The Flames of Dragons (26 page)

Minawë smiled. “Thank you, Hana.”

Hana laughed. “Don’t thank me; I haven’t helped you. The shogun is invincible now. All I’ve done is point the way to your deaths. Farewell.”

She stepped over the dunes and was gone.

Dirio Cyneric was no stranger to death. He’d worked in a mine. He’d seen his village ransacked by Quodivar, Yokai, and Fubuki. He remembered every Veliafan whose funeral he’d ever attended: every name, every face.

But tonight’s was the most difficult by far. Dirio stood in the torchlit fields outside Tropos Vilage. Everyone in the tiny community had come out to see their son committed to the flames.

Had it just been them, Dirio might have made it through the funeral as he had all the others. Instead, he could hardly move for the press of people around him. In fact, he couldn’t spot the locals anymore. They were swallowed up by the thousands of others who had come to pay their respects.

Kataile had emptied. The armies of Terkou and Caardit had come as well. The Katailan soldiers had given Balear an honor guard the whole way to Tropos. Even now they crowded around the pyre that held their general, a man they’d once called traitor.

The village priest recited from Lodia’s holy texts, but Dirio couldn’t listen any more. He left the throng and headed back toward Tropos.

He’d just cleared the crowd when a female voice said from behind him, “Dirio, wait.”

Dirio turned and saw Elyssa, Horace, and Otto approaching. He resisted the urge to groan. Of all those gathered here, he wanted to interact with politicians least of all.

“What do you want?” he asked, not caring whether his displeasure showed.

Elyssa carried a bag over her shoulder. She reached in and pulled out a scroll sealed with red wax. She offered it to Dirio. “I wanted to give you this,” she said.

Dirio took it. He pressed his thumb under the seal to break it, but Elyssa grabbed his wrist.

“Not here,” she said. “Read it later, in private.”             

“Why?” he asked. “What is it?”

“Something I should have given to Balear.”

“So why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you were closest to him,” she said, “and because he believed in you.”

“Some belief,” Dirio said. He looked past Elyssa to the gathered multitude. “He’s dead now.”

“And he saved us all doing it,” Horace said. He and Otto stepped forward so they stood beside Elyssa. “Our men all see him as a hero, even though he fought against Lodia during King Angustion’s reign. That’s what convinced us.”

“Convinced you of what?”

Elyssa smiled. “That you should be Lodia’s king.”

Dirio stepped back like she had punched him. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. He raised his palms in front of him. “I can’t do that.”

“We’ve already voted,” Elyssa said. “All three of us picked you. That’s a majority, so it doesn’t matter what your vote is.”

“I’m a mayor of three hundred people from a destroyed village,” Dirio protested. “I have no leadership experience.”

“Your people followed you all the way to Kataile through snow and bitter cold,” Elyssa said. “You even convinced Balear to come. If it hadn’t been for you, he never would have agreed to support us.”

Otto nodded his agreement. “When the rest of us would have denied you a seat at the table, Balear was the one who insisted you participate. He never came out and said it, but he knew you were the best choice.”

“More practically,” Horace cut in, “our forces all recognize Balear. If we went against his wishes, they’d never support us.”

Dirio looked from one mayor to the next. So it wasn’t about honoring Balear. It was politics. He should have figured. What these mayors thought of him didn’t matter. Their people supported him, and they led at the will of the people.

Even so, it was absurd. He couldn’t do it.

If nothing else, though, it would end the civil war. These mayors were in agreement, and Kras was dead. There was no one else. With a Maantec army in Ceere, they couldn’t fight among themselves any more.

He looked down at the scroll Elyssa had given him. If Balear were standing here, Dirio knew what the general’s opinion would be.

Dirio sighed. He was almost fifty. He’d hoped that when all this was settled, he might enjoy a leisurely retirement. No such luck.

*   *   *

Iren did his best to blend in with the crowd, not an easy task with a white katana on his right hip. He accomplished it by hiding in the back where few people would look at him. Only Minawë stood beside him, and they hadn’t spoken since reaching Tropos.

The village priest lit the pyre, and Balear’s corpse caught alight. Iren turned away and started walking.

“Where are you going?” Minawë asked.

Iren didn’t look back. “To put a question to rest.”

“Wait, I’ll come with you.”

“No,” he said, and he meant it. Minawë didn’t question him.

Iren left the gathering in the fields. He didn’t have to travel far; his parents’ farm lay just a mile outside the village.

The place looked as dismal as it had when he’d visited last year. The barn had collapsed, and vines overwhelmed the house. An opening remained where Iren had crashed through the door.

He stepped up on the porch, but he didn’t enter. He sat gingerly on the decaying wood and closed his eyes. Drawing the Muryozaki, he concentrated until he entered the beach in his mind.

Divinion appeared. He settled down on the sand in a loose coil. “He was a true Dragon Knight,” he said.

Iren didn’t need to ask who Divinion referred to. “Balear was better than all of us,” he said. “He fought to protect Lodia even though everyone here hated him. Why did he have to die?”

Divinion looked across the ocean. “Some questions even gods can’t answer.”

The dragon and Iren sat together on the beach for a long time. At last Iren sighed. “Divinion,” he said, “when we were inside the Muryozaki, my father said there was a memory I should see. Would you show it to me?”

Divinion was silent a moment. The dragon couldn’t make facial expressions to the degree people could, so Iren didn’t know what his partner was thinking or feeling. Still, something about the glint in Divinion’s eye made Iren think the dragon was dealing with some strong emotion.

“I will show you,” Divinion said. “The person you are now should be ready to handle it.”

The ocean faded into darkness, and Divinion disappeared. Iren stood alone in a farm field, his home in the distance. The barn was in good repair, and so was the house. He was in Saito’s memory.

He had worked a long day in the field. Even for the former Maantec emperor, it had proven difficult work. But the spring planting was done, and the crops were growing well. With good weather and diligent effort, they would have a large harvest this year.

They would need it. Carita was now eating for two.

Saito still couldn’t believe he was a father. When Carita had told him she was pregnant last year, he hadn’t thought it possible. Now that Akio was born, it seemed even more ludicrous. Someone like Saito, with all the sins he’d committed, didn’t deserve a child.

He reached the back of the house and walked around it toward the porch. He was nearly there when he stopped. Carita’s voice reached his ears, low and soft. Who was she talking to? They never had visitors.

Saito pressed himself against the side of the house. The Muryozaki rested inside on the mantle, but that didn’t matter. If it came to a fight, he’d go bare-handed. He wouldn’t let anyone harm his new family.

He crept around to the porch, then stepped back in surprise. Carita was by herself. She had dragged one of the rocking chairs onto the porch and sat with Akio in her arms. Saito was behind her, so she hadn’t noticed him. She looked west past the house to face the setting sun.

“People will hate you,” Carita said. “I know they hate me. Even the people I grew up with won’t talk to me anymore. If they act that way to someone who loves a Left, I can’t imagine how they’ll treat her son.”

Saito’s eyes dropped to the ground. Carita was right. Akio would have a difficult life no matter what happened. Even if Rondel never found them here, it would only be a matter of time before the villagers decided they could no longer tolerate a Left nearby. The family would have to pack up and move on. That would be Akio’s whole life: hiding and running.

“But even though they’ll hate you,” Carita continued, “don’t hate them back. They don’t understand you. If you turn into some devil to spite them, you’ll only justify their feelings. Don’t let that happen. Love them instead. Love them with all your heart, the way I fell in love with your father. Live like that, and you will be loved in return. You might never be accepted, but you’ll find friends who care about you, and people who will stay with you even when we’re gone. If you can do that, I know you’ll live a happy life, Akio.”

She smiled at the baby burbling in her arms. “You will be loved.”

Saito fell against the side of the house and wept.

Rondel heard the crunching of boots on dirt behind her. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t rise from her kneeling posture. She didn’t have to. She knew who it was.

“I wondered if you might come here,” Iren said, “but I didn’t expect us to arrive at the same time.”

The old Maantec opened her eyes. It was a new moon, and stars filled the sky. The bundle of lilies she’d brought lay amid the weeds before her. She shook her head. “It’s less of a coincidence than you think,” she said. “I’ve been here since dawn.”

Iren stepped into view. He wore the new Katailan tunic Dirio had given him to replace his torn, salt-encrusted kimono. He knelt alongside Rondel, bowed his head, and put his hands together. “The last time I visited this farm, I didn’t know where Amroth had buried my parents,” he said. “Thanks to Father’s memories, now I can come here and pay my respects.”

Rondel faced the man next to her. If he noticed her eyes on him, he paid her no mind.

It was hard to imagine that only two years had passed since they’d first spoken. Back then Iren had been an immature fool, brought up alone without anyone to guide him. At eighteen, he’d acted like a twelve-year-old. But now . . .

“You’ve grown up,” Rondel murmured.

Iren raised his head. “If I did, it’s because of you.”

Rondel’s mouth fell open.

Iren went back to looking at his parents’ unmarked graves. “You hated me,” he said. “You killed my parents. Yet despite all that, you taught me. You made me better, stronger, smarter.”

Rondel lifted an eyebrow. “Smarter?”

Iren half-smiled. “Well, you were more successful in some areas than others.”

“It wasn’t out of loyalty to you,” Rondel said. “It was the only way I could make the dreams stop.”

“The dreams . . . you told me about them before. You said you saw my eyes, and that you saw me in pain or dying. Why do you suppose that was?”

Rondel shrugged. “It was guilt. I left you to die.”

“You’ve followed Okthora’s Law for more than a thousand years. Did you ever feel guilt about any other deaths?”

Rondel frowned. She wasn’t used to people needling her like this. “What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped.

Iren still didn’t look at her. He kept his face directed at the weeds in front of him. His hands remained pressed together. “How many people have you killed in Okthora’s service?” he asked. “How many of their family members gave you nightmares? How many of them did you teach? What made me different?”

For a long time Rondel couldn’t answer. She looked up at the stars. They were cold and distant.

That was what she wanted to be. That was what she was supposed to be. That was the Storm Dragon Knight.

That wasn’t her.

“I don’t know how many people I’ve slain in the name of Okthora’s Law,” she said at last. “I never questioned it, at least not outright. ‘Evil must be annihilated.’ That’s the code the Storm Dragon Knight lives by. But what is evil? Who gets to decide? What if I, the judge, am evil? Were all the people I killed evil? I thought they were, but that night, your mother changed everything. She wasn’t evil. I wasn’t exacting justice on her. I murdered her.”

She sighed. “That’s what made you different. You made me realize my path was wrong. I couldn’t admit it to myself back then, but now it’s obvious. Without thinking I deprived you of the most important person in your life. I could never undo that, and I could never replace her. But I had to try. I looked after you because I wanted to be the mother I never let you have.”

A wetness slid down Rondel’s cheek. “Damn you,” she said. “You and all the Saito’s. I wanted so badly to forget, to run away, but you all kept dragging me back into this life.”

“No one’s dragging you back,” Iren said. His voice was level. How could he speak so calmly when Rondel herself was on the verge of breaking down? “You killed my parents. Whether we’re friends or enemies, the one thing we’ll never be to each other is nothing.”

This man was incredible. What had changed in him? Back in Shikari, Iren had been obsessed with vengeance. How could he kneel here and talk to her this way?

Rondel decided. “Iren,” she said, “kill me.”

For the first time since he’d arrived on the field, Iren lost his composure. His head snapped up. His hands dropped to his sides. He stared into Rondel’s tear-stained eyes. “What did you say?”

“Evil must be annihilated. Even if I followed Okthora’s Law in killing Saito, I didn’t when I murdered Carita. I’m as evil as Saito was. I deserve death.”

Iren stared at her for a more than a minute. She didn’t flinch from his gaze.

“Melwar’s still out there,” he finally said. “Minawë would not approve.”

“Minawë’s not here. As for Melwar, you can stop him. I know you can. You don’t need my help.”

Iren’s breathing increased. His hands worked. His left one inched its way to the Muryozaki’s hilt.

He stood. The Muryozaki left its sheath.

Rondel smiled and closed her eyes. Death this way would be a mercy. In the old world of Maantecs, she would have committed seppuku for her crime. Now she could die quickly at the hands of a fine young man.

The katana whistled. Rondel heard it plunge into the ground in front of her. She felt nothing. It truly was a mercy. The Muryozaki inflicted no pain even as it stabbed its victims. She smiled again as she waited for her heart to stop.

“Open your eyes, Rondel,” Iren said.

She obeyed. When she did, her head reared back. The Muryozaki stood up in front of her, pierced into the ground. Iren hadn’t struck her at all.

Rondel looked at him. The man was shaking. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Why?” Rondel asked.

Iren wiped his face. “You asked me that same question when I saved your life on the junk. Back then I didn’t have an answer. Now I do. Killing you isn’t what Mom would have wanted.”

Rondel shifted her gaze to the Muryozaki before her. “Are you saying you forgive me?”

“No,” Iren replied, and the sudden coldness in his voice surprised her. “I have a more difficult punishment for you than death. Live, Rondel. Live with the sins you’ve committed. That’s the judgment Divinion gave to Father a thousand years ago. Because you cut his sentence short, it’s only fair that it should pass to you.”

Rondel pressed her hands into the dirt. She cried, but she smiled too. “You’re a harsh judge, Iren Saitosan, much harsher than Okthora. I will bear this punishment.”

Iren retrieved the Muryozaki and sheathed it. “Let’s find Minawë and get some rest,” he said. “Tomorrow we should head to Haldessa Castle. Melwar’s waiting for us.”

Rondel activated Lightning Sight. With it she took in every detail of the grasses, weeds, and soil that surrounded Saito’s and Carita’s unmarked graves. They deserved better. At least they had a son they could be proud of.

Rondel stood. “For twenty years I avoided coming here. The emotions of that night wouldn’t let me approach. Now, though, I was finally able to visit.” She paused and looked at the graves one last time. “I promise to come again.”

She found Iren’s gaze. “Do me a favor,” she said. “Wait two days before going to Haldessa. There’s something I need to do first.”

Iren’s brow furrowed. “What could be more important than stopping Melwar?”

Rondel smirked. “I said I was confident you could handle him. That’s still true. All the same, there’s one more advantage I think I can gain us.”

“And that is?”

Her smirk blossomed into her full-blown sarcastic grin. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”