Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 25

  “The outside world might not be so horrible.” Seika thought of Kirro. Fireworks, he’d said—​they had things called fireworks, and other wonders. And he’d mentioned their cities, hadn’t he? Cities with towers that stretched to the sky! You couldn’t have cities if you were cowering in fear. Surely his father’s ship was proof that the Zemylans had found ways to survive, even thrive.

  “He is safer in his shell,” the dragon said, “though he does not understand that. He is trying to hatch. While I slept, he nearly did. See?” She turned the egg with her claw, and Seika saw a crack that snaked down the side of the shell. “Only my magic keeps him safely within.”

  “But he’s not safe from the quakes,” Seika said. “None of us are.”

  “I am,” the dragon said. “The earthquakes will not harm me—​I can fly above the shaking earth, my unborn child with me.”

  “We’re not safe from them,” Ji-Lin said.

  “Why should I care if humans perish?” the dragon asked. “You are betrayers anyway.”

  Alejan growled.

  “Not all of us,” Seika said. “You must like some of us to have bargained with us for so long. Your injury—​the stories say you were wounded in battle—​it clearly healed many years ago. You don’t need us to defend you anymore, not with the barrier up and the koji gone. So there must be something you like about us?”

  The dragon was silent for a moment. “I like your stories.”

  And then suddenly, Seika knew exactly what to say. “Well, then . . . O Dragon of Himitsu, we have come to tell you a tale.”

  “Ahhh . . .” The dragon’s voice was a purr.

  Seika inhaled deeply, gathering her courage. She had only one chance at this. “Once, there were two princesses. Sisters. One trained to be a warrior, at the top of a mountain. She was never allowed to go home. The other trained to be the perfect princess. She was never allowed out of the palace. Until one day, when their father said they were ready . . .”

  “They weren’t ready,” Ji-Lin admitted.

  “They weren’t,” Seika agreed. “But they had to go, because they were needed. And their journey was more dangerous than anyone thought it would be.”

  “There were monsters,” Ji-Lin put in. “Lots of monsters. And almost-pirates, with a dying boy. Also earthquakes and accidents.”

  “And there were secrets and lies,” Seika said. “But do you know what happened to those two princesses, out in the world before they were ready?”

  The dragon stirred, swishing her tail against the rocks. “Tell me.”

  “They did fine,” Seika said.

  “Better than fine,” Ji-Lin added.

  Seika felt Ji-Lin take her hand. She continued, hoping she was choosing the right words, hoping the dragon would understand. “They were glad they’d been sent, even with the monsters and the earthquakes and the secrets and the lies. They’re happier because they’re out into the world. They’re happier out of their shells.”

  The dragon was silent again.

  Her fiery eyes studied them, and Seika didn’t move. Please work, she thought. Please understand.

  “Let your egg hatch,” Ji-Lin pleaded.

  “Let it hatch,” Seika repeated. “And let the barrier fall. We needed it in the beginning, and it served its purpose wonderfully. But it was never meant to stand for so long. We are meant be out in the world, all of us.”

  Still, silence.

  And then, a humming—​it was coming from the egg itself, as if the unborn dragon was singing.

  “Please, Dragon, your child is meant to hatch,” Seika said. “It can’t ever fly if you don’t let it. It can’t ever see the world if you don’t let it. It can’t live if you never give it the chance. You have to let it hatch!” She couldn’t tell what the dragon was thinking. She couldn’t read those swirling, fiery eyes.

  “What if the world is not so bad?” Ji-Lin asked. “You won’t know unless you venture out into it.”

  “Dragon?” Seika took a step toward her. “Look at the crack in your egg—​your child knows it’s time to change, whether you’re ready or not. It’s time to make new traditions.”

  The humming grew louder.

  Lowering her head so that her eye was even with her egg, the dragon spoke to the crack. “This is truly what you wish? I can keep you safe for centuries more.”

  A shard of the egg burst away.

  “Oh, my child, if you must . . .”

  Seika saw a talon poke through the shell, covered in shimmering goo. She squeezed Ji-Lin’s hand, and Ji-Lin squeezed back. Please let this be the right decision, she thought. She remembered what Master Shai had said—​we can’t fight the earth, but we can fight monsters. She hoped she was choosing the danger they could both fight and survive.

  The shell burst away as the dragonet poked its way through the goo. Its wings were folded against itself, trapped in gunk. It flopped onto the rock and then collapsed. It let out a mewing wail.

  “My child!” the dragon cried. “My little prince!”

  The hatchling lifted his head. His eyes, like his mother’s, were tiny flames. His scales were silvery white and deep sea blue.

  “What did we do?” Ji-Lin breathed.

  “We did the right thing,” Seika said. “I think.”

  “We just changed the world.”

  The little dragon looked up at his mother, and she lowered her head to breathe lightly on him. He made a sound like a purr. “Are you going to drop the barrier?” Seika asked.

  “Yes, and it will be done correctly, without shaking the earth,” the dragon said, watching as her baby struggled to his feet. He staggered one step forward before he fell onto his chin. She lifted him with a talon. “I have no choice now. My little prince will need to fly. I will remove the veil from these islands and he will soar.”

  “When?” She didn’t know how fast dragons grew.

  “Soon,” the dragon said. “A few days, a few weeks at most. Dragons grow fast, to survive. Many things hunt a young dragon. He will become strong quickly and want to fly far and wide.”

  After two hundred years, the barrier would be lifted in only a few days. But the quakes would stop. Himitsu would be saved—​and open to the world. Everything will change, Seika thought. We’re not ready!

  But maybe that’s all right. Maybe no one is ever ready. We all just do the best we can.

  “It is time for us to bargain, little princesses, as I did with your long-ago ancestor. Here is what I ask: Your lions and riders will help protect my dragonet until he is strong enough to protect himself. And in return, my dragonet and I will protect your islands until you are strong enough to protect yourselves. You will not be left alone to enter the larger world, and neither will my child.”

  “That sounds fair,” Seika agreed.

  More than fair.

  A promise of protection, and a chance to prepare. She couldn’t have asked for better than that. “We would be honored to make this bargain with you,” Seika said, and bowed low.

  The baby dragon purred.

  Ji-Lin and Seika emerged from the tunnel to find the Great Hall packed with people. Islanders had crammed inside and were perched on all the not-yet-removed rocks. The emperor and the winged lions waited as well.

  Everyone was silent.

  Hand in hand, the sisters stepped forward and said together, “We have come to tell a tale.” And together, they told of the barrier and the earthquakes. They told of the egg and its hatching. They told of their bargain with the dragon.

  All through their story, the people were silent.

  The emperor listened from a throne of rubble. His hands were clasped at his waist, and his eyes were fixed on his daughters. Master Vanya stood beside him, and beside her were Uncle Balez and Master Shai. On the emperor’s other side were the Zemylan captain and Kirro. They were dressed in silk robes, with golden tassels that hung from their belts. Kirro’s robes were large for him, pooling at his feet, and he fidgeted as he listened. His father elbow
ed him until he stood still, and Ji-Lin almost laughed.

  Above, the moon beamed through the hole in the roof of the Great Hall.

  As they finished, the whispers began, and then the whispers grew into murmurs.

  “I don’t think there’s a ritual big enough to cover all the changes that are coming,” Seika said softly. “Even a hundred dances by a hundred firedancers won’t make people unafraid.”

  “I know,” Ji-Lin said. “But I think . . . it will be okay.” Looking out at the people, at the rubble in the Great Hall, at the courtyard beyond, she began to believe it. She heard the words: no barrier, and then no earthquakes and no eruptions. Their people were stronger than the emperor and Master Vanya thought.

  The emperor stepped forward, and the murmurs stopped. All eyes were on him. He then smiled. Smiled at his daughters for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. “You have done well. Far better, in fact, than I ever dared hope. You have saved us, even though it was not in the way I expected.”

  “They were bold, they were swift, they were unexpected,” Master Vanya said.

  Smile still on his face, the emperor turned to his people. “People of Himitsu, a new era is upon us! Thanks to the wisdom and bravery of my daughters . . .” He continued, reassuring his people, warning them, inspiring them, burying his own fear deep beneath his words.

  All eyes were on the emperor.

  Ji-Lin saw fear, as Master Vanya had predicted. But she also saw hope.

  The lioness hadn’t mentioned hope when she’d spoken of the people’s fear, but Ji-Lin saw it now, etched clearly in their faces, brightening their eyes and parting their lips, as they listened to their emperor. Hope, for the future, for a life in which the earth didn’t break beneath their feet, in which monsters came but could be eluded and defeated.

  The two princesses stepped backwards, into the shadows, and listened as their father ordered a celebration—​a celebration to banish fear. Musicians scrambled into position, and the drums began. Chefs wheeled out food, piled high on carts. Acrobats and dancers swirled between the people.

  “They’re still afraid,” Seika said softly.

  “Terrified,” Ji-Lin agreed. “But they’ll be okay.” Every word she and Seika had told the dragon was true: they hadn’t been ready, but they’d had their adventure anyway. She didn’t regret any of it. Their people would be all right too, even though they were scared now. It was time for all of them to step out into the world and have an adventure.

  “I think you’re right,” Seika said.

  “In that case . . .” Ji-Lin crossed the Great Hall to Alejan. “Ready to exit dramatically and heroically?” Dropping her voice, she added, “We’ll be back in time for the feast, I promise.”

  As Alejan lowered his wings, Ji-Lin climbed into the saddle. She held out a hand to her sister. Taking it, Seika climbed on behind her.

  “Wait for me,” Kirro said, and scrambled into the saddle with them. As he strapped himself in, Alejan stretched out his wings. Twisting around, Seika looked at their father. He met her eyes and nodded once. Seika felt herself smiling.

  “All right,” Seika said. “Let’s go!”

  “Fly, Alejan,” Ji-Lin said.

  And the two princesses, the boy from Zemyla, and the winged lion flew high above the volcano, high above the sea, and looked out toward the barrier—​and the world beyond.

  Acknowledgments

  I’D LIKE TO thank my cat for not having wings, because that would be terrifying. I’d also like to thank my husband, who said, “Go for it!” when I said, “I want to write a book with a winged lion.” Sadly, he did not agree to get me a flying lion, which was my follow-up question. (To be fair, our cat would have hated it.) Thank you to my amazing agent, Andrea Somberg, and my fantastic editor, Anne Hoppe, as well as all the other incredible people at Clarion Books and Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Without you, the Hidden Islands would still be hidden. And endless thanks to my family—​I love you all more than dragons.

  SOPHIE HAD ONLY EVER STOLEN ONE DREAM.

  She’d been six and curious, two not unrelated traits. The dream had been stored in a brilliant blue bottle with a gold-flecked stopper. It was the only unlabeled bottle in the batch, and she’d thought that meant it wouldn’t be missed.

  She’d spotted it on the top shelf after her parents left (one to the grocery store and one to tend to a customer). She had to haul books downstairs from the shop and pile them on top of a stool before she could reach it. Stretching, she touched the bottle with her fingertips, knocked it off the shelf, and then caught it before it could shatter on the old stained counter below. It took precious seconds to wiggle the stopper out, and she chugged it down without hesitating.

  It tasted like fresh melon.

  She’d thought she’d see a swirl of mist first, like the squiggly fog that always came before a dream in a TV show, but instead she plunged instantly into the dream. One second she was in her parents’ workroom beneath the bookshop, and the next she was tucked into a bed with cupcake-pink ruffled sheets. For an instant, she thought it was her bed, even though she didn’t have pink sheets, but then she remembered who and where she was.

  Sitting up, Sophie looked around curiously at the cotton-candy wallpaper and the shelves of toys. The owner of this room had a Barbie Dreamhouse and liked horses. A night-light in the shape of a pink unicorn cast a rosy glow over the room. Pink shadows stretched.

  One of the shadows twitched.

  And a shadowy monster crept out of the closet.

  Sophie felt her heart beat deliciously faster. Slowly, so she wouldn’t startle the monster, Sophie scooted out from under the sheets. She waited.

  The monster skittered left. It dodged right. Sophie pretended to look out the window at the moon, stuck between the pale branches of a tree. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that the monster seemed to have several tentacles. She looked at it, wanting to count them, and the monster dived beneath the bed.

  Lying flat on her stomach, Sophie leaned over the edge of the bed. She lifted up the dust ruffle. Moonlight swept under the bed. The monster huddled in the shadows. Its fur bristled like a cat’s.

  “Hi. I’m Sophie,” she said.

  It bared its teeth, three rows of shiny, sharp, shark-like teeth, and growled.

  “Shh. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” She felt her heart patter inside her rib cage and wondered if it would hurt if the monster bit her dream self with those teeth. She guessed it would, but only until she woke up. “Come on out.”

  The monster snapped its tentacles like whips, and Sophie scrambled back. Retreating to the pillows, she took several deep breaths. She told herself firmly that she shouldn’t be scared. This was what she’d wanted, after all, her very own dream.

  Inching forward, she again leaned over the side of the bed. The monster waved its tentacles at her. “You have lovely tentacles,” Sophie said. “Like a furry octopus. Did you know that an octopus can open a jar with its tentacles? I read that once. I like books. Do you like books? My parents own a bookstore. It’s nice. We have lots and lots of books.” She kept her voice soft and even, as if she were luring out a stray cat. The monster lowered its tentacles. “That’s a good monster. You can come out.”

  The monster scooted forward. Sticking its head out from beneath the dust ruffle, it looked up at her. It had overly large eyes like a lemur’s. Its pupils were the size of Sophie’s fists and ringed with gold.

  “Are you a girl monster?”

  It snorted.

  “A boy monster?”

  It blinked at her. She decided that meant it was a boy monster. He inched out from under the bed. She counted six tentacles. He also had four tiny legs with sharp, curved claws. Squatting beside the bed, he kneaded the carpet with his claws.

  “Are you an in-the-closet monster or an under-the-bed monster? The dream bottle wasn’t labeled, and we have lots of both. We even have a few on-the-ceiling monster dreams, but those aren’t as common.” She wasn’t suppo
sed to talk about her parents’ dream collection. But since she was in a dream, talking to a dream creature, she decided the normal rules didn’t apply.

  The monster crept farther into the moonlight. His fur was black with hints of red and blue in it. She thought he was iridescent black. She liked the word iridescent. She’d learned it just the other week.

  “You have beautiful iridescent fur. That means you shine with different colors,” Sophie said. “You’re a very handsome monster.”

  The monster purred.

  “It’s nice that you don’t have any slime. So many dream monsters are coated in goo.” She patted the blanket next to her. “Do you want to come up?”

  He hopped onto the bed. He was about half her size, though if he stretched out his tentacles, she bet he’d be larger. Instead, he curled his tentacles underneath him in coils of fur. She wanted to pet his fur. She wasn’t sure she dared. He continued to watch her with his large lemur eyes.

  “I bet the dreamer who thought you up was scared of cats,” Sophie said. “I’ve never had a cat. Or dog. Or any kind of pet. I’ve always wanted a pet. I wish you could be my pet.”

  The monster nudged her hand with his nose. She felt her breath catch in her throat. He had so many sharp teeth that they couldn’t all fit in his mouth. A row of teeth stuck out beyond his gums. He wormed his head under her hand. His fur felt softer than cotton and smoother than silk. Sophie stroked his head and scratched behind his ears.

  Sighing happily, the monster closed his eyes.

  She lay down next to him, continuing to pet him. He began to snore, and Sophie bit back a laugh that bubbled up inside her. His snore sounded like a toy train. After a while, she fell asleep.

  She woke to her parents’ screams.

  Uh-oh, she thought. Sophie opened one eye and then the other. Her mother was, oddly, perched on top of a table next to the dream distiller. She held a broom and was brandishing it like a sword. Her father held a fire extinguisher with the nozzle pointed at her.