Dragon Island (13 page)

“Kumagor’s wake.”

I turn and see Kitsune standing beside me, covered head to toe in dirt.

If she is that filthy, I must be a walking fudge-sicle.

“This way, Raymond-sai.”

We follow Kumagor’s trail for a time then turn off into an adjoining cavern that takes my breath away. Its walls, ceiling and floor are covered with crystals that shine every color of the rainbow, glittering with some unknown light source.

Just when I’d dismissed the deep labyrinth as an ugly, terrible place—POW!—incomparable beauty everywhere! It makes me wonder what other untold treasures and unexplored wonders might exist within Ryuu’s lair.

“Amazing!”

Kitsune gives a perfunctory smile.

“Come, Raymond-sai.”

She takes my hand and leads me through a maze of crystal pillars running from ceiling to floor. The pillars bandy for room among an abundance of stalactites and stalagmites comprised of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

We enter an especially large cavern with gigantic twin holes centered in its floor and ceiling. Sunlight shines down through the latter from a distant opening in the earth miles above. I realize it’s the infinitesimal refraction of the sun’s rays by the crystals that causes them to glitter. The light gives me hope that Kitsune and I might actually get out of this place alive after all!

I turn my attention to the hole in the cavern floor. It’s every bit as deep as Doragon’s Mouth. But instead of blackness, a soft, undulating aurora borealis dances within its depths. Like the crystal-shine, it’s both beautiful and frightening.

I stand at the hole’s edge, gazing into the dancing light. “What’s down there?”

Kitsune answers, her voice equal parts awe and fear.

“That is the heart of Ryuu. And as such, it is the heart of all things.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It is the beginning and end of all beginnings and ends. It is where the deep labyrinth is, well, deepest.

“It is from Ryuu’s heart that all daikaiju truly spring.”

I jump back from the hole’s rim as though something had leaped up at me. I’ve had enough of the labyrinth’s dragons for one day, and so have no desire to accidently rouse Kumagor or some other daikaiju!

Apparently Kitsune feels the same way.

She hurries us out of the cavern back into the crystal maze. After a time, the crystals peter out and give way to the familiar gray rock walls. Relief strikes me when I hear the sound of rushing water in the distance.

We traverse a mound rising out of the cavern floor and, despite my earlier experiences with the kappa, I’m happy to see an underground creek in the distance (Heaven knows Kitsune and I need a bath!).

But I’m even more overjoyed when I realize I’m able to see the creek because of the light trickling in through the cave mouth the water is using as an exit.

“Kitsune—?”

“Yes, Raymond-sai. Home.”

“Yes!”

I sprint toward the cave exit.

“No, Raymond-sai, wait!”

“I will once I’m outside, Kitsune,” I call over my shoulder. “I’ve got to get outside!”

I run out of the cave mouth, leaving the deep labyrinth. The song of the cicadas fills my ears. Majestic, unrestrained sunshine meets my gaze.

My eyes adjust and I look around and see that I’m on yet another mountain side looking down upon a lush, green valley polka-dotted by wildflowers colored every hue of the rainbow. There’s a quaint, sprawling village of what looks like rudimentary grass houses nestled alongside a river running through the valley floor. I’m guessing the village is that of the Toho.

The creek flowing from the cave disappears among the trees farther down the slope—assumedly to join the river snaking alongside the village.

Best of all, there isn’t a kaiju in sight!

I throw my hands in the air and laugh with joy.

It’s at this moment that a bald, little baby in an elaborately embroidered orange robe comes rushing out of the trees toward me. It’s odd enough that this toddler who probably should not be able to do anything more than crawl on his belly is running toward me at a full gallop. But what’s really strange is that his eyes constantly roll in their sockets, perpetually crossing!

He shouts at me in a small, squeaky voice. While his speech seems to be anything but baby-talk, I cannot understand a word of it.

The baby reaches me and wraps itself around my lower right leg. Peering down at him, I realize he’s not a baby at all, but an extremely small man. One who is fuming mad.

He screams up at me, his face a visage of rage, and begins punching and kicking my shin. As small as he is, I can hardly feel it.

“Look, little dude. You don’t know what I’ve been through over the past few days, so if you would—OW!”

He bit me!

The little cross-eyed bugger bit me!

Reflexively, I kick him away. Not hard. But enough to make him tumble backward so that there’s space between us once again.

“Stay down, short stuff!”
 
I yell.

It’s not until later that I realize I use the exact same words
LeBron
Nichols screamed at me the day he beat me up after school in eighth grade.

I turn my back on the tiny, cross-eyed man and begin walking toward the cave mouth.

“Kitsune, you won’t believe—!”

Something with the force of a charging ram crashes into the back of my legs and I fall. The wind leaves my lungs as I hit the ground. I barely have time to gasp for air. The little cross-eyed dude is on top of me, shouting and beating his fists at my head and shoulders.

I roll hard to my left and he topples off of me.

“Look, you little—!”

My head rocks back in surprise. I’m amazed to see that the little guy has doubled in size. He is now as big as an adult male dwarf. Just as amazing, his embroidered orange robe has grown right along with him. He screams and launches himself at me. Apparently his fury has doubled as well!

The no-longer-so-little man lands on my chest, pinning my torso to the ground. His child-sized hands curl into fists and pummel my upper-body. This time, his blows hurt.

Bad!

As much as the little man has grown, I’m still bigger and stronger. I use that to my advantage and roll so that I’m now pinning him to the ground. I grab his wrists in my hands and shove them to the earth. I’m tempted to chant, “Stop hitting yourself!” and use his own fists to bludgeon him like an older brother would a younger one, but I think he is simply too strong for me to get away with that.

And
LeBron
Nichols copycat or not, I can’t bring myself to hock a loogie in the little guy’s livid face like the bully in question did to me.

The dwarf snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he rages at me. I’m shocked when I feel his wrists expand beneath my hands. His growth spurt spreads my fingers apart, loosening my grip.

The next thing I know, the dwarf’s hands are free. He strikes me. Hard! I tumble off of him, stinging jaw and all.

The stars dancing in front my eyes clear and I look up to see that my attacker has again miraculously doubled in size. He now towers over me, his height that of a full grown man. He yells and this time his voice is a roar.

He charges and I scramble backward on my elbows, trying to get away. My right elbow comes down on a rock lying in the grass, jolting the sensitive nerve endings there so that icy fire leaps up my bicep into my armpit.

Before I can get up and run, the man reaches down with both arms and lifts me off the ground as though I weighed no more than a large pillow. I manage to scoop up the rock in the process and as he brings my face level with his, I use it to brain him.

He howls in pain and drops me to the earth. I land with a thud, the air rushing from my lungs once again. I watch in breathless shock as the already angry man Hulks out before my eyes. He bellows in a voice more animal than human as his bones and muscles stretch to impossible lengths. When his body’s expansion stops, he stands as tall as a tree.
 

He raises one of his enormous feet off the ground and its shadow falls over me, eclipsing my view of the sun.

I’ve survived plane crashes, giant dragons, flesh-eating ogres, and robotic drones only to be squashed like a bug under the bare heal of a cross-eyed giant.

I really, really hate this island!

Just when the giant is about to bring his foot crashing down on me, he pauses and looks up as though someone new has just come onto the scene.

Someone has. Luckily for me, it’s Kitsune. Unlike me, she is now clean of dirt and soot. Her hair, skin, and clothes are still damp with the creek water she must have washed herself in.

“Mikoshi!” she shouts.

Instantly, the giant shrinks to his original babyish height. But his fury is still as large as ever! He shouts at Kitsune, his voice now small and squeaky once again, arguing with her in what sounds like a language that’s not quite Japanese.

Kitsune spits a final reproach and waves him off. She scoops an arm under mine and tugs me to my feet.

“What’s screwy eyes over there so angry about?” I ask. In the back of my mind, I’m amazed the first question out of my mouth isn’t about the little man’s seemingly magical ability to change his size. But I guess once you’ve been face-to-face ogres, robots, and dragons, this little out-of-the-ordinary occurrence doesn’t amount to much more than an interesting footnote.

“Mikoshi is angry because you have the filth of the Xenomians on you,” Kitsune says. “And he does not want you bringing it anywhere near our village.”

“Mikoshi? You know him?”

“All my life. He guards this entrance to the deep labyrinth. Or more aptly, this exit.

“Come on, Raymond-sai. We must go back into the cave and clean you off in the creek. Never mind that whatever we wash off of you will flow right back out again. With the Toho, everything is a matter of principle and tradition. Mikoshi-nyuudo is no exception.”

As Kitsune leads me into the cave, I glance back at Mikoshi to see him scowling at me.

The feeling is mutual, pal.

I think about giving him a not-so-pleasant salute, but decide against it. Angering the incredible growing man isn’t something a wise person does twice in one day.

According to their own legends, “the Ainu lived in this place (
Japan
) a hundred-thousand years before the children of the Sun came.” While often regarded as Jomon-jin, natives to
Japan
from the Jomon period (14,000 – 400 BC), new archeological evidence suggests the Ainu culture is an offshoot of an even more ancient race...

—Excerpt from
The First People
, by Rowan Thomas (1994)

T
he sun is setting when we finally reach the Toho village a few hours later. Bare-chested men with pointy ears and great, bushy black beards stand barefoot in the shallow river running alongside the village. The water splashes against their shins as they spear large, wriggling fish on the end of the wooden spears each of them carry.

You would think with everything that I’ve been through—plane crashes, monsters, robots, and dragons—that these men would not frighten me.

But they do.

Something in the way they move puts me on guard. I’m sure it’s akin to some of the things I’ve noticed in Kitsune—the way she handles herself with such grace, her ability to see in perfect darkness—but I just cannot quite place my finger on it.

The fisherman closest to us sniffs the air and then turns in our direction. As we approach, he and the others stop their fishing and watch us advance.

“Kitsune, maybe we should—?”

Kitsune reaches the river and wades in, paying me no heed. Having little choice, I follow.

As we draw close, the man who first sensed our coming speaks to Kitsune in their native language. I don’t understand his words, or those of Kitsune’s reply, but when she speaks, his eyes grow large with disbelief.

Kitsune gestures for me to come along as she wades between the fishermen toward land. I watch her go for a moment, then swallow hard when I realize the men’s attention is now directed entirely on me.

“Uh, hi,” I say, trying not to show how nervous and scared I am. “My name’s Raymond. What’s yours?”

Silence and narrowed gazes all around.

“Um, Tough crowd—?”

The chirps of the cicadas are the only response I get.

“Okay then.”

I summon my courage and wade among them, keenly aware of the long, sharp spears in their hands. They watch me with hard, unreadable gazes. As I pass by, they fall into step behind me, the sound of their sloshing footfalls adding to that of my own.

We come to dry land and walk on through the green fields separating us from the village. The Toho women are here, hard at work cultivating the ground. In contrast to Kitsune, these women appear to be middle-aged. But like her and their fishermen husbands, they possess the pointy ears that are apparently a genetic staple of the Toho.