“I’d never seen a real koji before either,” Ji-Lin said. “It was larger than I’d imagined.” It sounded as if she was admitting something too. Both of them were silent for a few moments.
“I wonder what it was like, when the koji first came,” Seika said, looking up at the stars again. “People must have been so afraid.” She tried to imagine it, life before the winged lions. She’d always known the lions and their riders were there to protect them. She’d never had to be afraid.
“People must still be afraid, beyond the barrier,” Alejan said. He shuddered, and his mane shook. Sparks leaped from the fire and popped in the air. “Imagine if the barrier fell.”
“We won’t let it—that’s the whole point of what we’re doing,” Ji-Lin said, and yawned. “Ugh, I feel as though I’ve been pushed through a strainer.”
“Sleep,” Alejan told her. “I will guard you.”
“But you need sleep too,” Ji-Lin protested. “You flew all the way here.”
“I will wake you in two hours, and you can guard me. Then you wake me, and I will guard you again. It might not be as glamorous as in the tales, but I think the old heroes would approve.” He rose, shifting Ji-Lin off, and padded in a circle around them, as if claiming their camp as his own. He settled a few yards from the tent, his back to them. The sisters crawled inside the tent while Alejan stood guard.
Seika dreamed of monsters.
Chapter
Eleven
JI-LIN WOKE IN the darkness to the feeling of being tossed into the air. Beside her, Seika screamed and clutched Ji-Lin’s arm. Beneath them, the ground heaved, as if it wanted to chuck them off the island. It rolled back and forth, and she couldn’t do anything but lie flat.
Outside, Alejan was roaring. Seika curled into a ball, and so did Ji-Lin, each holding tight to the other’s arm. She heard the fabric of the tent whoosh as it buckled around them. The bamboo poles creaked, and then the earth stilled. Everything quieted.
“Is it over?” Seika asked.
“I don’t know.” Ji-Lin’s voice felt rusty, as if she hadn’t used it in a long time. She’d felt tremors before, but always she’d believed she was safe. She’d been surrounded by other people and known where she was. But here, alone with her sister in the darkness, on an unknown island . . .
From beyond the tent, Alejan called, “Ji-Lin? Are you all right? Seika?”
“We’re fine!” Ji-Lin called, then asked Seika, “Are we fine?”
“I think so.” Seika released her grip on Ji-Lin’s arm, and Ji-Lin noticed her arm was throbbing a little. She’d have bruises there in the morning. Seika was stronger than she seemed, and also had pointier nails. “What time do you think it is?” Seika asked.
“Late. Early. I don’t know.”
Lying there in the darkness, Ji-Lin tried to guess the time based on how tired she felt. Her heart was still beating too fast to tell. She wanted to jump out of the tent with her sword and fight something, but there was nothing to fight. The enemy was the earth itself.
The next tremor, a light aftershock, came quickly. It felt like a wave beneath them, raising them up. They heard loose stones falling, rattling as they tumbled down from the plateau. What if a boulder fell on them? She couldn’t fight that. She couldn’t even see it.
The waterfall of stones slowed, then stopped.
Silence again.
Slowly, the chirping of crickets began again. Ji-Lin heard a few night birds and animals rustling outside. She heard Alejan pacing around the tent, his breath snorting as he sniffed at everything.
“I miss walls,” Seika said.
“At least there aren’t any to fall on us,” Ji-Lin said. “We’ve had a few bad tremors at the temple, but people whisper that worse are coming. Sometimes I hear the masters talk about it.”
“We’ve had some that cracked bridges. In the poorer parts of the city, some buildings have fallen, but only ones that weren’t sturdy to begin with,” Seika said. “The palace guards are always sent out to help. I was never allowed to go. Do you think they felt this one in the capital?”
“Probably. I have no idea.”
Seika was silent for a moment, then said, “I can’t fall back to sleep. I keep waiting for the next one. I wish we’d made it to the next village. We have to get back on track. We aren’t supposed to be out here on our own.”
Ji-Lin agreed. None of the heroes in the tales ever lay in the darkness, waiting for the earth to shake again beneath them. They were always flying or fighting. “What did you do in the palace during a tremor?”
“Hid in the bath, if it was close enough.” The baths were stone, very solid. “Or an archway, if we weren’t close enough. Everyone really likes to gather in the eastern arch, because it’s closest to the Music Academy. The musicians play for everyone after the tremors stop. What did you do in the temple?”
“Went to the closest courtyard. A lot of the buildings are stuck to the side of the mountain. Once, one broke off with a loose chunk of the mountain and slid down hundreds of feet. You can’t fall off a cliff if you’re in a courtyard.”
A second aftershock hit.
The earth rose and fell beneath them, as if it were yawning, and then the tremor ended. They listened to the sound of stones rolling downhill, and then pebbles, and then sand, and then silence again.
“Maybe . . .” Seika said, “we could talk about something other than quakes?”
“Yeah.” But Ji-Lin couldn’t think of a single thing to talk about. She wished they could jump on Alejan’s back and fly onward. Helpless in the dark, she didn’t feel like a hero on the Emperor’s Journey. As soon as it’s light, she thought, we’ll fly.
“Do you remember Master Pon, the etiquette tutor?” Seika asked. “He sneaks into the kitchen after banquets, when he thinks no one is watching, and eats leftover cake icing, straight from the bowl.”
Ji-Lin snorted. “Not Master Pon.” He was the fussiest of their tutors, with a mustache that he kept slicked into curls and pristine white robes that never seemed to have a smudge of dirt.
“Even saw him lick out a tub of buttercream once. Bits of it got stuck in his mustache.”
Imagining this, Ji-Lin snorted again, this time a giggle escaping with the snort. “Did he know you’d seen him?”
“Possibly. He did assign me fifty pages to read in The History of Court Manners the next day, the chapter about utensils.”
“Someone wrote fifty pages about knives?”
“And spoons. Don’t forget the spoons.”
Seika said it so seriously that Ji-Lin laughed out loud.
She heard Alejan pace closer to the tent. “Are you two okay? Ji-Lin, you’re laughing. Is that good or bad? You weren’t hit on the head with a rock, were you?”
“We’re both fine,” Seika called to him. “How is everything out there?”
“I think there’s a mouse hiding where I’m sleeping.”
For some reason, that struck Ji-Lin as immensely funny. She laughed louder, and soon Seika was laughing again too. Eventually, they fell asleep. If there were more aftershocks, they didn’t feel them.
At dawn, Seika crawled out of the tent. She stood and stared. All around their tent were rocks, littered there in the night. It looked as if a massive hand had picked up the plateau and shaken it, then set it back down again.
Ji-Lin was already outside and alert, as if she’d been awake for a while—Alejan must have woken her to stand guard. “No additional excitement,” she reported.
“We were lucky,” Seika said. If one of those boulders had rolled onto them . . .
“Very lucky,” Ji-Lin agreed.
Seika realized she was shaking. She took a deep breath. “Let’s find the next village, okay?” The sooner they were back on track, the happier she’d be.
Ji-Lin nodded vigorously. “Definitely. I’ve had enough of this place.”
Packing up, they mounted Alejan. In a few short minutes, they were airborne. Seika saw the island shrink beneath t
hem. It had seemed so idyllic last night, when she was full of fresh fish and listening to Alejan’s story.
“Don’t worry,” Ji-Lin said. “The rest of the Journey will be much easier.”
Seika winced. “You’re practically daring the islands to smush us.”
“Don’t be superstitious,” Ji-Lin said. “Everything will be fine.”
“Stop it,” Seika said.
Ji-Lin was grinning. “Nothing bad will happen.”
“Ji-Lin.”
“Only rainbows and sunshine and puppies.”
Alejan spoke up. “No puppies. I don’t like dogs. Especially those yapping little ankle-biters that courtiers think are so cute.”
“Yes!” Seika jumped on the change of subjects. “I know plenty of those dogs. Some of the court ladies like to carry them in elaborate purses to dinner. Once, one jumped out of its purse and chased a flying cat all over the banquet hall, knocking over three bowls of soup and landing in the center of a pyramid of bread. After that, Father banned them from meals.” She grinned, remembering. It had been chaos—the dog yapping, the cat screeching, the court ladies screaming. She wished Ji-Lin could have seen it.
They flew quietly for a few minutes.
“I’ve heard the earthquakes are getting worse,” Ji-Lin said.
Seika had heard her tutors say the same thing. Two hundred years ago, when Emperor Himitsu and his people came to the islands, the land was newborn and stable. Since then, the tremors had been increasing in both strength and frequency—she’d heard her tutors talking about it when they didn’t think she was listening. Some said there had always been quakes and always would be; others insisted they’d started only a few generations ago and were worse every year. “Father always says not to worry. Of course, he didn’t expect us to be sleeping outside on an unstable island . . .” No one could have expected that. The ritual journey had been performed in exactly the same way for two hundred years.
Alejan rumbled beneath them. “The tales don’t talk about the little trials amid the greater quest—the tiredness, the hunger, the fear . . . The storytellers don’t talk about the heroes being afraid. They say, ‘They journeyed, and then they were there.’ They talk about battles faced, not battles avoided.”
“Maybe the heroes had their problems too,” Ji-Lin said, “but the problems just didn’t get included in their stories. You don’t know how they felt about their adventures. Just because we were scared doesn’t mean we can’t be heroes. Maybe when the storytellers tell our tale, they’ll leave out these bits too, and everyone will think we were ready and brave and steadfast every second of the journey.”
Seika thought of how peaceful it had been yesterday evening while Alejan told his tale beneath the stars. She thought of how amazing the sunbird had been, with its fiery feathers, and how magical the cloud fish had looked and how incredible the unicorn had been . . . “We’ve had wonderful moments too. Don’t forget that.”
“Like flying on a magnificent lion?” Alejan suggested.
Seika laughed. “Exactly.”
Chapter
Twelve
LEANING AGAINST ALEJAN’S mane, Ji-Lin looked down on a snarl of thick forest. She heard the cry of the golden monkeys. So few humans had ever walked on any of these islands.
“I must rest my wings,” Alejan announced.
“We have to keep going!” Seika said. “We were supposed to reach Heiwa last night!”
“A quick rest? It’s been hours since we set off,” he pleaded. “Even Master Shai rested on the occasional island when she flew around the entire barrier. I promise we’ll still make it to the shrine by Himit’s Day.”
“All right,” Seika relented. “A few minutes’ rest.”
If Ji-Lin remembered her maps correctly, the island beneath them was large enough for a name: it was Jishin. “This is the island from the Tale of the Three Brothers!”
“Jishin?” Seika asked. Ji-Lin felt her shift as she leaned over to peer down at the island. Ruins from an old palace poked up from the center of the forest.
“Yes!” Alejan said. “It was here that the quake killed Prince Biy’s beloved. Stories, all around us! We tread on the path of history!”
Not a happy history, Ji-Lin thought.
“Do you think we’ll be safe stopping here?” Seika asked.
“I promise we’ll continue soon,” Alejan said. “I only need a moment or two.”
Gliding down, he landed on a beach, running a few steps through the sand before stopping. Ji-Lin unbuckled, helped Seika with her straps, and then slid down onto the beach. Her feet sank into the warm sand.
The sand was filled with stones that sparkled in the sun, flecks of ruby-red and emerald-green. Twisted trees grew out of the sand, marking the start of the forest. Ji-Lin stared into the dark shadows between the trees. Shrubs clogged the forest floor, and the trees grew so close that branches were woven together. Butterflies and insects with wings as large as her palm flitted between the plants. She heard the rustle of unseen forest animals. The cries of the monkeys were louder, though the monkeys themselves were hidden by the leaves.
“I wish we had time to explore,” Seika said.
It was so exactly what Ji-Lin had been wishing that she grinned. “Later? When it’s over?” she suggested. “Maybe we could sneak out.”
“I tried to sneak out to see you,” Seika said.
Ji-Lin tore her eyes from the tangle of forest to look at Seika’s face. She was in profile, gazing at the forest as if she wanted to drink it all in. “You tried to sneak out?” That was the most un-Seika-like thing she’d ever heard. Seika always followed the rules. She was always the good girl. She was always the first princess, the better princess.
“For our birthday. Almost made it.”
“The lions would have been furious.” Ji-Lin was certain that Master Vanya would have scooped Seika up like an unruly kitten and carried her straight back. “You’re the heir!”
Seika’s shoulders slumped. “I know. And I promised not to ever abandon a ritual again. That’s what Father was most angry about—that I tried to leave during the Spring Ritual.”
She looked so sad that Ji-Lin impulsively hugged her. “Once this ritual is done, I’ll officially be your guard. So long as you’re traveling with me, you will be protected, and we can go anywhere on the islands.” Ji-Lin didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded true, which was close enough.
Seika brightened so much that it made Ji-Lin feel as though she’d just saved her sister from a horrible fiery doom. “You’re right! We could explore it all.” Looking again at the forest, Seika promised it. “We’ll explore everywhere. This won’t be my only adventure.”
They let Alejan rest for a few minutes more, and when he felt ready, they climbed on his back again. Ji-Lin only looked back at the island of Jishin once—maybe twice—before it became a distant blur. Leaning against Alejan’s mane, she began to doze.
“Ji-Lin!” Alejan’s roar woke her.
Jerking up to sitting, she patted his neck. “Alejan, calm down. What’s wrong? Are you—” Ji-Lin began, and then stopped as she saw what he had seen.
“That’s impossible,” Seika breathed.
Below, in the distance, a strange-looking ship cut through the waves. It had three masts and was as sleek as a gondola but larger than the largest fishing boat that Ji-Lin had ever seen. Its sails were white, not red, and it flew three-colored banners from the tops of its masts. “What is that?” Ji-Lin asked.
“I’ve seen it, or ships like it, in books,” Seika said. “Old books.”
Ji-Lin hadn’t studied ships, but she’d seen plenty from above the imperial harbor. None looked like this. “You have?”
“I think . . . it’s a pirate ship.”
“That’s impossible,” Ji-Lin said, echoing her. The islands of Himitsu had no pirates. Smugglers, yes. She knew there were plenty of small-scale thieves who darted in and out of coves. They weren’t a lion and rider’s responsib
ility, though the warriors were supposed to report any they saw. But pirates? The kind from stories, who traveled in ships from port to port, sinking other ships after stealing their cargo? “We don’t have pirates.”
“We have them now,” Alejan growled. “And worse. Look!”
Seika gasped, and Ji-Lin looked at the ship in time to see an enormous tentacle wrap itself around one of the masts and snap it like a twig.
Sea monster. Koji.
“It’s attacking them!” Seika cried.
That was obvious. Ji-Lin couldn’t hear the screams of the pirates, but she could imagine them as figures ran across the deck, trying to find a way to fight the behemoth.
A boom shook the air.
“Earthquake?” Seika asked.
It didn’t sound like it was from the island. It sounded as if it had come across the sea. From the koji? Or from the ship? She itched to unsheathe her sword and do something. “We have to help them!”
“I . . .” Seika twisted in the saddle, and Ji-Lin looked back too.
They were too far from the last island to take Seika to safety. By the time they flew to shore, the battle would be long over. “If you say ‘don’t,’ I won’t.” It hurt to say that—everything in her was screaming to fight—but this wasn’t about just her. “I can’t promise it will be safe.”
Across the water, they saw the sea monster slap the ship’s deck with a tentacle. The ship rocked violently, and water flooded across the deck. The pirates clung to the side. Ji-Lin couldn’t see their faces from this distance, but the pirates had to be terrified.
“We have to help them,” Seika said. “It’s our duty, right? We protect our people, whether by bargaining with the dragon or fighting the koji. So . . . let’s do it.”
“Are you certain, Princess Seika?” Alejan rumbled. “In the Battle of Doskaki, when Empress Maiyi ordered the clearing of a den of cave koji, she did not ride into battle . . .”
“I don’t want to fight. But . . . we can’t just watch.” Seika was wringing her hands.
That was good enough for Ji-Lin. Here, at last, was a chance to do what she’d trained to do. “Fly, Alejan! Fast as the wind!”