The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng

by K. S. Villoso

  “Oh, Thanh, no. I was with him before I went to Yu-yan. Of course he couldn’t be seen in the city. Prince Yuebek would’ve killed him.”

  “Because Prince Yuebek is your new husband.”

  “Thanh…”

  He pulled away briefly. “I know why you married him, Mother, even if the rumours say otherwise.”

  “Don’t listen to the rumours.”

  He shook his head. “It was Father’s fault. Khine says I shouldn’t blame him, but—”

  To hear Khine’s name on my son’s lips, uttered with such affection, stung. “It’s just you and me now, Thanh. We have to accept that.”

  You and I, we are enough.

  The sudden memory of my father’s words stilled me into silence. My worst fear was staring me in the face. I had turned into him. My choices, my decisions, led my son to that moment in time, and now we had no one else. We were alone.

  I thought I caught a glimpse of a star peeking through the clouds.

  Tali, I thought I heard my father say. Do you understand now? Why you are my sword beyond the grave?

  Thanh fidgeted. “Khine says—”

  “Forget Khine,” I said.

  I must’ve sounded harsher than I intended. He cringed.

  “I’m sorry, Thanh. I’m just worried.” I placed my hand on his shoulder to keep him close. Darkness settled in, covering us completely.

  The wind whistled above us. At least, what I thought was the wind.

  “Oh, Talyien…” The sound scraped at my skin.

  I grabbed Thanh. “Cover your ears.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with me, my love, please. Cover your ears now.”

  He lifted his hands, pressing them on each side of his face, slick with cold sweat.

  “Talyien, why are you hiding, dear wife? Are you scared of me? But you shouldn’t be! Remember what you told me that night? You promised… you promised…”

  I couldn’t tell where he was—if he was hovering above, or hidden in the clearing to the right. I knew the spaces between the trees were too narrow for his body to fit in, but he could try to stick his head in while we passed. His voice faded again, and I thought I heard the sound of wings beating the air.

  “Is he gone?”

  “Do you want a story, Thanh?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll tell you one, anyway.”

  “Mother—”

  “Once upon a time, there was a boy who loved to read. And he loved to read so much that he found a job with a man who owned a lot of books. The man told him, ‘Feel free to take any book from the shelves in here. Except that one, in the corner—you can read all the books here except that one…’”

  I don’t remember what version I told Thanh. Most likely my own, cobbled together from faded memories, with none of the flourishes my father loved to add. At home, I always read to Thanh straight from books, and we would embellish them together, sometimes making our own endings ourselves. This time, out here in these woods, he didn’t try to interrupt me. He listened quietly, even when I stumbled over the words or repeated phrases I wasn’t sure of.

  By the time it was over, there were tears running down my face, and I was suddenly grateful for the blackness. I didn’t want to have to explain why I was crying. I didn’t think I could. How was I supposed to begin untangling what I felt about my father? I couldn’t even explain it when I was young, when he was alive and right in front of me. Spinning between fierce love and hatred, until every fond memory came with the fear of having it all snatched away and you learned to be content with so, so very little. And now I was too old—the memories had been distorted with time. My father’s treachery, strewn over the canvas of my own mistakes. I was at an impasse, at the edge of an abyss I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross.

  My son and I continued to walk in the dark. When we got too tired, I slumped down beside a tree and gathered him in my arms, where I listened to his breathing as he slept. I had done the same thing the night after the bandits attacked, and all those long, lonely nights after his father left. Keeping up a face, pretending nothing could harm us, scraping what little courage I had for his sake… was second nature.

  Somehow, like all those other nights, we survived.

  Daylight came with a shock of frosty air and fog, cresting above the treetops—orange on white with a hint of green. I got Thanh to suck dewdrops from moss before we began to walk again, briskly shaking ourselves in an effort to drive the cold away. Up ahead, the trees were beginning to thin, and we found ourselves at the edge of a lake, still half frozen. The hills around it were covered in a layer of snow.

  “I think we’ve gone too far,” Thanh breathed, the fog gathering around his mouth. “Are we lost, Mother?”

  I glanced up at the sky. “We can’t be. I think those mountains in the distance were the same ones from last night. I saw them from the clearing.”

  “We walked a long time.”

  “And we may have to walk even longer. Maybe we’ll try to find something to eat here first.”

  “Khine told me that you can cut a hole in the ice, and if you hide just right, you can spear a fish as it pokes its nose out.”

  I sighed. “I don’t have a spear.”

  “We can make one. There’s some branches over there.” He pointed at a pile of driftwood that had gathered along one side of the shore, barely peeking out of the snow. Tucking my hands into my sleeves, I glanced around before deciding to humour him.

  It was quiet. Eerily so. I heard a bird calling in the distance, and recalled Huan’s Captain of the Guard telling me that dragons made similar sounds, too. How active were they in the morning? Did it matter? The damn things were mad—who knew if they even followed the rhythms of nature anymore? I turned back to Thanh, who had found the perfect stick. It was his height, thick enough to lean on. He held it out for me. I unstrapped the dagger so I could begin whittling a point for it.

  The ground rumbled.

  “There you are!” The dragon appeared around the hill, slithering over the bank where we had emerged. Panicking, I realized there was no other way back into the forest.

  “The boy has your love. We’ll take care of him first. We’ll kill the boy first!”

  “Run, Thanh!” I screamed. I didn’t even have to. He was already scrambling along the bank, trying not to slip with every step. I followed him, feeling the hot breath of the dragon at our heels as Yuebek lunged.

  He missed, crashing into the trees near the driftwood. But he recovered fast.

  “There’s nowhere to go, Mother!” Thanh called.

  I turned, realizing the sandy shore had given way to thick boulders, too tall to scramble over. We were trapped.

  I reached him, grabbed his hand, and darted for the frozen lake.

  The ice cracked with my first step. I managed to pull my boot back up and found a solid portion, one that held my weight better. “Over there, now,” I told Thanh. “Follow the patches of snow.”

  “Mother—”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  There was terror on his face, but he nodded and plunged ahead. I watched him scrabbling forward, growing smaller in the distance. I wanted to hold him, to keep him nearby, but my weight and his together would be too much. The ice was too thin.

  Behind me, the dragon roared and began to beat his wings.

  I took two steps into the ice, struggling to keep upright.

  The fog began to close in. I lost sight of Thanh.

  “Oh, Talyien,” Yuebek crooned. “Is this how you want to play it? You want me to hurt you slowly? I can do that. I can tear you limb from limb and leave you alive, leave you alive…”

  He began to hum, a sound that sent shivers up my spine.

  I caught the shadow of a wingtip above me and managed to duck just in time as he dove for me. I felt the snap of teeth over my shoulder.

  My other foot broke through the ice. There was no escape.

  As he came for me a second time, I drew my
sword and struck him across the nose.

  He howled, crashing into the ice. Half of his body fell. He snapped again, grabbing my leg and lifting me up into the air. I thought I felt a tooth go through my calf and rip the ligaments down to my ankle. I felt my senses slip, as if all the blood had drained from my skull. I felt if he didn’t let go, either I would pass out or my skeleton would jump through my eye sockets. I struggled to keep myself steady and stabbed him in the gums with the smaller grass-cutter.

  He dropped me into the water.

  After that first, icy shock, I managed to grab the frozen edge of the ice sheet. My fingers were raw, sending sharp spasms up my arm like they’d been jabbed with nails. Shivering, I heaved myself over solid ground, grass-cutter in one hand, sword in the other. My leg was covered in rapidly freezing blood. It felt like glass shards. Everything felt like glass shards. I almost couldn’t wait for the cold to blot out everything.

  Yuebek struck me with his tail before I could recover.

  I slid a foot along the ice and rolled to my right. I pressed my elbows into a patch of snow and forced myself to stand. The leg he had bitten was pouring blood, ripped skin quivering against the freezing wind—the sight of the mangled flesh alone made me nauseous. Better if I didn’t think about it. Better if I focused on my breathing even though I couldn’t tell how I still could. I was shivering and my weapons were becoming too slippery. But the dragon was having just as much difficulty. He was still half in the water, struggling to get out. Icicles hung from his wings, thick enough to weigh him down.

  The next time he shot out of the water to strike at me, I tried to go for his eye. The sword slid past his brow, catching at his cheekbone. I slipped under the momentum. My father’s sword was too heavy.

  In the distance, I heard Thanh scream. I caught a glimpse of him through the fog. The dragon’s weight shook the sheet of ice, cracking it from all across the lake. I could hear the crackling, followed by a snap, a singular sound in the dead air, so loud it felt like the whole world revolved around it. I waited for everything to sink.

  Somehow, the ice remained floating. “Thanh!” I called.

  Silence. I felt dread crawl up my spine. Had he gone through?

  “Thanh!” My voice felt weak. I wanted it to be louder, loud enough to pierce the heavens with. Loud enough for the gods to hear.

  The dragon charged once more, his fangs nicking the sword, which I could barely lift now in my exhaustion. My arm shook. My teeth chattered. This wasn’t a battle I could win. I wasn’t even sure it was a battle I could survive.

  “Mother!” The shriek threatened to stop my heart. The fog had closed in again. I had no way of knowing if he was safe or not. My son could be dying. My son could be dead. What was the point if my son was dead?

  I glanced down at my father’s sword, at the hilt that was becoming sticky with my own blood. As another red streak crested down the aged wood, I realized it wasn’t carved like a sea serpent after all. It was a bonytongue, with bulging eyes and a mouth that could fit all my father’s lies. I didn’t even know why I was still holding on to it. Without a second thought, I dropped it over the edge. As it slid into the murky depths of the icy water, I wrapped both hands around the grass-cutter and stabbed Yuebek’s eye just as he lunged again. Behind me, I caught another break in the bank, and I thought if I could just reach it in time, perhaps…

  He reared. The ice snapped, and we both plunged into the lake.

  The water engulfed me. The sun looked like a pale disk behind the shimmering depths, so small I could wrap my fingers around the light. I felt a moment of peace and wanted to stare at it while I sank. But then my body resisted, my lungs screaming tight in my chest, begging for sustenance. I found myself swimming to the surface. Sunlight danced between my eyelashes as I took that first gulp of air.

  I made it to the shore just as the dragon bore down on me.

  “My queen!” he screamed, his eyes completely black. “You promised I was yours! Don’t you want to be mine again? Don’t you? We can be together forever!”

  He grabbed my arm and threw me again, like a dog with a bone. He wasn’t going to kill me without toying with me first. I could hardly see straight from the pain and cold combined, and didn’t react as he clambered out on the bank, jaws open wide. His tongue pulsated.

  The temptation to let it end there was strong. But the thought of my boy kept me hanging, and my body hadn’t given up yet. I struck Yuebek across the neck, the rusty blade cutting through scales and into the flesh. The dragon roared as blood sprayed across my face. Everything turned black.

  I opened my eyes to the crackling of fire.

  Startled, I lunged upright. I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Queen Talyien,” Namra said. “Easy. You’re with friends.”

  I blinked. “Was it all a dream?”

  “Unfortunately not,” another voice said. Rayyel. He peered down at me, arms crossed. “The beast Yuebek is still out there. We barely got you out in time.”

  “Thanh,” I managed, though my senses were still hazy. “Did you see Thanh? He was running ahead. He—”

  “I’m here, Mother,” I heard Thanh squeak. He was suddenly near my feet.

  “Oh, gods,” I breathed, pulling him to me. His robes were dirty and wet. He must’ve fallen through the ice several times, too—his elbows and cheeks were scratched. It was a wonder he was still whole.

  “I ran,” Thanh said. “Like you told me to.” He squirmed a little, and I let him go. He glanced at Rai. “And then Father was there, and the priestess. I thought they were ghosts at first. I’m glad I didn’t run the other way.”

  “You hear that, Rai?” I asked, coughing. “Your own son thinks you’re a ghost. Tells you a lot, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t even know how you can joke at a time like this,” Rai said with a frown.

  “Making fun of you amuses me. And anyway, I can’t feel my leg.”

  “It’s ah… I did what I could,” Namra broke in. Her hair was wet, which meant she must’ve been the one to wade into the lake after me. “But I’m not a healer.”

  “Could’ve fooled me last time.”

  “That was only with Lamang’s help,” Namra said. “I sealed the bleeding with fire. That’s about all I can do.”

  “Is there anyone else here?” I asked.

  “Just me and Prince Rayyel,” Namra replied. “We left the night before you did. Sang Iga helped us sneak past the gates to the ridge. We brought assassins, but we separated right before the lake.”

  “Why did you bring assassins?”

  “For Yuebek, you know. For after.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Namra, but there is no after,” I said. “Yuebek killed Parrtha before he could even hand him the spell. Now he’s a dragon, as deranged as the rest.”

  She gave a soft sigh. “I had that feeling when we saw the dragon raging in the sky. It’s why we had to get here as fast as we could.”

  “What do you mean here?”

  “We’re at the last dragon-tower,” Namra said, looking up.

  I gazed at our surroundings. We were on the floor of a narrow chamber, one with a ceiling that seemed to go all the way to the sky. It didn’t look much like a tower at all—more like a termite mound. The walls were smooth, as if they were made out of clay, fashioned from a potter’s wheel.

  She took a deep breath and continued speaking. “Your father wanted me to find this fourth dragon-tower. It’s ancient, and I believe not connected to the one your father built in Yu-yan.”

  “What’s so important about it?”

  “I’m not sure myself,” she said. “His letters indicated I should lead you here if the inevitable occurred. With this.” She pressed a scroll into my hands. It was a copy of the spell Yuebek was supposed to cast. She’d made two. My father had ordered her to make two.

  “I knew it.” I shifted a little to the side, staring at the dancing shadows from the fire. “We need someone else up there. A second dragon.”

&
nbsp; Her face flickered. “He never explicitly mentioned that. Perhaps he simply means that you have to find a way to bypass the man’s madness.”

  “What other way is there to bypass a madman?” I asked. “That’s my father for you, Namra. He never tells you more than what you need to know.” I took a deep breath. “When my father met Yuebek, he had been hoping the prince would do these things for us willingly in exchange for becoming Dragonlord, and my king. But what he saw… troubled him. He was afraid Yuebek, for all his body’s strength and power, possessed too frail of a mind. So in his panic, he left me one last letter, one that seemed to go against the grain of his grand plans. He told me it frightened him that he was at the end of his life and Yuebek was all we had. He said nothing else—he merely implored me to remember my duties, as if I needed the reminder. I thought he was begging. But my father detested begging. Now that we’re here, I understand.”

  “My queen…” she started, still confused.

  I turned to meet her eyes. “My father loved puzzles, and he thought himself so conniving, so intelligent, that no one could possibly follow his schemes. None, perhaps, but me. He left no final instructions because he knew I wouldn’t need them. I’m not that smart, Namra—I just know him very well. A second dragon has to go up there, and only someone with royal blood can do it. And that rift is very strong. Outside of Yuebek, I’m sure it will kill everyone else. Whoever we choose… won’t be coming back.”

  There were a few moments of blessed silence. I gazed at the ceiling, at the mossy fissures of the old stone and the cracks on the surface. Eventually, I said, “Is there a safe place you can take Thanh to, Namra? Rai and I need to speak.”

  “We’re deep in the forest,” Namra replied. “No dragon can land outside. Come and help me find sticks for the fire, Thanh.”

  He got up without arguing and followed her, disappearing through a door on the far side of the chamber.

  Rai sighed. “Your dragon… Warlord Huan’s brother… he might be the best candidate. Skill in the agan is connected to the soul, not the body. You said he was a mage? Or very nearly one? He might be able to conjure a shield to protect himself during the process.”