Ji-Lin pressed her lips together. It took all her willpower not to shout that this was the biggest bunch of . . . of . . . waste she’d ever heard. Himitsu was a hero! Their savior! He’d escaped a cruel tyrant and led hundreds of people to freedom. And winged lions were heroes, not traitors! She, Seika, and Alejan were all directly descended from heroes.
“The emperor hoped that his brother would find another land and live the rest of his days in peace and happiness, and he could have, but Prince Himitsu’s own distrust of his brother was his undoing.” He’d dropped into a storytelling voice, complete with dramatic whispers. “Fearing the wrath of the emperor, Himitsu and the other traitors sneakily followed a dragon koji to her nest—a string of newly formed islands off the coast of Zemyla—and hid themselves. Everyone knows that when a dragon lays an egg, she surrounds herself with a magical barrier to protect her egg until it hatches. The traitors timed it just right. As soon as they snuck on shore, the islands vanished, hidden by the dragon.” He wiggled his fingers in the air for emphasis.
Seika’s voice was so polite that it was chilled. “You think the barrier is to protect a dragon egg, not us?”
Ji-Lin snorted. “Ridiculous.”
“The emperor believed the dragon discovered the traitors and ate them, since that’s what dragons do with anyone and anything found within their barriers. He mourned them. Even created a holiday to honor their deaths. On it, we all eat pastries with chicken eggs baked in the middle.” Obviously pleased with himself, Kirro beamed at all of them. “And that is the story of Prince Himitsu and the Hidden Islands.” His smile wavered. “Don’t look at me that way. It can’t all be true, because you’re here, which wouldn’t be possible if your ancestors had been eaten. It’s just a story!”
The waterhorse spoke, his voice like droplets hitting stone. “Stories are never just stories. They are as essential to life as water.”
All the color had drained from Kirro’s face. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the waterhorse to talk. Ji-Lin almost laughed at him—he deserved that shock.
“Stories are how we understand who we are and who we wish to be. Heroes. Traitors. Both at once. We define ourselves by the stories we tell. We shape ourselves by the stories we hear.” The waterhorse rose from the river, the river itself forming his body. Water pooled within him and then dripped down his sides, cascading in streams that formed his head, neck, torso, and legs. His tail was a spray of foam, as was his mane. His eyes were whirlpools. “You wish a boon for your story?”
Swallowing hard, Kirro nodded and held out his arm. At last he’s finally at a loss for words, Ji-Lin thought. Seika was glaring at him with blazing eyes.
Unexpectedly, Ji-Lin felt sorry for him. He hadn’t yet realized how badly he’d messed up, alienating the only one who really liked him. She thought of how she’d feel if she ever alienated Seika.
The waterhorse lowered his face to Kirro’s arm and opened his mouth. Water poured out. It encased Kirro’s arm, clinging to his skin for a moment before sloughing off.
The caller tossed an apple to the waterhorse. He caught it in a mouth of foam. Turning away, the waterhorse galloped through the shallows. Water sprayed off his mane and scattered beneath his hooves, leaving a dry riverbed behind him.
Twisting his arm backward and forward, Kirro asked, “Am I healed?”
The caller reached over, steadied Kirro’s arm, and then flicked the gray scales from the boy’s skin. He rubbed the remaining water across the red until it faded to pink. “You will bear the mark always, but it will never worsen.”
“That was incredible.” Kirro stared again at the retreating waterhorse. The waterhorse was galloping across the rice fields, leaving a trail of water in his wake, a snaking line across the green.
“Yes,” Ji-Lin agreed. “It was.” As annoying as the story itself had been, seeing the waterhorse had been amazing.
Kirro tested his arm, bending and stretching it. “I’m not dying.” He said the words as if trying them out like a new set of clothes. Ji-Lin couldn’t see any trace of the gray rot. The miracle of it was almost enough to erase the insult of his story. It’s just a story, Ji-Lin thought, no matter what the waterhorse said. And he was healed. They’d done what they said they’d do, and now they could return him to his father and go on with what they were supposed to be doing.
“I am curious,” the caller said. “Why is this boy with you and not his own people? They should not have distracted you with his fate. You’re on the Journey, and your time is precious.”
“His people didn’t know about waterhorses,” Seika explained.
“Oh, they knew,” Alejan said darkly. “They just killed them all.” He, Ji-Lin could tell, was still offended by Kirro’s story. She knew how proud he was of his heritage—he believed he was descended from a line of heroes, and that that would be his future too. She believed she was as well. She didn’t like what Kirro’s story implied about her own ancestors either. But it was only a story, a meaningless set of lies.
“We thought they were dangerous!” Kirro protested. “They were said to lure innocent children to ride them and then drag them under to their watery deaths!” He waved his arms over his head, as if that would emphasize how dangerous waterhorses were.
“I am ashamed that any islander would embrace such ignorance and teach their children to believe such lies.” Considering the boy, the caller walked in a circle around him. “Where are you from, child?”
“Uh . . . a ship?” He shrank back, as if suddenly realizing how unhappy everyone around him was. His eyes darted right and left, as though he wanted to bolt, except there was no place to run. Ji-Lin thought of how she’d felt on the ship, when the doctor and the captain were studying and judging them. She fidgeted, uncomfortable with the way this was going. Couldn’t they simply take him home, then fly to the shrine?
“He’s from Zemyla,” Seika said. Her arms were crossed and her eyes stormy. She said the word Zemyla as if it were the greatest insult she could think of.
Poor little sailor boy, Ji-Lin thought. He’d managed to really irritate Seika. He couldn’t have known how much she loved the old tales and traditions.
The caller recoiled. “You bring danger to our islands!” he said to Kirro. “You are the harbinger! You are the scout. You come to see if we are ripe for invasion.” He then advanced on Kirro. His hands were curled into massive fists.
“What? No!” Kirro backed up so quickly that he tripped over rocks and clumps of grass. He fell hard and then scrambled up again. “We’re explorers! We look for new trade routes and new items to trade and new ideas that will help our people against the koji.” He bumped into Alejan. The lion ruffled his wings, and the boy jumped forward. He spun in a circle as if suddenly realizing he was trapped. Ji-Lin felt even sorrier for him. It wasn’t his fault he’d been taught that awful story. And it wasn’t his fault his father’s ship had come through the barrier.
“Their ship looked like illustrations I’ve seen of pirate ships,” Seika said. She continued to glare at Kirro. “And it had a weapon that shook the air and killed a sea monster.”
“We’re not pirates! Smugglers, maybe, but only when money is short. And the weapon is called a cannon. It’s for defense against scyllas and valravens.” He looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground. “You promised to return me when I was healed!”
The caller loomed over Kirro. “And what will you tell your people when you return to them? How will you portray the many-times-great-grandchildren of your would-be emperor-killer?”
Kirro shrank down until he was kneeling. “I’ll tell them the t-truth.”
Ji-Lin looked from Kirro to the caller and back again—couldn’t the caller see he was scaring him? He was just a boy who didn’t want to die, and he’d only done what they’d told him to do: tell a story.
“What is the truth in your eyes, Zemylan boy?” the caller bellowed. “Will you call our kindness weakness and say we are ripe for the plundering? Will you speak o
f our comfort and wealth as though they were prizes to be won? Of our peace as though it were a folly to be laughed at and scorned?”
“No!”
“You may look the innocent child, but you’re a viper in our midst, ready to sting us. You should be locked away so you cannot spread your poison. Tossed into darkness and forgotten until all danger has passed.”
Kirro pivoted to face the princesses. “You said you’d return me. You promised! ‘Bring him back safe,’ my dad said.” Ji-Lin felt herself blush—they had said they’d take care of him. Letting this man bully him was not taking care of him.
Seika seemed to deflate. “We did promise.”
“Be grateful they saved your life, little enemy,” the caller growled. “These are our princesses, the living embodiment of our freedom, honor, and hope for the future.”
Kirro scrunched his face. “They aren’t ‘embodiments’; they’re kids like me. Like me! I’m just a kid! I’m not the embodiment of your enemies. I’m just me, Kirro, ship’s boy. I’m not a danger. And I want to go home.”
“Can you promise there is no danger to our princesses if they return to your ship? Can you promise they will be allowed to remain free and unharmed?” The caller’s voice thundered so loudly that the other villagers, who had all been watching from a discreet distance, jumped. Ji-Lin knew how Kirro felt—the caller’s voice was as loud as a master’s roar. She knew what it was like to be roared at like that.
“His father wanted to use us as hostages,” Seika said.
“He didn’t!” Kirro yelped. “He wouldn’t! Well, maybe he would, but he wouldn’t hurt you. He just wants to talk to the emperor, and once he does, he’ll let you go.” Ji-Lin thought of how she’d felt when the captain didn’t believe them.
The caller gripped his arm. “Then by your own words, the princesses cannot return to your ship. I said it: enemies!” Echoing him, Alejan growled.
Trying to twist away, Kirro yelped. Tears pricked his eyes. I still don’t like him, but this isn’t right. “Let him go,” Ji-Lin ordered.
Everyone turned to look at her.
Bowing, the caller released Kirro. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I am only concerned for your safety and for the completion of your Journey. You must be at the shrine on the volcano island on Himit’s Day. That’s tomorrow!”
Ji-Lin looked at Kirro. He massaged his newly healed arm as his eyes flickered from the caller to the princesses to the villagers. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but she couldn’t help it. He was right: he was a kid, like they were, not an embodiment. Just a kid.
“We can leave him here,” Seika said. “You can send word to the boy’s ship. When the ship is fixed, they can come claim him. Do you have messenger birds?”
“I can’t stay here!” Kirro yelped. “They hate me!”
He was right. If he stayed, they’d imprison him—the caller had already threatened it. And what would happen when the Zemylan ship came to claim him and discovered Kirro being treated as a prisoner? She looked at the caller’s muscles and his still-red face and thought of the Zemylans’ strange weapon. If the caller and the captain argued . . .
The caller shook his head, and his necklaces clapped together like tiny bells. “A Zemylan ship, here? Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider! We are but a tiny village, with no defenses. If they should choose to attack . . .” That was not so different from what Ji-Lin had been thinking, but what else could they do? They couldn’t risk further delay.
“They say they’re explorers,” Ji-Lin began.
“Please, Princesses, take me with you!” Kirro said.
All of them stared at him. It occurred to Ji-Lin that this was the first time he’d called them princesses. He’d accepted who they were.
“Let me come with you to the dragon,” he pleaded, “and then you can return me after.”
“You want to stay with us?” Ji-Lin asked. She didn’t like this idea—and from their expressions, Seika and Alejan clearly hated it—but they couldn’t abandon him here, not if the caller refused to allow him to stay outside a cell. There was something so sad and pathetic about the way he was looking at them.
“I don’t think we should—” Seika began.
“He’s our responsibility,” Ji-Lin interrupted. “You decided that, remember?” She still didn’t like it, but they had promised to take care of him. They couldn’t leave him to be imprisoned.
Seika glared at her, then at Kirro, then at the caller. At last, she sighed. “I know. You’re right. I promised. Very well, we bring him.”
To the caller, Ji-Lin said, “Will you send a bird to his people and let them know he’s healed and to sail to the volcano island? They can reclaim him there.”
The caller bowed. “Yes, Your Highness. And thank you. Prince Balez and Master Shai will be better equipped to welcome, or repel, his people as needed.”
To Kirro, Seika said, “You can’t come with us all the way to the dragon. We’re bending tradition enough as it is. The final ritual must be me, my sister, and Alejan.”
He bobbed his head. “I won’t interfere.”
“It could be dangerous,” Ji-Lin warned. So far, they’d encountered koji and weathered a tremor. She couldn’t predict what else would happen. “Are you sure you’d rather come with us than stay here?”
Kirro waved his arms in the air. “Yes! You healed me with a horse made out of a river. You’re friends with a winged lion. Absolutely, I want to stay with you and see what other miracles I can.”
More bravery, or truth? Ji-Lin wondered. Or did he just not want to be imprisoned? She exchanged glances with Seika. Sighing, Seika gave a small nod. “Okay, it’s settled,” Ji-Lin said. “You can come with us. But please, try not to be so annoying.”
Chapter
Sixteen
THEY FLEW FAST and low over the fields and orchards and then the marshlands that fed into the sea. Flocks of birds startled from the rushes and took to the air, until the sky was so thick with birds that they swept like a cloud over the island, casting shadows beneath them. Soon Alejan had crossed the island, and they were again over open water. Seika watched the waves below and wondered if they hid more sea monsters.
“You’re serious about going to talk to a dragon?” Kirro asked. “You know they’re monstrous lizards who roast people for lunch, right? Especially people who go anywhere near their hoards of gold and jewels.”
“She’s the Dragon of Himitsu,” Seika said, trying not to sound irritated. He had to have noticed how badly he’d upset them, yet he’d returned to cheerfulness almost instantaneously, as if he hadn’t just insulted their heritage and all their beliefs. “She doesn’t roast people; she summons lava.”
“Oh, okay. That’s so much better.”
“You’re thinking of northern land dragons. She’s not an oversize lizard, and she doesn’t have a hoard of gold and jewels. She’s not that kind of dragon. Years ago, she created the islands,” Seika continued. “All the islands of Himitsu are volcanic. It was the dragon who caused the earth to explode in fiery rocks and rise out of the ocean, and it was the dragon who caused the volcano to calm again so the lava could cool into land.”
“How do you know?” Kirro asked.
“I’ve studied our history,” Seika said, “which is better than you, repeating ignorant lies.” The emperor of Zemyla must have spread those lies to hide his ancestors’ cruelty. She told herself she shouldn’t blame the sailor boy. It wasn’t his fault he was ignorant, though it was his fault for repeating such things. She could blame him for that. And she didn’t have to like him anymore. I only liked him because I wanted my own friend, Seika thought. Ji-Lin already has Alejan. It had been nice to have her own travel companion. Until he’d proved to be rude.
“I only know what I’ve been told.”
“You’ve been told lies.”
“Hey, you only know what you’ve been told too!”
He was right, and that thought made her squirm in the saddle. Seika did
n’t want to be having this conversation anymore. She wished they could have left Kirro back on Heiwa. But she didn’t break promises.
She’d never wanted so badly to break one. Back on the island, she had been seconds away from leaving the boy and his lies behind. Instead, Ji-Lin had pushed for them to do the right thing, even though she didn’t seem to like Kirro at all.
What’s wrong with me? Seika wondered. First she’d bent tradition by bringing Kirro with them, and then she’d been tempted to go back on her solemnly given word.
Catching a shift in currents, Alejan soared higher above the sea. The sun was already touching the horizon, and Seika stared at it, searching for the flicker—there, the barrier.
That’s what’s wrong, she thought. Not me. The boy and his ship shouldn’t have been able to cross it. The sea monster shouldn’t have been in their waters. “Nothing is turning out the way it was supposed to,” Seika said.
“Indeed,” Alejan said. “We are half a day off our schedule. We should have been in Heiwa last night, not today. I thought I could make up the time, but . . . we won’t make the next village by nightfall.”
Ahead, she saw black sand beaches. Strange trees grew from the sand, shaped like ladders that climbed into nothing. She didn’t have the maps of the islands memorized the way Alejan and Seika did, but she believed him. “What do we do?”
“We either fly in the dark, or we camp on a beach,” Ji-Lin said. “Both are dangerous. Given our rotten luck so far, we could just as easily run into another koji while we camp as while we fly.”
Seika considered it. If camping wasn’t guaranteed to be safer, then they should just fly on. Every mile they flew brought them a mile closer to completing the Journey. “We should keep flying,” she decided, “so long as Alejan is able.”
Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 15
