Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 14

  They were approaching the island of Heiwa. According to the maps she’d studied with Master Fen, the island was supposed to be shaped like a claw. As Alejan flew toward it, Ji-Lin saw that the maps hadn’t lied: the center was a crater that looked like a cupped hand with “fingers” of land that stretched out from it. Inlets ran between the fingers, and rivers were everywhere, crisscrossing like lines on its palm. Grapevines, fig trees, and olive trees made varying shades of green.

  Alejan flew low, and Ji-Lin saw that this island, unlike the others, was inhabited.

  In one vineyard, she saw workers between the vines. In an olive orchard, a woman was riding a six-antlered elk. Beside a farmhouse, instead of a sheep corral was a nest that housed a griffin. The griffin was napping in the sunlight. Its eagle head rested on its lion paws.

  “It’s so peaceful and, well, empty,” Kirro said. “Zemyla, at least the part where I was born, is packed with people. City after city, up and down the coast. That was one reason Dad took to the sea. I liked the cities, though. Towers that stretch to the sky! Markets packed with every kind of treat you can imagine! And the races—​oh, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a veevee race!”

  “What’s a veevee?” Alejan asked.

  “Kind of like a rabbit. But it can breathe fire. Very exciting races.”

  Ji-Lin tried to imagine what that was like. Here, the villages were spread apart and mostly small. The only city was the capital on Shirro. She’d like to see a place full of cities . . . Except: “That can’t be true,” Ji-Lin said. “You aren’t protected from the koji. How could that many people survive the monsters?”

  He shrugged. “We fight them. Or hide from them. We’ve learned to live with them, I guess. We’ve got a lot of tricks up our sleeves. Dad said it used to be easier, before the lions quit protecting us, but we manage.”

  Not all the lions had come to the islands with Himitsu. The ones who had stayed behind had claimed loyalty to the Zemylan emperor. From what Kirro had just said, and from the ship captain’s reaction to Alejan, she guessed the lions hadn’t stayed loyal permanently. “So they finally threw off their oppressors?”

  “I don’t know about that. But the empire could really use them back. And the knowledge you have that we lost. About the waterhorses. And how to survive within a dragon’s barrier . . .”

  Ji-Lin twisted around in the saddle to stare at him. “Is that why your ship came here? You’re a spy?”

  “No! We’re explorers! We came because we’re curious! Besides, you guys are supposed to be legends—​we weren’t expecting to actually find the legendary Hidden Islands. Well, the doctor was really hoping we would, but that’s because she wants to write a book about this place. I bet she’ll include a whole chapter on waterhorses.”

  “It is good to be curious,” the lion said. “It is what separates your kind from the golden monkeys.” He considered that for a moment. “Well, curiosity and basic hygiene. Monkeys, when agitated, like to throw their . . . waste.”

  “Oh yeah.” Kirro nodded vigorously. “Once, my father and I went to this jungle island, and it was only inhabited by monkeys. It was supposed to have a golden temple somewhere on it, and—​”

  Seika cut him off. “Is this going to be a story about”—​she coughed—​“waste?”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Can we skip it? Please?”

  “Oh,” Kirro said. “All right.” He was quiet for a moment. “I also have a story about throwing up. I was—​”

  “No,” Seika and Ji-Lin said in unison.

  They flew on. Below, the fields and orchards looked like stained glass, their various shades of green outlined by blue-black water. They shimmered in the sun. As the wind shifted direction, Alejan soared with it. Leaning forward, Ji-Lin pointed. “There! See it?” Up ahead, a collection of houses lay between two rivers, with fields beyond them. Violet-colored trees were clustered around the river. One house, the largest, rose above the trees.

  From far away, it looked like the first village they had visited: all the houses were white and blue, with seashell-coated streets between them. But up close, Ji-Lin could see there was damage: one of the flimsier-looking houses was leaning to the side. A shed had toppled. Rubble lay in a heap all around it, and people with wheelbarrows were carting away the mess.

  The earthquake had hit here, too.

  Alejan circled the village. Everything was a mess. It looked as if an irate toddler had picked up the village and dumped it upside down. People were working together, clearing and cleaning and hauling away piles of debris.

  “Whoa, what happened?” Kirro asked.

  “There was a tremor last night,” Seika said. “We have lots of them. I hope no one was hurt.” Ji-Lin hoped so too. It looked as if this village had been shaken pretty hard.

  “The seas were choppy close to the islands,” Kirro said. “A couple killer waves. We rode it out, but there was a lot of water in the hull. The crew was scooping it out for hours, until the sea monster arrived to make things extra exciting.”

  “Land there.” Ji-Lin pointed at a clear space in the center of the village.

  As Alejan landed, a woman dropped the basket she was carrying and ran to the tallest house. Pounding on the door, she shouted, “Caller! Caller, they’re here! They made it!” Out in the field, the men and women began to shout and cheer. “They’re here! They’ve come!”

  “Weird,” Kirro said. “Unless this is not weird? Is this normal?”

  “It’s better than normal!” Seika crowed. “They are expecting us! The messenger bird must have arrived. At last, something’s going right!” She hopped to the ground much more gracefully than the first time she’d climbed off Alejan’s back.

  As she dismounted too, Ji-Lin felt a few of the knots in her shoulders loosen. Seika was right—​this was a good sign. All they had to do was take care of the boy, and then they could return to the Journey, only half a day behind. Maybe Seika had been right to bargain with the captain. Maybe they’d reach the volcano island as they were supposed to. Maybe, if they hurried, they’d complete the Journey by Himit’s Day.

  Three little kids who had been playing in the dirt dropped their toys and ran to Alejan, cooing at him and petting him. Climbing off Alejan, Kirro said, “Hello. We’re looking for a waterhorse. Do you have a waterhorse near your village? Are waterhorses real?”

  One of the little girls stared at him and then stuck her thumb in her mouth. A slightly older boy giggled as he poked at the singed bits of Alejan’s mane. All of them wore bright colors, yellows and purples, and they were all barefoot, their toes stained black with the damp, rich soil from the fields.

  “Careful,” Kirro warned. “He’s a lion.”

  “I don’t eat children,” Alejan said, offended, “though, come to think of it, I am a bit peckish. I hope they have meat rolls.”

  “The damage doesn’t look that bad,” Ji-Lin said. She wondered what would have happened if the tremor had been just a little stronger. It wasn’t such a leap to imagine a quake that could knock all these buildings down. She thought of how the masters whispered about the quakes getting steadily worse, and she shivered. The ones she’d felt had been bad enough.

  Beside her, Seika was smiling broadly, as if she’d been given the best present ever, and she waved at the people in the fields. They bowed back and hurried toward her. “We really did it! We’re supposed to be here! Everything will be okay.”

  The door of the tallest house swung open and a hulking shape filled the doorway—​Koji! Ji-Lin’s mind shrieked. She reached for her sword. But then the shape strode out, and the sun hit it, and she saw that it was just a man. An enormous man. Rings decorated his arms, clamped tight around his muscles, and his chest had been painted with the symbols for peace and harmony. He also wore the pendants of a caller, as well as several other necklace chains. She released her sword’s hilt. His voice boomed across the fields. “Your Highnesses, welcome to Heiwa-su, on the lovely island of Heiwa.” Rings and
chains tinkling, he swept his body into a low bow.

  “Whoa,” Kirro breathed. “You’re really princesses?” He was looking at them with so much barely suppressed excitement that he was nearly vibrating. His eyes were wide, and he twisted his neck as if he wanted to see everything all at once.

  “We’ve had a difficult journey,” Seika said to the caller, “and we are very happy to be here.” The people were beginning to gather, coming in from the fields. A few had brought out instruments and were setting them up to play.

  The man clasped his hands in front of him and bowed again. “It has been difficult for everyone lately, as you can see. But we too are very happy you are here.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Ji-Lin asked.

  “Only shaken,” he said, sweeping his arms to gesture at the tiny village. “We were lucky this time. Our villages are not built to withstand anything stronger . . . but that is not your concern. Your quest is noble and must be completed regardless of our troubles. You must speak with the Dragon of Himitsu and continue the tradition of safety established by our forefathers.”

  Kirro was staring at all of them with his mouth hanging open. He waved his hands in the air as if he wanted to clear it of fog. “Wait, you want them to talk to a dragon? Do you know what a dragon can do?”

  “She keeps us safe,” Seika said to him. “Years ago, the Dragon of Himitsu erected the barrier to protect both herself and our people from the cruel tyrant who ruled Zemyla. Every generation, the next heir journeys across the islands to thank the dragon for her continued protection.”

  “You can’t talk to a dragon,” Kirro said. “She’ll eat you.”

  Seika frowned, her forehead crinkling prettily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ha! Ji-Lin thought. Even Seika notices he’s irritating. “You didn’t even know about waterhorse spit. Speaking of which . . .” Seika propelled Kirro forward by his elbow. “We brought him here in hopes of finding a waterhorse.” She pushed up his sleeve to show the caller. “He was bitten by a scuttle beetle, and we—​that is, I—​promised we’d help him.”

  Looming over them, the large man leaned closer to Kirro’s arm. Kirro started to shrink back, but Ji-Lin gripped his arm tightly. The caller snorted, and his nostrils flared. The hairs on Kirro’s arm blew in the air from his exhalation. “One more day and you will die.”

  Ji-Lin stared at him. Whoa, he really is sick. Kirro hadn’t been exaggerating. The captain had been right. She couldn’t imagine being so close to death and so calm. She began to revise her opinion of the boy.

  Kirro swallowed hard. “I was hoping our ship’s doctor was wrong.”

  Ji-Lin wondered if she owed him an apology. If she’d had her way, he could be dead.

  “Your doctor was not,” the caller said. “I have some skill in medicine. It’s necessary, being so far from the capital and its doctors.”

  If Seika hadn’t offered to help . . . If they hadn’t found the village . . . If Ji-Lin had left him behind like she’d wanted to . . . She hadn’t believed it was so serious. He didn’t look sick. He didn’t act sick. But the caller had no reason to lie. We did the right thing bringing him here, she thought, even if he’s a stranger, even if he’s from Zemyla, even if he’s irritating.

  The man straightened. At full height, he cast a shadow so broad it seemed he blocked all sun. “You must be healed. After the ritual stories and dances, we will tend to—​”

  Seika interrupted. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t time. We need to heal him now, and then we must return him to his ship and continue the Journey.”

  Ji-Lin stared at her. She’d thought nothing would ever compel Seika to voluntarily skip a ritual. On the other hand, they should have been here in Heiwa-su last night. They had no time to lose. Making it to the volcano in time was more important than the little rituals along the way—​or at least, she hoped that was true. They’d already skipped over several.

  The caller looked surprised as well, but he didn’t argue with the heir. “Yes, of course, Your Highness. We will make haste to speed you on your way. Himit’s Day comes, and you must finish your quest, for the sake of the islands we all love.”

  “I promise we will,” Seika said. Ji-Lin wondered how many promises they’d made since they began this Journey—​and whether they’d be able to keep them all.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  CLOSER TO THE river, Ji-Lin caught a glimpse of one of the six-antlered elk through the purple trees. Its antlers ran all the way down its neck, each antler sporting several prongs. The elk carried pouches on either side of its stomach, and a woman wrapped in scarves walked next to it, taking seedlings out of the pouches and planting them in the ground. When she saw the princesses by the water, she left the elk and hurried to watch.

  She looked worried, Ji-Lin thought. All of them did. And they didn’t even know about the koji that had slipped through the barrier. Earthquakes and monsters, she mused. Their islands were supposed to be a safe haven. That was the promise of Emperor Himitsu, when he fled from Zemyla. When had their home become so dangerous? We have to finish the Journey.

  The villagers fanned out behind them, a silent audience.

  Stopping at the edge of the river, the caller knelt, scooped water into his cupped hands, and drank. “Fresh,” he announced. “The waterhorse is near.” Beckoning to one of the little boys, he said, “Run to my house and fetch an apple. You”—​he pointed to Kirro—​“must tell a story. If he is pleased, he will heal you.”

  Kirro gulped. “And if he’s not?”

  “You will die a painful death when the beetle rot reaches your heart.”

  “Oh. Um, I can tell the story I was told about Prince Himitsu and the Hidden Islands. I think it might explain why my father was so surprised to see you.” Kirro climbed onto a rock next to the river. Seika sat behind him, and Ji-Lin stayed with Alejan on the riverbank. The water burbled over the stones and deepened in the center. Craning his neck, Kirro peered into the river. “Uh, do I start? I don’t see a horse.”

  “Begin,” the caller commanded. “He will come. Stories draw us all.”

  Kirro’s eyes darted around as if he was looking for a direction to run, but he stayed on the rock. “Okay, um, two hundred years ago, the emperor of Zemyla had a brother named Prince Himitsu, who—​”

  “He wasn’t his brother,” Seika corrected him. “And he wasn’t a prince. He was a scholar and a servant. ‘A humble man who rose to greatness,’ according to The Dawn of Himitsu, a History.”

  “You said to tell a story,” Kirro said. “This is the one I know. It’s not my fault it’s different from yours. It’s the story my dad told me to distract me from all the fish parts I was throwing up because my stomach doesn’t like being at sea and really doesn’t like rotten fish, but I know you don’t want a story about throwing up, so can I talk about Himitsu?”

  The caller laid a hand on Seika’s shoulder. She blushed. “Sorry—​the old stories are . . . I’ve read a lot of them.” Understatement of the year, Ji-Lin thought. Seika had memorized most of the traditional tales before she was even old enough to read, and then she’d read every one she was allowed to read in the palace library. “Go on,” Seika said.

  Kirro took a deep breath. “The emperor had a younger brother named Himitsu who wanted to be king. Really, really wanted to be king. The emperor’s advisors warned him: your brother is going to betray you, and he said, no, he’s my brother, I trust him. And they said, no, really, we think you should execute him or something because he’s plotting to kill you. And he said no, I won’t hurt my brother!”

  “That is indeed different from ours,” Alejan noted.

  Ji-Lin felt her mouth hanging open. Himitsu wasn’t ambitious; he was oppressed! Beside her, Seika was looking at Kirro as if he were a formerly friendly puppy who had inexplicably snapped at her.

  “Himitsu, the emperor’s brother, befriended a lion who was in prison for cowardice—​”

  Alejan ruffled his mane. �
��Excuse me? Winged lions are never cowards.”

  The water began to churn. Ji-Lin leaned forward, but all she saw were bubbles stirring, as if the river were beginning to boil. She wondered what a waterhorse would think of a story full of lies. She could tell what Seika felt about it. Whatever her sister had thought of the sailor boy before, she clearly wasn’t happy with him now. She felt a twinge of pity for Kirro. He didn’t know he was digging himself into a hole.

  “He was a deserter who was supposed to be guarding the city gate but fled instead. Lots of people died. It was a famous battle. Blood running like water in the streets. There are a lot of poems and songs about it. Before that, winged lions were imperial guardians. After that . . . no one trusted them, least of all the emperor.”

  There was definitely something in the water. Ji-Lin crept closer on her hands and knees. The head and neck of a horse emerged from the ripples. His mane was flowing water, and the water that formed his head sloshed and shimmered.

  With a yelp, Kirro pulled his feet back from the edge. He then continued, in a quavering voice. “The emperor’s brother and the traitorous lion hatched a plan. Himitsu set fire to the prison, freeing the lion, and then spread the fire to the palace. The lion was supposed to scoop up the emperor and drop him into the middle of the flames, killing him, but the emperor hid inside a box so the fire couldn’t hurt him, and the lion couldn’t find him.”

  Ji-Lin guessed the waterhorse didn’t mind hearing such a string of lies. She did, though. The stories . . . who she was and who she was supposed to be was based on them. Lying about them was wrong. “If this is true, why didn’t the box burn?” Ji-Lin challenged.

  “It was a stone box.”

  “It still would have heated up. Why didn’t he cook inside it?”

  “It was a magic box? I don’t know. It was two hundred years ago, and I wasn’t there. The point is that the plan failed, and the emperor and his guards chased his brother and the lion, along with all their conspirators, all the way to the sea. The emperor should have killed him then, but he still couldn’t, because he was his brother. So he banished him. Exiled him, his people, and the treacherous lions from Zemyla.”