Sora lifted her hands off her ears and peered through her eyelashes at the window. A series of softer pops followed the booms. A sickly green glow emanated through the window, then morphed to blue.
She drew her knife and crept toward the opening, keeping the blade against her palm just in case. A few more blasts on the way made her wince, but when she got close enough to peer over the sill, she saw their source. It left him breathless.
High above the Red Tower and all across Lake Yaolin, flames burst in the night sky like fiery paint on a dark canvas. Only they were all types of colors, not just the orange of fire—blue, purple, green. She also realized that the shouting which proceeded every blast wasn’t frantic, but instead, celebratory. A grouping of people stood downstairs on the patio overlooking the lake.
“What in the name of Iam?” she whispered just before another splash of color painted the sky red. Finally, she didn’t flinch at the sound. She was just glad nobody had been around to see her hiding from something that didn’t seem to be hurting anyone.
She found herself in the lobby of the Emperor’s Quilt, approaching the crowd of people appreciating the light show. She’d planned on staying in her room all night, waiting to hear from Lord Bokeo again, getting much-needed rest, but her heart raced too fast now.
She tapped someone on the shoulder, but they ignored her. She nudged another. The man leaned back but didn’t remove his eyes from the spectacle.
“What is that?” she asked, nearly forced to shout over the noise.
“What’s what?” replied the man.
Sora leaned in and pointed over the man’s shoulder. She’d never seen anything that could compare. Perhaps the mystics were in hiding, but magic was surely not absent from this place.
“You serious?” he asked. “They’re fireworks. This your first Festival of Ghosts?”
“No, of course not,” she lied. “I…” She was trying to think of something to say when she realized the man was no longer listening anyway. Then, as suddenly as the fireworks started, they stopped, and everyone cheered, hooting and hollering, clapping their hands. As one, they turned and walked straight by Sora as if she didn’t exist.
“Time for the fun!” said one woman as she passed.
“Let the trouble commence,” said another.
Sora turned and watched them leave, wondering what manner of “fun” and “trouble” they were talking about.
A pit formed in her stomach. Both of those words reminded her of Whitney in the worst way. There was nothing he loved more than fun and trouble, and here she was, running off toward it alone. She was so out of her element, lost in a world she was unfamiliar with, and confused about everything, down to the question of who she was.
She shook her head. “How often are you in Yaolin City?” she asked herself, since Aquira wasn’t around to listen. “You can sleep another night.”
So, she decided to treat herself to a night out in this strange new city. With the autlas from Gold Grin and Aran Bokeo, she could do whatever she wanted short of buying a mansion and still be fine for a very long time. She’d see what this Festival of Ghosts was about, sample the local cuisine—now that it was quieter she couldn’t help but hear her stomach grumble—clear her mind, and maybe even learn something about her people. She deserved it after the mess this week had become, and tomorrow, she’d storm back to Lord Bokeo’s shop and demand they get started.
The Emperor’s Quilt was off the beaten path, perched on a cliff on the east side of Yaolin. Although the din of celebration seemed to fill every corner of the city, it wasn’t until she reached Xiahou Boulevard that she saw the sheer magnitude of the event.
People were everywhere, parading down the streets dressed to the hilt in costumes. She saw lich lords and wraiths, skeletons and walking dead. There was even a group of four, all wearing the same zhulong costume, dancing about, knocking into people and causing a ruckus.
She pushed through the crowd, and no one seemed to mind. The shop stands she’d seen the guards remove earlier had returned, now gathered into squares adjacent to Xiahou Boulevard. The scent drew her to the one selling something called dumplings, and her stomach did the rest. Next thing she knew she’d purchased one, devoured it, and then brought another back to the street. In the West, they’d never wrap meat in dough in such a manner, but they were missing out. And the spices… Sora’s taste buds had never been so grateful.
On the way out, another salesman offered for her to buy a carafe of liquid. She didn’t have time to ask what it was before he pushed it on her. It was both sweet and a bit tangy, going down with a bite. She couldn’t say she enjoyed it, though she couldn’t help but wash down every bite with a sip.
Filling her stomach improved her mood. All the street performers doing their tricks were far more enticing, juggling balls of fire or swallowing swords. A line of revelers passed her, each wearing a part of a dragon costume and moving in a serpentine, so they appeared like one of the great, ancient beasts. They wrapped a tight circle around her, the reptilian face swaying right in front of her, then spun away to circle someone else.
A blast of fire at her back sent Sora spinning again.
“Experience the breath of dragons!” shouted the old, bearded man responsible for it. Before him stood a table with many jars and glass bottles. “Feel the heat of their flames and the roar of their bellies!”
Sora scrutinized the setup.
“Come to see magic?” he asked her in a loud, booming voice.
Sora stared at him as he absentmindedly poured two liquids into one vial.
“Come on, girl,” he whispered, “just play along.”
“Sure… show me.” Sora moved in closer and nodded at him. He cleared his throat, and Sora noticed a few more people sidle up next to her while she pretended to be interested. With that, the man feverishly began mixing various potions and herbs. She couldn’t help but be reminded of old Wetzel as steam rose from one of the vials.
“Long ago, a strapping, young man, with only the leather on his back and his father’s old, rusty sword, set out on a trek into the cold, unforgiving Dragon’s Tail Mountains,” the man said, emphasizing every word with his hands as any good performer would.
He grabbed hold of the vial, tipped his hand, and poured out the contents. It was a slow, agonizing drip, flowing like tree sap. When it touched the man’s hand, it turned into a fine powder. He threw it, and it hit the crowd, cold as ice.
They all laughed and brushed the snowy substance off their cloaks.
“The snow beat down upon him,” the man continued, “but he pressed forward, sure there was treasure within the many caverns.” He reached beneath the table and brought out a thin, brown leather mat which he laid upon the surface, flattening it with his palm.
“One such cavern called to him.” He covered his mouth with his hand, and a voice came from behind Sora.
“Hello!” it said, almost seeming to echo. She spun, as did the others. There was no doubt it was the performer’s voice, but how he’d managed to send it behind them, Sora had no idea. She turned back to the man and clapped. The others joined in.
Maybe he isn’t just a trickster.
“As he entered, his footsteps echoed within the high ceiling.” The performer carefully set small piles of gray rock at varying intervals on the mat. With a finger, he tapped the edge of the mat and the stones popped in series, sounding like footfalls against the leather.
Sora found herself enchanted by the man’s story.
“Darkness surrounded the young man,” he continued. “A darkness fell unlike any he’d ever experienced, as if it blanketed his very soul, and a cold chill came over him, colder than any snowstorm could produce.”
Sora could have been imagining it, but goosebumps rose up all over her body.
The old man reached into a pouch on his belt and produced an orange powder. He held it above a basin filled with liquid.
“That was when he heard it,” he said, dropping the handful of powder. Sora jumped, and t
he now-large gathering cried out in surprise when the roar of a great beast sounded from the bowl. “The dragon was awake. It was true, there was a vast treasure trove within that mountain, but there was, too, a guardian."
“He drew his sword, slowly approaching. One step, and then another." He tapped the mat again and the rocks leaped. "He could hear, in the darkness, a shifting, a rattle like metal on metal. He knew it was the beast’s scales rubbing against one another. A mighty thwack, a dragon tail, rising and failing, over and over like a drum or the beating of a heart.”
Sora was so caught up in the moment, she’d hardly even noticed the sound. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
“He readied his sword, lifting it high above his head,” the performer went on. His knees buckled, shaking like leaves on a windy day. Then, without warning, the reptilian nightmare unleashed a breath of fire that tore through the cavern, singeing even the man’s eyebrows.”
The performer quickly swigged a small vile, lifted his other hand to his mouth, tilted his head back, and blew a flame from his mouth that reached the rooftops.
The unified cry of fear and delight rose so loudly around Sora, she clenched her teeth together. The heat was intense, causing little beads of sweat to form on her forehead.
When the flame subsided, the crowd erupted in applause, Sora included. The old man bowed, then rose and waved his hands, encouraging his audience to be quiet.
“The young man was so frightened. You could imagine, could you not?” the performer said. The onlookers laughed and nodded. “He abruptly lowered his sword and turned to run. The rusty blade fell against his neck and carved a deep wound.”
“Did he die?” shouted a man in the back.
The performer laughed. “What do you think?”
“The dragon ate him whole!” called a girl, so young Sora wondered why she wasn’t in bed.
“Surely, it didn’t. How then would the man know the tale!” said the child’s mother.
“Right you are,” said the performer. Then he reached up and grabbed the neckline of his tunic and dragged it down, revealing a long scar stretching from earlobe to collarbone. “I ran like Elsewhere had just unleashed her demon hordes.”
A collective gasp sounded, then murmurs bounced around from person to person, many whispers and expressions of awe.
“I thank you, fair people of Yaolin and elsewhere, for listening to my story. If you enjoyed it, please help an old man who never did find the dragon’s treasure.” The performer shook a tin cup, a few coins scraping around on the bottom.
Men and women rushed forward to fill it with autlas, and the old man smiled, nodding his appreciation. Sora happily added a few bronzers. When the man gave a disapproving glare, she reached into her bag and added a silver piece, thanked him in Panpingese for his show, and turned to walk away.
“You know they’re watching you,” he said.
Sora turned back. “What?”
The man wasn’t looking. He fiddled with his props, preparing them for the next show. She rushed to his side and took his arm. “What did you say?”
“Huh?" he said. “I said nothing.”
“You said they were watching me. Who’s watching me? The mystics? Are you one of them?”
“Look, girl, all this here is just a trick of alchemy. Anyone who knew a lick about real magic died in the war or is smart enough to hide from the Glassmen. Now please, leave me alone so I can prepare. Time is money!”
Sora released the man’s robe, and he brushed the wrinkles away before returning to his bottles. She glanced around, looking for where the voice might have originated, but the performer’s onlookers had dispersed, leaving only the costumed revelers marching down the street.
She hurried along, once again caught up in the parade. By the time she’d slowed down, she was nearly at a central square, which was more of a circle. It appeared to be the spot where all the statues, presumably of the Pinyun, which now looked vaguely like an army of Liam the Conqueror, came together into what felt like an arena. A series of repurposed, domed temples, now all dedicated to Iam, encircled the fireside.
“Sora!” she thought she heard a voice call out from somewhere within the parade. However, through all the costumed bodies, all wearing masks, some colorful, some terrifying, she couldn't find its source.
They’re watching you. Those words echoed in Sora’s head.
She whirled, and more costumed people surrounded her. It grew dizzying. She picked up her pace through the mob, fingering the grip of her knife as she moved. Her name filled the air again; then a hand grabbed her shoulder, the grip firm but gentle.
“Aye, lass!”
Sora turned, tearing her knife free and raised it toward the neck of whoever was following. Only there was no neck. Her knife hovered over a clump of messy, red hair, and she looked down to see Tum Tum with his hands in the air.
Tum Tum laughed nervously as he slowly brushed her knife-hand aside. “If ye’re ever bein snuck up on by a dwarf, ye might want to aim lower,” he said, able to make a joke out of anything.
“Oh, Tum Tum !” Sora laughed and threw her arms around him. When she backed away, she saw Gold Grin behind him, wearing a long robe and... the Glass Crown upon his head. Fortist and Hestor stood at his side, one dressed like a noble and the other a jester.
"Are you mad?" Sora asked.
"What? This?" he laughed, fingering the crown. "Might be the only night I get to show it off. No one would be crazy enough to believe it was the real thing."
He bowed his head and took her hand. “Dearest Sora of Troborough. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
He pressed his lips against the top of her hand. It was only then she realized that for the first time in longer than she could remember, she wasn’t wearing gloves in public. Thanks to Lord Bokeo there were no scars of her unlawful practice of blood magic to hide.
“And you,” she said as he gently released her hand. The act of a pirate who seemed more gentleman than monster caused her to blush, which in turn made her punch Tum Tum in the arm to draw attention from her cheeks. Unlike Whitney, Tum Tum was solid as a rock.
“Oi!” Tum Tum yelped. “What that be for!”
“For making me inquire about The Ruby House,” she said. “And my subsequent red cheeks.”
All four men, Gold Grin, Tum Tum, Fortist and Hestor laughed, hands to their bellies, nearly doubling over for the effort. Judging by their red cheeks and the distant look in their eyes, they’d all had a few drinks already.
“I’m supposin you din’t want a room there then?” Tum Tum said.
Sora reared back again, and Tum Tum flinched, but she was sure it was just for show. “No, thank you. I’ve got a room at the Emperor’s Quilt.”
“Oh, ye tired of the Reba’s modest rooms, did ye?” Gold Grin said, then hiccupped. “Wanted a taste of luxury?”
“I hear there be a stand nearby that sells rice wine that’ll knock you out,” Tum Tum added.
“It’s nothing compared to the Winder’s Dwarf,” Sora said, but immediately regretted it. She’d wanted to compliment Tum Tum on his wonderful pub back in Winde Port, but considering she’d been the one responsible for burning it, and the rest of Winde Port to soot and ash, she lowered her head and said, “Sorry.”
“Nonsense! Nothin to be sorry for. Had that bundle of sticks not gotten torched I ain’t never've been able to experience Gu—Guin—Gway—”
“Gyuan Jie,” Sora helped, then shrugged when his brow furrowed. “I’ve picked up a few words already.”
“Bah!” the dwarf cried. “The Festival of Ghosts. Law be to speak common anyway, ain’t it? Say, where’s yer dragon?”
“Wyvern,” she corrected, “and it’s a long story.”
“We ain’t got time for long stories, dwarf,” said Gold Grin. “Not if ye don’t want us to leave ye where ye stand.”
“Guess that’s me cue,” Tum Tum sighed.
“What? I’m not invited?” Sora asked.
“Trust me, l
ass, ye don’t want a part of it. Old Gold Grin wants to help me open a right western pub here in his namesake. First, we have to convince an old codger to sell his place.”
“Right on the lake.” Gold Grin tossed his arm around her, and she realized why he was acting so strangely. He was so drunk, he could hardly stand. Extending one arm as if gesturing to something grand, he said, “There be no more perfect place for Gold Grin’s Grotto. Can you picture it?”
Sora chuckled. “Stunning.”
Tum Tum shrugged. “Pirates,” he muttered to her. “Can’t say no to me only investors though!”
“Come, Tum Tum!” Gold Grin slurred, stumbling a few paces after he released Sora. His arm no sooner left her than went around one of his men, though they were in no better state. “Leave this fair lady to her business. We have a shop to pillage—” His lagging gaze met Sora’s, and he blinked. “Purchase. That’s the word.”
“I’ll see ye around, aye?” Tum Tum said to Sora. “Ye know where to find me.”
“If you think I’m going to come calling for you at the Ruby House like some desperate damsel..."
Tum Tum chortled. “I’ll be findin you then. And the moment I’ve got me own place up and running, first drink’s on me.”
“I look forward to it.”
Gold Grin shot her an awkward, crooked smile, then he, Tum Tum, and the rest staggered off. They were quite the sight, hulking man the pirate king was, shoulder to shoulder with the small, stout dwarf. Sora couldn’t help but chuckle.
They were barely out of view when Sora heard a screech and saw a familiar shape zip by her face. At least, she thought she did. She wondered if she’d accidentally tried some of that strong rice wine Tum Tum referred to and that’s why she was hearing and seeing things.
“Excuse me,” she said, running. And, “Pardon,” then finally, “Move!”
She didn’t even care that she’d knocked several people to the ground, all of them berating her verbally as she put them behind her.
The line of people in their dragon costume passed in front of her, and she slid beneath their shuffling feet. She heard another cry, looked up, and saw Aquira. The wyvern flapped her wings and soared overhead, swooping in and out of a grouping of revelers with flags on posts, waving them to and fro.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set 1: Books 1-3) Page 92
