Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A thousand centuries ago,

When earth was newly formed,

The gods convened, and from their hands,

The Races all were born,

From earth they plucked up stone and silt,

And gave it legs to stand,

They made it strong in back and mind,

And justly called it “Man,”

From wood was born a Lesser Race,

Of creatures for Man’s pleasure,

To roam the earth on four like legs,

With minds of smaller measure,

From sky they took a bit of air,

And fashioned two small wings,

Said they, “This Race will be most blessed,

And ever always sing,”

From ocean’s depths, water was drawn,

And with it, made they scales,

Then fins, then gills, and called them “Fish,”

Such are the Races’ tales,

But had they also fire left,

And there the gods did falter,

They made a Race, but from their birth,

The world was soon to smolder,

Neither Man, nor Fish, nor Bird,

Could save the earth from burning,

Or ever hope to put to rest,

These beasts of lesser learning,

So then, the gods did intervene,

To rectify their error,

Said they, “We’ll make a Race to rule,

And end, at last, this terror,”

So took they earth, and wood, and air,

And water in their hands,

And made the world a Race of Kings,

To govern all the lands,

Then placed they fire in the king,

Squarely within his chest,

He came to life and was complete,

So then the gods did rest,

The king was swift and brave of heart,

And quickly did he rid,

The earth of all the Fire Race,

The gods’ mistake undid,

And peace, at last, the world did share,

Each Race began to thrive,

They multiplied to fill the earth,

And found themselves alive,

The King ruled strong and just until,

In time, he too bore many,

And ruled they over all the earth,

More powerful than any,

For he was all, each Race made one,

The best of each was he,

From water, scales, from air, his wings,

His claws and legs from tree,

With Man, he shared his intellect,

But had he other gifts,

The fire brought him godlike skills,

And from this, grew there rifts,

One day, said man, “This is unjust!

Should we not rule instead?

We were firstborn, the Elder Race!

The blessing’s on our head!”

Resentment grew and burned until,

The Race of Kings was hated,

Said they, “We’ll let them rule themselves,”

Their thrones they abdicated,

But man was selfish, filled with lust,

For power and for war,

The Race of Kings they hunted ‘till,

There seemed to be no more,

And so the world did carry on,

With man upon the throne,

While Dragons dwindled ever still,

Thriving in myth alone.

 

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

      “This meeting is called to order,” a wavering voice called over the heads of the Assembly. The man who had spoken, now resuming a seated position mid-way down the table, was an elderly official named Lord Ogawa. The skin of his face hung from his bones in wrinkled bags, like the jowls of a bulldog. His eyes were hidden beneath bushy grey brows, and he always seemed to be moving, shaking with mild tremors.

      “Thank you, Lord Ogawa,” replied Kazi from the head of the table. Ogawa responded with a slow, shaky nod. Kazi glanced around at the other eight members of the Assembly, the “Lords of Heaven,” as they were sometimes called. Their expressions were bored. A few restless fingers drummed against the table from somewhere down the line. Kazi imagined they were annoyed with him for cutting short their vacation. After all, the Assembly was not scheduled to reconvene until the late autumn months.

      “I am sorry,” Kazi began, “to interfere with your summer plans-“

      Someone uttered a curt harrumph, as if to debate the sincerity of Kazi’s apology. Kazi ignored them.

      “However,” he continued, “a current,” he thought for a moment, choosing the appropriate word, “development requires our urgent attention.”

      The ears of the eight Lords seemed to visibly perk up. “Sakura,” he explained, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. When was the last time he’d said that name aloud? “Sakura has returned.”

      This sparked a loud buzzing of whispers and gasps. Kazi’s pulse continued to throb in his temples, around his eyes, in his throat. He felt like he might choke.

      Kazi allowed the whispers to continue until one of the Lords spoke up. “Lord Kazi,” said a young man by the name of Tsuchino. He had glasses and a pleasant round face which dimpled when he moved his lips. “The Lords are curious,” he delegated, meeting Kazi’s eyes, “how you suppose to know such things. Sakura,” he said her name gingerly, careful of the threatening look in Kazi’s eyes, “has been missing for over fifty years.”

      “I know how long it’s been,” Kazi spat. The burning in his chest suddenly heightened, sending a warm breath of fire coursing through his neck and arm. He swallowed hard. “I know,” he hissed. “I know she is back. And I know that you, Lord Tsuchino, have no way of understanding the bond of Mates, and that those of you who have them,” he directed at the other Lords, “have not yet been unfortunate enough to feel their absence.”

      “You mean to say,” Tsuchino pressed, “that she has contacted you? You have heard her thoughts?”

      Kazi cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. He could feel his cheeks growing red. “No,” he admitted. He looked up to meet their judgmental stares. “But surely you must know that there are other ways. Do not,” he threatened, his eyes locking on Tsuchino’s, “question me. I know my Mate. I know the feel of her presence.”

      This brought a final hush to those who continued to whisper. Kazi looked back down at his hands. The burning sensation receded until it was only a warm flicker around his heart. “Sakura is back,” he said simply. “She’s in Japan, and she has been for nearly a month.”

      “If she has been back,” said Lord Ogawa, rising to his feet so he could see over the heads of the two Lords beside him, “and you’ve known about it, then why have you not said anything until this point?”

      “I,” Kazi stammered, blood rushing to his face, “I wasn’t sure.” The admission was difficult. As their leader, he could rarely afford any display of insecurity or doubt. “But now I am certain,” he added, looking up to meet their eyes. “Our queen has returned.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

 “Where is the ribrary?”

Andria hesitantly pulled her nose away from the glass of the bus window. Outside, the mountainous landscape rolled by like waves tossing about on stormy seas. The thinnest slivers of persistent snow lingered near the conjunctive peaks like foam on the tides. Somehow, it made her stomach lurch, and she couldn’t decide if it was from homesickness or simply vertigo, as the bus wound round the narrow, uphill road at a frankly perilous speed. The country outside reminded her of her home in Tennessee, though she could say with a certain degree of confidence that no traces of snow would be left across the faces of the Appalachians at this time of year.  Compared to the titans that loomed before her eyes, the intimidating mountains that Andria had grown up around were as dwarfs among giants.

“Almost,” Andria replied. The girl sitting next to her looked up from the book in her lap and pushed her cropped, jet-black bangs away from her eyes. “Say it this way,” Andria corrected. “’Library,’ with a ‘la.’”

“Ribrary,” the girl tried again.

“Library,” Andria interjected. “Here. Repeat after me: Lie-“

“Lie.”

“Bray-“

“Bray.”

“Ree-“

“Ree.”

“Library.”

“Ribrary.”

Andria laughed, and even the struggling young girl was able to force a giggle. Her Japanese classmates seemed to be having as hard a time with English as she was with Japanese. Just six weeks prior, Andria had never so much as cracked a Japanese textbook. In the month that she had spent living with a host family in Japan’s culture-rich northern countryside, however, her vocabulary had grown by leaps and bounds. She still couldn’t really follow a conversation with any aptitude, only catching familiar words every so often. She had been able to pick up just enough to string together a handful of common, useful phrases. Hello. Good morning. How are you? My name is…etc.

“You’ll get it,” Andria assured her classmate, who then nodded and buried her nose back in her book. Andria spent much of her time at school in various English classes, helping with pronunciation practice, and occasionally explaining the meaning of common English expressions (“my foot is asleep,” “get used to something,” etc.), or shedding light on difficult grammatical concepts. It helped her as well, because while they were busy translating Japanese to English, she was trying to reverse translate English to Japanese.

Almost an hour had passed since she and all twenty three of her classmates had boarded the charter bus that morning for an excursion to the lake. Andria would never have known this had she not asked an English teacher that morning in the midst of all the confusion of kids scrambling onto the bus. Many things passed her up, it seemed. Very seldom did her homeroom professor offer her any explanation of the things he covered in class, and no one in her host family could really understand English. Because of this, she often found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. She still wasn’t one hundred percent sure what her class schedule was. She spent most of her day floating between various English classes, occasionally popping in on an art or gym class when her assistance wasn’t needed. So far, no one had corrected her.

When Andria had approached a passing, familiar professor that morning, and stumbled over what she hoped was an inquiry about where everyone was going, he had simply laughed, pointed out the window towards the surrounding mountains, and said, “Lake.” Then, he had walked off into the building.

Andria wondered how high up the bus had climbed, and how much more road there could possibly be left to navigate. The powerful wind outside coupled with the reckless speed at which the oversized bus insisted on rounding corners, sometimes void of protective railing, was making Andria quite nervous. Looking at the width of the lanes, Andria was certain that they couldn’t possibly be big enough for two-way traffic. Every time she spotted an oncoming car, she couldn’t help but hold her breath and brace herself for the imminent collision, and every time, she was amazed when the passing car whizzed by without a scratch. If she looked outside, she could almost feel as though she were flying. Where the side of the road ended, there was no shoulder, only a steep, perilous drop at least 50 feet down, more in some places, so she could feel as though the bus wasn’t touching ground at all, but soaring like an airplane.

The bus rounded yet another corner, and instantly, it was as though the gargantuan mountains had parted like sliding doors. There was the lake, glimmering like a brilliant, polished, blue diamond set in a base of gleaming white-gold mountains. It dazzled in the bright morning sunlight like an enormous hand-mirror, the snow on the mountains sparkling like diamonds laid into a magnificent silver frame. It was so open, so perfect. The cliffs and peaks surrounding the lake looked as though they would scratch the very heavens. It was unlike anything Andria had ever seen in her life, more beautiful than any place she had yet laid eyes upon.

When Andria was able to tear her eyes away from the Eden-like splendor of the lake far below, she noticed that a building had come into view about 300 yds uphill. It sat perched close to the mountaintop, and upon closer investigation, Andria could clearly see a few short rows of cars parked next to it.

The bus wound its way up and slowed before pulling to a stop in the parking lot alongside a row of cars. Once the bus driver had killed the engine, Andria’s homeroom professor stood up from the front of the bus. He shouted a few sentences to the students above the roar of excited whispering, before turning to exit down the steep bus steps. This sent off a wave of automatic reaction as students all around Andria began standing and bustling to get off the bus. Andria looked to the girl beside her, who smiled and held up all ten fingers before saying in English, “Ten minutes.” Andria smiled at her thankfully, and then followed her off of the bus.

The place where they had stopped was a visitor’s center. Pressed against the tree line on one side of the parking lot, a couple food and souvenirs stands stood. Andria recognized several of her classmates crowding around this area in their matching blue and white uniforms. More, however, were heading to the larger building overlooking the lake. Anxious to get a better look, Andria followed this group around the outside of the building, to a terrace looking over the edge of a cliff. Several people crowded around the railing, or snapped pictures of friends posed against the flawless backdrop of beautiful scenery around them. Andria squeezed herself between two unfamiliar tourists and peered out over the water. Unobstructed by trees or other mountains, the view was breathtaking. Andria felt as though she were standing on the rim of a giant bowl, peering down into a pool of glassy ice-blue water. Dotting the otherwise spotless ream of silky blue were several jagged, spiky rock formations jutting from the lake not far off shore. Like miniscule islands, they brimmed with trees, and passing gulls took rest in the branches.

For several long moments, Andria drank in the beauty of the spotless world around her. She felt as though she had stepped into a snow-globe created in the image of paradise, as though God had tucked away a piece of Eden far away from the spoilt remains of the outside world, and somehow, she had discovered it.

“Andria!” a voice from behind shouted. Andria turned to see her friend from the bus standing in the doorway, waving a colorful brochure at her. She hopped down the steps and rushed to where Andria was standing. “English!” she exclaimed as she proudly thrust the brochure into Andria`s hands, and then herself began peering out over the railing.

Andria took the brochure and muttered a clumsy “thank you” in Japanese. The front of the brochure was a brilliant image of the lake, much like the one she could see now, but in the photo the mountains were stained a magnificent array of red and gold from autumn leaves. Across the top, in white, the words “Towada Lake” were sprawled in big, bold letters. She opened the brochure to the first leaflet, which displayed a photo of a statue of two very-naked women in the act of touching hands. The statue stood on a beach of dark, almost black sand, close to the water’s foamy edge.

In a margin near the bottom, a brief paragraph was written: “The crowning jewel of Hachimontai National Park, Lake Towada is the largest lake on Honshu, Japan’s main island…” Andria flipped through the rest of the brochure with mild interest. The pictures were lovely. Photos depicted snow-capped mountains, flowers blooming around the rivers, candid shots of tourists enjoying what appeared to be a festival in the local town, and on the last page, a photo of a shrine. Guarding the shrine from the bottom of the stair-case on either side were two twin statues of what Andria guessed were lions, but with fierce, almost reptilian faces.

“Andria,” her classmate interrupted. Andria looked up to see her friend motioning for her to come closer to the railings to see something. As Andria drew closer, the girl craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the brochure page Andria had been looking at. With a laugh of amusement, the girl tapped the photo of the lion-esk statues Andria held in her hand and said, “Dragon.” She grimaced and clawed the air as if to imitate the beast depicted. Andria looked at the picture again. It didn’t really remind her much of the legendary beasts in her bedtime story books, but every culture was entitled to their own opinions of such fantasies, she supposed.

“Next,” Andria’s friend said to her, drawing her attention back to the thing she had meant to show her. She pointed downward, toward the beach several hundred yards below. Andria craned her neck over the railing to see what she meant. There, docked not far from shore were two white ferry liners. People queued on the dock while spare boat hands scrambled about the deck of one, making it ready to take in more customers.  The girl playfully pulled Andria away from the railing and back toward the busses. “We go now,” she giggled, and led Andria by the hand across the parking lot and back to the bus.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

      “This is,” Kazi stammered, unable to find a suitable word, “it’s ludicrous! It’s an outrage!” He paced. In his Dragon Form, his legs were the approximate width of adult oak trees. His footfalls shook the stone floor beneath him. Torch light bounced and flickered across his red scales, making them sparkle like rubies, like blood. His eyes glimmered with both fury and desperation. Such betrayal! Such impotence!

      “Lord Kazi,” said Mayumi, still in her human Form. All of the other Lords were gone, probably still in the assembly hall. Only Mayumi had followed him to his private chambers once the meeting had adjourned. Kazi rounded on her. A snarl escaped him, the weight of his hot breath hitting Mayumi in the face. Mayumi did not waver. “Lord Kazi, please try to understand the Assembly’s reasoning.”

      “You,” Kazi hissed. A hurt, pitiable expression flashed briefly across his face. “You could have swayed them. You could have helped!” Kazi turned and skulked across the room.

      “I did all I could,” she stated.

      Kazi scoffed, “A secondary recon? That’s all you could do?”

      Mayumi scowled. “Be happy I could do that much! The other Lords wanted no part of it! Do not forget that we’ve put our Messengers at your disposal, Lord Kazi.”

      Another scoff. “It’s not enough. I should have,” he stammered. “I should have gone to her the moment I �"I-“

      “You what?” said Mayumi darkly. She did not like talk of Sakura. She did not like the way Kazi looked when he spoke of her.

      “She is the queen!” Kazi hissed defensively. Mayumi looked stung. Kazi continued, “I should have done everything in my power to bring her back to her throne the moment I so much as suspected her presence. It’s my duty.”

      “Yeah?” asked Mayumi. “And what of your current queen?”

      “Do not insult me, Mayumi! You knew what this was!” She had. She did.

      “So why didn’t you do it, then? Why didn’t you go after her?”

      Kazi paced for a few more moments. His eyes were darkening with despair. The burning in his chest was dancing like a well-tended fire. He stared at the floor. “I thought she might come back,” he explained, “on her own.”

      Mayumi said nothing to this. She gave Kazi a short bow in parting, and then disappeared through the door. He let her go.

      It was not enough. The queen, his queen, had returned, and the other Lords acted as though they did not want her back. He knew that Mayumi did not want her, of course. Neither would Misaki. But to deny Sakura’s claim to the throne would be to deny the gods of their authority in choosing her.

      He would bring her back. He would find a way. He would send his Messenger with the others’, confirm with his eyes what his heart already told him, and then act. Even if it meant he had to drag her to her throne, kicking and screaming, he would bring her back.

 

*          *          *          *          *

He felt it as soon as it happened. Separate from the constant, melodic humming of the engines of the ferries, the water had been disturbed. Something solid had broken the surface, and he judged from the slight variations in the currents, it was sinking fast.

Yuta's eyes shot open and became alert, scanning upwards towards the warmer, brighter waters. A mere second of searching found him his object of curiosity: a girl. A human girl. He noticed first her hair, yellow as sunshine, catching the light through the clear blue water and seemingly dancing like a current-tossed anemone possessed by the most graceful of lake nymphs. The girl's face was too distant to distinguish whether the rare beauty of her long, shocking hair was equaled in her facial features. He could, however, make out a constant stream of frantic bubbles emitting from her mouth. Her frame was slender, adorned in a less-than flattering, traditional school uniform, and her arms and left leg flailed sluggishly, helplessly against-

Yuta started. Dragging her downward, gripping her right foot between two, massive, ugly jowls was Miroshi. Miroshi was perhaps the ugliest creature to be found in Lake Towada, a massive horn-backed turtle easily the size of one of the larger commercial ferries that striped the lake's surface several times daily. His shell was the color of black sand, though centuries of neglect had left it spotted and encrusted with clay, algae, and any number of mystery sediments that had stained most if it dirt-brown and grey. His shell possessed nine great horns. The three that ran directly down his spine were the largest, and consequently, the sharpest.

The water vibrated suddenly with the distinctive familiarity of a ferry horn blowing. Yuta glanced upward, following the wake the boat had left on the surface. He spotted the ferry itself roughly five hundred yards into the distance. He could just barely make out a giant tear in the underbelly of the vessel. The craft was slowing, and one by one, he noticed the water break several more times as passengers dove into the lake, fleeing the crippled water craft.

Miroshi was in no great hurry, clumsily trying to swat the water with all four of his bulging scaly legs in an attempt to delve deeper into darker waters, all the while keeping the helpless girl's leg gripped tight in his hideous mouth.

Yuta sprang into action. Miroshi was no carnivore, rarely opting to pluck off small fish when the pickings of water weeds were scarce. The effort to hunt was too taxing for him, much less a lengthy swim to the warm waters. In all the time Yuta had been acquainted with the great, lifeless lump that was Miroshi, he had never left the serene calm of the lightless depths except on a few, rare occasions. What had possessed him to ram a peaceful vessel and capture an innocent human was certainly not hunger alone. This had to be a matter of business.

Whatever mission Miroshi had been charged with, he obviously did not understand the limitations of the human body, or judging by the ever-slowing movements of the frightened blonde girl, he was disregarding them either from his own excitement at finally having something to do, or from sheer exhaustion.

Yuta closed the distance swiftly, swimming with the grace and urgency of the fiercest of his kind. Like a recoiled viper, Yuta struck in a blinding instant, catching Miroshi completely unawares. He hated to hurt the usually very docile, though hideous creature, and he took care not to deliver a blow too dangerous for the great turtle. Yuta struck the great beast's neck, causing his jaws to briefly unclench and the girls unmoving leg to float lazily free. An instant later, it was seized again by a large, meaty claw. Yuta prepared to strike again as Miroshi, suddenly moving with dire urgency, frantically swam with the remaining three of his bulging limbs.

A frustrated, bellowing roar escaped the turtle, a warning to Yuta. The girl was no longer moving. In a matter of seconds, her life would be spent. Whatever use she was to Miroshi would be lost, the great idiot, and the mutilation of such an innocent creature disgusted Yuta.

Snaking through the water and catching him from the side, Yuta snapped his dangerous, though normally dormant fangs around the bulbous arm trapping the human. His back legs kicked until a deadly-sharp set of claws caught Miroshi in the side of one of his sagging jowls. Another roar escaped the beast as he swatted futilely to throw Yuta from him. The shortness of his stout arms prevented the turtle from succeeding, and Yuta continued to deliver kick after kick, taking care to avoid the creature's eyes. He only wanted to hurt him enough to dissuade him from his task and release the girl so that Yuta could deliver her to safety.

A final kick possessing the full brunt of Yuta's ferocious strength sent the great turtle reeling. Miroshi's fist unclenched, once again allowing the girl's lifeless foot to float free. Yuta did not allow the beast a spare second to recover, but carefully seized the tiny human in a great claw and darted towards the surface. He couldn't break water just anywhere. His presence was pretty widely assumed among the local humans, but he knew far better than to openly interact with their kind. His existence was far more peaceful if left to the musings of myth. The steady streams of tourists and their noisy boats were a nuisance enough, but the few, scattered occasions when his peaceful lake's waters had been probed by curious scientists and thrill seekers were just plain invasive. That exact reason was why he chose to avoid the otherwise serene lake throughout most of the year.

He did know of one particularly secluded spot where he doubted he would be bothered. No trodden path reached the remote location, and no ferry would draw near it because of the dangerous spread of jagged rocks around the entrance. To one who had no better knowledge, the location was merely another piece of the cliff-face that encircled a great portion of the lake itself.

With all his might, he sped, noting the familiar rock beds that marked his hurried path. The opening was just ahead, a small slit between two great, looming rock structures. Sucking in his already narrow belly, Yuta cleared the opening and broke the surface, sending streams of water like geysers shooting into the air. As he swam the rest of the distance to a small patch of black sand pushed against the farthest cliff-face, he held the body of the lifeless youth safely above the water's surface.

Most of the enclosure consisted of deep water. Only a bus-sized spit of land offered any refuge for a human or beast clumsy enough to stumble into the chasm. The rock walls surrounding it were at their lowest point, eighty feet tall, and the whole space was protected from view by a makeshift ceiling of overgrown foliage. Only sharp, narrow slits of light penetrated the secluded cavern's otherwise dark spaces.

Yuta neared shore and carefully deposited her fragile, unmoving frame on soft sand. For a moment, staring at her, he felt completely helpless. Her long, wet hair was slicked across her face and upper body. He carefully used a pinky claw to shove some of the excess hair away from her mouth and nose. Even in the dark, as he was normally accustomed, he could make out the comely details of her face which he hadn’t been able to notice before. He knew from experience that features such as she possessed, most shockingly the mane of corn-yellow hair, was in no way common to this area of the world. Her eyes were closed, but he guessed that they would be the customary large, blue, green, or maybe even brown eyes so characteristic of most western faces.

A sense of panic was beginning to rise within him. She was so small, so helpless, and there was little he could do in such a large, frankly dangerous form. A few painful instances passed, and then, much to his relief, a haggard cough pierced the silence and rung from the chasm walls like the melodic reverb of finely-tuned church bells. She hunched over on one elbow, coughing streams of lake water into the moist sand. Yuta stood motionless, his mind a dizzy swirl of relief , quickly replaced by sudden panic. Her eyes were beginning to flutter open, and she dabbed at them with a wet palm.

He carefully watched her lazy gaze suddenly freeze, caught by the reflection of something terrible in the water. Slowly, she raised her eyes, and he followed them. Midway up his torso. His collar bone. His throat.

A painful moment passed, and then a sudden flash of blue. Blue eyes, eyes big enough, wide with terror, that he could see the full reflection of his scaly, silk-white face trapped within them.

He tore himself away from her gaze. With the speed of a cat, he dove, the shrillness of her frightened screams following him into the depths.