echoing through the trees. “I heard that,” Uma gasped. “A firecannon!” She trotted down the hill.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Usagi scrambled to her feet. “Uma, get back here!”

  “I’m just taking a quick look,” Uma called over her shoulder. “I’ll be back before you can blink!” Her spindly legs kicked into a run and she darted into the trees.

  “Uma, no!” Usagi called.

  But her voice only echoed in the darkness. Her sister was gone.

  Chapter 2

  Three Masked Bandits

  UMA VANISHED. FEAR COURSED THROUGH Usagi as she ran after her sister through the forest, Tora hard on her heels.

  “That girl,” Tora panted. “Tell her she’s got talent enough to be a Warrior and she loses all sense.”

  Usagi couldn’t answer. Panic squeezed her throat. She heard angry shouts and the clang of metal. Whatever was happening in the rice fields, it didn’t sound like something to be running toward. She stumbled over an exposed root, but Tora caught her. Hand in hand, they raced through the trees, moonlight splashing silver patches on the forest floor. Usagi followed the quick patter of her sister’s feet, which led them to the edge of the forest overlooking the flat expanse of the fields. With the help of Tora’s tiger vision, they found Uma in the shadows, crouched behind a boulder. They knelt beside her, and before Usagi could start scolding, Uma pointed to the torchlit fields. “Look!”

  Three figures, dressed all in black, were fighting with the Guard. Their faces were covered so that only their eyes could be seen, and they weren’t wearing any armor. The Guard outnumbered them four-to-one, their curved swords gleaming as they surrounded the masked figures. Usagi stared, astonished. The masked ones didn’t have swords—no one but the Dragonlord’s men were permitted to carry weapons—but two were keeping their foes at bay with a wooden flail used for threshing and a pair of harvesting sickles. If they were field workers, they were either supremely foolhardy or incredibly brave.

  The figure with the wooden flail whipped it about so the sentries couldn’t find an opening to attack. One who tried was clipped in the face and jerked away with a yell. Another Guard thrust his sword at the figure with the harvesting sickles, who hooked the blade aside with one sickle and slashed at the Guard’s arm with the other, forcing him to drop his sword, howling. The third figure threw something that flashed in the moonlight and made a tiny whistling sound. It struck a charging Guard, who stopped short and collapsed as if he’d run into a wall.

  Usagi gasped. “What was that?” How were these masked men overcoming the Guard, with nothing but their simple tools? She felt like she was watching a dream tale come to life—the underdog heroes defeating a powerful enemy. The masked figure threw again. With a whistle and a thud, another Guard fell with a moan.

  “Blades,” Tora hissed. “They look like little metal stars—dipped in some sort of potion.”

  Uma pulled on Usagi’s sleeve. “Over there—the Guards with firecannon are down.” From the far end of the field, where the men lay, came the buzzing sound of snoring.

  “A sleeping potion?” Usagi wondered.

  A roar erupted from three Guards as they raised their swords and attacked the masked man holding the wooden thresher. The figure waited, still and silent. When the Guards were as close as a whisker, he ducked into a somersault, jumped up behind them, and swung the flail hard. Their helmets rang like a set of temple bells. Usagi clapped her hands over her ears.

  “Nicely done,” Tora murmured. The Guards swayed, then toppled like felled trees. Uma gave a delighted giggle. Usagi herself couldn’t help but grin.

  Transfixed, they watched as one by one the night watch was knocked out, the three masked figures moving almost in unison, ducking and blocking every attack with hard kicks and sudden blows. The number of assailing Guard shrank as the figures in black fought, until they were the only ones left standing.

  “They did it!” Uma whispered excitedly.

  “Every single Guard is down,” Usagi marveled. It was incredible. She’d never seen anyone dare to challenge the Guard, let alone fight them and win. Who were these people?

  The masked trio pulled out empty sacks big enough to fit a grown man and began stuffing them with bundles of rice.

  “Bandits,” Tora observed. “They’re getting enough rice to feed a whole town.”

  Usagi let out a low whistle. “That could fetch a lot of shoes.”

  “Or gold,” said Tora.

  They watched the bandits strip the drying racks until the sound of marching feet caught Usagi’s attention. “That firecannon shot must have alerted Guard headquarters,” she muttered nervously. “They’ve sent reinforcements.” A whole host of men appeared at the far end of the fields, flaming torches aloft. A loud crack sounded and a plume of dirt flew up near the bandits. “And they’ve brought more cannon!”

  The new squadron poured onto the field. With silent efficiency, the figures in black hauled up their bags and came barreling in Usagi’s direction.

  “Run!” she shouted to the others. But before they could move from behind the boulder, the masked bandits swept right past them. Despite carrying bulging sacks of rice large as a Guard in full armor, the bandits ran at a dizzying speed. A breeze left in their wake ruffled the fine hairs around Usagi’s face. “Zodiac powers,” she whispered.

  As the black-clad figures melted away into the darkness, she heard one of them whoop, sounding like an excited boy. Another voice—a young woman’s—floated back. “Hush, Nezu! Not till we’re out of the woods!”

  Usagi started. The bandits sounded like younglings—and at least one of those fighters was female. She craned to hear more, but her sister grabbed her arm.

  “The Guard are getting close,” Uma said, pointing at the approaching torches. Shouts and the thunder of pounding feet filled the air.

  “Back to the grave mound,” Tora ordered.

  They hurried into the depths of the forest, retreating toward the safety of the turtleback hill. There, they hunkered by the rocks that hid their rice stash, holding themselves still and quiet while Guard units lumbered through the trees with torches aloft. For once, Usagi was thankful that the Guard had been angered, for their cursing and shouting made them easy to track. Several times a unit would draw close and Usagi would squeeze Uma’s and Tora’s hands to warn them. But as soon as the men neared the clearing and saw the dark rise of the grave mound, they would bellow and back away, too quickly to notice three younglings crouched in the shadows.

  As the hour of the Rat approached, signaled by the moon rising directly overhead, the Guard moved elsewhere and the sounds of patrols faded. At last they could make their way safely to the shack they’d built themselves in the forest. Not far from a small brook that meandered off the forest stream, where the outer reaches of Goldentusk melted into dense tree growth, they’d fashioned a lean-to of thatch and discarded bamboo poles against an exposed outcropping of rock. It was tall enough for Uma to stand in, and if Tora and Usagi, both a head taller, hunched over, they could at least stret
ch their legs. More importantly, it was just wide enough for the three of them to lie down, protected from the elements.

  “Home sweet home,” Tora murmured, lifting the thatch door.

  A weary Usagi crawled inside after Tora and Uma. She tucked a threadbare blanket around her sister, who couldn’t stop talking about what they’d seen.

  “They must have been workers, with those tools,” Uma guessed. “I never thought you could use them as weapons!”

  “If the Dragonlord catches wind of that, he’ll ban them too,” said Usagi, yawning.

  Tora scoffed. “Then everyone will have to pick rice with their bare hands. Ol’ Blue Dragon won’t have the patience.”

  “But did you see how they fought?” Uma sounded awed.

  Usagi rubbed her eyes. “I don’t think they were ordinary workers. You saw how fast they ran with those enormous sacks of rice. And I heard their voices. They’re younglings with zodiac powers, just like us.”

  “No younglings could fight the Guard the way they did.” Tora tossed and turned on the hard-packed earth. “Those bandits took so much rice, they might as well have taken all of it,” she grumbled. “Thank the gods we got there before they did.”

  Usagi’s heavy eyelids cracked open. “And got the extra bundle.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “Uma, we might be able to get you a coat for the winter!”

  Her sister made a noise halfway between a happy squeal and a sleepy sigh. “I want new shoes,” she murmured.

  Curling herself around her sister’s small form, Usagi gave Uma a squeeze. “Then that’s what you’ll get,” she promised. As she drifted off to sleep alongside the others, Usagi touched the carved wooden rabbit at her neck and smiled.

  Several days later, Tora retrieved their rice from its hiding place and threshed the heads off the stalks with an old flail she’d salvaged long ago from a garbage pile. She twirled it experimentally over her head, nearly clipping her own ear. “If I used this like those bandits, think I’d stand a chance against the Guard?”

  “At least one of them,” said Uma loyally. “Maybe two.”

  Tora gave a mock snarl and bared her teeth. Two of them had grown in rather crookedly, looking almost like fangs. She called them her tiger teeth.

  Usagi grinned back. After the invaders had “cleansed” Goldentusk of those with zodiac powers, more than a dozen orphaned younglings had taken refuge in the forest, their homes looted and razed, and the three of them had been among the youngest. Though Tora was just eight at the time, she was fierce and skilled with catching small game in a way that made even the older ones include her in their hunting runs. Her ability to sneak about quietly was like no one else’s. Helped by Usagi’s increasingly keen hearing, it was why, after so many others had been caught, they’d managed to stay free.

  Pouring the threshed grains into small bags, Usagi tied some to their legs, hiding them beneath their skirts. She stuffed them in their pockets and beneath their wide belts, thickening their middles.

  “Look, I’m a juggler!” Uma threw several bags into the air at once, trying to catch them as they fell. One tumbled to the ground and burst open, spilling golden heads of rice.

  “Uma! Those aren’t toys,” Usagi snapped. “This isn’t a game!” She took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no pinning down a girl of the Horse year. But one of these days her sister would get all of them in trouble. “Clean that up now.”

  Uma bent down and quietly picked up every last grain, her lower lip pushed out as far as it would go. Tora put an arm around her. “Come on, Fire Horse. Let’s see what we can do about getting you some new shoes.”

  They emerged from the forest, waddling somewhat under the bulk of the stolen goods, into the town of Goldentusk. It was still the seat of Stone River Province, long famed for its rice even before the Dragonlord introduced faster-growing plants from the Empire of Hulagu. But the formerly fine buildings that lined Goldentusk’s streets were in various states of ruin and disrepair, some abandoned with shredded paper in the windows, others taken over by Guard officers, who liked to practice their shooting on the ornamental figures that graced the roofs.

  Nearing the town center, Usagi spotted the high, peaked rooftop of the former School of the Twelve and grimaced. It was headquarters for the Guard now. Hacked stumps and ugly gashes remained where the carved figures of the Twelve once stood. Someone had painted over the stumps with blackened pitch, but the roof was horribly disfigured. It made Usagi want to cry every time she saw it. Her father would be devastated by the destruction of his handiwork, her mother aghast at the occupation of invaders who’d razed the attached shrine to the ground. Usagi’s stomach twisted and she slowed to a stop.

  “What’re you staring at, lass?” A Guard’s hissing Hulagan accent startled her. He was leaning against the nearby wall of the Tusk & Bristle. The old inn had become a pub frequented by Guards. Now the townsfolk secretly called it the Squealing Pig. The Guard before Usagi rather looked like one, with a broad, flat face and beady eyes. His metal helmet was cradled in his arms, which were covered with thick leather sleeves, and his iron breastplate barely covered his enormous belly. Usagi glanced nervously at the curved sword he wore and said nothing. He pushed off the wall with a grunt, picking at teeth stained bloodred with the juice of chew-nut. Usagi tried not to wrinkle her nose at the reek of stale garlic and rice wine as he got closer. “What’s the matter? Your head nothing but an empty dumpling skin? Ghost got your tongue?”

  “Something like that, sir,” Tora said quickly. “She was . . . born mute—just like old King Ogana.”

  May his spirit rest. Usagi bit her lip to keep from blurting it.

  The Guard spat. “Backward islanders. How you allowed a man who wasn’t even whole to be king is beyond me. Lucky the Dragonlord’s in charge now. He got rid of that useless king and his demon warriors, started trade with the twin empires—and look how well off this little island is now!”

  Usagi and Tora nodded uncertainly. Uma piped up, “Yes sir. More rice in the fields than ever!”

  “That there is,” said the Guard. He peered at the three of them with his piggy eyes. “We should put the three of you to work out there, ragged as you are. You look able-bodied enough. Even you, mute girl.” Usagi squirmed and looked down at her feet. Piggy Eyes laughed until his face was as red as his teeth. “The looks on your faces!” He coughed and waved a lazy arm. “Get out of my sight before I take you to the next work detail.”

  Without a word, they hurried away, the Guard still laughing at them. Uma slipped her hand into Usagi’s and squeezed. Usagi squeezed back gratefully. She smoothed her belt, heavy with rice, her heart pounding so hard she could hear nothing else.

  “Come on,” muttered Tora. “Let’s go see Aunt Bobo.”

  It was late afternoon, well into the hour of the Monkey. Many were still in the fields or preparing harvested crops for transport. But there was one person who didn’t work the fields, and always purchased whatever they brought her. Everyone called her Aunt Bobo, a midwife who lived with her young son in the workers’ quarter, where she dispensed herbs and salves for people’s pains and ailments.

  The cramped quarter had been hastily built after the war, after many of the people who’d farmed on their own in the province had been herded into Goldentusk, along with those whose villages had been destroyed. They lived in rows of modest homes raised on stilts, known as “floating houses.” Chickens pecked in the dirt beneath them, while goats tied to the houses’ stilts stood impassively chewing. Communal pig sties, built of sturdy scraps of marble and granite from Midagian quarries, were filled with pungent droves of hairy pigs rooting in the mud.

  As they passed one, Usagi spotted a chunk of sugarcane that had missed the pigs’ trough, lying in the dirt just outside the sty. Sugarcane was even harder to come by than rice. It was half dried out and covered in ants, but what a treat it would make! She picked it up and quickly brushed it off before squeezing it into her already full pocket, then hurried t
o catch up with Tora and Uma, who’d slipped through the door of Aunt Bobo’s floating house.

  Inside the one-room hut, drying herbs that hung from the slatted bamboo walls chased away the pig sty smell seeping through the quarter. Aunt Bobo had them sit on cushions nearly as round as she, and poured them cups of watery green tea. “It’s been a while since you three came by,” she said with a gentle smile. She tucked a loose lock of silver-streaked hair into her careless bun. “I hope you’ve brought some good additions to my bitterroot stock. I’ve been running low.”

  They’d first met Aunt Bobo right after the war, when she was in the forest hunting for herbs and fungi to replenish her store of medicines. She’d just arrived in Goldentusk with her baby, and was thinner then, with a haunted look in her eyes. Usagi still remembered how startled she’d been upon coming across a pack of younglings in the forest, and yet she never screamed or alerted the Guard. Instead, she left little gifts of food, and invited them to collect plants for her. As people in town flocked to her for remedies and help with birthing, she received plenty in barter that she then would trade with the younglings from the forest. If it weren’t for Aunt Bobo, they’d have been barefoot and stark naked long ago.

  Now her son, Jago, was six, wiry and browned with jet-black hair that stuck straight up from his crown like so many feathers, and bursting to tell the latest news.

  “My bottom tooth is loose!” he exclaimed, showing them. He bounced up and down. “And everyone’s got rice! There was a bag of rice at every door this morning!”

  “Every door?” asked a disbelieving Tora. “That can’t be.”

  “How big a bag?” Uma asked.

  “But . . . we brought rice,” Usagi said, dismayed.

  The laugh lines around Aunt Bobo’s mouth deepened. “It’s true, there was rice left outside every home in town—enough to feed a household for a month if stretched with millet and beans. I’ve not seen such generosity since the days of King Ogana, may his spirit rest.” She showed them the burlap sack, which was the size of a roasted chicken.