The Hearts of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  They came out of the trees like ghosts. Dressed in brown leather, they appeared—first ten, then twenty. Paint and tattoos covered their bodies. They all had drawn bows, and most of them carried long, broad knives as well.

  But none of those features caused Rondel’s surprise. Her shock came from the detail she noted as the new arrivals bound their prisoners’ hands and took away their weapons.

  They all had green hair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “My Name Is . . .”

  The past month had been without question the most brutal of Iren’s life. Melwar’s rigid schedule made last year’s training under Rondel seem like a morning stroll. Each dawn, Iren ate a hasty breakfast in his room, then headed to the castle’s central garden to battle Hana. He lasted longer with each match, but he never won. Hana was always a move ahead, countering the instant Iren committed to an attack.

  His failures were all the more frustrating because he knew Hana was only the first step. As impressive as her abilities were, Melwar’s would be far superior.

  After each sparring match, Iren next had to contend with Melwar’s pain test, which was even worse than the fights with Hana. Melwar had explained that the spell he was using didn’t wound Iren. Instead, it activated all his nerves at the same time. Confronting such stress, the body’s natural inclination was to pass out.

  “The pain of breaking your magical barrier will surpass what I can inflict with this spell,” Melwar had warned him. “If you want to survive, this technique must become nothing to you. When you can endure my spell for an hour and remain conscious, then we will be ready to attempt to remove your barrier. That assumes, of course, that you can land a blow on both Hana and me by then. Otherwise, we will keep up the pain training for as long as it takes.”

  After that explanation, Iren had understood the reasoning behind Melwar’s dual training methods. Both motivated Iren to do better at the other. The sooner he defeated Hana and Melwar, the sooner the pain test would end, and the sooner he mastered his pain, the less drained he would feel when he fought them.

  Both those outcomes seemed far off. He still lost consciousness for hours after Melwar’s spell, and he lived in a constant haze of exhaustion and sore muscles.

  Though the physical strain pushed Iren harder than he had ever worked before, the mental effort of learning the Maantecs’ language and customs was tougher yet. During the trip to Veliaf, Hana had only taught him a handful of vocabulary. Now that she had him trapped in his room every day while he recovered from Melwar’s spell, she became a diligent taskmaster. She drilled Iren in everything from etiquette to fashion to the use of chopsticks. She taught him more Maantec words, but she expanded beyond verbal pronunciations to the written kanji that represented them.

  To speed his learning, Hana said everything to Iren twice, once in Maantec and again in Lodian. She then commanded him to respond in kind as much as possible.

  Iren thought his language training had escaped Melwar’s notice, but one day the lord addressed him in Maantec. Without thinking, Iren answered the same way. Melwar smiled slyly at him. From that moment on, Melwar only spoke to Iren in Maantec.

  Of all Iren’s tasks, writing in Maantec came easiest of all. That surprised him given how much he hated writing in Lodian. But as Hana showed him, his frustration with Lodian stemmed from that language’s writing style. It assumed a right-handed author, so it went from left to right and top to bottom. As a result, a left-handed person rubbed what he had just written with the side of his hand and smudged the ink.

  Maantec writing, by contrast, started on the top-right of the page and went down first, then moved from right to left in columns. Once Iren adjusted to the new format, his handwriting improved in both speed and legibility.

  Unfortunately, all his progress did nothing for deciphering his father’s diary. Unlike the simple constructs Iren wrote for lessons, his father used long, flowing sentences and kanji that gave even Hana trouble. She guessed that Iren’s father had been old enough to have lived through the Kodama-Maantec War, because many of his kanji had gone out of use since then.

  Though Iren couldn’t translate the diary, he had at least figured out that all this time he’d been trying to read it backwards. Maantec books had their spines on the right, not the left, and they read in the opposite direction from Lodian books.

  His first real break with the diary came when Hana taught him how to write his name in Maantec. For inspiration, he kept the scroll with the words “My name is Iren Saitosan” open at all times in his room.

  Two nights later, he was leafing through his father’s writing by candlelight. He was about to shut it when a column of kanji caught his attention.

  Thinking he’d made a mistake, Iren stared at them closer. He tried to convince himself they weren’t there, but no, they were the first words on the first page. The kanji matched. Iren was so astounded he read them aloud, though he could manage no more than a whisper.

  “My name is Iren Saito.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Captured

  In spite of the hostile Kodamas surrounding her, Minawë couldn’t help but feel awed by Aokigahara. Every step through the rainforest brought something new. Even in the dark, she’d lost count of the number of different plant species she’d seen.

  But it was more than the variety. This place had an energy to it, a force that surged through her. Rondel had been right, perhaps more than she’d realized. Aokigahara wasn’t at all like Ziorsecth. Ziorsecth had immense magic, but its dominance by a single plant gave that magic structure. Aokigahara had no such order. Its magic was like a flood. The untamed power made Minawë dizzy, yet part of her longed to immerse herself in it.

  Not that she would have a chance to do that. Her ability to hear the plants’ voices had vanished when her captors had taken away the Chloryoblaka.

  “Keep moving,” the guard behind her barked. He shoved her.

  Minawë winced. Just as Aokigahara differed from Ziorsecth, these Kodamas were unlike her northern kin. They seemed as wild as the forest around them, and it didn’t matter whether they were male or female. The women were as battle-hardened as the men, and their bodies were equally adorned with tattoos, weapons, and scars.

  Their violent demeanor aside, Minawë’s captors peaked her interest. All her life, she had believed there were no other Kodamas besides those in Ziorsecth. The rest had died from Iren Saito’s curse.

  She wasn’t surprised that Kodamas could live here. Aokigahara had at least as much magic as Ziorsecth, if not more.

  Ahead of Minawë, Rondel slumped and nearly fell. Her trio of guards hauled her to her feet amid fresh punches and kicks.

  Minawë grated her teeth. She wished she could do something. As much as the Kodamas had struck her, those beatings paled in comparison to what they’d done to Rondel. The Maantec was a bleeding mess.

  They traveled all night. As dawn approached, Minawë stumbled more often. She’d been awake almost twenty-four hours now. All she wanted to do was sleep, but still they marched through the wet brush.

  “Blindfolds from here,” her guard snapped, and before she could protest, a strip of cloth covered her eyes. Minawë struggled for a moment, but a blow to her stomach convinced her to stop. Fierce hands gripped her arms and guided her forward.

  After another hour of tough hiking, Minawë felt cold steel between her hands. It jerked, and her bonds fell away. “Up,” her guard ordered.

  Reaching out, Minawë found the rungs of a rope ladder and climbed. The ladder ended in a wooden floor, and she heaved herself onto it. Guards grabbed her again and held her arms. They stayed that way for several minutes before she heard grumping behind her.

  “Tramp me through a soggy jungle in the dead of night, then make me climb this ridiculous ladder one-handed. What way is this to treat an old woman?”

  Minawë smiled, but it died when a loud smack rang out. “Shut your mouth, Maantec spy!”

  “Leave her alone!” Minawë sho
uted before she could stop herself. Just as quickly, a sharp pain slapped across her face.

  “That’s enough!” a male voice boomed. Even though Minawë was blind, she could sense everyone nearby freeze.

  “Lord Narunë,” a guard said, “we captured these spies at the cliff wall. They were carrying Ryokaiten. We thought you’d want to interrogate them.”

  “Thank you,” the male voice replied. “Now leave us; I’d like a word with these spies in private.”

  There was a pause. It was as if no one could believe what the man called Narunë had said but couldn’t work up the courage to contradict him. Finally, one of the Kodamas murmured, “Lord Narunë, to have Ryokaiten, they must be exceptional mages. Are you sure it’s wise to—”

  “I said, ‘Leave us!’”

  That settled the matter. There was a scuffling as the guards around Minawë made their way back down the ladder.

  Silence followed for a few moments. Then without warning, Minawë’s blindfold was ripped away.

  She blinked in the sudden brightness. The sun had risen, and the mist spread its light such that everything seemed aglow. She and Rondel stood on a wooden platform wedged high in a tree. The structure had no walls or ceiling; the tree’s giant, waxy leaves formed a better roof than anything a person could make.

  Minawë gazed about in wonder. The mist wasn’t as thick as it had been when they’d descended the cliff, so she could see a good distance. Every tree in sight had at least one platform identical to this one, and on each platform sat at least one Kodama.

  Their presence astounded her. There were hundreds of them, at least as many as lived in the entirety of Ziorsecth. In Minawë’s wildest dreams, she’d never imagined there could be so many, let alone in a single community.

  Unlike Minawë, Rondel didn’t seem to care about the scenery. She glared at the Kodama before them, and in particular at the bow he held in one hand and the broken dagger clutched in the other.

  Minawë had spent enough time with Rondel to know the old woman was searching for a way to retrieve their weapons and escape. But it was impossible. If Minawë got hers and flew away as a bird, the Kodamas in the other trees would shoot her from the sky. As for Rondel, she would have to descend via the rope ladder, making her a similarly easy target. This open platform imprisoned them as effectively as the finest dungeon.

  While their prison lacked walls, it did have a jailer. He looked the part too. The man called Narunë stood a head taller than any Kodama Minawë had met in Ziorsecth, and his shoulders were twice as broad as Iren’s. He wore no shirt, and tattoos of fierce animals Minawë had never seen covered his bronzed skin.

  “So,” Narunë said, “Maantec spy, is it?”

  “We’re not spies,” Rondel spat.

  Narunë looked her over. “You’re a Maantec, and you were spying at the cliff base. I’d say that makes you a Maantec spy, wouldn’t you?”

  “We weren’t spying. We’re travelers.”

  “No one travels to Aokigahara.” Narunë held up the broken rondel. “Besides, I know what this is, Rondel Thara.”

  Minawë tensed, and Narunë flicked his eyes to her. “That proves it. You are Rondel. You look different from the last time I saw you.”

  Rondel cocked an eyebrow. “Well, you look like the same wild man as before. No wonder Otunë chose you to lead this crazy expedition.”

  Narunë threw his head back and laughed, a deep bellow. His right eye closed while he did it. He wrapped his burly arms around Rondel and lifted her into the air. “You look like a dried up mango!” he cried. “Last I saw you, you were young and beautiful. What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” Rondel replied, a smile on her face despite her awkward position. “A thousand-year-long one, to be precise.”

  “I want to hear it,” Narunë said. He released the old Maantec and stepped back. “First things first, though.” He faced Minawë. “Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

  “I would have thought the bow you’re holding would be all the clue you needed. This is Minawë, daughter of Otunë.”

  Narunë’s gray eyes looked Minawë up and down. “She is about the right height, I guess. There isn’t much resemblance otherwise. Though in truth, little one, that’s to your benefit. My brother never was much to look at.” He paused, then put on a big grin. “Speaking of Otunë, how is he these days? Still the same stoic bastard?”

  Rondel probably answered him, but Minawë didn’t hear her. She was too busy absorbing what Narunë had just said.

  He had called Otunë “my brother.” This wild, tattooed man was her uncle.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  No Mind

  Iren read the diary’s opening line again and again, wishing it would change. “My name is Iren Saito.”

  In a flash Iren understood why Hana had refused to read the book to him back in Tropos. He’d believed it was his father’s diary, but it wasn’t. It had been written by Iren Saito, former emperor of the Maantecs and dead for a thousand years.

  Iren let the book slip from his hands. Since Melwar had offered to help him regain his magic, Iren had no longer cared about the book providing clues about that. Still, he’d hoped it would give him a link to his parents.

  With a curse, Iren laid back on his futon, his hands behind his head. He couldn’t care less about Iren Saito. The emperor was a madman. He’d led his race to near extinction trying to conquer Raa. Worse, when he realized he would lose, he had killed himself to curse the Kodamas. He’d committed suicide and doomed two species merely to avoid the shame of defeat.

  It was just as well that the diary was worthless. The language lessons, while interesting, diverted Iren’s attention from the real issue of breaching the wall that kept him from his magic. He could communicate in Maantec, at least enough to be understood. When he next saw Hana, he would tell her she didn’t need to bother teaching him anymore.

  His mind made up, Iren fell asleep easily, but his dream returned. He was back in the house, sitting with his wife and looking at his child. The knock at the door came. Like before, when he opened it, no one was there.

  The next morning Iren arrived at the garden early and took the opportunity to stretch. By the time Melwar and Hana arrived, he had warmed up. He took his stance. Instead of attacking first, as he often did, Iren examined every inch of Hana for a sign of what her actions would be.

  Hana made the first attack, and Iren blocked it with ease. He countered, but it was a feint. He wanted to feel her out and expose her right side. From their many duels, Iren had learned that Hana’s defense was slower on that side. It wasn’t by much, but it was enough to give him a chance of victory.

  Hana sidestepped Iren’s feint and attacked his head, but he saw the strike almost before she committed to it. Something about the way her body moved and the positioning of her arms told him she was going to use an overhead blow. He dodged and struck at her left side. He didn’t want to give away that he knew about her weakness. Hana deflected his blow at the last second, but he came closer to striking her than he ever had before.

  As their duel intensified, their speeds increased until the wooden swords blurred. Iren’s eyes glazed over even as they studied Hana with utmost intensity. His thoughts drifted.

  Then he heard a strange music. It swayed in a fast, uneven beat, and he couldn’t help but time himself to it.

  The pair fought evenly for a time, but then Iren caught a change in Hana. She breathed harder. Her sword dipped. Her face scrunched in frustration, and in that moment Iren knew he would win.

  There it was! His last block had knocked Hana’s sword hard to the left, and she had lost her balance. The right side of her body seemed to scream, “Hit me! I’m open!” Without any thought, Iren swung.

  The wooden blade crashed into Hana just below her rib cage. She dropped to her knees in the cold sand and grasped the impact site with both hands.

  Melwar stepped between them to end the contest. The moment he did, a veil fell away from Iren
’s eyes. He blinked several times. At some point during the fight, the sun had risen high enough to brighten the courtyard. They’d started their match at dawn; they must have fought for hours. To Iren it felt like seconds, and part of him wondered if the duel had happened at all. It felt less real than the dreams about his wife and child.

  “Congratulations, Iren,” Melwar said, “you win.”

  Iren bowed first to the Maantec lord and then to Hana. “Thank you for an excellent fight,” he said.

  Hana stood and returned Iren’s bow, but she had a look in her eyes that unsettled him. Despite the sun overhead, her pupils were dilated. Her expression was one of hunger.

  A moment later Hana collected herself. She asked to be excused and then left the garden. She stumbled the entire way.

  “Did I hurt her that badly?” Iren asked.

  “No,” Melwar said, “if I had to guess, I would say you exhausted her. You gave her a fight the likes of which she has never experienced. You gave me the same thing, for that matter. I have never seen a duel last so long.”

  As if in response to Melwar’s words, fatigue struck Iren. His vision grayed, and he had to sit down. “Wha. . .what’s happening?” he panted.

  “You were on the verge of falling too. I knew one of you would make a mistake soon and lose, but I could not tell who it would be.”

  “Then why didn’t I feel tired until just now?”

  Melwar looked down at him but didn’t answer.

  Iren’s vision slowly returned to normal, though his lightheadedness remained. Hoping he wasn’t being rude, he laid back in the sand and gulped air to calm his hammering pulse.

  “Are you going to pass out?” Melwar asked.

  Iren took a final deep breath. The worst seemed to have passed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good. I do not like repeating myself, and the answer to your question is important. I would not give it if you were going to faint partway through.”