by Cindy Lin
“Where did it come from?” Uma’s eyes were round.
Jago danced about, kicking up his bare feet. “No one knows! It showed up in the middle of the night! We had to bring it in before the Guard saw it!”
Usagi thought of the masked bandits, and the bulging sacks of rice they’d carried off. Could it possibly have come from them? But what sort of thieves would just give away their loot? She showed Aunt Bobo the rice they’d collected. “We were hoping you’d be able to take this in trade.”
Shaking her head regretfully, Aunt Bobo weighed the rice in one hand. “With everyone in town suddenly flush with rice, I won’t be able to give you as much as usual. But I’ll take it if it’s all you have.”
Disappointed, Usagi nodded, but Tora put a hand on her arm. “Maybe we’ll hold on to it for a while. When rice gets scarce again, we can get more for it.”
“Spoken like a shrewd merchant,” Aunt Bobo laughed. “That’s why I like dealing with you three.” She offered them some roasted seeds rolled in honey, which Uma devoured in two bites before going off to play with Jago. Tora ate hers delicately and licked her fingers, while Usagi couldn’t help stuffing as many sticky clusters in her cheeks as they would hold. As she tried to chew through them, Aunt Bobo asked how her sister’s fire gift was developing.
“Word is that Strikers captured another youngling last week in River Bend,” Aunt Bobo told Tora and Usagi. “A youngling of the Snake year. Apparently the Dragonlord wants them brought directly to him now. You girls had better be careful out there. I don’t know that Jago has any zodiac powers, but he’s starting to lose his first teeth. Until his voice changes and I know he’s safe, I’m keeping a close eye on him.”
“Did anyone in the family have talents?” asked Usagi through a mouthful of seeds.
Aunt Bobo paused and glanced at Jago, who was showing Uma his rock collection. “His father didn’t. And I certainly don’t. But there were relatives who were gifted. So we’ll see—you can’t help how you’re born.”
A far-off quavering note, like that from a flute somewhere in the distance, caught Usagi’s attention and she turned her head. It was a beautiful sound rarely heard these days. It seemed to be coming from the Ring Road, the great big thoroughfare that circled the entire island. More notes followed, jaunty and inviting, over the snap of a drumskin. “Music!” she exclaimed. She sat stock-still, listening greedily.
Aunt Bobo frowned. “I don’t hear . . .” Then the twin grooves between her brows softened. “Ah, your gift.”
“Animal talent,” Usagi corrected. “I wish you could hear this! Traveling entertainers must be coming!” She bobbed her head a little, in time with the distant melody.
“Oh please, can we go see?” Uma asked. Her cheeks flushed with excitement as she and Jago abandoned his rock collection to lean out the window, trying to hear what her sister was hearing.
“It’s a wonder the Blue Dragon lets them keep performing,” Aunt Bobo said dryly. “They’re lucky they haven’t been shipped off to the mines like everyone else.”
Uma threw open the door. “It can’t hurt to go have a listen. The Guard won’t send people to the mines for that.”
Usagi grabbed her sister’s arm. “But they will if they see our abilities. You have to remember, you can’t do anything out of the ordinary in front of the Guard.”
“You act as if I’m the only one with powers.” Uma rolled her eyes. “What about you?”
“I know better than to leap in front of anyone,” Usagi said sternly. “And it’s not like people can tell if I’m eavesdropping.”
“It’s so unfair.” Uma sighed, then pointed at Tora. “You never say anything about Tiger Girl sneaking around in the dark.”
Tora raised an eyebrow. “That’s because no one’ll ever see me coming. Your sister’s right. You can’t be careless. No running, no fires.”
“Enough talk!” Jago pushed past them all. “Let’s go find the music!”
Chapter 3
The Flying Boy
THE MUSIC WAS LOUDER NOW, clearly heard by all, the drum like an insistent heartbeat, while the flute sang an invitation to the town center. Usagi hurried with Tora and Aunt Bobo from the workers’ quarter toward the music, chasing after her sister and Jago. The little boy could barely contain himself. “Do you think there’ll be puppeteers? Or maybe jugglers?”
“I hope so! It could be the tumbling acrobats from last time,” Uma speculated. “Remember the pyramid they made?”
“Even a few songs would be a lovely treat.” Aunt Bobo sighed. It was true—entertainment troupes appeared but once or twice a year nowadays, when before the war they’d come through at least once a month. Usagi guessed it was because there were fewer of them now. Plenty of entertainers had had animal talents and elemental gifts that allowed them to do things like spit fire in elaborate shapes, lift an ox over their heads, and conjure items out of thin air. They’d brought such joy—it hurt to think of them wiped out by the invaders. At least the surviving entertainers still traveled around the island, though their shows weren’t nearly as spectacular as the ones of old.
A crowd was gathering in the marketplace, where a life-sized bronze statue of the Dragonlord presided. Depicting a grim-faced man in an elaborate helmet and scaled armor, the sculpture had weathered to a dull shade of blue green, including the bronze plaque on the stone base proclaiming the Dragonlord’s greatness. Usagi didn’t know which stories were actually true and what was exaggerated, but many whispered that the Dragonlord had powers of his own, allowing him to become larger than the sun or so small that he was invisible. Some said he could summon wind and rain with a wave of his hand—that he was so powerful that looking at him in the eye would strike you dead. A few even insisted that an actual dragon was at his command up on Mount Jade, Midaga’s highest peak, and that was how he destroyed the Twelve.
The stone base still showed marks where an older statue once stood, celebrating the very first Warrior of the Zodiac from the province, Bulugan the Boar Warrior. Old Bulugan had been there forever—a symbol of the Warriors’ protection. Usagi remembered climbing on him and rubbing his boar’s head helmet when she was very young.
Too young to imagine that Old Bulugan wouldn’t be there forever.
Now a trio of traveling entertainers stood before the new statue. In contrast to the townspeople in their drab dun and faded indigo clothing, they wore crisp whites with brightly patterned belts and jackets that signaled their occupation. One was a lanky boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen, carrying a large pack on his back. His hair was cropped so closely you could see his scalp, and there was a shadow of dark fuzz on his upper lip where he had just begun to grow a few sparse whiskers. When he turned and shrugged off his pack, Usagi saw that he had a long rat-tail braid running from the base of his skull down his back. He pulled some sections of thick bamboo from his pack, fitting them together with metal joins till they formed a long pole.
The flute player was a boy who looked just a couple of years older, with an overabundance of shaggy dark hair that flopped low over his forehead and hid his eyes. Though he had a rather melancholy air, the music he played was lilting and jaunty. Already some younglings in the crowd were dancing along, Jago and Uma among them.
A young woman with a pale, inquisitive face and alert brown eyes stood between the rat-tailed boy and the flute player, carrying a double-headed drum. Her hair was the color of chestnuts, tied tightly in a high topknot wrapped with ribbon that matched her multicolored belt. She tapped a steady beat on the drum, watching the crowd grow larger. Many were chatting excitedly, cheered at the prospect of a show.
A few Guards placed lit torches around the marketplace, while others stood around the perimeter. Some came out of the nearby headquarters to stand on the steps, craning their necks to see. Even they liked a bit of music, it seemed. A phalanx of field workers returned along with their Guard escorts, and instead of dispersing, everyone milled about the town center, waiting to see what t
he troupe would do.
“A snakebox!” Tora exclaimed. Sure enough, the boy with the rat-tail braid had pulled out a boxy lute, made of snakeskin and bamboo, with a carved wooden snakehead at the end of the neck. Strumming its three strings experimentally, he frowned and tightened them. He strummed again, and Usagi could hear the notes fall into place. The boy’s face lit up with a flashing grin, and he nodded at the young woman and the shaggy-haired flute player. The music stopped and the crowd quieted.
“Greetings, Goldentusk!” the entertainers shouted. The young woman stepped forward and bowed. “Thank you for indulging us with your attention this fine summer evening. We hope to make it worth your while.” As she gestured to an empty basket on the ground and invited the crowd to contribute what they desired, Usagi cocked her head. Her voice sounded familiar. But before Usagi could place it, the show began.
First, the two boys took the long bamboo pole and set it on their shoulders. The young woman swung onto the pole and slowly got to her feet. Then she began to walk back and forth on the narrow pole, displaying her balance. Without warning, the boys threw the pole up and the young woman shot high into the air to gasps from the crowd. She executed the splits before landing nimbly back onto the pole, which the boys brought back onto their shoulders to sighs of appreciation. During a series of flips and tumbles, Usagi squinted at the girl’s movement. Had she seen this performance before? The boys began walking in a circle, the pole like a spoke in a wheel, while the young woman continued to do acrobatic tricks across the moving pole. When she finally somersaulted off the pole and landed neatly on her feet, the crowd cheered.
After the entertainers set the pole aside, they put on brightly painted masks of wood pulp. “And now, a story,” said the young woman, sounding slightly muffled behind the face of a surprised-looking red monkey.
“A thousand years ago, there lived on the island of Midaga twelve different tribes, each with a claim to the tallest mountain at its heart, Mount Jade. Each tribe worshipped the mountain, and the goddess that was said to live within it.
“‘The goddess has blessed our tribe,’ declared one, ‘because we have among us members who can swim like fish.’” At that, the boy with the shaved head pretended to swim, his face hidden behind the mask of a grinning green rat. The audience laughed and the young woman continued.
“‘No, the goddess blesses our tribe,’ insisted another, ‘for some of our members can run like the wind.’” The shaggy-haired boy made whooshing noises behind his yellow dog mask, which was decorated with purple spots. He ran in circles around the rat-masked boy, who went on making swimming motions.
“The tribes warred for many years,” said the young woman, “pitting their strongest and bravest against each other. Every tribe was convinced of the rightness of their cause, and sent those who had special talents and gifts into battle.”
At the mention of talents and gifts, Usagi stiffened, and heard a few sharp intakes of breath around the marketplace. The crowd around her shifted uneasily. To openly mention such things in front of the Guard! Had the young woman lost her mind? The grinning rat and the spotted dog pretended to fight, their hands clenched in fists, and as they bobbed and feinted, Usagi realized who the three of them were.
“Those are the bandits,” she whispered to Tora.
Tora’s amber eyes widened, then she quickly frowned. “There’s three of them, and I suppose they’re around the same size—but what makes you so sure?”
“I heard their voices, remember? And look at the way they move—who else could it be?” But the two boys in their animal masks began weaving and throwing clumsy punches, looking like a couple of Guards who’d had too much to drink at the Squealing Pig. Their audience guffawed.
Tora shook her head. “I don’t see it.”
“Eventually,” said the red monkey, “one of the wisest warriors realized that tearing each other apart was doing nothing but weakening them all. With his great talent for persuasion, he unified the warriors of the other tribes, and together they lay down their arms and refused to fight. They established a treaty among the twelve tribes, and agreed that Mount Jade belonged to no one—that in fact, they all belonged to the mountain. Each tribe sent their best warrior to represent them in a council, and for many centuries after that, this council of Twelve kept the peace in Midaga.”
As the green rat and purple-spotted dog bowed to each other and patted each other heartily on the back, murmurs went up from the crowd. Several Guards began to make their way toward the three masked ones. Usagi felt a stab of alarm.
“If those entertainers go any further with this story they’re going to get themselves arrested!” Aunt Bobo said worriedly. She looked about. “Where’s Jago and Uma?”
“Up in front,” said Tora, pointing. They were standing with a few other small younglings, in hysterics at the antics of the green rat, who had swept the dog up in his arms and was dancing around. Usagi tensed. Should she wiggle through the crowd and fetch them?
The red monkey held up a hand. “Of course, this is only an old fable, as our supreme leader the Dragonlord might tell you.” She turned to the bronze statue behind her and dipped in a little bow, and the rat and dog did the same. The approaching Guards exchanged glances and stopped. Usagi held her breath. The young woman removed her mask and smiled. “But even old fables need not be forgotten, for every story has something to teach us.” The Guards scowled, but stayed where they were. Usagi started to breathe again.
The young woman took up the drum and started a solid beat, while the boy with the rat mask pulled it up over his shaved head like a hat. He grabbed the snakebox lute and plucked at its three strings in an insistent rhythm. The shaggy-haired boy left his dog mask on and played the first few notes of an old Midagian folk song on his flute. Cries of approval went up around the marketplace.
“‘The Welcome Song.’” Aunt Bobo sighed. It was a song traditionally sung to visitors, inviting them to the table for food and drink. It could get very merry, as there were two parts for men and women, and they would sing at each other in boisterous rounds.
Singing in high, clear voices, the young woman and the boy with the snakebox smiled as others lustily joined in. Before long people were singing in a call-and-response, their voices ringing through the town center, while glowering Guards rocked on their feet, arms crossed. Most of them were either Hulagan or from the other neighboring empire of Waya, so the song wasn’t part of their tradition. Aunt Bobo linked arms with Usagi and Tora, and they sang at the top of their lungs, while people around them began to dance, stomping their feet on the hard-packed earth. The warm evening air vibrated with raised voices and the beloved old tune, and Usagi felt every note, more joyful than she’d been in a long time.
A scream cut through the music and the singing quickly died. Usagi and Tora looked around uneasily in the silence. “What happened?” Aunt Bobo asked.
Gasps went up from the crowd. “Spirits save us, look!” Tora said.
In front of everyone, Jago was rising into the air, floating steadily higher. Eyes wide, he flapped his arms frantically as if he were trying to grab on to something, but it only made him move higher still. “Mama!” he cried. “Something’s happening to me!”
“Jago,” Aunt Bobo breathed, the color draining from her round cheeks. She tried to get to him, but Jago had already risen high above their heads and was hovering by the rooftops. Screams and shouts echoed through the town center.
Tora grabbed Usagi. “His zodiac power. We better get out of here before the Guard start sweeping every youngling up.”
“No, wait. I don’t see Uma.” Usagi frantically scoured the crowd, trying to find her sister in the chaos. Guards were running and shoving people out of their path, their eyes on Jago as he hugged the tiled roof of an old assembly hall.
“Stop right there, you demon freakling!” bellowed one.
“Grab me a ladder!” yelled another.
“Get the commander!” brayed a third.
P
anicked, Jago lifted off again, swerving through the air until he landed on a different building. A dozen Guards swarmed at its base, shouting. The entertainment troupe had quietly packed up and disappeared, while parents were snatching up their younglings and hurrying them from the marketplace, as if what was happening to Jago was somehow contagious. Other townspeople, enjoying the show, called out unhelpful advice. “Fly higher! Fly away! See if you can spit on the Guard from here!”
Jago flew to yet another building while Aunt Bobo screamed at him to calm himself. But it was too late, for Usagi could hear him sobbing hysterically. Then she heard a familiar voice through the chaos.
“Don’t be scared, Jago!” Uma shouted. “It’s just your animal talent!” In the midst of the agitated crowd, she stood unruffled, looking up at Jago with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Jago, think of the Twelve! Don’t you see? You’ve got rooster flight!”
Tora followed Usagi’s horrified gaze. “What is she doing?” she hissed.
“Spit and spleen,” Usagi swore. She started for her sister, pushing past the gawkers staring up at the rooftops, fear and anger coursing through her. Why oh why hadn’t she kept Uma by her side? If Uma exposed herself as having powers, she was done for.
On the steps of the Guard headquarters emerged a tall man in armor, his breastplate and helmet streaked with silver lacquer. His nose looked as if it had been broken several times, and he had the heavy beard that many Wayani wore. He took one look at the scene and began issuing orders.
“Get the fly-nets!” he barked. “And you, send a messenger bird to the Striker outpost immediately!”
“Yes, Commander!”
Guards ran to get firecannon and load them with fly-nets. They could be shot from a good distance, and when one landed on its target, the fly-net would become stickier than a weeping pine. Jago would be trapped like a bug in amber.
“Jago!” Uma called. “It’s all right! Look, watch me!” She began to rub her hands, preparing to create a flame.
