Song of the Mountain (Mountain Trilogy Book 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “I hope you like roast peacock,” she stated. “I have asked the chef to serve it stuffed, with plum sauce.”

  Song had never even tasted roast peacock.

  “And there is poached salmon, lemon wolfberry tarts, fried…”

  He listened as she chattered on and on, taking occasional bites of the rich food. But he barely noticed the taste. She was so different than the other times they had met. So warm. So appealing. Like a completely different person.

  Abruptly, Nori pressed both of her hands over her mouth, stifling a giggle. Throwing her head back, she allowed merry laughter to fill the room and ring off the walls. “What a sight we must have been, dashing blindly up the mountain! Was it not glorious?”

  Glorious? He recalled the terror and threat of the moment. “It was a nightmare,” he stated.

  She didn’t seem to hear. Her eyes lit again with the same expectation he had witnessed in the meadow. “You were like a hero of old, a warrior fighting for the hand of his lady. The way you faced that dragon without flinching was simply remarkable! Not one of my father’s soldiers could have matched it!

  “How did you do it?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly. “How did you drive the dragon off?”

  Apprehension rose within Song. He could not share the secret of his father’s box. But what had she seen? How much had she figured out already?

  “I am not sure,” he evaded. “It all happened so suddenly. I suppose the dragon was not used to being challenged.”

  “But surely you knew you could best him before you ran into the field,” she prompted, her eyes gleaming.

  “I never stopped to think about what might happen.”

  “You held something up,” she pressed. “What was it?”

  Her eyes bored into his, and he squirmed under pressure. “It was just a—a stick. A block of wood. I am not sure. I just grabbed the first thing my hand touched,” he lied.

  Her eyes narrowed in disbelief, but she quickly masked her displeasure. “Do you know what I think?” she asked with a coy smile. “I think you and the dragon are the answers to the wishes I floated downriver. Do you remember them? One for excitement, and one for danger.”

  Song looked up, horrified at being included in such an awful pairing but flattered that she found him a fulfillment to her hopes.

  “And to think we met that very day, that very moment, but I did not realize what you were. Oh, I was unpleasant to you!” She laughed again, not in apology but in amusement.

  “And now, a few days later, here you are eating with me, enjoying the favor of my father, and wearing my family seal.”

  Much had happened since that day at the river. Song lifted the golden emblem to his eyes. “It looks so familiar,” he mumbled.

  “It is on all of my father’s ships. Surely you have seen it a thousand times.”

  “What does it mean? Is there a story behind it?”

  She shrugged. “If there is, I do not know it. Your grandfather is the storyteller.”

  “Grandfather always teaches with stories. But I am not sure I always believe them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I should hope not. But they are entertaining. Far more than others I have heard.”

  Nori kept up a lively stream of conversation throughout the entire meal, and Song hung on her words. Only after the dishes were cleared did she stand up to walk him to the door of the manor.

  She smiled warmly at him again. “You amuse me, Song Wei. I think we shall be great friends.” And with that, she left him alone at the door.

  Song was greatly encouraged by her simple statement. This beautiful daughter of a mighty lord desired his friendship! It was beyond a dream!

  He made his way down the garden path to the massive gate with its guards. Asito stood apart from his fellows, his sharp eyes watching the boy approach, though his face gave away no emotion.

  “Do you go home tonight to your grandfather, young one?” the captain asked, breaking into Song’s rosy thoughts.

  “Of course,” Song answered with some surprise. As always, those eyes seemed to see through him.

  Asito leaned forward, speaking low. “Then take heed. Your grandfather may be other than he appears.”

  Chapter 13

  Song heard the murmur of voices before he entered the clearing. The sounds were indistinct and carried no meaning, so Song continued toward home without hesitation, as he had a thousand times before.

  He drew close enough to see Grandfather sitting beside the cook fire in earnest conversation with three old men. The visitors had come, just as Grandfather said they would, though how such ancient fellows could arrive so quickly he could not guess.

  Song stopped, his eyes focusing on the huddled figure of his grandfather. He was wearing the blue silk robe, the one from the locked chest. In fact, all the men wore identical robes, each in a different shade, and they were so absorbed in conversation they did not notice the boy standing nearby. As Song watched, he overheard snatches of their talk.

  “…must be considered,” Grandfather was saying. “The dragon has been driven off for now, but it has seen the boy, and it knows what he carried. He will draw his own conclusions.”

  After a dramatic pause, the man in dark purple asked, “But we must be certain.”

  Grandfather nodded. “I have been slow to act after my last mistake cost us so dearly.”

  The voices dropped so Song could catch only snatches of what was said.

  “…the evidence is compelling…”

  “…always seeking the One…”

  “…must take precautions…”

  Song felt a vague uneasiness. He cleared his throat and strode noisily toward the fire as if he had only just arrived from the manor.

  Grandfather stood up. “Gentlemen, this is my grandson, Song Wei.”

  Song bowed low before the old men. “Long life to you, sirs.”

  The three men exchanged glances and chuckled, as if they shared some secret amusement.

  “And good fortune to you, son,” answered one of them with a nod. He was dressed in dark green and had a shriveled walnut of a face. “Your grandfather tells us you have won the favor of the lord.”

  Song shifted from one foot to another and felt his face grow warm. He was glad the emblem he wore was hidden beneath his tunic.

  “Song,” Grandfather broke in, “these are my dear companions. They have come to help.”

  Help what? Fight the dragon? Song looked doubtfully from one lined face to another. “Did any of you travel with my grandfather in the old days?” he asked.

  All three men nodded soberly. “Our feet have often trodden the same path,” answered the man wearing purple so dark it nearly looked black.

  “Around this fire,” Grandfather began, “there is a great store of knowledge. From these men I seek wisdom, and wisdom begs prudence. Before all else, we must consider the ancient words. Much has been spoken of, and much has come to pass. In the words of the old ones we find guidance.”

  The slight hope Song had allowed himself splintered. Of course Grandfather would turn to his old tales, even when it was obvious they needed a dragon slayer.

  Grandfather leaned back. “My child, it is time to tell you the Tale of the Token.

  “In the days after Ju-Long escaped to haunt the deep places of the mountain, life became difficult and painful for men, for they had chosen to disregard the voice of Mutan. The dragon drove them from their city, and it fell into disarray. The people were scattered and endured hard toil. Fear and viciousness entered the wild beasts. And greed, envy, malice and death sundered man’s relationships.

  “But Mutan looked on them with compassion. Not always would Ju-Long plague the earth. The number of his days was limited. One day a new tree would grow, and it would bring about an end to the dragon.

  “To a son of Zumari, a token was given as a sign of Mutan’s promise. It was carefully hidden away and kept as a reminder of this hope, but with the passage of time, it has fallen from the memory o
f mankind.”

  Song squirmed, resisting the story, but he was compelled to ask, “What was the token?”

  Four ancient faces exchanged glances.

  “We know not,” Grandfather said gravely. “It, like the secret of the Five Great Gifts, has been lost.”

  Song jumped up. “Then why do you tell me these things? Why hold out hope only to snatch it away again? I am not even convinced of their truth! In fact, I am quite certain they cannot be true.”

  Yet, once he heard them, the stories never went away. They lodged in his memory, plaguing his thoughts. Against his will, they became a part of him.

  “There is more you do not know, young one,” spoke the purple-robed man. “The story grows bleaker still, yet in it may be found wisdom and the hope you seek.”

  The man with the walnut face picked up the thread of the story. “Zumari lived to an age far beyond the years of other men. Before he died, he blessed his elder son. The Elder was a mighty man; strong, ambitious, and handsome—his father’s favorite. He was given a double portion of everything his father owned. Then Zumari called down from Mutan blessings of wealth and success upon his head, and Mutan granted them.

  “This provoked envy in the heart of the younger son, who cared more about gain than honor. Envy gave birth to anger and anger to hatred. One day, after the time of mourning their father had passed, the Younger gave vent to his jealousy. He struck his brother and killed him. In the end, the family was divided, with great bitterness and anger on both sides.”

  Song waited for the story to continue, but only the creak of the chestnut tree filled the silence. “That’s it?” he asked. “That is supposed to give me hope?”

  The man cloaked in deep crimson spoke for the first time. “No, Song Wei. It is to help you understand the prophecy. Within the prophecy lies our hope.”

  He leaned forward and recited:

  “Mud and mire shall birth a tree;

  A sprout shall grow of ancient seed.

  The five unite to break the one;

  The curse of man shall be undone.

  But brothers rise ere dragon’s bane;

  The last shall smite the first again.”

  Chapter 14

  The men stayed only one night.

  The next morning, as Song twisted the dried leaves of garlic bulbs into long braids, he had much to think about. Did he really believe the tales? He wasn’t sure. But the dragon was certainly real. And the box had repelled it. And his name had been placed inside the box. Somehow, he fit into whatever drama was playing out.

  Was he a descendent of one of the brothers predicted to rise again? Was he a son of the good, mighty Elder?

  Despite his name, he was not mighty.

  Could he be a son of the Younger? Did he have treachery and hatred in his blood?

  He hoped not.

  Yet, didn’t Grandfather warn him about not letting hatred and bitterness fester? And hadn’t he done exactly that? Even now the thought of Keeto made his blood heat.

  Perhaps Keeto was one of whom the prophecy spoke. Perhaps he was a natural blood enemy. Perhaps there was reason for their feud that went beyond what either of them understood. Would one rise to smite the other down, as the prophecy said? Was it happening already?

  Song shuddered.

  But what about Karina? She couldn’t possibly be a blood enemy, could she?

  At that moment he heard her humming on the village path, her voice as sweet as the song of the thrush. It brought him pure, honest pleasure just to hear her.

  No, Karina could never be his enemy.

  The girl entered the clearing and her face lit up at the sight of him. “Good morning, Song.”

  He waved. Lifting the long braids with their dangling bulbs, he carried them into the hut to hang within easy reach.

  “Hello, Karina.” Grandfather looked up from the parchment he wrote on. “Does the village hold so few chores that you seek more elsewhere?”

  “It is companionship I seek, and chores hold no repugnance for me. Have you work that needs completing?”

  Grandfather gazed at her affectionately. “I hold no claim to your aid, but if you were to wash the laundry in that basket, my aging back would thank you.”

  Song reached it before her. “We’ll do it together,” he said.

  “Many hands make a burden lighter,” she agreed, grasping one of the handles.

  They set the basket on the bank of the stream. It contained only a few garments, but each must be soaped, scrubbed, and beat upon the rocks to loosen the soil that clung to the fabric. Then they must be rinsed, wrung out, and draped over a bush to dry completely.

  As they bent to the work, Song noticed Karina looked dingy and sooty, as if she, too, might need a good ducking in the mountain stream.

  “How is it in the village? I have not been there since Keeto...” his voice trailed off.

  Karina gave him a sympathetic look. “The village is being cleaned and rebuilt, but much is still in turmoil. We have nothing, and two ghosts haunt our thoughts.”

  “I’m sorry I have not been able to come.”

  “You need not apologize.”

  She stopped work and considered him. “I spoke again with Keeto. Perhaps this time—”

  “Keeto will not change.” His voice sounded brittle, even to his own ears.

  “There is always hope.”

  Song’s eyes were drawn unwittingly to her scar, which was turning purple with the exertion of her labor. After Nori’s flawless complexion, the disfigurement seemed gross and unnatural. Repulsive.

  “Why do you look at me in such a way?” she asked with a small smile.

  Song felt immediate shame. “No reason. You just look tired.”

  “I am.” Her eyes grew weary. “Sometimes I wonder if things will ever return to how they used to be. I find myself looking for little reminders that life is, indeed, normal.” She gave him a keen glance. “Little details like your panda. Have you finished it?”

  “I forgot it at the waterfall. Honestly, I have not thought of it since. A figurine seems silly now, after everything that has happened.”

  “You must not give up on it. Your art is an important part of you, one you must not forget. Especially when life gets hard and you feel insignificant in the face of tragedy, as I do,” she whispered. “That is when you must remember who you are.”

  “But I do not know who I am!” he burst out. Did she still not understand? He’d never known his parents. He didn’t even know how they died. He didn’t know anything about himself.

  Karina sat back on her heels, her coarse tunic bunching about her knees. It was shapeless and ugly, tied with hemp at her waist.

  These things had never bothered him before. Could the poison of the brother’s feud be staining their friendship? Could Karina really be his enemy?

  She looked at him piercingly. “You are my friend, Song Wei. That is of no small consequence. And there is honor in your heart.”

  The words made him feel worse.

  She softened. “Would you like me to go back to the waterfall with you and retrieve the panda?”

  “No carving is worth risking our lives for,” he muttered.

  “We cannot live our lives around fear,” she countered.

  “I don’t want to go, Karina!” he exclaimed, more harshly than he intended.

  She paused, stung by his outburst.

  He hung his head. “Karina, I’m sorry.”

  What was wrong with him? What was happening to the friendship he had so long treasured? Anger and confusion were ripping him apart. He wanted to confide in her as he had always done, but he wanted to protect her as well. Maybe it would be best if they put some space between them, just until he figured out if the stories were true. “Karina, I don’t think—”

  But footsteps sounded on the village path.

  Nori sashayed into the clearing looking fresh and beautiful in a pink silk tunic that clung to her figure and rippled when she walked. Song hated himself for no
ticing. On her feet she wore walking slippers, not of straw but of soft leather. Asito followed in her wake, bedecked in blue and grey and his ever-present sword.

  “Song!” the girl trilled. “I’ve come to speak with you.”

  Turning to her chaperone, she ordered, “You may go, Asito. Song is perfectly capable of walking me home when my business is concluded.”

  With an emotionless glance at Song, the servant vanished.

  “Song, do come here,” she commanded.

  Song could not look at Karina as he approached Nori.

  The girl arched her eyebrows at Karina. “I’d like a private word.

  “I have a proposition to make,” she announced after pulling him a few steps away. “I have not spoken yet with my father, but I am sure he will agree. I want you to come live in my father’s manor.”

  Chapter 15

  Song stared at her, stunned. Live in the huge estate on the mountain?

  “Why?”

  “Because I would feel safer knowing someone was nearby who could watch over me all the time. You hold some kind of power over the dragon. You are a natural choice.”

  Song shivered with excitement at her words. He glanced at the bamboo hut he had lived in all his life. It looked small, rustic, and squalid. “I could never leave Grandfather,” he answered regretfully.

  “Bring him with you. We have room.”

  “I—I will have to think about it.”

  His head reeled. What would it be like to wear silk, to have servants cook and clean for him, to sleep on soft cushions and have anything he wanted to eat, anytime he wanted it?

  He could see Karina glancing at them from the creek, listening to every word. He turned away and gazed into Nori’s brown eyes, taking in her perfect teeth, her smooth cheek. Like a dog waiting under its master’s table, Song coveted every scrap of attention the beautiful girl might throw him.

  He smiled. “I should not need to think too long, I imagine.”

  Her imperial manner dropped away and she laughed, the sound like raindrops on Kamiratan’s Pool. “Just tell me when you are ready and I will have the servants fetch your things.” She glanced at the hut, her nose wrinkling. “It shouldn’t take much effort.”