Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 16

  “I’ll fly until I can’t fly any farther,” Alejan said. To emphasize his point, he flapped harder, and they shot through the air. Wind blasted Seika’s face. “Straight through to the volcano island. If we don’t stop, we can make it by dawn of Himit’s Day.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard,” Ji-Lin cautioned.

  He slowed, but only slightly. The wind still streamed around them. Seika brushed her hair off her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” Kirro said meekly.

  “Are we doing the right thing by bringing the boy?” Alejan asked. “Is this what Master Shai would have done?”

  “Yes!” Kirro chirped, then: “Who’s Master Shai?”

  “We couldn’t have left him there,” Ji-Lin said. “You saw how angry the caller was. What if he’d stayed that angry when Kirro’s father came for him? They could have fought. Our people could have been hurt.”

  To Kirro, Alejan said, “Master Shai is a Guardian of the Shrine. She and Prince Balez ensure that no one disturbs the dragon. Master Shai is one of the greatest heroes that the Hundred Islands have ever seen.” As they flew, he told them the story of how the great lioness had saved a village from a lava flow.

  The sun set, the moon replaced it, and stars speckled the sky. Below, the sea was dark, and ahead, the islands were shadows, a string of gray beads on the black water. This wasn’t the way Seika had imagined her first journey across the islands. It was supposed to be triumphant. It had started that way, with drums and dancing, but now . . . it felt so wrong. First the weneb, then the Zemylan ship, then the boy and his story . . .

  “How do you even know she’s alive?” Kirro asked. “Your Dragon of Himitsu. Say she really created the islands two hundred years ago. Shouldn’t she have died by now?”

  That was a horrifying thought. Seika wished Kirro hadn’t said it.

  “And even if she’s not dead, shouldn’t her egg have hatched? Dragon eggs take a long time to hatch, but two hundred years? Dad says it should have hatched fifty years ago, at least. He said there was a big push to find the islands when he was a kid, but it failed. Maybe the egg’s a dud. Maybe it died in the shell.”

  Alejan rumbled. “The barrier exists; therefore, she does.”

  “And our stories don’t even mention an egg,” Seika put in. “It doesn’t exist.”

  “How do you know?” he asked. “What do your stories say?”

  In his storyteller voice, Alejan said, “The great dragon was injured in a mighty battle and unable to defend herself, and so the first emperor, Emperor Himitsu, struck a bargain to defend her from any koji that remained on the islands if she would let him, his people, and the winged lions live here in peace.”

  Kirro snorted. “She stayed injured for two hundred years?”

  “Some wounds don’t heal,” Ji-Lin pointed out. “Maybe she can’t defend herself. There are always two Guardians of the Shrine—​a warrior and a lion—​at all times, who are there to guard her and make sure no one but the heir ever disturbs her.”

  “But you don’t know,” he countered. “She could be vicious, and the ‘Guardians’ are there to keep her from eating everyone. Maybe they sacrifice princesses to her to make her happy.”

  Seika again wished he weren’t here—​Ji-Lin had been right, back on the Zemylan ship. He didn’t belong with them. It should have been simple: fly to the island, renew the bargain, and complete the ritual, but he had to complicate it with his stories and questions. Seika didn’t want complicated, not when everything was already messed-up enough. “She won’t eat me,” Seika said firmly. “There’s no egg. And she’s not dead. Now, please—​and I ask this with all politeness—​please shut up.”

  She thought she heard Ji-Lin swallow a laugh.

  They flew in silence toward the black shore, shrouded in night. The moon glinted off the water and then was swallowed by clouds. Seika thought back to how quickly they’d been sent on their quest. She hadn’t felt ready—​and everything that had happened since only proved they weren’t.

  “A storm brews,” Alejan said.

  “Yes, it does.” Even though there had been many wonderful moments, there were too many things that felt wrong. “I never expected any of this to happen.” Seika studied the back of Ji-Lin’s head and wondered if she felt the same. Of course not. Ji-Lin was always so certain and confident.

  “I am not speaking poetically,” Alejan said. “Clouds are building, and there is a . . . sense in the air. Can you feel it?”

  “We need to turn around,” Ji-Lin said. “We can’t risk flying in a thunderstorm.”

  “But we’re already miles from the last island,” Kirro objected. He glanced behind them, and Seika heard the whoosh of wind and then a cry, birdlike, carried on the night air. “Um, can you fly faster?”

  “I am already at my limit.” Alejan’s wing strokes had slowed. They dipped low, toward the darkened sea. “We will not evade the storm.”

  Kirro again looked back. “Maybe go past your limit? The storm isn’t the only thing we need to evade.”

  Seika turned too, as did Ji-Lin. It took her brain a few seconds to sort out what she was seeing, and when she did, she gasped. “Koji!” There were three of them, with bat wings and wolf heads. They writhed as they flew.

  “Faster!” Ji-Lin shouted.

  Alejan pumped his wings, grunting from the effort, and they shot through the air. Seika, Ji-Lin, and Kirro held on as they flew low over the water, toward the nearest island.

  “What are they?” Ji-Lin asked.

  Seika tried to remember illustrations and descriptions from the scrolls—​

  “Valravens!” Kirro cried.

  “You know what they are?” Ji-Lin asked. “How do you fight them?”

  “We shoot them with a cannon!”

  “We don’t have cannons,’” Ji-Lin said grimly. Seika thought of the cannon on the ship—​Kirro had said they used them against scyllas and valravens—​but her people didn’t have anything like that. It must have been a Zemylan invention. If koji are going to keep coming like this, we need one, she thought as Ji-Lin shouted, “Alejan, we need more speed!”

  Seika shot another look back at the valravens. Closer, she could see that their snakelike bodies were covered in black raven feathers, and their white wings looked like those of enormous bats. Catching the wind, the three valravens spread into a V formation. “They’re gaining on us!” she cried.

  “Down!” Ji-Lin ordered Alejan. She leaned forward, and Seika and Kirro leaned with her. Alejan dove toward the ocean, pulled up, and skimmed the waves. Behind them, the valravens dove as well, calling to one another.

  Waves crashed beneath them, and Seika felt the spray on her face. “Look for a cave!” Seika called. The island up ahead, the island of Dokutsu, was supposed to be riddled with them. There should be hundreds. As they neared the island, Seika looked back to see that the valravens were even closer. So close she could see the glow of the leader’s eyes. “Alejan!”

  With a mighty wing beat, he flew toward the clouds. “Hold on!” Flying nearly vertically, he entered them. Everything blurred to gray. Seika couldn’t even see his wings. She felt rain on her face and arms. Behind her, she heard the cries of the valravens.

  Thunder rumbled.

  “Get out of the clouds, Alejan,” Ji-Lin urged. “Lightning!”

  “I am born of the earth and the stars,” Alejan said. “The sky will not harm me.” He pounded his wings harder. “Just a few . . . seconds . . . more . . .” Half of the sky lit up, the clouds brightening, and thunder boomed around them, shaking her all the way down to her bones, as if it were echoing inside her. Alejan aimed for where the light was brightest. And then another bolt formed ahead, snaking through the cloud down to the sea.

  Looking back, Seika saw a valraven’s wolflike jaws only a few feet behind them. Spittle dripped as its gums curled back in a snarl.

  Another bolt of lightning—​this time, behind them.

  Seika heard one of the valravens
scream as another clap of thunder sounded so close her teeth rattled.

  Abruptly, Alejan dove out of the clouds toward the ocean, and then skimmed along the black sand. Lightning lit up the beach. “There!” Kirro pointed past them at a darker patch in the rocky shore, briefly lit. Veering toward it, Alejan flew into the cave. He collapsed just inside the entrance.

  All of them sat on his back, not moving, listening.

  Rain fell hard outside, hitting the sand and the sea. They heard caws, then another clap of thunder. The cries of the valravens receded. Finally, there was only rain.

  “Must rest,” Alejan said as the three of them tumbled gently from his back.

  “Sleep, my friend,” Ji-Lin said, her voice floating out of the darkness. “You flew bravely today. You’d make your ancestors proud.”

  “My ancestor was not a deserter,” Alejan mumbled. “He was brave. Like I am.”

  “He was, and you are,” Ji-Lin said. “Very brave. Now sleep.”

  Soon the lion’s breathing slowed to a steady purr. Seika wrapped her arms around herself and leaned against the wall of the cave.

  In the darkness, Kirro spoke up. “Listen, I’m sorry about the story. If I’d known it would make you all so mad, I’d have told the one about the sea monster who fell in love with a rock, or about the griffin who only ate vegetables. I just . . . I thought the waterhorse would want an important story. I swear I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

  Seika knew she should forgive him. It was silly to stay angry. It was only a story. But he was right: the story was important. “Himitsu founded our islands and created a safe haven. He gave us peace. Everything we are is because of him.”

  “It was two hundred years ago. How do you even know he was real?”

  “He was,” Seika said.

  “All right. Not going to argue with you about this. But—​”

  “You can’t say you aren’t going to argue, then say ‘but,’” Ji-Lin said. “You apologized, and we accept your apology. Leave it at that.”

  He fell silent.

  Seika closed her eyes. All her muscles felt tense, as if they were still fleeing from the valravens through the storm. She listened to the rain hit the sands and rocks.

  “You know, I’m really a likable guy, once you get to know me.”

  “Kirro, be quiet,” Ji-Lin said.

  “You’re determined to think the worst of me, just because I’m from Zemyla. It’s not my fault where I was born. And you know what? Even though you’re from an island of traitors—​not my words, just how you’re known—​and even though you’re kind of stuck-up and full of yourselves, I like you. You’re interesting.”

  Seika didn’t know how to respond to that, but she heard Ji-Lin snort.

  “There’s a saying: ‘May your life be interesting,’” Kirro said. “It’s supposed to be a curse . . .” Seika remembered seeing that saying in one of the older scrolls. It had been set off alone on a page, as if it were too significant to be near other words. “. . . but I’d rather be interesting than dead.”

  “Keep talking and you will be dead,” Ji-Lin threatened. Seika didn’t think she meant it. Not entirely.

  “Right. Sleep. Sorry. Can you try to like me a little better when you wake up?”

  “Depends on whether you get less annoying,” Ji-Lin said.

  “I’ll try,” he said, sounding utterly sincere, and then he stopped talking. After a while, his breathing became even, and so did Ji-Lin’s. Seika lay awake, thinking about the boy and the koji and the dragon and the barrier that was supposed to keep them safe.

  Somehow, she slept while the storm continued to rage.

  By dawn, the rain had stopped. Seika woke with fuzz in her face. In her sleep, she’d used the winged lion as a pillow. She spat out bits of fur as she sat up. “Sorry, I—​”

  “Shh.” Ji-Lin was crouched by the mouth of the cave, hidden behind a rock. Outside, the sea and sky looked gray and empty, but the black sand beach . . . less so. “They’re there,” she said quietly. “Two of them. I think the third was hit by lightning.”

  Creeping forward, Seika peeked through the rocks, and Ji-Lin pointed to the shapes by the water. The two koji were stretched on the black sand. Their white bat wings were splayed out, drying in the dawn. “Do they know we’re here?” Seika asked.

  “No. Maybe. Probably. Does it matter? We can’t get past them anyway.” Ji-Lin crept back into the cave, and Seika followed her. “Father should have sent someone else, an experienced rider.”

  Seika had never heard Ji-Lin talk like that. It was almost as unsettling as seeing the valravens relaxed on the beach. “The Emperor’s Journey is supposed to be—​”

  “We are a long way from ‘supposed to be.’” Ji-Lin sucked in air. “With koji on the islands, we’ll be lucky to make it to the volcano at all, much less home again.”

  Seika didn’t know what to say. Ji-Lin always seemed so confident. The idea that she was doubting herself . . . doubting them . . . questioning the tradition they’d always believed in . . . “We have to make it.” As she said the words, the reason why began to crystallize.

  “Why?” Kirro asked. “We’re safe in this cave. Can’t we stay here until the valravens get bored and go away? I don’t want to be their breakfast.”

  “We have to complete the Journey before the end of the day,” Ji-Lin said. “If we don’t, the barrier will fall and the islands will be overrun with even more valravens and scyllas and wenebs and a hundred other monsters, each probably worse than the one before.”

  Seika took a deep breath and said, “The barrier is already failing.”

  As soon as she said it, it felt real. She knew in a deep-in-her-bones kind of way that it was true. It explained the koji and the Zemylan ship. It even explained why they’d been sent on the Emperor’s Journey now. The magical barrier that had kept them safe for two hundred years was weakening, allowing in their age-old enemies. “We weren’t sent on the Emperor’s Journey because we were ready,” Seika said. “We were sent because we’re needed. The barrier is failing, and we are supposed to ask the dragon to fix it and keep it strong. I am supposed to.” As hard as she tried to stay calm, Seika heard her voice become more and more shrill. “Father didn’t trust us enough to tell us the truth. He didn’t think we were ready to know anything important. But he had to send us anyway, because if he didn’t . . .”

  Ji-Lin reached over and took her hand. Seika’s fingers closed around hers.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” She should have realized it sooner. But the thought had crept up on her, one impossibility after another, until the truth was right there, staring her in the face.

  Alejan stood and shook his mane. “If you are correct, then we have to fly! Every moment we delay, more monsters will come.”

  “Um, monsters outside right now, remember?” Kirro said.

  Ji-Lin’s other hand closed around her sword’s hilt. “We’ll have to fight them.”

  That was a terrible idea. Seika knew Ji-Lin had trained to fight, but she’d also seen those monsters’ teeth. The four of them had barely escaped last night, and that was with the help of the lightning. “There are two!”

  “I know that,” Ji-Lin said. “Do you have a better idea?”

  Seika looked away from the opening toward the darkness. There were supposed to be tons of caves all over this island, according to the books she’d read. “Are either of you afraid of the dark?”

  Kirro raised his hand. “Yes. I mean, no. Not the dark. Just the things in it. Especially things with teeth. And bats. I don’t like bats. Guano stinks really bad. This one time, my father landed the ship on an island with, like, a thousand bats. Everything stank for weeks.”

  Seika reminded herself she’d been through the tunnels under the palace. She could do this. Standing up, she walked away from the mouth of the cave. Hands in front of her, she kept walking until the shadows closed around her.

  “Seika? Are you all right?” Ji-Lin’s voice was soft but wo
rried.

  “I think it . . . it’s a tunnel. I don’t know how far it goes.” She returned to them. “But if we stay close and are careful, we can try it. Maybe there’s another exit.”

  Ji-Lin looked back out at the valravens. “And if there isn’t, we come back and fight.”

  “You two have terrible ideas,” Kirro said. “You know that, right? Talking to dragons, wandering through strange caves . . .”

  “. . . bringing along annoying boys,” Ji-Lin finished.

  “Ooh, nice,” Kirro said, but he stood and dusted off his pants. “But coming along was my idea.”

  “Hah. Only after an entire village didn’t want you,” Ji-Lin pointed out.

  “Please stop,” Seika said. Arguing wasn’t going to help. She stared into the darkness and thought again of the tunnels beneath the palace. She wasn’t afraid of the dark.

  “I will go first,” Alejan proclaimed. “It is not as dark for me. Hold on to my fur.” He padded forward, and as he passed, Kirro grabbed his tail. Ji-Lin took his hand, and Seika took hers. They headed into the blackness. “Aren’t you glad you brought a cat along?”

  “Always,” Ji-Lin said.

  He purred, as if he were a housecat instead of a lion.

  “For the record, I don’t like caves, with or without bats,” Kirro said. “I didn’t know I don’t like caves, but I really don’t like caves. But I like valravens even less.”

  Seika tried to pretend that this was no different from being beneath the palace. She’d braved rats there. This cave could also have bats and spiders. Or it could have monsters. There were monsters in places that shouldn’t have monsters. She wondered if any place was safe anymore. Not with the barrier failing, she thought.

  Why was it failing?

  She thought about Kirro’s story and about all his questions. The dragon had lived for two hundred years. Seika didn’t know what was old for a dragon. Maybe the dragon was sick. Maybe she was dead. Maybe she was gone.

  “Can we sing or something?” Kirro asked. “It might make this less, you know, ominous and awful.”

  “I don’t sing,” Ji-Lin said.