The Flames of Dragons (2 page)

Goro poked his head out the door of his two-room farmhouse. He scanned the garden and terraced rice paddies. “Katsu!” he called. “Hey, Katsu!”

He waited a minute, but no one came. Goro rolled his eyes. Typical.

“Where is that man?” Goro grumbled. He slipped on a pair of sandals and stepped outside. “Katsu! Dinner!”

Maybe the stranger had packed up and left. It wouldn’t surprise Goro. Katsu had shown up three weeks ago out of nowhere with ragged clothes and a thin body. Despite Goro’s misgivings, Chiyo had taken pity on the man and offered him a meal and even one of Goro’s old homespun kimonos. Since then Katsu had become an unofficial farmhand, doing chores in exchange for food.

Goro wandered the farm calling Katsu’s name. The place wasn’t that big; Katsu should have no trouble picking up Goro’s rolling bass.

The farmer was about to give up when he heard a low
chunk
. It came from the other side of the tool shed. Goro walked the hundred feet to the building, and there he found Katsu.

The mysterious new helper was standing in front of a chopping block with a two-foot log on top of it. He raised a short-hafted axe in his left hand, and then with a smooth motion, he brought the tool down on the log.

Chunk
. The wood split down the middle and fell to either side of the block. Without pause, Katsu picked up another log and repeated the motion.

Chunk
.

Goro had to admit he was impressed. He’d tasked Katsu with splitting firewood just this morning, and already the piles on either side of the farmhand towered taller than Goro was. It usually took Goro weeks to split this much.

“Katsu,” Goro said between cuts, “that’s enough for today. Let’s have some dinner.”

Katsu appeared not to hear him. The man’s eyes were distant. He didn’t even seem to notice the logs he grabbed.

That concerned Goro. All the productivity on Raa would be meaningless if the man overswung and cut off his leg by not paying attention.

Chunk
.

Goro had to put a stop to this. He grabbed Katsu by the shoulder. “Hey, Katsu!”

It was like he’d snapped the man out of a deep sleep. Katsu shivered, and he blinked several times. He set down his axe and looked up at Goro. For a moment he didn’t seem to recognize the farmer. Then he shook his head. “Oh, Goro, sorry about that,” he said. “I got in a rhythm and lost track of time.”

Katsu’s voice was soft. Goro liked that. A good person was quiet and humble, not like the prudes down in Hiabi so stuck up in their class system. “Come on,” Goro said. “Chiyo’s made dinner. We’ll both hear about it if it gets cold.”

Katsu wiped off his kimono. “All right, just let me take the axe back to the shed.”

They returned the tool together and then headed to the house. When they entered, Chiyo smiled at both of them. Like any Maantec she still looked young, but she had the plump hips, sturdy build, and gentle expression of a wizened farm woman.

She would make a good mother, Goro knew, if only they could afford to have kids. Scrabbling in Shikari’s rocks wasn’t a great way to make a living.

Goro and Katsu sat on the floor beside each other. Chiyo brought each of them a six-inch-high wooden tray with a pair of chopsticks, a cup of sake, and a wooden bowl filled with rice, edamame, and daikon radishes tossed with soy sauce. She then retrieved her own tray and joined them.

While the trio ate, Goro said, “I’m amazed you cut all that wood in one day, Katsu. Did you just forget about lunch and breaks or what?”

The farmhand shrugged. “I didn’t have anything better to do. Besides, I want to help out.”

Goro shook his head and whistled. “Even at the end of the day you were splitting those logs one-handed on the first cut. I could never do that. Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really. I guess I’m used to it.” Katsu popped a slice of radish into his mouth.

“With that much wood, we’ll have no trouble keeping the house warm all winter,” Goro said.

“It won’t season like that though,” Katsu replied. “Tomorrow I’ll stack and cover it so it dries well.”

“You don’t need to push yourself so hard, dear,” Chiyo said. “We’re very happy with you.”

Katsu swallowed a large bite of rice. “No, I prefer it this way. You helped me when I had nowhere to go. It’s the only honorable thing to do.”

The farmhand set down his bowl. It was empty. Goro’s eyebrows rose a fraction. He’d barely eaten a quarter of his.

“I should rest,” Katsu said. “Tomorrow will be a long day. Thank you for the meal.” He bowed so his head touched the floor, then stood and walked to the door.

“Wait!” Chiyo said. “You don’t have to run off every evening. You’re among friends. Stay a while and share some stories.”

“I’m sorry,” Katsu said. The man’s eyes drifted to his right as he added, “I don’t have any stories to share. I’d be a boring guest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he was gone.

Chiyo sighed. “He’s a hard worker, but I wish he’d open up a little. He seems sad.”

Goro wasn’t so sure. “I hope we didn’t make a mistake taking him in.”

“How can you say that?” Chiyo put her hands on her hips. Goro tensed; he was in for it now.

“That man has done more on this farm in three weeks than you and I normally handle in three months,” Chiyo said. “He’s peaceful, humble, and hardworking, and Juusa blessed us the day he came here.”

“But why did he come here?” Goro insisted. “He says he’s a wanderer. Well, why is he wandering? People don’t do that for no reason. He’s hiding something. Maybe he’s planning to rob us.”

“Goro, if he wanted to rob us, he would have done it by now. We don’t have anything worth three weeks of farm labor to steal.”

“Maybe he’s here to hide. Maybe he’s on the run from some noble in Hiabi. It wouldn’t be the first time a criminal tried to disappear in these mountains.”

Chiyo glared at her husband. “You always think the worst, don’t you? Look, that man’s doing great things for this farm. With his help, the gardens and rice paddies are planted ahead of schedule. The wood’s cut. He even fixed up the shed. If he sticks around, we’ll have our best harvest in two hundred years. We might even be able to sell some of it. Wouldn’t that be nice? We might finally have enough money to add a nursery.”

There it was. Goro sighed. He couldn’t argue with Chiyo about that. “All right,” he said, “I’m sorry. He can stay. I’ll ask no more questions.”

All that night, though, Goro wondered about the farmhand. Maybe the man was a blessing, but there was still something off about him. Goro would keep his promise to Chiyo, but he’d find his answers somehow. This farm was all he had. He wouldn’t let anyone threaten it.

*   *   *

The man who called himself Katsu left the farmhouse at a brisk walk. He was already late, and he knew his partner would be waiting for him.

Tracing one of the few dry paths through the terraced rice paddies, Katsu climbed into the hills above the farm. The fresh growth of early summer was evident even as twilight fell over the land.

It made Katsu think of Lodia, his birthplace far to the north. It was on the other side of the continent, and the seasons were reversed there. It would be winter there now, the snow cold yet soft on the land. Katsu wondered whether he’d ever see it again. He had his doubts.

The paddies gave way to a scraggly pine forest, but still Katsu hiked. Half an hour after leaving Goro and Chiyo’s farmhouse, he reached his destination: a small cavern concealed from view by a boulder as tall as he was. Channeling magic into his limbs, he pushed the rock aside without effort and entered the cave.

Once inside, Katsu groped in the darkness a moment before he found the object of his search. A white katana lay on the ground, hidden behind a stone. Katsu picked it up and slid its sheath through his belt, a feeling of completeness settling on him. He felt naked without this sword.

Katsu knelt on the cold rock of the cavern floor. He closed his eyes, even though it made no difference to his vision. The sun had set by now, and the blackness of the cave was absolute. All the same, it helped him focus.

He drew his katana and held it in his lap. From deeper in the cave came the sound of dripping water. It had a steady pace, and Katsu found his breathing keeping time with it. He was ready to meet his partner. With a final exhalation, he opened his eyes.

The cave around him had vanished. He stood on a seashore. A full moon hung in the east and cast its glow across the water. The waves lapped against the beach at the same speed that the cavern drips had fallen.

Katsu took a deep breath of the salty air and shivered. He loved this scent, and he missed it in the mountains. If only this place were real.

A few feet in front of him sat his partner, Divinion. The massive white serpentine dragon was coiled around himself, his scales glowing with inner light. Blue hairs ran down the length of his spine, and even in rest his wings seemed to stretch to the heavens. His legs were tucked up beneath him, but Katsu knew that they each carried talons that made his katana dull by comparison.

The dragon did not turn around. He must have noticed Katsu’s arrival though, because he growled, “You’re late.”

“I’m still not used to them calling me ‘Katsu.’ Goro had to come looking for me.”

The dragon uncurled and stretched his body. His square head rose thirty feet in the air, one blue whisker undulating off either side of his muzzle. The sky blue of his eyes pierced Katsu’s heart and froze him in place. “When you must conceal who you are from those who care about you, it’s time to rethink your position in life,” the dragon said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Iren Saitosan?”

Iren shivered at his real name. He’d gone by “Katsu” ever since he’d arrived on Goro’s farm. He couldn’t tell them his actual name, not given who it connected him to.

“Telling them who and what I am would put them in danger,” Iren said. “I’m looking out for their safety.”

“Your mere presence jeopardizes their safety, whether they know the truth or not. Melwar and Hana might still be hunting you. You can’t harm the farmers by revealing your identity. But then, perhaps you have another reason?”

Iren threw himself back on the beach, face up. He grabbed a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers. It was amazing how real it felt considering this seaside only existed in his mind. It was a construct that allowed him to meet with the Holy Dragon, who was otherwise imprisoned inside the katana Iren held.

Divinion stood over him. The dragon’s eyes were unrelenting.

Iren sighed. There was no point in hiding something from Divinion. The dragon knew everything about Iren; he just wanted to see if Iren would have the courage to admit the truth. “I want them to think of me as a farmer,” he said. “That’s all. It’s been on my mind ever since I arrived here. If Mother and Father had lived, I think I could have been happy on their farm with them, never knowing about magic or dragons. No offense, but I never wanted to be the Holy Dragon Knight. I never wanted to get swept into a thousand-year-old vendetta.” He loosed a long breath and murmured, “I never wanted to hate someone.”

“So don’t,” Divinion said. “There’s no reason for you to. Don’t let the past destroy you. Let it become the load that makes you stronger.”

“I wish it were that easy, but I can’t let it go. The past has made me who I am.” He stood. “Rondel killed my parents, and I will avenge them. Now train me.”

Divinion’s lips curled back, revealing rows of teeth longer than Iren was tall. “If that’s what you want.” He stepped back and changed shape. He shrank, and his scales melted into wrinkled skin and brown linen clothes. At his waist a belt appeared, and on that belt hung a dagger.

The most important change, though, was to his eyes. They shifted from blue to green, and within them sparks danced.

Iren raised his left hand, and his katana, the Muryozaki, appeared in it. He faced the apparition of Rondel that Divinion had become. “Let’s begin.”

They started slowly, dancing to a melody only they could hear as each sought to find the other’s weaknesses. Iren knew Divinion could sense his every move, but that was the point. It meant that, at least when fighting Iren, the Holy Dragon had the same instantaneous reflexes as the old Maantec. It made Divinion the perfect sparring partner.

After two minutes, Divinion accelerated. Iren’s body could match the dragon’s pace, but his eyes couldn’t. The apparition of Rondel became a blur, and its dagger struck home. It stabbed Iren in the gut and forced itself up into his lungs.

Had the fight been real, Iren would have died. Just like he would have died every night since he and Divinion had started this routine three weeks ago. He was no closer to figuring out a way to kill Rondel than he’d been the night he’d left her and Minawë behind.

As the battle was only in his head, all Iren felt was a punch to his stomach to let him know the dagger had hit him. He and Divinion separated, and the dragon resumed his former shape.

The pair said nothing for a long time. They stared together over the churning waves of Iren’s mind.