Panting, Seika ducked. She lay against the rocks and decided she never wanted to move again. Her skin felt filthy, her throat was dry as sand, and her stomach was achingly empty. The two strangers pressed canteens of water into Seika’s and Ji-Lin’s hands.
Seika drank and drank, and so did Ji-Lin and Alejan. After her throat felt less raw, Seika asked, “Are you from Gyoson? Where are your people?”
“In the koji shelter, underground,” the woman said. She was dressed head to toe in brown and green, to blend in with the mountainside. Her hair was pinned back slick against her scalp, and she had a dagger at her waist.
“We came out to scout,” the man said, “to see if the weneb has moved on.” He had a bow strapped to his back, and his hair was tied in a ponytail. A spyglass hung on a chain from his neck.
“It hasn’t,” Ji-Lin reported. “Did everyone make it to safety in time?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the man said. “One of the lads spotted the weneb while fishing in the harbor and sounded the alarm. Everyone made it to the caves before the foul beast came to shore.”
“Have you sent messenger birds to the temple?” Seika asked.
“Right away. We used the same bird that brought word of your coming. We included a warning to you to steer clear—though I can see you didn’t receive it in time,” the woman said. “Please accept our apologies that we weren’t able to perform the traditional greetings upon your arrival. Your Highnesses greatly honor us with your presence, but you must not linger. The koji is in the village now, but it may fly again soon. This is your best opportunity to flee to safety, before it rises again.”
The man dug into his pack and produced several meat rolls. Seika and Ji-Lin devoured one each, while Alejan gobbled three. Ji-Lin tucked the rest into their bags. “Go while you can,” the man said. “The farther you can fly, the safer you will be.”
“Quickly!” The woman practically shooed them onto Alejan’s back.
Ji-Lin climbed on, and Seika strapped herself in behind her. “Thank you,” Seika said to the man and woman. “Your kindness will be remembered.” She hoped she sounded gracious and regal and that they couldn’t hear the fear in her voice.
Crawling back up to the ridge, the man peered through his spyglass at the town.
“I hate leaving with a koji in your home,” Ji-Lin said. “We could wait. Stay and fight with the lions and riders when they come . . .” She half unsheathed her sword.
“You’re our princesses,” the woman said. “You’re our hope for the future, for our children and our children’s children. If we know you’re out there, completing the Journey, we can weather anything.”
Alejan stretched his wings.
From the top of the ridge, the man whisper-called, “Go now!”
Leaning forward, Ji-Lin urged, “Fly, Alejan!”
Without another word, Alejan lunged forward, off the mountainside. Seika felt her stomach drop as they plummeted. Skimming the tops of the trees, they flew on, in the shadow of the mountains, away from the village and its monster.
Chapter
Nine
AS ALEJAN SKIMMED the waves, Ji-Lin leaned over his side and dipped her hand into the water. It splashed up her arm; the cold drops felt like tiny bites. The sun flashed on the waves, as if there were a thousand mirrors on the surface of the sea. She saw the reflection of the clouds and the shadow of Alejan’s wings, and she grinned.
We did it!
She felt as if they’d done the Unmei Run in record time. She wanted to sing at the top of her lungs, or better still, have someone sing a song about them, about their escape.
I could have fought it, of course, she reassured herself. She’d only run because her sister had asked, and Seika was the heir. It wasn’t because the koji was so large. Or snakelike.
“Do you think we’re safe now?” Seika called in her ear.
“Yes!” She patted Alejan’s neck. “He’s the fastest lion of all.”
“How did it get past the barrier?” Alejan asked. “It shouldn’t have been able to see the islands, much less reach them!”
It couldn’t have crossed the barrier. Nothing could cross the barrier. Or even see it—from the outside, the barrier made the islands both invisible and inaccessible. Hidden from all. No, the weneb must have grown in secret on one of the uninhabited islands, only coming out now because it needed to nest . . . which meant there had to be a daddy snake-monster somewhere. Suddenly, Ji-Lin felt a bit less excited. “Stay alert, Alejan. Just in case.”
“I’m always alert. For example, watch out!” Dipping down, he burst through the top of a wave. Spray spattered them. Laughing, he flew higher.
Together, Ji-Lin and Seika cried, “Alejan!” And then Seika was laughing, a sound so happy and free that Ji-Lin couldn’t help laughing too.
He soared up toward the clouds. Midday sun soaked into their backs, drying them quickly. Only a few puffy clouds dotted the sky. Behind them, Okina Island had shrunk to a green smear. Ahead were more islands.
There were dozens more—the so-called Hundred Islands of Himitsu—mostly uninhabited and mostly tiny. Many were just lumps of green that poked out of the waves. The water was clear between them, and Ji-Lin could see dolphins leaping and schools of bright-colored fish swimming around coral reefs.
“Lunch!” Alejan proclaimed, and dove low again, scooping a silver fish out of the waves with his paw. He devoured it as he flew, and Ji-Lin’s stomach rumbled.
A thought occurred to her . . . The sun was directly overhead. The uninhabited islands lay before them. “Alejan, how much time did we lose climbing this morning?” It had been slower going than she’d thought. They hadn’t crossed the ridge until midmorning. They had to be seriously off schedule.
“Don’t worry. We’ll make it to the next village by nightfall.”
She wasn’t so sure about that.
“And if not, my night vision is excellent.”
Ji-Lin felt Seika tense behind her. She knew if she turned she’d see Seika’s face screwed up in her worried expression. She wore that expression a lot. When they were little, Seika never used to look worried. Except when Ji-Lin suggested they climb to the top of the spires. Or slide down the banisters. Or try to outswim the waterfolk. Or . . . “We can’t fly at night!” Seika cried. “Not if there could be more koji.”
“There aren’t any more koji,” Ji-Lin said, though she wasn’t sure if she was lying. Where there was one, there could be more. She thought of her earlier idea about the daddy snake-monster. It was actually likely there was at least one more koji hidden somewhere on the islands. “But Seika’s right. We shouldn’t take unnecessary risks. Can you fly faster?”
“I am speed. Like Master Shai when she flew the length of the barrier.” Alejan gave a mighty flap of his wings. She heard the whoosh of wind. Rising, he caught a current, and they flew on.
The islands below were patches of green forest and tan sand. She saw waterfolk swimming near their shores and birds winging over their trees. Ahead, she saw a flock of cloud fish. They were grouped together, their white scales blending so they looked like a cloud, except they moved against the wind. “Seika, look.”
She felt Seika shift and then heard her gasp. “Oh, they’re beautiful!”
The fish swarmed together, their scales reflecting the sun—they weren’t just white. They were white composed of a rainbow of colors. When the sun hit them, they were jewels. As one, they plunged into a real cloud. The puffy white closed around them as if swallowing them. Ji-Lin watched for them to reappear, but they didn’t.
Ji-Lin, Seika, and Alejan flew on in companionable silence, until Seika spoke again, “Ji-Lin, I hate to say this . . . but I’m thirsty. And hungry.”
Seika was likely not used to going without. Ji-Lin thought of the vast banquets she remembered from life at the palace. All they had to do was ask for something, and it would be delivered with a flourish. That had ended for her when she left for training. “In the temple, some da
ys we’d start exercises before dawn and keep on until we were so hungry we were dizzy. The masters said it focused the mind.”
Alejan snorted. “Sure. Focused it on food.”
“I’m sorry, but do we have any more water?” Seika sounded so meek, so unprincessy, that Ji-Lin immediately felt guilty—it wasn’t Seika’s fault she’d stayed in the palace, cushioned and coddled. Leaning over Alejan’s packs, she unhooked a canteen of water and passed it to Seika.
Seika drank.
And drank.
And . . . “Stop,” Ji-Lin said, taking the canteen from her. When Seika flinched at her tone, she added more apologetically, “We don’t know when we’ll have more.” She didn’t mean to get annoyed with her sister. It was just . . . this wasn’t like the tales. Seika was relying on her, and Ji-Lin wasn’t sure she even knew what she was doing. She’d never planned to encounter a real koji and flee, and she’d never expected to run out of supplies.
“The people of Heiwa will help us,” Seika said confidently. “It’s their honor and their duty.” But she didn’t ask for the water back.
Ji-Lin took one cautious sip. It was barely enough to moisten her tongue, and drinking it only made her thirstier. She took another sip. Seika was right that they’d be able to get more at the next village, but just in case . . . She put the canteen away and reached into the packs, looking for more food. She was hungry too.
They’d eaten the last meat roll.
That wasn’t good.
By late afternoon, Ji-Lin was even hungrier, and she knew Seika must be too. Worse, they were still over the tiny uninhabited islands. “Alejan, how far is it to Heiwa?”
“Not far.”
“Truly?”
“Mmm . . . No. Not truly. It’s possible I was overly optimistic.”
Seika leaned forward. “What do you mean? Ji-Lin, what does he mean?” Her voice sounded shrill.
Ji-Lin wondered if Emperor Himitsu’s sister had felt this way when she flew with her brother across the islands for the first time, as if she was on the verge of a massive mistake. Had Uncle Balez felt like he was faking it when he’d flown with their father? Ji-Lin looked ahead at the islands. “Don’t worry,” she told her sister. “It will be fine.”
They flew on.
It’s not going to be fine, Ji-Lin thought.
Seika had noticed that when people said “Don’t worry” it usually meant the opposite. She looked at the sun. Low, its light was splayed out on the waves. Soon it would touch the horizon. Once it did, it would melt quickly into the sea. She didn’t want to be in the air when that happened. “You said we could make it.”
She didn’t mean to sound so accusatory.
“We’ll make it,” Ji-Lin said. “Alejan’s fast.”
The lion spoke. “I am also tired, despite my heroic strength. Carrying two plus packs is possibly more than I expected. I am sorry, Princesses. The tales never mention the heroes getting tired.”
“What do we do?” Seika hated how her voice got shrill. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. She imagined she was talking to a tutor. “I’m sorry. I know you’re doing your best. I delayed us. I’m not accustomed to climbing.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Alejan said. “Blame the koji. It was unexpected.”
Absolutely nothing in the Emperor’s Journey was supposed to be unexpected. It had been performed every generation for two hundred years, and every inch of it was mapped out and prescribed. Each stop was precisely one day’s flight from the prior one, ending in their arrival on Himit’s Day, the same day Emperor Himitsu had bargained with the dragon two hundred years earlier. But there was nothing in the stories that said the dragon watched their approach—good thing, too, after the disaster at Gyoson. The tradition could be bent a little further, couldn’t it? Under the circumstances? If it helped them get back on track, and meant a soft pillow and warm blanket tonight? “Maybe there’s another village?” Seika said. “A closer one?”
“Not on these islands. Look.” Ji-Lin pointed. Below, the islands were no more than patches of beach, collections of rocks, and clumps of tiny forests. Only a few were even large enough to land on. None had villages. “We’ll have to find one to camp on. Alejan, can you keep an eye out for a good site? If we’re going to stop, it’s better to stop soon so we have time to set up before dark. Last night it was too dark for a proper camp, and the koji was too close. But tonight, don’t worry, Seika.”
Seika tried to think of something positive to say but failed. Camping! Outside again, all night! Her stomach growled. She was hungry and thirsty, and she’d been looking forward to a night in a proper bed. She blinked quickly as her eyes heated up with tears.
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Princesses don’t cry. Especially not over a little thing like the lack of a soft bed. Especially when she’d been lucky enough to see such wonders as a unicorn, mer-minnows, and cloud fish.
It was just that she was so hoping that after flying all day, they’d be back to doing what they were supposed to do. This was not what they were supposed to do. The dragon might not mind much if they veered from their route, but Seika minded. A lot. She’d wanted to do it all exactly right. Even if they went to a different village, that had to be . . . less untraditional . . . than an island campsite.
Alejan flew toward the biggest of the nearby islands. Like the others, it looked uninhabited, but at least this one was large enough that it could have held a village. It was very rocky, though, with cliffs and plateaus and craggy peaks. A few trees were clumped here and there, but the island wasn’t flat enough for a farm.
Gliding between the rock formations, they looked for a place to land. Seika saw several that looked fine to her but kept quiet—she knew nothing about camping. How to curtsy properly, yes. How to dance in formal costumes, yes. She wished she could be more helpful.
Alejan spotted their campsite: a plateau with a river that sliced through it and tumbled off in a massive waterfall. He circled it before settling beside the river. It was nicer than any of the other landing spots Seika had seen, and she was glad she’d kept her mouth shut.
Seika slid down, careful this time to keep hold of Alejan’s saddle until she was sure her knees weren’t going to give out. She let go only when they quit wobbling.
Ji-Lin jumped off and began unstrapping the packs, as well as removing the winged lion’s saddle. Alejan stretched full out, arched his back, and then rolled in the grass.
“Now we need shelter, water, and food.” Ji-Lin ticked each item off on her fingers, but she didn’t seem to be talking to Seika.
“I will hunt for dinner,” Alejan offered. “I’m a mighty hunter, like Master Shai when she—”
“Great,” Ji-Lin cut him off. “I’ll have everything ready when you get back.”
Seika watched as Ji-Lin unpacked a roll of fabric and several bamboo sticks. She laid them out on the ground and stared at them.
Then she moved around them and stared at them some more.
“Can I help?” Seika asked.
“No, I got this.” Ji-Lin paused, as if realizing that sounded unfriendly, and added, “But if you want to help, you can see if there’s anything to eat that doesn’t need to be cooked. Berries or fruit or nuts. Check the trees and bushes.”
Scouring the plateau, Seika looked for anything vaguely edible. The grass was soft and full of white bell-like flowers she’d never seen before. They smelled like honey mixed with cinnamon. In the west, the sun was low enough to kiss the horizon. Amber light pooled in the sea. At the edge of the plateau, she stopped and stared at it. She could still see the barrier, or imagine she saw it, twinkling in the sunset. A few seabirds flew over the water, black silhouettes in the setting sun, and she heard crickets chirping around her, a steady chorus beside the sound of the waterfall. She’d dreamed about seeing a place like this someday. Every blade of grass was beautiful.
She just wished she weren’t so hungry.
She looked around again. Maybe
the flowers were edible? She’d read that the islands boasted many edible plants, including flowers. The palace chefs often added blossoms to salads. Kneeling, she plucked one. She sniffed it. It smelled nice. Carefully, Seika nibbled on the petals. Swallowing, she waited to see if she felt sick.
She was still waiting when the world went black.
Chapter
Ten
JI-LIN SAW SEIKA collapse. One second, she’d been standing by the cliff, looking all picturesque and princessy, framed by the rosy red of the sunset. Ji-Lin had been sure she was composing poems instead of looking for food. And then the next second, she’d crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
“Seika!” Dropping the bamboo poles, she ran across the grass. Oh no, oh no, please be okay! Please be fine. Sit up and say it’s just a joke, a bad, bad joke. Don’t be . . . She skidded on her knees, stopping at Seika’s side.
Oh, thank Himitsu, she’s breathing!
Her chest rose and fell. Even. Steady. Strong breaths.
Then what . . . Ji-Lin saw Seika’s hand clutching a bunch of irina flowers. Sleep flowers. Putting her face in her hands, Ji-Lin rocked back and reminded herself to breathe and to not scream. “Of all the stupid . . . She didn’t know. How could she know? She’s never left the palace. She knows a dozen ways to bow. She doesn’t know not to eat flowers that put you to sleep.”
Plucking a few of the flowers, Ji-Lin broke open the stems. She scraped the insides onto her finger and shoved the tip of it into Seika’s mouth. “Come on, wakey-wakey. Swallow, Seika.”
Seika’s throat moved.
And then her eyelids fluttered open.