Song of the Mountain (Mountain Trilogy Book 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  She slid her arm possessively through his and pulled him toward the path. Her touch tingled. “See me home. It is a beautiful day for walking.”

  He glanced behind him. Karina still washed his clothing in the creek. “I have chores to finish,” he protested weakly.

  But Nori pulled at him. “Let your servant girl do it.”

  Karina straightened and met his eye.

  He glanced at Nori—beautiful Nori—and he did not correct her.

  “Tell my grandfather I will be back shortly,” he called to Karina.

  Her face stiff and expressionless, she watched them leave.

  “Slow down,” Nori commanded, pulling him back to a leisurely walk when they lost sight of the hut. “I do not want to catch Asito on the path.”

  Song glanced at her sharply. “Is he not trustworthy?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said with surprise. “My father would never elevate anyone to a position of trust if that person had not earned it.”

  “He has worked long in your house, then?”

  “Twelve years. Since I was a baby.”

  Lord Dolisu trusted the man. The thought did much to set him at ease.

  “Come, let’s take a detour,” she encouraged.

  “Where shall we go?”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “To the waterfall cave.”

  Song wavered for just a moment. The cave had always belonged to him and Karina. And what about the dragon?

  He reached his hand down to feel the hemp bag he always kept tied there, and the hard object within. The box was there. And Nori was smiling at him. At that moment, he would have followed her anywhere.

  She laughed again. “Come on, I’ll race you!” she challenged, and set off down the path.

  Song grinned and gave chase, catching her easily and staying just beyond her reach.

  “Wait for me!” she called and held out her hand.

  He took it and they romped into the valley. Laughing, they fell into the soft grass. Song could feel no evil lurking on the mountain today.

  Nori leaned back on her elbows to catch her breath and he followed her lead, surveying the green slopes that towered above them. The trees climbed up, up, until they bowed to the mountain’s high, rocky crown.

  “This valley is one of my favorite places,” he shared—hesitantly at first, but the mountain lent him strength. “Kamiratan overlooks it like a mighty lord, holding back his power. The stream gives it life, the forest clothes it with majesty, and the pool shimmers with light. Each serves a purpose. Each balances the others.”

  She listened with rapt attention. “These slopes will always remind me of you.”

  The words filled him with warmth.

  She leaned toward him. “Do you know what your name means?”

  Song reddened. He knew perfectly well and wished she did not.

  “Do you?” she insisted, sitting up to look at him more closely.

  “It means Great One,” he muttered with a glance at her, “and I hate it, for it does not fit me as yours fits you.”

  “But it fits you perfectly,” she said with a laugh that was not unkind. “For it also means Forest—Mighty Forest. And that, perhaps, is why it was chosen for you.”

  He considered her words, and new pride swelled within him. No longer was he just a dung beetle, beaten by village boys and pitied by a disfigured peasant girl. The daughter of Lord Dolisu admired him! She desired his friendship, and she had likened him to the very slopes of the mountain he loved.

  Mighty Forest!

  As he ran his eyes over the scenic landscape, they fastened on the waterfall, and he remembered his carving. Suddenly, it seemed important again. Important enough to share.

  “Follow me,” he cried.

  He led her up the rocky path.

  “Where is the dragon?” she wondered, looking about them unafraid.

  Song was recalling his frantic climbs, first with Karina, then with Nori. But now the memory seemed dreamlike, the terror softened like a nightmare upon waking. He pushed aside the shrubbery at the cave entrance and retrieved the unfinished carving. Holding it out to her, he felt strangely vulnerable.

  Nori took it and examined it in the light that flowed through the waterfall. “What is it?”

  “It’s a panda,” he said with some disappointment. He thought she would see the shape, as Karina had. But in her hand, it looked like a formless lump of wood.

  “It will be a panda,” he corrected, “when I am done.”

  “You are an artist, then?” Her face lit up. “Have you others? If the craftsmanship is very fine, my father would be interested in seeing them. He has no skill himself, only a passion for beautiful things.”

  “They are not here. They are hidden near the village.”

  “Then you must show me another time,” she said, handing back the wood, “for right now I’ve a mind to find a dragon.”

  “You what?!” It was one thing to walk about the mountain and ignore the presence of danger. It was quite another to go searching for it.

  “Oh, don’t be a child,” she scolded. “Today I am free of my father’s stuffy old house, and I will enjoy myself.”

  The black, serpent-like face; the slitted, hate-filled eyes; the writhing, twisting body all came back to Song with renewed terror.

  But Nori’s eyes blazed hungrily. “You have protection from it, do you not?”

  He faltered, “Perhaps.”

  “Then what are you afraid of?”

  He remembered her arms outstretched, leaning forward in anticipation of the dragon’s grasp. Had she no fear? Or was she mad?

  It was madness, he knew, and he began to feel like a toy in her hands. “Where?” he asked unhappily.

  “The summit. From there, we can see far.”

  “And be seen from far,” he muttered.

  But Nori became even more animated, more charming on the hike up the mountain, and despite his growing fear, Song followed.

  And so they came to the place that had always brought him peace. But today, with the full force of the sun revealing details softened by moonlight, he could see that things on the mountaintop were not always peaceful. Though the signs were veiled by the passing of many seasons, there remained evidence of a great fire that had swept over the summit: broken, blackened trunks, cracked rocks, and sooty smudges on the face of the cliffs that had not been altogether erased by the rains of time.

  Song stood with Nori on the very edge of the precipice that overlooked the Chin-Yazi River Valley. As always, time and space seemed to stream past like a ribbon blowing in the wind, one he could reach out and grab. But this time, he hoped it would blow on past. This time, he wished only to go home.

  “I cannot see the dragon,” Nori said, disappointed.

  She was crazy, he realized. She was obsessed with the thrill of peril.

  Nori pulled strands of whipping hair back from her face. “I wonder where it hides, where its lair might be.”

  She turned to circle the mountain’s crown, peering down into valleys and hollows, but Song retreated to his boulder. He had no wish to uncover the sleeping beast or travel the dark, evil tunnels it occupied.

  As she circled behind him, thrashing through waist-high vegetation, Song gazed across the heads of the Kindoli. Suddenly, on the edge of the cliff, in the very spot where they had just stood, an image of his grandfather shimmered into focus, solidifying before his eyes.

  “Grandfather?” he asked mildly, believing perhaps it was a vision conjured up by his imagination or the magic of the mountain. But the figure jumped at the sound of his voice and turned toward him, scuffling a rock over the side of the cliff that bounced and echoed on its downward path.

  Song stood, terrified, atop his boulder. “Grandfather!” he whispered.

  As suddenly as it appeared, the figure vanished, leaving behind nothing but the sound of a crashing rock to testify to its presence.

  Chapter 16

  Song heard little of Nori’s i
dle chatter on the walk down the mountain. He hardly even noticed when she grabbed his hand. Unable to command his attention, she finally fell into sullen silence. But within sight of the manor, she took up her game again, lacing her fingers through his and flashing her most inviting smile.

  Asito swung the gate wide for them. Grasping his sword, the guard bowed and let them pass, though his eyes flickered over their entwined fingers. In that brief moment, the blunt end of the sword tilted toward Song, and he caught a glimpse of a sickle design worked into the metal. It looked exactly like Lord Dolisu’s seal, minus the star.

  Song’s eyes flashed to the hilt of the second guard. It bore the full seal.

  Nori drew him into the courtyard beyond the walls, to the very fountain he had hidden beside during his first visit.

  “Shall I send servants to move you here tonight?” she asked sweetly, but her smile now seemed a thin veneer, her devoted attention mere connivance. She had never cared about him, he realized, only about what she could gain from him.

  “My grandfather has lived long in the hut,” Song hedged, eager to escape to its comfort. “Allow me some time to persuade him.”

  “All right,” she frowned, glancing into the sky. “But I will feel safer if you are firmly planted here.”

  He laughed out loud. After chasing the dragon all over the mountain, he finally understood. She wanted him to draw the dragon. That was the reason she invited him to dinner, the reason she persuaded him to abandon Karina and join her on the mountain.

  Dear Karina. How he must have hurt her.

  “No, Nori,” he said, pulling his hand free. “You care nothing for safety, only for chaos and drama, with no regard for who might get hurt. I’ve no wish to live in your manor.”

  Nori’s eyes filled with indignation.

  Before the girl could work into the tirade he knew was coming, Song turned to leave. “I need to go home,” he insisted. “The hour grows late.”

  Behind him, he heard a squeal of rage, and one rock, then two, struck him painfully in the back.

  As Asito opened the gate, Song saw a tiny smile, the briefest glimmer of smug satisfaction, on the captain’s lips. It was the most emotion he had ever shown.

  Song walked away, more ill at ease than he had been on the mountain’s summit. He never should have angered Nori. What mischief would she now work to repay him?

  So preoccupied was he that he forgot to skirt the village within the cover of the trees until the first hut came into view. Quickly he backtracked, hoping, praying he had not been seen.

  “Song!” rang out a voice. It was Keeto, jogging toward him.

  Song froze, glancing around for the other boys. They were nowhere in sight. “What do you want?” he scowled as the boy stopped in front of him.

  Keeto licked his lips and glanced awkwardly down at his feet. “I—I want to apologize,” he muttered.

  Song narrowed his eyes, prepared to flee at the least sign of treachery.

  “I promised Karina I would.”

  Song waited. Keeto’s eyes looked everywhere but at him. Finally, the older boy sucked in a deep breath. “My sister explained to me today how it is between you. She made me understand how—” he struggled to get out the word, “—lonely it is for her in the village, and how her—scar—never discouraged your friendship.”

  He paused, biting down on his lower lip, and his agonized eyes rose at last to Song’s. “I never, never meant to hurt my sister,” he whispered.

  But the memory of the beatings wouldn’t die so easily. “That never stopped you from thrashing me before,” Song reminded him accusingly.

  “I know. And I am sorry. I did not understand. I thought I was protecting her from getting hurt.”

  Song studied the boy more closely. Could this be true? Was he finally to be allowed passage through the village like a respectable human being? Or was this simply another of Keeto’s cruel tricks?

  Keeto folded his arms in front of himself and explained, “One of my earliest memories was of the fire on the mountain twelve years ago. I was only three, but I remember the horror of it, the death it caused among my people. I guess, since your grandfather came to live on the mountain at that same time, I’ve always associated him with it—blamed him, perhaps—and never accepted either of you as part of the community. My sister showed me that I was wrong.”

  But Song had stopped listening. What did he mean, Grandfather came? Grandfather had lived on the mountain longer than Keeto had been alive. He had raised Song’s father there.

  Song opened his mouth to ask but saw one of the village boys sneaking up on his left. He cut his eyes to the right. There was another. And another.

  It was a trick!

  Hatred blazed through Song, and he focused all his bitterness into one powerful thrust of his fist. It collided with Keeto’s jaw.

  The boy cried out in surprise, and Song used the moment to flee. But he was an instant too late. At the edge of the woods, one of the boys dove and just managed to close a hand around his ankle. Down he went. Again.

  “Stop! Do not touch him!” Keeto called out.

  Song curled himself into a ball, waiting for the bully to assume the honor of pummeling him himself. But the blows never fell. Instead, Keeto reached down and pulled Song to his feet. Song watched the expressions of disbelief spread across the faces of the other boys.

  “What are you doing, Keeto?” one of them asked. “Aren’t you going to smash the little cockroach?”

  Keeto glared at the boys. “There will be no more fighting. You are going to let Song pass through the village unharmed, do you understand?”

  “But we always—” another began.

  “Not anymore. This is my sister’s friend, and I will honor that.”

  Song brushed the leaves and dirt from his tunic. Slowly, the expressions around him changed from confusion to sullen obedience. And then, their chance at fun stolen away, they began to drift back to wherever it was they came from.

  “Are you all right?” Keeto asked.

  Song nodded, having trouble overcoming his own disbelief. “Are you?” he asked, seeing the blood on the older boy’s lip.

  Keeto touched the tender spot. “I suppose I deserved that.” He grimaced. Then he gave a rueful smile. “If you had gotten in a few more of those over the years, I might have been persuaded to give it up sooner.”

  He chuckled, and in a moment the two of them were laughing together. Keeto clapped him on the shoulder. The gesture of acceptance melted the last of Song’s suspicion.

  “Keeto, you said my grandfather came to live on the mountain twelve years ago. You must be mistaken.”

  But Keeto shook his head. “No, I am certain of it. He came just after the two strangers, a man and a woman, died on the summit.”

  Chapter 17

  Grandfather was waiting for him beside the locked chest. Song stepped up to him with grim determination. He had put many facts together.

  “I have questions that need answers,” he insisted angrily.

  The old man nodded once, his shoulders slumped, his eyes resigned.

  Song folded his hands in front of him. “What happened twelve years ago on the summit? Twelve years ago, when Ju-Long last visited the mountain? Did he cause the fire? Why did you let me believe you have lived here forever when you and I both came here at that same time?” He narrowed his eyes. “And tell me the truth. Are you or are you not my grandfather?”

  The old man drew a breath that seemed to give him strength beyond what his fragile figure could boast. “I am a member of the ancient council of the Wise, and I have been sent to Earth for one purpose alone. To defeat Ju-Long the dragon.”

  Song felt the air rush into his lungs. “I would not believe you if I had not seen you on the mountaintop tonight.”

  “I did not know you would be there.”

  “Or you would still be veiling the truth from me,” Song seethed. “Why have you allowed me to believe a lie?”

  “To protect you.”<
br />
  “From what?” He nearly yelled it.

  “From Ju-Long.”

  Song began to pace. “He is a dragon, it is true. But I have heard stories of dragons before. And of dragon slayers.” He let sarcasm color his words. “Why does this one require your services?”

  “I have told you. This is Ju-Long, the Father of Dragons. It was he who set the mountain burning that night twelve years ago.

  “For thousands of years he has been biding his time in the bowels of the mountain, waiting, gathering strength. He comes up occasionally to torment, to burn, to play, but he is not satisfied merely to toy with mankind. He desires no less than total destruction.”

  Song stared at Li-Min incomprehensively. “How can this be so? He is just a beast. Like Kintu.”

  Li-Min shook his head. “His offspring are mere animals, devoid of reason or emotion, but within the heart of Ju-Long dwells understanding and treachery beyond the knowledge of this world.

  “A day will come, indeed it may be at hand, when he will call the lesser beasts to himself. He will drive them with the strength of his own malice—for it was this reason alone that he spawned them—and they will answer his call. It will be a time of terror, of annihilation, of complete and utter destruction.”

  Song considered his words, his spine prickling. He did not know what to believe. “And your companions whom you summoned,” he asked, “they are also members of your council?”

  “They are.”

  “Are they all sent to fight the dragon?”

  “We work in cooperation with one another, but each member of the Wise has his own appointed task.”

  “They seek other dragons?”

  “Not dragons.”

  “Then what?”

  “It is not my place to share their assignments. But there is much more to the world than what can be seen with the eyes.”

  Song paced to the window and looked up into the darkening sky. “So now what? How do we deal with Ju-Long?”

  “We wait for the fulfillment of prophecy.”

  “For the tree to grow again?”