Turesobei staggered back as the full truth rushed back. Though how he’d come here and where this was, he had no idea. Smeared with blood and wearing torn clothes, Awasa snarled and leapt over the table. She tackled him and pinned him to the ground, squeezing her legs over his hips. He struggled to break free, but she was stronger than him. She licked her lips and fangs and ran claw-like fingertips along his cheek.
“Oh Sobei, I didn’t want to have to do it this way, but if this how you’d like it …”
“Like what?” he muttered.
“Why, being my thrall, of course. You are mine. You were mine first, long before that k’chasan slut. And now you will always be mine.”
The gazebo within the elaborate garden faded away, leaving only crumbling ruins tucked into a vast wasteland beneath an empty twilit sky. All was dust and shadow with not a single sign of life except for himself and Awasa. The Shadowland … a realm between Death and Life, Torment and Paradise, Oblivion and Existence. Many-layered, infinite, inscrutable. The abode of nightmares and demons and stranger things still. This was the layer nearest the real world, draped over it like a burial shroud, accessible by ritual or dream. If he was in the Shadowland, he was trapped in a nightmare, though how he had been brought here, he had no idea.
Turesobei cast the simple spell of waking. Nothing happened.
“You cannot leave here until I let you,” Awasa said, sneering. “And I won’t let you until I’ve broken you.”
“How did you do this?”
She pulled back her shirt to reveal a fresh cut over her heart. She drew her finger along it and bit her lip. “Our bond was never broken. I used it against you.”
How utterly simple and devious. She had exploited their betrothal as a connection and then strengthened it with — “Blood magic.”
“You cannot break free,” she said. “I know because Barakaros tells me it is so.”
“The Warlock? He’s possessing you?”
She slapped him hard across the face and busted his lip. “Don’t insult me like that! I am my own self. The Warlock’s ghost merely resides within me, whispering secrets, teaching me all the foul sorceries he knew.”
If she had stolen into his dreams with blood magic, exploiting the bond between them, how could he break free? Banishing her wouldn’t work, and waking himself had failed. Dream-breaking had already done all it could by destroying the illusion. Maybe if he hadn’t shared tea with her in the dream. That had given her more power here. He tried again to throw her off again, but it was no use. He could only think of one thing that might work, although it could just take him from the frying pan to the fire.
“I am Chonda Turesobei!” he cried out at the top of his lungs. He didn’t know what had summoned her before, so he continued on. “The heir of Chonda Lu! I bear the power of the Storm Dragon! I’m trapped in the Shadowland! Please, by Kaiwen Earth-Mother, I beg of you to help me.”
“No one can help you here, no matter the name you use or who you call on.” Awasa put a finger to his lips, lowered herself down, and bit his earlobe. “Anything you attract here will be as bad, or worse, than me.”
“I know,” he muttered.
And then she arrived, rolling in from the horizon like a night-black cloud punctuated by eyes of searing flame, slowly filling the sky, darkening even the Shadowland. The shadow spoke, as it had before, with a voice both feminine and primal.
“You will let the Storm Dragon go, foolish girl.”
“Never!” Awasa screamed at the flaming eyes above them. “He’s mine alone!”
“You cannot have Naruwakiru. His fate lies with me. I have waited centuries … millennia … for our day of reckoning, here at last at the end of the world.”
So this — whatever she was — was after the Storm Dragon? It had nothing to do with him or Chonda Lu. It thought he was Naruwakiru returned.
The flaming eyes plunged toward them. Awasa recoiled and reached toward her scabbard. But there was nothing there. A white-steel blade couldn’t enter the Shadowland. Awasa grabbed Turesobei by the collar and pulled him close. “I have touched your soul. You can never hide from me again.”
Then, a moment before the eyes fell upon them, Awasa released him and disappeared.
Turesobei shot up, wide awake within the snowhouse. Everyone was kneeling around him with concern etched on their faces.
“Master, you’ve been screaming,” Lu Bei said. “We couldn’t wake you. I thought perhaps you were —”
“Everyone pack your things.” Turesobei stood, shaking. “We have to go. Now!”
“But it’s not dawn yet,” Kemsu said. “And the sonoke —”
“Now!” Turesobei shouted.
Everyone looked at him, amazed, no doubt wondering if he’d lost it. But Motekeru set off in motion and Lu Bei said, “Everyone do as Master says. Quickly.”
Under light from the spell of the moon mirrors, they gathered their things and ran out to the sonoke. Motekeru wrapped Kurine in a blanket and held her in his arms as he climbed into the saddle. They rode with abandon along the coast, trusting that the sonoke would spot any dangers in the terrain and adjust in time. The sun rose. A strange feeling tweaked Turesobei’s senses. He whipped around. On an inland rise loomed eighty-nine terrible shadows. The smallest one in the center bellowed a screeching war cry and charged. Light glinted off the white blade in her hand. The rest of the shadows followed her.
Chapter 41
Ninefold Awasa and her eighty-eight yomon fell out of sight as the sonoke outpaced them, but the yomon were tireless. They would catch up.
“What do we do?” Zaiporo asked. “We can’t outrun them. They’ll catch us by nightfall.”
Narbenu stroked the back of his sonoke’s neck. “Sooner. The mounts will be dead by noon if we keep this pace. We’ve ridden them hard for two days with little rest between.”
“Maybe we can find a cave and hide,” Iniru said.
“Awasa touched my soul in the dream,” Turesobei told her. “She found something to exploit … a nice moment we once shared. An afternoon tea, the last one we had together before I left Ekaran, only this time without Shoma and our mothers there. Awasa used that and our bond of betrothal, and blood magic, to get to me in my dreams, pulling me into the Shadowland. Fortunately, she won’t try that again. Unfortunately, she can now track me wherever I go. There’s no escaping her. We’re going to have to face them. So just … just keep an eye out for any terrain that might give us an advantage.”
But all the terrain was the same, barren coastline and low rolling hills inland. One by one the sonoke tired out, slowing to a leisurely pace. Forcing another hour of sprinting would kill them. Turesobei closed his eyes and meditated, preparing himself to change into the Storm Dragon. Because maybe if he had his mind ready, he’d have more control and a chance at turning back into himself … maybe … eventually.
“Master!” Lu Bei shouted from where he soared above them. “A ship on the horizon!”
“Can we reach it?” Turesobei asked.
“Its sails are furled.” Lu Bei looked behind them. “Oh demon droppings! I can see the yomon now, too. But I think we can reach the ship before them.”
Two masts, taller than any Turesobei had ever seen on such a small vessel, towered over the flat-bottomed ship. Three skates, each made of a single piece of bone or ivory, stretched the length of the ship and were held in place with wood beams and rope. The skate-booms lifted the ship up off the ice high enough that it could easily pass over a sonoke.
“What’s the ship made of?” Turesobei asked. “I can tell it’s not wood.”
“The frame and the booms for the skates are wood,” said Narbenu. “That’s what makes ships so incredibly expensive. The rest is processed hide. The skates are made from the spines of ice behemoths, and the hides comes their treated skins.”
“The creatures would have to be huge!” Zaiporo said. “I hope we don’t run into any.”
“We won’t,” Narbenu said. “The ice beh
emoths roam the lands of the Northeast. The yomon are the ones who kill them, mostly for sport. Goronku scavengers follow behind them, bravely, and gather up the bones and hides to sell.”
Fifteen men worked on the two-decked ship. It looked as if they were preparing to set sail. A sixteenth man up in the crow’s nest spotted Turesobei and his companions and yelled out a warning. Immediately half the crew gathered javelins while the other half worked frantically to pull up the ship’s two anchors and lower the square, battened sails.
“We’re not going to reach them in time,” Iniru said.
“I’ll race ahead and talk to them,” Narbenu said, “Think my mount’s got a little burst left. The rest of you slow down. We need to earn their trust.”
“Be careful.” Turesobei glanced behind him and saw the faint outlines of the yomon. “And hurry. Lu Bei, pop into my pack. Let’s keep you a secret and not alarm them with anything more unusual …” Turesobei glanced at Motekeru. “Than we already must.”
Narbenu sprinted his mount, guiding it with his knees, his hands raised above his head. Luckily the sailors didn’t hurl any javelins at him. When he reached the ship he began talking with one of them. Whatever he said must have worked because they allowed Turesobei and his companions to close without attacking, though they still held javelins at the ready and looked nervous, especially when they spotted Motekeru who sent a wave of murmurs amongst them. Turesobei twice heard someone utter the word demon. The skin around the human sailors’ eyes was baojendari pale — the rest of their faces were covered with gray scarves — but they had physical builds like zaboko. Or it seemed so anyway. It was impossible to accurately judge their sizes when they wore just as much clothing as Turesobei did.
Narbenu was bargaining with the lone, crimson-clad, incredibly rotund goronku who stood amongst the sailors.
“Captain Boki of the Falcon’s Cry,” Narbenu announced. “I have persuaded him not to kill us nor leave just yet.”
The ship groaned as the winds pulled at the half-lowered sails. The large iron anchors were beside the ship and were now one good tug from being lifted off the ice.
“Captain Boki,” Turesobei said, bowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I won’t say the same to you,” Boki replied with a gruff lisp. He was about to say something else, but he spotted Motekeru. “Who — what — are you people?”
“We come from the land beyond the Winter Gate,” Turesobei said. “Please, we are in a desperate hurry.”
“There are too many of you,” the captain replied. “It would weigh the ship down.”
“I can pay you,” Turesobei said. “Handsomely.”
“We’re already laden with cargo,” the captain said. “We can’t —” The captain’s eyes widened and he stammered unintelligible words.
“Yomon!” the sailor in the crow’s nest shouted, having spotted them. He must’ve been distracted by Motekeru to not have noticed the yomon sooner.
One man dropped to his knees and began praying to the Crimson Sun. Another cursed his fate. Most of them clutched to their weapons and trembled, murmuring amongst themselves. Tears rolled from the corners of a few sailors’ eyes.
“We need to get out of here fast,” Turesobei said.
“You — You have terrible enemies,” Captain Boki stammered.
“Please. We must get to the Forbidden Library.”
“If we help you, the yomon will hunt us as well,” the captain said.
“Your ship could easily outpace them,” Narbenu said.
The captain barked orders and his men finished lowering the sails. “The Forbidden Library won’t allow you in.”
“You know how to reach it though, right?” Iniru said.
“Of course I do.”
Turesobei pulled out a large bag filled ivory, copper, jade, and pearls. He had three more bags like it, hidden. He opened the bag. “This is yours — all of it — if you take us.”
Eyes narrowing, Captain Boki rubbed his hands together. “You understand I’m not responsible for the library taking you in.”
“I understand.” Turesobei glanced back to see the yomon closing to within half a league. “We don’t have much time.”
The captain gestured toward Motekeru. “That thing safe?”
“He’s my servant,” Turesobei responded.
Boki closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Lower the gangplank! Make ready to sail!”
Moments later the gangplank thumped onto the ice and they rode their sonoke, one at a time, up the gangplank. The yomon were now a quarter-league away. Awasa rode on the shoulders of one. About a dozen of the yomon, who were faster than their brethren, raced ahead of the pack. The yomon carrying Awasa was not one of those.
“Who in Torment is that girl?” Boki said.
“Oh, that’s my fiancé,” Turesobei replied. “It’s a long story.”
“I should think so. Don’t try to double-cross me, boy. Or you’ll regret it.”
“I won’t,” Turesobei replied.
Narbenu whispered in Turesobei’s ear. “Be on your guard. They’ll try to rob us as soon as they get a chance. The only difference between a pirate and a trader out here is that a trader already has his hull full of goods to sell.”
Once Turesobei and Narbenu rode onboard, Motekeru raised the gangplank by himself, a feat which greatly impressed the five sailors it took to raise the other one.
The yomon charged down the beach. The sails puffed with a strong breeze. The sailors raised the anchors. The ship lurched forward on the ice … and stopped. Then it jerked forward again and continued inching along.
"Sobei!" Iniru shouted, readying a spear. "The yomon!"
Snarling and brandishing their onyx-bladed weapons, the dozen yomon running ahead of the others neared the ship. Some were closer than others.
"Battle stations!" Boki cried.
All the sailors not working the sails gathered their javelins or drew out hand-axes. Boki gripped the wheel and bowed his head. “My greed’s killed me. Winds are too weak, the ship’s weighed down, and there’s no time to dump the lot of you. It’s over.”
“Captain,” Turesobei said. “Keep your hands on the wheel. You’re about to get a big boost of speed. Be ready.”
Turesobei began to chant a low-powered version of the spell of Spring’s first gust, a medium-level wind spell he’d had no need for since he’d learned more powerful ones at age twelve. Good thing he still remembered it.
Narbenu thumped the puzzled captain on the shoulder. “He’s not kidding about being ready. He’s a wizard. He’s casting a wind spell.”
“Sobei!” Awasa screeched, her voice shrill like fingernails scraped against a writing board. “Sobei, you’re mine!”
While casting the spell, Turesobei watched as the first yomon came within range. Three sailors attacked it. Two javelins struck one of the vermillion-skinned savages in the chest. The points barely punctured the skin and the yomon swatted them away. The other eleven closed within range. The sailors unleashed a barrage of javelins, and it did almost nothing but annoy the yomon. Their skin was too thick for a normal weapon to damage them. One yomon got struck in the eye by a javelin, and the point went deep. It fell to its knees, howling mad, and ripped the javelin out. Then it picked itself up and staggered forward as if drunk.
Motekeru shoved sailors aside and stepped to the edge.
A yomon leapt toward the ship. Motekeru opened his mouth and spewed searing flames that engulfed the yomon but didn’t stop its momentum. The scorched yomon crashed into him, its brushlike mustache on fire, its eyes melting. The two fell onto the deck. Motekeru raked the yomon with his claws, hit it with another burst of fire, and tossed it aside. The yomon turned into a pile of ash. A second yomon jumped onboard and with his axe chopped the head off a sailor. Motekeru belched a sustained burst of flames and melted the yomon into oblivion. But then a third yomon barreled into Motekeru and pinned him.
Iniru stabbed a fourth yomon with her spear.
The point slid in between its ribs ineffectively. She darted back as it swiped at her with a spiked club. A sailor then struck it in the back with an iron sword. The yomon spun and smashed the sailor’s head into a red mist. Narbenu charged in and chopped hard with his hafted-axe, the blade slicing deep into the yomon’s neck. It didn’t kill the yomon, but the brute sagged to its knees, dropped its club, and grasped at its neck.
A fifth yomon climbed onboard, ignored three javelin strikes, and a sword-strike, and shouldered into Narbenu, knocking him across the ship. Kemsu stabbed it in the stomach, but the yomon grabbed the spear, ripped it from Kemsu’s hand, and clubbed him with it, knocking him flat. It raised its club to attack Kemsu, but Iniru darted in and struck it with her spear, nicking it on the chin, which was just to distract it into turning away from Kemsu toward her.
Motekeru incinerated the yomon who had tackled him. Then he turned toward the fifth yomon and burned it to ashes before it could hit Iniru. But this time the flame spluttered a bit at the end. Motekeru was using the most heat he could manage. Turesobei could feel it all the way across the ship. It was fortunate the ship wasn’t on fire. He feared Motekeru wasn’t going to be able to manage many more bursts like that.
Six more yomon were only paces away from the ship, and the other seventy-six yomon and Awasa weren’t all that far behind. A sixth yomon jumped up and tore into three sailors, wounding them and knocking them back. As soon as they were clear, Motekeru hit the yomon with a weakened spurt of fire and shouldered into it, knocking it back onto the ice, where it writhed in agony, grasping at its face.
At last, Turesobei completed the spell.
Blasted directly by the wind, the sails popped taut. The masts creaked under the strain.
A seventh yomon leapt toward the ship as it rocketed forward, skates screaming on the ice. Everyone onboard staggered backward. The savage demon missed the ship and fell belly-first onto the ice.
Chapter 42
The Forbidden Library Page 24
