by Cindy Lin
Saru smiled. “Which means it’s of the essence to be good defenders,” she said. She had the newcomers face off against Usagi, who threw punches and kicks for them to practice deflecting. Usagi was wiping the sweat off her brow when her ears pricked at the sound of Nezu’s footsteps. He appeared in the open doorway to the Great Hall.
“Oi! I’ve cooked up something special, and I don’t want it to get cold.” He flashed a grin and waggled a finger at Usagi. “Especially for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Usagi, but Nezu’s grin only grew. They filed out and washed up for the midday meal. When they walked into the dining hall, Usagi stopped and stared.
“This is a banquet,” she said. The table was laden with the best of Nezu’s cooking—the most since the New Year’s feast. The others were wreathed in smiles. Usagi laughed, confused. “What’s the occasion?”
“You’ll see,” said Saru cheerfully. “Sit, everyone!” They plopped down on cushions around the table, exclaiming over the dishes.
Usagi looked around. “Where’s Inu?”
“He’s finishing something,” Nezu said, while Tora and Rana giggled and nudged each other. Saru poured cups of wolfberry tea, but before Usagi could take a sip, the door to the dining hall slid open. The Dog Heir entered with a cloth-wrapped bundle and a long, polished stick. All chatter ceased as everyone looked up at him expectantly.
Inu’s eyes crinkled and his usual serious expression gave way to a grin. “Rabbit Girl, would you do us the honor of standing for a moment?”
Mystified, Usagi got to her feet. Saru steered her toward Inu. He unwrapped the bundle and held up a finely wrought silver chain. A silver rabbit figurine no bigger than her thumb glimmered from the chain, its paws outstretched in midleap. Chips of grass-green jade formed its eyes. Heart pounding, Usagi couldn’t take her eyes off the necklace. It looked just like the wooden rabbit her father had carved for her, the one she’d worn for years until Uma burned it. Only this one was of metal and jade, and would be far harder to destroy. Inu must have been working on it ever since they returned to the shrine.
“It should really be wood,” he admitted shyly, “but I don’t have a gift with that element. Anyway, we wanted to give you something to officially mark you as the Rabbit Heir. Do you accept the title, promising to uphold and defend the Way of the Twelve?”
Had Horangi been here, she would have been the one to ask the question. Usagi felt a lump come into her throat, remembering the Tigress’s words. You are a true Heir of the Twelve. She swallowed hard and stood straight as a spear. “Yes, I do.”
To loud cheers, Inu placed the chain around her neck. Then he picked up the polished rod and presented it ceremoniously to Usagi. “To replace your lost walking stick.” Usagi bowed and accepted it. She turned the stick in her hands. It was made of phoenix tree wood, fine-grained and strong. Running her fingers along the smooth surface, she came across a tiny groove in the wood. “Open it,” urged Inu. “If you’d rather a moon blade or a spearhead, I can change it out.”
She pulled the stick apart to find a straight, long sword blade sheathed in the wood, similar to Nezu’s. Her very own hidden weapon! She looked around at everyone, feeling more fortunate than she had in a long time. “Thank you,” she managed.
Saru raised her cup. “To the new Rabbit Heir!”
They all raised their cups of sweet wolfberry tea. “The new Rabbit Heir!”
Overcome, Usagi ducked her head, fingering the chain around her neck. Her new necklace was beautiful.
“Now let’s eat!” Nezu ladled Usagi’s favorite soup, thick with rice noodles and dandelion greens, into bowls. He carved the crisp skin off a golden roasted pheasant, and folded it into steamed buns with wild onion, bits of juicy pheasant meat, and dabs of sauce. There was braised venison, so tender it was melting off the bone. Platters of fried fish and sautéed mountain vegetables were passed around, and sour pickled plums to go with heaps of steaming hot rice.
“I haven’t seen this much food since the Palace of the Clouds,” Tora remarked. She looked at Usagi, poking at a pickle on her still-full plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I was just wishing . . .” Usagi trailed off, unsure she could say more without bursting into tears.
Tora nodded and squeezed her hand. “I know. I wish Uma were here too.”
“I just worry,” said Usagi. “What will become of her?”
“Maybe she’ll come to realize that you were right,” said Tora. She turned and lowered her voice. “There’s something I never got to finish telling you. Those Wayani swords that they gave us at the Academy? They were new, and I know it sounds crazy, but it looked like . . . my father’s work.”
“But your father’s dead,” Usagi said. “He’s buried with mine in the turtleback mound.”
Tora shook her head. “That was what I thought. But did you actually see your parents placed in that grave?”
“No,” said Usagi slowly.
“It just made me think,” said Tora. “What if rice and minerals aren’t the only things being taken from Midaga?”
After the feast, Usagi went to the lakeside prayer pavilion. They had taken to calling it the Tigress’s Nest, and Usagi kept a little vase of flowers there, changing out the blossoms whenever they began to wilt. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling the pavilion with light and illuminating the little cushion that Horangi liked to sit on during mind-the-mind.
“Hello, Teacher,” Usagi said softly, hoping that the spirit of the Tiger Warrior could hear her somehow. She knelt beside the cushion and touched it, then placed a hand over the new rabbit figurine around her neck. “Thank you for believing in me.” Usagi remembered the Tigress’s glowing green gaze, and how she’d told her she would make a fine Rabbit Warrior. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
Her fingers brushed against a little ridge on the rabbit’s underbelly. Pressing the minute bump, she heard a click and the figurine opened, revealing an empty hollow. It was a locket. Usagi raised it into the sunlight to get a better look. The space within was just big enough. She reached into her belt and pulled out the burnt sliver of wood that had once been the carved rabbit from her father. It was a perfect fit.
She thought about what Tora had said. Could it be that Tora’s father was still alive? Could that mean that her parents were still alive? The notion filled her with more hope than she thought possible. The green waters of Crescent Lake lapped and swirled around the pavilion pilings like the emotions running through her. Grief for the Tigress. Sorrow and worry over Uma. Wonder, that their parents might not be gone.
And she was happy for the addition of Tora, Goru, and Rana. Their training was coming along beautifully. Surely they would become Heirs. New Heirs would be found for every branch of the zodiac.
Usagi was an Heir now, in line to become the Rabbit Warrior, her duty to the Circle of Zodiac Warriors and Midaga. The struggle over the Treasures would continue. Though the Tigress was gone, the Circle would form again, and the Twelve would be reborn. She’d be just the first of many more Rabbit Warriors to come. Of that, Usagi felt certain. She heard a familiar birdcall in the distance—twee hee, hoo hoo—and turned to see Tora crunching down the gravel path.
“Inu’s looking for you,” Tora reported. “He wants to finish that last game of six sticks. He promised to show me he could beat you.”
Usagi grinned. “All right.”
“Last one back has to do the other’s chores,” said Tora with a glint of her snaggleteeth. She turned and ran off into the trees.
Usagi blinked. For a moment it felt like they were back home in Goldentusk. Then she realized they were home—a new one. Standing on the steps of the Tigress’s Nest, bubbles of joy swelled in her chest till she laughed.
“Here I come!” she shouted. And then Usagi leaped.
Acknowledgments
In bringing this story into being, I am beyond fortunate to have my own special Warrior Council, of which there are many m
ore than twelve to thank.
My deepest gratitude to Josh Adams, agent extraordinaire, for seeing promise even when this novel was in its early stages and championing it with unflagging enthusiasm from the very first pages. Your endless patience and whole-hearted encouragement means the world to me, and I wouldn’t be holding this book in my hands without you, Tracey, and the rest of the Adams Literary family. You are a true Warrior, and I am so thankful for your great talents and gifts.
To Kristen Pettit, the best editor a writer could have—thank you for loving Usagi and her friends from the jump, and for your fabulous eye and incisive pen. You really know how to find the beating heart of a tale, and what gives a story the power to roar. How grateful I am for your guidance and how it’s made me grow. I couldn’t ask for a better Tigress to watch over this book.
Eternal thanks must go to the team at HarperCollins: to Kate Morgan Jackson, queen of everything; to editorial assistant Clare Vaughn for being so amazing on the front lines, to designers Molly Fehr and Alison Klapthor for the gorgeous book; to artist Sher Rill Ng for incredible cover art that brought tears of joy; to production editors Jessica Berg and Gweneth Morton for your much-needed attention to details; to copy editor Veronica Ambrose for your gimlet eye; to marketing directors Robby Imfeld and Emma Meyer for your genius; and to production manager Kristen Eckhardt for making it all happen. You are dreammakers, every one of you.
There have been many over the years who’ve read my attempts at this story and offered encouragement and support along the way. I must give thanks to Hilary Hattenbach, Josh Hauke, Lilliam Rivera, Elizabeth Ross, Mary Shannon, Jason White, and Frances Sackett for cheering even my baby steps; to the beloved sisterhood of Elizabeth Barker, Aurora Gray, and Arti Panjabi Kvam for faithfully reading countless pages and drafts; to Jim Thomas, for showing me the way; to Laurie Zerwer and Lisa Gold for your feedback and friendship; to Ryder LinLiu for being the first youngling to read a full manuscript; to Kristen Kittscher, Brandy Colbert, and Elana K. Arnold for your counsel; to Ken Min and Erin Eitter Kono for shoring up spirits; to Helena Ku Rhee and Sherry Berkin for the writers’ lunches; and to Oliver Wang and Erin Kieu Ninh for the disciplined work sessions. To Joven and Leslie Matias, for asking about my biggest dream—and nudging me to go after it. To Stefanie Huie and Roger Fan, for never blinking at my fanciful notions of writing a novel. To the SCBWI, for giving me a place to learn and develop—and to Kim Turrisi for her effective matchmaking. To them and so many others I’ve met on this writing journey, I am indebted.
To all my teachers—especially Paula Yoo, my first creative writing instructor and constant source of inspiration; Leslie Lehr, who urged me to pursue the more challenging story; and Francesca Lia Block, punk faerie queen and insightful, generous coach—you have taught me so much, and I will forever be your grateful student.
Finally, to my family. To my sister, Wendy Chang—you are my heart. You and Dennis are Warriors for fighting off my fears and doubts, and for celebrating every milestone. To the rest of the Chang family, especially my nieces and nephew—you make life a joy. Special thanks to Amanda, Nicole, and Lindsey for asking, “And then what happens?” with genuine, endless curiosity, and to John Paul for your energetic cheer. To Koo and Rosa Pak, and the memory of Steven, thank you for your loving presence. To the Hou and Lin relatives, this American cousin appreciates you. And last but not least, to my parents, Paul and Martha Lin—you have given me the world. There are no words to express my gratitude for your unconditional love and support. I can only hope to make you proud by trying my best every day, just as you have shown me. Kám-siā.
About the Author
Photo by Joanna DeGeneres
A former journalist with degrees from the University of Pennsylvania and Columbia University, CINDY LIN has worked for Sony Pictures Entertainment and has written and produced many multimedia news features for children, one of which received a Peabody Award. The Twelve is her debut novel. You can learn more about Cindy at www.adamsliterary.com/cindy-lin.
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Copyright
THE TWELVE. Copyright © 2019 by Cindy Lin. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2019 by Sher Rill Ng
Cover design by Molly Fehr
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018968294
Digital Edition JULY 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-282129-4
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-282127-0
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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