The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 11

11

T here y’are!” Feng huffs in frustration. She stamps her foot like a petulant child and brushes her wet hair back with one hand. The light rainstorm is already passing, but it leaves the air sticky and smelling of petrichor. “What in the nine suns took ye so long?”

My mouth drops open only to shut again. How am I to explain that I have come face-to-face with my Fated One—a dragon who can somehow take human form? There was certainly no such detail in the legends. Could I have imagined it somehow? I could have sworn that the end of my thread was connected to that green dragon earlier.

“My head hurts,” I mumble, rubbing my temples with a sigh. The pounding pressure behind my eyes threatens to crack my skull open like a chick bursting from its egg.

“Did ye at least get the food?”

I toss a burlap sack full of food rations in her direction. Feng opens it up, examines the contents, and scrunches up her face.

“That’s it?” She pulls out a half-rotten onion. “Do ye Northerners have no sense of taste?”

“This was all I could find at the market. It’ll be fine if we cut off the slimy outer bits,” I insist. “The vendors have had an unsteady supply of food since the start of the North’s embargo.”

She rolls her eyes. “That, or they’re keeping the good shit from ye. Lemme guess—no spare coin?”

I shake my head, pulling the pockets of my robe inside out. “Not even a bronze piece.”

“Fine. If we run low, we’ll hafta barter fer supplies in the next town,” Feng tells me as she mounts my horse. My steed has taken a far greater liking to the woman than me, nipping at my hair whenever I stand too close. She offers me a calloused, dirty hand and helps pull me onto the saddle behind her.

The journey is arduous. I’m not yet accustomed to the ever-present humidity of the South, sweat soaking into my robes as heat radiates off my skin despite the fact that we’re in the beginnings of winter. We ride for hours, the city of Longhao now just a dot on the horizon. It will be dark soon, the air growing chillier by the hour.

“How much farther?” I complain.

“Would ye quit yer whinin’? You Northerners are a prissy bunch.”

“I prefer ‘delicate and refined.’?”

We travel along the perimeter of the thick jungle on a dirt road made soft by the afternoon’s light rainfall. The skies above are gray and cloudy, the threat of a more violent storm brewing in the distance.

The wind whistles by, bringing along with it the scent of something…

Burning.

“Do you smell that?” I ask.

Feng tugs on the horse’s reins, turning her head from side to side to survey our surroundings with a suspicious squint. She sniffs the air, just as concerned as I. It’s not until I look up once more that I realize those aren’t rain clouds I see, but clouds of smoke.

“Silence from here on out,” she says before shooting a pointed glare in my direction. “I know that might seem an impossibility for ye, but it’s for yer own good.”

I put my hands up in mock surrender, pressing my lips into a thin line. Contrary to popular belief, I’m capable of taking things seriously at times.

We continue forward down the beaten path until an obstacle halts our advance, lying strewn across the dirt path.

A body.

I dismount the horse, approach with caution, and crouch down to examine the corpse. It’s a fresh kill, the man’s flesh not yet cold. His end must have been a traumatic one. Cuts and bruises mar his face, nothing about his visage recognizably human. His nose is a broken clump of cartilage dangling from the center, his eyes gouged out, the front of his skull caved in. Shards of his teeth stick to his bloodied cheeks, his long hair shorn down to the scalp in an act of pure hatred.

There’s no thread around his finger; it has dissolved in the arms of death.

He looks to be a mere peasant, his ragged tunic covered in dirt and crusted blood. The man has no valuables on him, his pockets purposely ripped from their lining. One of his shoes is missing, knocked clean off. His left arm is bent the wrong way at the elbow, and bone pokes out of the front of his right calf.

This can’t be the work of an animal.

Or perhaps it is—the worst animal of them all.

Ahead, the piercing cry of a woman in distress.

My body moves before my brain has a chance to register what I’m doing. Feng shouts something, but her commands are lost on me. We can’t just stand idly by when someone’s calling for help.

I hear them before I see them—the voices of at least ten imposing men, speaking my own Northern dialect. I quickly throw myself into the cover of the jungle underbrush, watching with bated breath as a troop of Imperial soldiers surround what appear to be innocent civilians.

They’ve set up some sort of checkpoint, forcibly confiscating goods and trinkets from those attempting to pass. Several wagons have been set ablaze, these people’s whole livelihoods along with them. The soldiers show no mercy, punching and kicking the men and corralling the women and children as they beg for a reprieve.

Anger licks at the nape of my neck. “Bastards,” I hiss.

The huntress joins me in my hiding spot, keeping a watchful eye out. She’s momentarily left the horse behind so as not to attract any attention. “We’ll go around,” she whispers. “Another two days’ travel, but we should be able t’ avoid the worst of it.”

I frown. “You’d leave them to fend for themselves?”

“There’s nothin’ we can do, Leaf Water.”

“Do you mean to tell me that knife of yours is only for show?”

“This doesn’t concern us. Besides, would ye really kill yer own countrymen?”

A heavy weight bears down on my chest. I’ve never harmed another person in my entire life; I’ve never felt the rage that burns within me at present. How dare they torture the innocent and downtrodden? War is one thing, but this is another.

“We have to help,” I insist. “We can’t let them get away with this.”

“What’re ye going to do, hmm? Charge in there like a bull, and then what? Ye’d be stupid to play hero.”

The silence that lingers between us is punctuated only by desperate screams. As much as I hate to admit it, Feng has a point. I think back to when the emperor’s men nabbed me at the teahouse. I was no match for the five of them. I sincerely doubt that a head-on bout with ten will prove more successful. I might be a man of good intentions, but I am just that—a man.

I kneel there in the underbrush, stewing in my helplessness. I’m not strong, and I have no idea how to fight. The only thing I may boast to my credit is my inflated sense of wit and a sharp tongue—both useless against the threat of a blade.

“Please!” one of the women wails, clutching onto her husband’s arm. She places herself between him and a soldier, her tiny body a makeshift shield. “Take what ye want, but please, leave us be!”

The soldier strikes her across the face with a harsh crack, then moves in like a viper to snatch the man by the upper arm. “Out of the way, you swamp-water whore.”

“Wh-what’re ye going to do with him?”

“He’ll be joining us on the front lines to fight for His Imperial Highness.”

The woman seethes through heated tears, desperately trying to hang on to the man I see her thread of fate is bound to. “Fight fer that madman? Ye’d have him kill our own?”

The soldier draws his blade and stalks toward her. “Enough of this nonsense! Release him, or I’ll have your head.”

“I beg ye, please—”

He grabs her roughly and starts to tear at her robes. She screams even louder.

Damn it all.

Good sense and self-preservation tumble out of my head as I spring from my hiding place. I charge the soldier with a yell, throwing all my weight against him as I tackle him to the ground. His sword flies from his hand, rattling against the dirt road as his body goes crashing. Dazed and confused, he swings at me wildly. I’m only successful in blocking one of his blows. The other hits me in the jaw hard enough that I hear my molars crack against each other inside my skull.

“Run!” I shout at the woman and her husband. “Get away from here!”

It takes me all of thirty seconds to realize what a bad idea this was. In doing the right thing, I have signed my own death warrant. All at once, the soldiers are on top of me. My own compatriots. We may live under the same flying banner, but they still treat me as scum beneath their boots.

And yet, I don’t regret it.

Even when I’m being kicked and punched and spat on, I find some semblance of relief when I see the couple escape into the jungle together. The soldiers stomp on my chest, swing at my head. My body is merely an outlet for their unchecked fury as they pummel me into the ground.

I’m not sure when it’s over. All I know is that I’m somehow breathing and lucky to be alive. For how much longer, it’s impossible to tell.

My bones are likely broken. Blood coats my teeth. Black encroaches on the edges of my vision. Lying on my back, I stare up at the gray sky, suddenly envisioning myself in flight. I can’t tell if it’s a memory or a hallucination, but I can see it as clear as day. Soaring through the soft clouds, wind sweeping through my hair—

Two dragons fly on either side of me, one a beautiful green and the other a dazzling blue.

I blink once.

Twice.

Definitely a hallucination.

The tips of my fingers and toes are numb, the rest of my body growing freezing cold. Exhaustion weighs heavily on my eyelids, but the feeling in my gut tells me to remain alert and awake. I struggle to stay conscious, wheezing for air. I worry one of my lungs has collapsed inward.

“This is what you deserve, maggot,” one of the soldiers curses at me.

I snarl at him. “This maggot’ll feed upon your body when it decays in the ground, heathen!”

“Rot in Hell.”

He raises his arm, sword in hand.

My thread tugs upward.

Above, the roar of a colossal beast.

The dragon.

Our connection sings, a sudden warmth flooding my veins. I can’t move my head to see—my neck is sprained and my collarbone fractured—but I know it’s here. While I suddenly find myself at peace, all around me are the bloodcurdling screams of the men who hurt me for interrupting their cruelty.

I can only assume the worst, lying here paralyzed on the ground.

I hear the wet tear of flesh, grown men crying for the same mercy they dared not grant me, the metallic crunch of armor being pierced and weapons being thrown. At some point, I stop listening. I can’t find any sympathy for these loathsome men. As sleep pulls me under, I wonder if that makes me as bad as them.

Another minute passes. Or is it an eternity? I no longer have the energy to process time.

Just as I feel myself slipping away, a woman appears above me, kneeling at my side with her hand pressed gingerly to my chest.

She’s beautiful.

Concussed as I may be, I know she’s the most stunning woman I have ever laid eyes on. Her sparkling green eyes remind me of thick bamboo forests in the summertime. She smells of dewy grass after a fresh rain. Her soft black hair streams over her shoulder in one long, loose braid. She’s dressed in light green robes, the silks embroidered with a subtle floral pattern. The faint scent of jasmine floods my nose, a welcome change from the dirt and blood and ash that surround us.

“Sai?” she whispers, her voice concerned, yet still somehow angelic to my ears. Her brows are knotted in worry. I would reach up to soothe her expression, if only I could feel my arms.

“I… know you,” I rasp, my throat squeezing so tight that I choke.

I have no idea why I’m saying this. I’ve never seen her face before, and yet it feels as though I have known this woman many lifetimes over. And then it hits me. She’s the one from Longhao, the hooded stranger who saved me from those thieves.

But it runs deeper than that. I felt this strange familiarity then, too. Her presence is the salve to my wounds, a fire on a cold winter’s night. The very air around her seems to vibrate, a tangible force that ghosts across my skin. The blinding pain radiating through my broken body is nothing compared to the comfort she brings.

A million questions race through my head— What is she doing here? Where did the dragon go? Has Feng harmed it? —but the darkness pooling at the edges of my vision makes it difficult to ask.

She shakes her head. I can almost feel her disappointment, a cold, heavy sensation crossing our shared gray thread of fate. I don’t understand how it’s possible, and yet there’s no denying the pulsing of my heart. It sits heavy in my chest—though that could very well be my broken ribs piercing holes into my lungs.

“You’re a damn fool,” she says, placing her hand on my forehead. Her fingers are lovely and cool and soft.

“Who—”

“Rest.”

I don’t have the energy to argue. My eyes drift closed, too heavy to open again. The last thing I register is the sensation of being lifted into the air.

The world falls away a moment later.