Preview: Elemental Lands Book II: The Eye of the Falcon

Here is a preview of  "The Eye of the Falcon", Book Two of the Elemental Lands Series. This is set in the same universe as "Elemental Dragons, Cycles One and Two." The action takes place in Shinwa for "Dragons" (based loosely on Ancient China). In this book, events unfold in the neighboring land to the west, Kemet (based loosely on Ancient Egypt).

Book III is tentatively named "Shadow Walkers"  and takes place in the third Elemental Land, Rajan.

Chapter One

Secrets

(copyright 2013 by A. Dameron)

أنا لم تفعل أي خطأ ضد رجل زملائي.

أنا لم أفكر أية أفكار القاسية ضده.

أنا لم رفعت يدي ضد الأبرياء.

تسمعني، O الآلهة والإلهات. وأنا أتكلم الحقيقة.

I have not done any wrong against my fellow man.

I have not thought any cruel thoughts against him.

I have not raised my hand against the innocent.

Hear me, O Gods and Goddesses. I speak the truth.

---Prayer of the Deceased Soul

Kemeti Ritual of Freeing the Immortal Houra

The Kemeti priests believed the Soul was composed of three parts, the kai, the bai and the houra. The kai was the physical body, the fragile container that returned to the dusty earth. The bai was the conscious spirit, who was aware of its individual thoughts. The houra consisted of the immortal soul, which survived from life to life. Most souls passed through the Trials of the Dead to eternal harmony with the Gods.

But if the Gods judged them unworthy, their houra hung suspended between this world and the next. Their bai wandered the earth, fully aware that their kai no longer existed, and fully aware that there was nowhere for them to go. They floated free without any anchor to the Living.

These ghosts walked through Kemeti Valley of the Shadow. They wandered down the familiar halls, searching for eternal peace. Unfortunately for them, that peace was as elusive in death as it was in life. Their relatives made daily offerings in the name of their houra, and if they were very lucky, perhaps the Gods took mercy on their souls, and allowed them to cross into eternal harmony.

Wind blew through the corridors of the Great Falcon's Shrine. It made the oil lamps jump and dance as the Shadows of the Dead continued their endless roaming. They never bothered to acknowledge the other's presence; after all, they were in the same Hell, the same never-ending chaos. When an unfamiliar Human intruded on their walk, it attracted their attention.

This particular man darted between the shadows, hid behind the columns, and disappeared into the alcoves. His feet made no sound upon the well-worn floor, made smooth by eons of pilgrims.

The Shadows took note of this intruder. Why was he avoiding the nightly guards? What was his mission?
Was he here to finally free them from their endless wandering?

One Shadow in particular watched with undead eyes. It narrowed those eyes as the intruder crept
closer and close to the Great Falcon's Altar. It took less than a heartbeat for the Shadow to realize that man's goal.

After all, that was one of its talents in Life, one that had remained with it in Death.

Slowly, silently, it followed the intruder, and put all its essence into a single warning.

Senfu Khenamun, the Son of the Falcon of Kemet, felt the warning before he heard it.

He held the stick of incense in his hand, the smoke drifting from its tip towards the high ceiling.
With a calm movement, he replaced the stick in its holder. The elaborate shrine in front of him was covered in thin sheets of gold, decorated with emerald and ruby. It housed marble urns within its recesses in the wall. The most recent addition sat prominently in the center.

Thank you for your vigilance, Father. I will deal with this myself. The Falcon's Son was an avatar of the Pantheon of Gods, a mortal among immortals. Of course, that bestowed certain talents on him which proved useful, such as when the threat of Death approached.

Senfu slowly raised his head, but his eyes never strayed from the wisp of smoke. The wind entered the chamber and drew the trail upward. The smoke gathered itself, changing and reforming before his eyes. He extended his hand in a beckoning gesture. It settled gently upon his palm as it gained shape and form.
Black eyes set into a triangular head, black feathers spread down a ridged spine, black wings open and unfolded against his skin. The claws hardened into steel, the edges just as sharp.

Senfu raised his head. With one smooth movement, he twisted his wrist and flung his hand out behind him. The ghostly bird streaked from his hand as it sought its prey. There was a heartbeat of silence; he watched as the tip of the incense stick flared brightly then become dark.

A strangled gasp broke the silence. Senfu turned slightly to see a dark-clothed man standing mere steps behind him. The assassin leaned heavily against the stone wall, his hands wrapped around a sharp object protruding from his stomach. The blade of the falcon-headed knife glowed in the light of the torches.
The Shadows of the Dead let out a collective sigh of relief. They nodded to themselves and resumed their eternal walking.

Senfu rose up from his kneeling position in front of the shrine. He walked to the man's side, as
the wind ruffled his long, unbound black hair   He looked up at the assassin and saw himself through the man's dying eyes: a wraith dressed in fine cotton linen, his face with its thin mouth and hooked nose, the dark brown eyes becoming black in the darkness.

“Who sent you?”

The assassin merely gazed at Senfu, his face a mask of pain. The falcon knife moved of its own
accord, as it twisted and pulled at torn muscles and organs. An agonized gasp exploded from his lips, but he otherwise remained silent. His fortitude impressed Senfu, but duty forced the Falcon's Son to do what he must do.

Senfu placed his right hand on the center of the assassin's forehead. His mind instantly shied
away from Senfu's mind-touch, like a wounded animal fleeing from the hunter. Senfu examined every part of his mental defenses. They were crude, as if hastily thrown up without any care.

There, a tiny crack in that shield...Senfu pressed harder upon it and willed it to grow. The assassin's mouth dropped open, but this time, no sound came out.

Senfu heard running footsteps approaching the chamber. So, the guards and temple priestesses had finally realized that their Lord had been in danger. Very well, he thought, let them watch and learn yet again.

He repeated once more, “Who sent you to kill me?” At the continuing silence, he nodded and said, “I will find out, with or without your cooperation.”

The chief temple guard swallowed hard and murmured, “My Lord--”

“I require complete silence.” Senfu closed his eyes. He could not allow sentiment to cloud his mind, not now. This man tried to murder him, so the assassin's life was forfeit. The Falcon's Son understood this; the Priest mourned the imminent loss of life.

The information he sought lay behind a pair of locked bronze doors. The assassin had hidden it deep within his consciousness. A normal Kemeti priest would find access to it nearly impossible.

Senfu, of course, was no ordinary priest. He examined the doors, noting its elegant construction compared with the rest of the assassin's mind. So this was placed by another, one fully capable of the mind arts; another Priest or even a Healer, perhaps.

Such disregard for basic courtesy repulsed him. If his enemy had no such scruples, then he certainly wouldn't spare any mercy.

Senfu nodded to himself then proceeded to melt down the mental doors, from the inside. The assassin's rough scream finally burst from his throat. It echoed within the shrine; the guards and temple priests flinched at the sound of it. Senfu firmly closed his own ears.

The bronze doors dissolved into molten slag that burned and blackened all it touched. The assassin— his name is Rekathen, he realized—would become a drooling, mindless idiot after this was over. Senfu reached within and brought forth the steady stream of images. They rushed past him, over and around him. His trained Priest's skills separated the gold from the dross. He selected the pertinent details and discarded the rest. A man's life experiences lay open to him and he went through it all.

And the presence of the Falcon Shadow remained by his side throughout the whole ordeal. You are becoming a true guardian of the Kemeti people. I am proud of you.

The rushing river of memories slowed to a stream and then to a trickle. Senfu opened his eyes and saw the awed and terrified expressions of the onlookers. Calmly, he removed his hands from Rekathen's forehead. His body slumped into a boneless heap at Senfu's feet.

He took a deep cleansing breath and faced the captain of the guard. “I must recall my adviser. There is no time to waste.”




All original writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2013

Preview of 'Shadow of the Queen' (II) Nanowrimo 2012

In this preview, the main character learns a harsh lesson in manipulation and loyalty.
In this household, you must 'earn' a proper name. The main character hasn't been assigned one yet, so her nickname here is 'Steady One'.

*****

“Can you do this? Can you do that?” The dance teachers started each new lesson with movement. We imitated monkeys, birds and double-tusked elephants. We laughed as we imagined long-legged river herons and jumping toads. The most awkward of the shekka forgot their self-consciousness and joined in the fun.

There was a method to the madness, for those movements were the basis for new dances. Once we perfected a particular step, we used it for courtly and Festival dances. This made it possible to progress rapidly within the ranks. The teachers kept a close eye on who thrived on dancing.

The local chieftains from around Karamanthore visited Lord Kidoshu every moon-cycle. They sat in private consultation for a whole day. The Fourth Wife told us that these chieftains served Lord Kidoshu's outlying districts. They collected the taxes and served minor duties. Their ranks, like the household, changed constantly.

“We cannot have one of the chieftains get too ambitious,” the Fourth Wife commented. “If they have it in their minds that they are better than Lord Kidoshu, there could be problems in Karamanthore, and that wouldn't be good for the people.”

Calm One nodded in a wise way and said, “There can be many helpers in the cause, but only one leader. There are many aspects of the Goddess, but only one Being over all.”

“Exactly so,” agreed the Fourth Wife, who stroked Calm One's hair with a gentle hand. “There are many variations to the dance, but one original set of steps that began it.”

“Variations are a way of life, as long as we don't forget where we came from.”

I rolled my eyes as the platitudes were volleyed to and fro. The Wives and their favorite ones constantly reminded us about the virtues of our household and how to uphold them. I honestly wondered if they even knew about what they talked, much less understood it.

There was one saying that came from the most cynical of the Handmaidens: “ Do as I say, don't do as I do.” Our lives was one whole contradiction of good intentions with good actions. I wondered whether or not the Shinwai had this problem.

Unfortunately, I discovered fairly quickly that in certain situations, doing as you are told might lead to an unpleasant truth.

“Steady One, I have a task for you,” the dance teacher said. “Silkhair and Bold One already have the solo pieces, but we need someone for an equally important part.”

I made a gesture of acceptance. Yes, Silkhair and Bold One were the favored among the dance teachers. I had long ceased to feel any jealousy towards them, although I wished that I was better.

“The younger girls of the third shekka are having problems with their parts in the ceremony, and the Sixth Wife has trouble keeping instructors. Will you spare a morning and show them what to do? It should not be an inconvenience, for their parts are much simpler than ours.”

I stifled a groan of dismay and bowed instead. “Of course, madrana.”

Unfortunately, I discovered just why the other instructors had left Sixth Wife's employment. The woman possessed a waspish temper, with a tongue to match. Her cutting criticism reduced her Handmaidens to tears. I watched as she upbraided her shekka because a single table arrangement was not perfect. The shekka lived in complete fear of her.

“You can deal with them; I cannot seem to get through their thick skulls,” she complained. With that ominous statement, she turned and left the room. I glared at her back and thought, You evil witch. Perhaps if you learned patience, you might see more progress.

I sighed and took pity on the Handmaidens. They crouched down low before me, trembling in abject fear of punishment. This was unacceptable. I cleared my throat and clapped my hands, just like I had seen the Second Wife do. They jumped up to their feet as if I had whipped them.

“Show me what you know,” I said calmly and gestured to the marble-tiled tables behind me. “Let us assume the Caliph and his household is visiting. Arrange the seating with that in mind.”

The Handmaidens scrambled to obey. They moved gracefully from table to table, placing water pitchers and lighting incense burners. Others set golden and scarlet cushions and blankets on the floor, and followed the complicated rules of hospitality. I narrowed my eyes at their efforts; to my eyes, all seemed in order. This was what the third shekka was trained for, and they seemed to do it well.

I walked among the seats and scrutinized the placements. The colors and fabrics matched, and the girls had filled the water pitchers to the correct level. I nodded and said, “Yes, that will do. Now, let me give you another test.”

With a flourish, I glided to the main table and sat in the Caliph's wife's place. The Handmaidens' eyes bulged with shock and surprise at such audacity. I bit back a smile and lounged against the cushions. “I would like to see the Ritual of Hospitality, if you please. The Sultana, wife of the Caliph, wishes it.”

They giggled nervously at my overacting, but the tension dissipated like smoke. They assembled into a small choir and began a song of welcome. I listened to the harmony and tapped the beat with my fingers. Again, their training served them well, for no one missed a note or a rhythm.

It became clearer to me that the problem did not lie with the girls of the third shekka. The problem lay with the Sixth Wife's attitude towards her girls. I posed different scenarios to the Handmaidens and acted the part of the particular honored guest in question. They quickly adapted to the changing circumstances by switching the color schemes to match the colors of the guest's household. They arranged the seating from high rank to low, and they changed the theoretical menu to one appropriate for the occasion.

“I see that the problems have been quite exaggerated.”

We all jumped at the sound of the First Wife's voice and immediately bowed in response. She stood just within my line of vision, her hands hidden within her robes and her face shadowed within her hood. I saw her as an imposing Priestess of Blessed Suraya, then the Vision disappeared.

The First Wife walked among the ranks, then stopped in front of me. “You inspired them to do their best, Steady One, even though you aren't even in their shekka. I am impressed at your fortitude. Don't you agree, Lady Shalali?”

The Sixth Wife flinched at the informal address, said so casually in front of her shekka. “Yes,” she said shortly.

“A mere Handmaiden has accomplished this in half a day. You, a Wife, needed most of a season to do the same, and she still managed to do more.” The First Wife's tone took on a hard edge. “Pathetic.”

I swallowed hard at the First Wife's praise, for it wasn't as uplifting as it sounded. It only served to highlight just how incompetent the Sixth Wife had been in her duties. I had just earned myself another enemy in the household, and one of the Wives, no less!

Then the First Wife did something unprecedented. “Girls, look at what I am about to do and remember it.”

We followed the order and gaped as she reached over to the Sixth Wife's robe. With a sharp tug, she ripped the costly golden flilagree necklace from the Sixth Wife's neck. The matching earrings followed, then the single bronze circlet in the Sixth Wife's hair. The First Wife tossed these precious pieces of jewelry over her shoulder without even looking at them.

“You are dismissed. Go back to your former family in disgrace. Your rank as Sixth Wife no longer exists; your true name will be spoken with disgust...Shalali.” We gasped at the sarcastic tone; the First Wife hadn't even bothered with the title of 'Lady'. “Your former shekka will be administered by the Eighth Wife. Get out of my sight, get out of my household. I know you no longer.”

Shalali—the former Sixth Wife of Lord Kidoshu—gulped down a sob, turned and fled out of the room. The only signs of her presence were the slight blood stains on the floor, where drops had fallen from her ripped ears and scratched skin.

I stared in appalled silence. Of course, we had all heard of the Ritual of Outcasting, but no one had ever seen it invoked. Considering her attitude towards her shekka, I couldn't feel too sorry for Shalali. But still...to outcast a Wife with no warning...

“Girls, retire back to your rooms in the Handmaiden's Hall, and wait for the Eighth Wife to arrive. Steady One--” she looked at me with a look of pleased poison over ice, “--return to your shekka. Advise Governess what has happened here and make sure all know the consequences of failing me.”

We all bowed and did as she ordered. I ran back through the halls, holding back tears of shame. I had believed I was helping the third shekka, but instead, the First Wife had used me as a tool in her punishment of the Sixth.

The First Wife had made her point in front of all of us.  

All original writing and art copyright A. Dameron 2000-2012

Preview of Short Story Collection: "Five Elemental Dragons: Cycle Two"

The first story of the Second Cycle of "Five Elemental Dragons". All original work © 2012 by A. Dameron, all rights reserved.

 

Mù: Wood

 

 

一棵树有这么多的声音：

静静地听着, 你会听到

琵琶, 二胡, 鼓

涂上红色, 预示着

龙的歌曲。

 

 

Yī kē shù yǒu zhème duō de shēngyīn:

Jìng jìng de tīngzhe, nǐ huì tīng dào

Pípá, èrhú, gǔ

Tu shàng hóngsè, yùshìzhe

Lóng de gēqǔ.

 

One tree has so many sounds:

listen quietly and you will hear

the pipa, the erhu, the drum

painted red, to herald

the dragon's song.

 

Courtesan's dedication to the maker of her pipa lute

32^nd year of the reign of the Iron Emperor

 

Shang Xin entered the Imperial Pavilion, the train of her blue gown whispering on the tiles as it

trailed behind her. Her hands cradled her erhu, the two-stringed instrument of her profession.

All eyes focused on her as she stopped in the middle of the Pavilion. She lowered her eyes, as

was proper, and curtsied as best as she could within her cumbersome silks.

 

The Iron Emperor sat on his throne on the south side of the Pavilion, with his family, courtiers

and guards arrayed all around him. His still-handsome features made Shang Xin's heart skip a

beat. She watched him beneath the lowered lids. As always, he cloaked his intentions within a

neutral expression, but she read his eyes.

 

Joy, sorrow, regret. The knowledge that all things, pleasant and not, eventually come to an

end.

 

Her heart broke into pieces. He knew...he knew what all the prophecies foretold. If those

predictions were true, his time in this mortal plane had grown short.

 

All this came between them in the space of a few heartbeats. She gave him the slightest of

nods to show him that she understood.

 

He stood from his throne and nodded back at her. With a sweep of his broad hand, he

indicated the empty chair in front of a row of pipa players. “Take your place and play for us.”

 

Shang Xin bowed her head, this time in acknowledgement. Carefully, she unfolded herself

from her crouch and glided towards the empty chair. Her eyes swept the pavilion, carefully

noting who was present. Two of the three gilded chairs next to the Iron Emperor also stood

empty. The Empress of the Black Lotus, the Iron Emperor's wife, was absent. If the rumors

were to believed, the Empress refused to be part of this world, and sought seclusion in the

temple.

 

Shang Xin didn't blame the Empress one bit. Not this time. Not with the Darkness

encroaching upon Shinwa.

 

But their daughter, Kai Ming, the Heir to the throne of Shinwa, was also conspicuously

absent. Perhaps she, like her mother the Empress, was visiting the temple. Shang Xin could

understand one of them being excused from this gathering...but both? This was quite

extraordinary.

 

The musician turned and sat, straight-backed, in her chair. Two attendants darted forward to

help her arrange her skirts out of the way. It gave her the chance to survey the rest of the Iron

Emperor's court—and her heart seized at the sight of the Heir's daughter, Kai Huo, sitting

resplendidly at her grandfather's side.

 

She is here and not among her soldiers. Her father must have given her an ultimatum. It

is the only explanation for her presence, and adorned in courtly robes instead of her

armor. The thought greatly amused Shang Xin. Kai Huo was her grandfather's pride and joy:

tall and proud, with bewitching black eyes and athletic build. The foremost general of the Iron

Emperor's military forces and a member of the Swordswomen. As noble as her grandfather,

and yet...Shang Xin sensed a thrill of Darkness within the Heir.

 

One of the attendants gently handed her the bow to the erhu. Shang Xin nodded her thanks,

then readjusted her instrument. The erhu sat almost vertically in her lap, the soundbox resting

against her left thigh, the bow held in an underhanded grip within her right hand. The pipa

  players also held their instruments at the ready, thumbs and index fingers poised to pluck

the silk strings. Further behind them stood the drummers, the gong and chime ringers. To

Shang Xin's left sat two dizi players, lips ready to blow into their bamboo woodwinds.

 

They all awaited the Iron Emperor's request.

 

He turned to Kai Huo, who stared up at her grandfather with a confused expression. The Iron

Emperor nicked his head at the marble stones of the Pavilion. Understanding dawned on the

girl's face, then she stood, untied the outer robe of her formal silks, and walked down the

steps. A murmur went through the court at the unusual action.

 

“I wish to see my granddaughter perform the hùdié wǔ, as a testament to her grace and

prowess.”

 

A shocked gasp went through the court. Shang Xin's eyes widened in surprise as the other

musicians hurriedly re-tuned their instruments. The hùdié wǔ, the Butterfly Dance, was

reserved for the Swordswomen, the defenders of Shinwa. It was normally hidden from public

view, a secret shared among those initiated.

 

But the Iron Emperor changed all that with a single command. Shang Xin's fingers gripped the

neck of her erhu in sudden panic. Of all the songs he could have asked, why that one? And

why now?

 

She shook herself out of her rampant thoughts. There was a reason. There was always a

reason, and it was not her place to question his reasons.

 

Kai Huo stood in her snow-white silk underrobe, long hair unbound and her bare feet upon

the marble tiles. She unsheathed the blade at her side, prompting another sigh from the Court,

this time in awe. Her weapon was truly made by a artisan, elegant and deadly at the same

time.

 

She glanced over her shoulder at Shang Xin. The curtain of black hair obscured her face, but

Shang Xin thought she saw the black eyes glitter in the light. “Kaishi,” Kai Huo commanded.

“Begin.”

 

Shang Xin touched the bow to the strings and played a single trembling note. The pipa joined

in, then the dizi and the drums, gongs and chimes, in an upswell of emotion. Kai Huo slowly

raised the sword, unfolding like a catepillar out of its cocoon, to greet the world as a butterfly.

 

The upswell exploded into a series of notes and Shang Xin chased them with her bow, her

fingers dancing upon the fretboard. She allowed herself to fall into the rhythm of the music, felt

its wind through her hair, and then her soul was flying upon the back of an Emerald Dragon.

 

The Emerald Dragon circled the sky above the Pavilion, its powerful wings beating against the

air. Shang Xin Saw without Seeing, the lone white-garbed warrior in the center, her sword

slashing and cutting invisible enemies on all sides. To her surprise, the Emerald Dragon spoke.

 

“Look there, deep within the blade. Do you see it, Songstress?”

 

Shang Xin narrowed her eyes. Yes, there, within the deep layers of Kai Huo's sword...was

that a mist rising? The ethereal smoke swirled and reformed into a second dragon. Flint gray

eyes, silver scales and claws...Shang Xin's breath froze in her throat. Was that...?

 

“My cousin, Tiě Wù. Iron Mist. The guardian of the sword,” the Emerald Dragon confirmed.

She angled again for another pass over the Pavilion. “He prevents Kai Huo from becoming

overzealous in her pursuit of justice.”

 

“Isn't that a thankless assignment?” The blunt question surprised her, even as she watched Tiě

Wù's transparent body whip around Kai Huo's in some strange counterpoint. To Shang Xin's

Sight, it appeared that Iron Mist formed a mystical barrier that pulsed in time with the music.

 

She understood and sped up the tempo. The Emerald Dragon also beat her wings faster,

gathering power and speed in flight. The symphony rose up again all around them, thundering

pell-mell towards its ultimate conclusion. The drums pounded, the chimes crashed, as Kai

Huo swept her sword for the final kill.

 

The erhu wailed a single cry, as the other instruments abruptly went silent, and the sword

slashed downward. A burst of Darkness exploded from around Kai Huo, slammed against the

protective shield made by Tiě Wù, and flare brightly at the impact. The Darkness vanished as

quickly as it had appeared.

 

Kai Huo collapsed on the marble, all energy spent, the sword tumbling from limp fingers. Her

arms and legs splayed out, the white silk arrayed all around her, and her face turned towards

the sky. Those black eyes gazed upward, and Shang Xin shivered at the utter satisfaction in

that face. Tiě Wù circled around the sword one last time before an otherwordly force pulled

him back into the steel. The Emerald Dragon threw back her head and roared in mourning.

 

And Shang Xin sat up straight with a jolt as the Imperial Court erupted into wild applause.

The performance had ended, the music gone, and her soul ached beyond measure.

 

“My Lady...your bow, your hands--”

 

The bow's single string lay broken in her lap. The erhu's twin strings had also snapped under

the strain, the silk hanging limply on the fretboard. The fingers of both her hands bled where

she had gripped the erhu and where the bow had cut into the skin. She looked up at the

concerned expression of one of the pipa players, but did not see it.

 

“Attend to the Lady! Her hands are bleeding!” the authoritative tone cut through the chatter.

Shang Xin managed to lift up her head and met the stern gaze of the Iron Emperor himself. His

callused hands held her wrists, even as the blood soaked the silks of her robe and dripped

onto the erhu.

 

I have seen the Darkness. I have played too long. Her arms trembled and she nearly

fainted where she sat. Shang Xin saw Kai Huo standing behind and to her grandfather's right,

the place of honor. Shang Xin thought she would become sick to her stomach at that sight.

 

“I can no longer play,” she whispered.

 

Kai Huo's brow furrowed in confusion, and the Iron Emperor's expression mirrored it. “We

can repair your instrument, Lady,” he said, almost tenderly. His grip tightened around Shang

Xin's wrists. “You will rest and heal, and grace us with your music again.”

 

It took all her effort to look up at the weathered face. She freed one of her hands and gently

touched his cheek. She could feel her soul grow lighter, as the wind carried her upwards,

upon the back of the Emerald Dragon, away from the Darkness.

 

“No, my Lord. My song has ended and another one has begun.” She managed a smile.

“Forgive me, Kai Ren. I will never touch the strings again.”

 

The silence in the courtyard deepened as the breeze stirred the chimes. Then they, too, fell

silent, like the broken strings of the erhu.

Second preview of short story collection: "Tales of the Elemental Dragons"

 

After a long unavoidable delay, here's a second preview of my newest collection of short stories, Tales of the Elemental Dragon. Original work copyright 2012 by A. Dameron, all rights reserved. Thanks.

 

 

Earth: Tŭ

 

填写你的腹部与水稻

 
但不放纵

地球在其赛季

 
在每个季节, 一些岩石也会下降

 

Tiánxiě nǐ de fùbù yǔ shuǐdào
Dàn bù fàngzòng.
Dìqiú zài qí sàijì
Zài měi gè jìjié, yīxiē yánshí yě huì xiàjiàng.

 

Fill your belly with rice

but do not overindulge.

Earth gives in its season

and in each season, some rocks will fall.

 

--song included in the Planting Ceremony, Kuijang River Village

 

The Yangyu River wound past the Iron Emperor's capital, through ditches and canals, before

splitting into several branches. Many of those branches ended at the Maelstrom coast; others

bypassed the Siang Plateau, favoring the northern route instead. Kuijang flowed north, then

west, to nourish the rice paddies of the villages and towns. The Goddess of Shinwa smiled

upon the farmers and their kin and provided good harvest.

 

“Tu Xiao! Tu Xiao! They're getting ready for the Planting Ceremony! We don't want to be

late!”

Xiao laughed and tucked her cotton tunic into her pants, then adjusted the simple fabric

headband. Her five year old sister tugged her towards the door of their hut. Tu Nai's pigtails

bounced on her shoulders with every movement.

 

“I'm coming, Nai! I'm coming!”

 

“You are as vain as the water buffalo in the Yangyu Canal! You look like...well, like older

sisters are supposed to look!” Nai pouted, but her dark eyes sparkled in the morning sun.

 

Xiao sighed and followed Nai down the rocky path towards the riverbank. The village of

Renqiu sprawled far below them, with shops and houses surrounding the main square. The

thatched roofs stretched towards the sky; to Xiao's eyes, it looked like a furry mountain in

summer clothes.

 

Delicious smells floated past their noses. Fish stewed in broth, with beans and celery

harvested from the gardens. Strips of dried beef wrapped in bread dough and covered with

sauce. Berry juice, freshly pressed and mixed with pure water from the village well. Xiao's

stomach growled as she and Nai entered the main group of buildings. Big Chao the cook

greeted both girls and sat them down on benches. He ladled steaming fish soup in clay bowls,

scooped equal portions of white rice on plates, and poured a generous amount of berry juice

in mugs.

 

“Eat everything,” Big Chao commanded, with a sweep of his beefy arm. “You will both need

your strength for the Spring Planting. I will not tolerate any refusal.”

 

“Yes, Big Chao,” chirped Nai. She slurped her soup and speared the filets with her

chopsticks. Xiao laughed again and brought her attention to her own food. As usual, Big Chao

outdid himself with the simple fare. Xiao thought that the Iron Emperor himself would find this

meal quite filling.

 

The dining hut slowly filled with other workers. Xiao watched as the wizened form of Tian Re

shuffled into the room. The village headsman bore every one of his eighty-five years; scars

from river sharks criss-crossed the skin of his legs and his features were bronzed by the

relentless sun. Nevertheless, Xiao watched as Tian Re's posture straightened, like a withered

vine tasting water after a long drought. His eyes were clouded with silver cataracts, but there

was no question about his Sight.

 

“So, Big Chao, not too big or too small a portion, if you please,” Tian Re called. He laid his

walking stick against his bench. “Most of the food should go to the younger generation, like

the Tu girls over there. They are our future.”

 

Nai jumped up off her bench and scurried to Big Chao. She accepted the new bowl of fish

soup and shuffled over to Tian Re, her head bowed in respect. “Please, Honorable Tian,

accept this on behalf of me and my sister. We've already eaten, so you can have as much as

you want. I insist.”

Tian Re glanced at Xiao, who only shrugged good-naturedly. He re-focused his attention on

the little girl in front of him. “Then I give my sincere thanks to the giver, for she is wise and

respectful to her elders. How old are you now, Little Tu?”

 

“I am five,” Nai said proudly, “and old enough to help.”

 

“Indeed.” Tian Re accepted the bowl with both hands. “Then I am sure your help will be much

appreciated today.”

 

Nai flushed with pleasure as she bobbed her head again in embarrassment. She scampered

back to her bench and proceeded to demolish her plate of rice with all the speed of youth.

 

“You are doing well in raising her, Tu Xiao,” Tian Re said. “I have every confidence that the

Goddess will smile upon you.”

 

Xiao nodded and managed to finish the rest of her food. Ever since the river flood that took

their parents, she guarded Nai like a fierce mother dragon. Most sixteen-year-old youths

eagerly ventured out into the world outside their village. Others prepared for marriage and a

lifetime of hard work. Xiao resigned herself to the latter as her fate. Her blood was tied to the

land of Shinwa, and it would always be so.

 

A grain of rice clung stubbornly to her trousers. Xiao firmly picked it off with a gentle hand.

Her fastidious appearance was her one lone indulgence. A long day in the rice paddies often

left her dusty and water-logged, but at the end of the day, Xiao took care of herself.

 

Both girls waited patiently as Tian Re finished his soup and rice. He rose from his bench, took

his walking stick in one hand, and extended the other to Xiao. Nai skipped ahead of them,

following the path to the river bank.

 

“You seem too serious, Xiao,” Tian Re observed in a low voice. “You are barely in the middle

of your spring years. Are you in such a hurry to grow?”

 

She sighed; he was the only one who even noticed enough to care. “Fate, Honorable Tian. I

left my childhood behind years ago.”

 

“The earth is a generous mistress, but her tasks can be cruel. Every day follows in season. If

winter comes before summer, we would all starve.” He softened his words with a smile. “Do

not live contrary to Her will, or you too, will starve.”

 

She inclined her head at his wise words and murmured, “I will try harder, Honorable Tian.”

 

The entire village appeared at the rice paddies, from Honorable Tian to the day-old infant in

swaddling clothes. Honorable Tian nodded at Priest Rui Ba, who nodded back. Rui Ba

traveled among the villages bordering the Yanggu River, and his services were in much

demand. One of his most popular requests was the Planting Festival blessing. He gazed over

the gathered villagers, then raised his hands up to the sky.

 

“We beseech you, Beloved Goddess of Shinwa, to shower your gifts on this earth and bring

forth the green shoots of life--” Rui Ba's sonorous voice carried over the people, who

murmured the proper responses.

 

Xiao shifted from leg to leg, eager for the long ceremony to be over. Nai echoed her

restlessness by fiddling with her apron strings. The soft mud gave way under their feet and

slowly filled with river water. Xiao gritted her teeth as she felt it between her toes.

 

Finally, Rui Ba invoked the Blessed Goddess of Shinwa, the Goddess of the Deep, the

Mistresses of Air and Fire, the Nymph of Wood and the Warrior of Iron. He bowed in the

Four Directions, then the four Minor Directions, and wove his protections over the village, the

rice paddies, and the step terraces in the hills and mountains. He took a handful of mud and

threw it back towards the river, as he chanted spells against the Flood God.

 

Xiao kept her eyes downcast. The Flood God never listened to the prayers of Man. He

proved that by taking her parents.

 

After another salute to the Four Directions, Rui Ba clapped his hands to signal the end of the

blessing. A sigh of relief rose from the assembled crowd. They quickly got together in their

groups: some headed for the paddies along the river, and others to the hills and mountains

beyond. Xiao and Nai were part of this latter group; they climbed the dirt road leading to

Terraced Hill Number One.

 

“Sister, look!” Nai gasped as they reached their assigned plot. “You can see the village from

here!”

 

She followed Nai's outstretched hand to the brilliant view in front of them. The village huts

gleamed in the sunlight, as if they were the gold roofs of the Iron Emperor's Pavilion. The

Yanggu River snaked its way down from the Double Hills, past the village's rice paddies, on

its way to the Maelstrom Coast.

 

“Yes,” Xiao agreed, “the view is quite spectacular, isn't it?”

 

Hours flew by as she showed Nai how to plant the tender shoots in neat rows. They had to be

spaced just right, not too closely together and not to far away. It was hard, backbreaking

work. Nai's initial enthusiasm waned as reality set in, and her chatter grew less and less. Xiao

was careful to pace their progress so Nai wouldn't tire so easily. They stopped to eat and

drink, but their main focus was on the work.

 

“Is it always like this, Sister?”

 

“Sometimes we sing to pass the time, and sometimes we tell stories.”

 

“My feet hurt and my back aches.”

 

“Just a little more, Nai, then we can go home for supper.”

 

“I want to wash off this mud. It makes me itchy. And you look like a mud monster.”

 

“Mud's supposed to be good for the skin. It helps prolong your youth; that's what Old Ying

says.”

 

“I don't want to be young forever. I want to grow up and see the world and do things other

than plant rice shoots in the middle of a pool on the side of the hill.”

 

Xiao tried not to laugh at Nai's petulant expression, but it was difficult. She shook her head

and said, “You say that because you're only five. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up.”

 

The sun dipped low in the sky by the time the planting was over. Xiao surveyed their little plot

and felt a thrill of pride at their accomplishment. Nai blinked at the neat rows and asked, “Did we do that?”

 

“Yes, we did, and you helped. Come on, Nai, let's go home.”

 

They made their way back to the dirt road. Xiao matched her sister's slower pace, despite the

fact she was eager for a bath and clean clothes. Other villagers were also heading back to the

village, their day's work completed. The sound of their sandals on the stones was loud in the

darkness.

 

Nai stumbled and nearly fell on the road. Xiao grabbed her by the arm and steadied her on

her feet. “Nai, are you all right?”

 

“I'm fine, but--” The ground shifted underneath their feet and threw both girls off balance. Xiao

threw out a hand and cushioned her sister's fall. Shrieks of fear and pain echoed up and down

the road. The rumble of stone and dirt stirred in the background, from farther up the hill.

 

“It's a rockslide!” shouted a villager. “Run for your lives!”

 

Xiao's heart pounded in her chest as she literally scooped Nai into her arms and ran towards

the village. Dust billowed in the air all around them, growing thicker by the minute. She

coughed and forced her aching legs to keep up. If she stumbled and fell, she knew that neither

she nor Nai would ever rise again. The earth trembled, then bucked violently as the wave of

debris slid down the mountain.

 

Nai pressed her face against Xiao's breast as the rumbles increased and the earth shook

violently under them. People scattered in all directions towards the Yanggu. Xiao smelled

rough, salty soil and knew they would never make it to the village. Flakes of rock stung the

back of her legs; the chaotic wave was nearly upon them.

 

She could feel the Hand of Darkness reach out for them.

 

I'm so sorry, Nai. I've failed to protect you. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down

her dirty face. The cold hand of death reached out for them and pushed Xiao to her knees. All

she could do was hold Nai as tightly as she could and pray.

 

She didn't expect the Goddess to answer her prayer.

 

A different roar reverberated around them, a lower pitch than the earth. Warm wind rushed

past them and to Xiao's shock, the outrush of rock stopped its onslaught. It didn't ease

gradually; it just stopped.

 

“What's happening?” Nai's voice was muffled against her skin.

 

“I...don't know.” She managed to raise her head slightly and look up into the sky. Her mouth

dropped as she saw dark shapes silhouetted against the sun. Not just one, but at least a

dozen. Each one of those long shapes owned four long limbs that ended in sharp claws. No

wings, but powerful tails that swept away the boulders before they landed on the village.

 

Four of those dragons arched their backs and sped downward with military precision. They

passed so low over the girls' heads that both Xiao and Nai involuntarily ducked as they went

by. Side by side, they dipped low, opened their mouths, and with their teeth, dug a deep

trench at the bottom of the mountain. They wove between the terraced hills, dredging new

canals where there had been none before. The debris that somehow bypassed the first

vanguard dropped into the deep trenches.

 

Xiao realized that Terraced Hill Number One, the plot of land her family had tended for

generations, still stood untouched by the rockslide. Water flowed into the trench at the bottom

of the hill, irrigating the land for new rice paddies. Her eyes widened as she realized that the

dragons had effectively doubled the area.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Oh, thank you!”

 

The four dragons arced up and away to join their brethren. The lead one, a soft cinnamon-

brown with a yellow beard around its snout and face, glanced back and gazed directly back at

her. Xiao saw it wink once, and heard a mental voice replied, You're welcome, Child of the

Earth. My name is Jiahe. You will have an extra special harvest this year.

 

Then Jiahe and his cadre of fellow Earth Dragons disappeared into the sky. Shocked silence

came over the village for exactly one heartbeat, then the villagers broke out in cheers and

grateful prayers to the Goddess and Her avatars of the land.

 

“Did he say his name was Jiahe?” Nai whispered. Her eyes were still riveted on the skies

above Terraced Hill Number One. “'Golden Harvest'?”

 

“A good name for him, don't you agree?” Xiao asked her gently.

 

“Yes, indeed, Sister. Will he return?”

 

She managed a smile. “I think so, Nai. I think he and his brothers will return. They are from

the Goddess, after all.”