Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

Clink, clink, clink.

Andria lazily opened her eyes, recoiling when the bright light of noonday flooded her vision. With a drawn-out yawn, she rubbed her eyes with one hand and with the other, forced herself into a sitting position.

Upon opening her eyes, she noticed three things. The first thing she noticed was that Yuta was still absent. The second thing she noticed was that the tunnel was gone, replaced once more by smooth stone wall. The third, however, was eyeing her from atop the kitchen table.

 A turtle.

At first, sleepy glance, Andria thought it might have been an overturned brown coffee cup, simply from its size and overall shape. It took a moment more to realize that it was moving, busy at work with what appeared to be a saucer full of liquid. As she watched the small, lumpy creature for a moment, it became apparent that whatever it was trying to accomplish was not going well. The turtle balanced his front two feet on the edge of the saucer and craned his neck over the side to get a drink. His tiny mouth barely crested the water’s surface, and the saucer tipped, sloshing brown liquid onto the table with a gentle clink.

The sight was so comical in her drowsy, freshly-awakened state that Andria couldn’t help but giggle at the tiny creature’s misfortune. This caught the turtle’s attention. His head whipped around to stare at her disapprovingly.

Before another thought had the chance to cross Andria’s mind, everything went blank. She could see, but the tablet of her mind seemed to have been wiped clean, completely empty. She couldn’t think. She wasn’t even able to feel fear for what was happening to her. Then a thought, a voice deep and not her own was thrust into her cognitive awareness. A little assistance please, it flatly stated.

Just as quickly as the intrusion had occurred, the turtle’s grip on her mind released and she was able to think again. “What the hell was that?!” she shouted at the Turtle.

Again, the slate of her mind went blank and the same deep voice began to speak to her. Calm down, little human. This is how I have to communicate with you, unless you, like my dear friend, can also speak Turtle. He paused for a moment, eyeing her blank expression quizzically. You’ll get used to it. The Turtle cocked his head towards the fireplace, where a black kettle was perched on a hanger close by. Now, please. Some assistance.

The grip loosened again, leaving Andria wide-eyed and a little uncomfortable from the newness of the sensation. After just a moment of shocked pause, Andria shook the baffled, silly look from her face and rose to fulfill the Turtle’s request. She hastily snatched the heavy pot from its hook and began refilling the nearly-empty saucer. The Turtle watched her the whole while, never taking his curious gaze from her eyes.

I can see why my friend likes you so much, said the Turtle.

Andria replaced the kettle on its hook and then took a seat at the table. “Yuta?” she asked.

The Turtle nodded in confirmation.

“Then you must be Yenko, right?”

Another nod.

Andria smiled, resting her chin on an open palm. Her fingers drummed busily against her cheek as Yenko easily dipped his tiny mouth into the pool of dark liquid.

“Is that….coffee?” Andria wondered aloud as the sweet, heavily caffeinated aroma wafted against her nostrils.

Yenko drew his head up after taking a long swig, only long enough to nod happily and dip his head back into the saucer.

Andria said nothing but continued to observe. It took him several minutes, but eventually the saucer was again drained to a level the Turtle would have difficulty reaching. Observing that he looked contented, Andria asked, “Where’s Yuta?”

Yenko looked at her, and his expression became instantly solemn. As of right now, that can only be guessed, he said in a hushed, concerned voice. I would track him, but he wants me to keep my attention fully focused here. The Crows are still about. Yenko paused for a moment. Using a small, scaly claw, he reached for the corner of the placemat in front of Andria and dabbed at his mouth still damp with excess coffee. If I had to guess, though, he continued, I would say that he’s somewhere in the Pacific.

“The Pacific Ocean?” Andria asked surprised. A million confused thoughts began running through her frantic mind before Yenko ceased them once more.

Probably, but that’s only a guess. He should reach Edo by tonight.

“Edo,” she mused. Andria remembered the traditional name of Japan’s capital from middle school World History. “That’s Tokyo, right?”

Again, a nod.

“Why Tokyo, though?”

To save your fleshy a*s, of course.

The statement made Andria recoil slightly.

Really, though, the Turtle continued, it’s all of our asses he’s saving. You have no idea what a mess you’ve created. It’s either going to take a great deal of smooth talking or fast fighting to get us out of this jam.

Andria looked hurt and apologetic. She hadn’t been fully aware that her own predicament was causing more than an inconvenience to both Yuta and Yenko; Yuta, of course, for taking her in, and she knew that Yenko had been busy the past month keeping the Crows at bay with his scattering abilities. She was very grateful, of course, but how was any of this her fault? What had she ?

Oh, calm down, Yenko spat. All of us know that this wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was Yuta’s for protecting you and defying the will of the Lords. Every Dragon with common sense knows that to get in their way can cause nothing but trouble. Bad trouble. He’s lucky they haven’t come in person by now and made quick work of us all. Crows, simple, but we both know I’m only good for so much against a large group of fully-grown Dragons.

Andria allowed him to rant, having no choice but to endure it to the end, her own thoughts suppressed beneath a thick wall of cognitive cement.

Once he was finished and Andria was given back control of her own thoughts, she asked, “So the Lords live in Tokyo?”

Close enough, Yenko responded. After a lengthy pause in which Yenko kept her bound but began looking around the lair distracted, he turned his gaze back to her. Ever heard of Fuji-san?

 

*          *          *          *          *

Mt. Fuji.

Even from many miles away, Yuta could almost feel the presence of the volcanic entity that had been his home for centuries.

He had been swimming non-stop for hours, lost in a trance of concentration, determination, and more than a little anxiety. It felt good to swim. It had been a couple years since Yuta had made a non-business venture out into the wide open waters of the Pacific, but he relished the sensation. Finally, after wasting a good month of summer cooped up in the lair for most of his time, he could stretch his legs and exercise. The water was cool and refreshing in contrast to the characteristic heat of August.

He had been lucky that morning to begin his venture under the cover of heavy rain. Bad weather would mean fewer fishermen and casual boaters near the coastline, and the cloud cover would make the surface waters too murky to be able to spot his stark-white 50ft form, unless he was foolish enough to draw too close to the top with humans about.

Admittedly, he was glad to be back in his natural Form. He doubted he would ever fully grow used to the feel and appearance of being human. It felt like a disguise, one that drained his strength and made him vulnerable; in his natural Form, however, he felt like himself: powerful, graceful, indestructible. Every stroke of his arms and swish of his tail in the open seas was hypnotic, refreshing. Had he not been on a mission so very dire to him and his own, he might have delighted in the opportunity to hunt some of the ocean's larger, stealthier game. It would have made for some real sport compared to hunting the smaller, less-coordinated fish Lake Towada, and more recently, the even less agile prey he stalked and plucked from the shelves of the local food market each day.

Every calculated, snaking stroke Yuta made, he poured his full focus into, perhaps more than necessity required. His mind was abuzz with thoughts he had difficulty approaching comfortably or logically. 

Hours had passed. The ocean had become an endless universe, streaked and spangled with far-off marine life. Yuta paid them no attention. He was either more or equally fearsome as any predator to be found in the dark shadows of the Pacific, and any creature that dared argue this fact was too foolish and absent of common sense to be a real threat. Occasionally a careless fish would wander too near, quickly realize his mistake, and then streak off into the abyss like a renegade shooting star.

Other Dragons did roam these waters, though they often kept more-or-less to themselves. They led simple, primitive lives far beneath the waves. Perhaps fate had robbed them of the ability, but for some reason none of the ocean-dwelling Dragons ever chose to utilize the ability to change Forms. Perhaps the lure of intermingling with members of the land-dwelling Races was not so much a temptation for them. Some were even known to be openly hostile towards the humans, harboring some unspeakable grudge that provoked rare, but still frightfully illegal violence targeted at passing ships. Such instances had diminished greatly as the humans’ technology and the fortitude of their ships had greatly advanced. It was a brave Dragon that would dare try to pick one off nowadays.

Yuta forced himself to focus only on the lethargic rhythm of the rain-cooled salt water pulsing through his flexing gills. It would all be over soon. Either he would be able to discover Kazi's motives for disturbing the quiet and peace of Lake Towada and rhetorically reach a peaceable resolution, or he would die. Yuta didn't dismiss the possibility that his death could be ordered on-sight. He was a traitor in the eyes of the Lords. A rebel though he was, he had to trust that, as in the past, he would be spared simply for the sake of the dwindling population and the cultural taboos that discouraged such barbaric actions. If in the end, it did come to a fight, though, Yuta did not know how he could possibly prevail. The nine Lords all shared the mountain, and he would no-doubt find them all together, there, or not at all. Those numbers and that concentration of strength would not be pleasant to face alone. Far from it. It was certain death.

A streak of blinding white pierced the water, no more than 8 inches from Yuta's stoic eyes. With all the force of a speeding vehicle behind him, Yuta violently shifted his hind weight forward, slamming on the breaks. The harpoon had passed so close that he could feel the stream of fizzing bubbles brush his cheeks and tickle his nose, and was now disappearing with steady progress into the abyss. In his monotonous daze, Yuta realized that he must have drifted out of the safety of the black, heavy waters and into the warmth of the surface depths, a foolish, costly mistake. At this shallow depth, he was detectable by the humans' radars, and easy, tempting game for rogue whalers.

Snaking into the abyss was a lengthy, lax rope attached to the harpoon's end. The rope went taught in front of Yuta. He glanced overhead. A rectangular shadow twice his own length blemished the gray surface from 50 yards above. A noisy, deadly rudder chopped through the otherwise still water at the vessel's hind end.

Two more harpoons simultaneously pierced the water like gunshots, followed by one more in immediate procession. Yuta bared his teeth angrily. As they approached at lightning speed, he was successfully able to dodge the first two, but the final harpoon struck his hind quarters and bounced harmlessly off his diamond-hard flanks. Stupid humans, he thought to himself. He knew he needed to return to the safety of the depths as soon as possible. Though their useless harpoons were little more than an annoyance to Yuta, or any Dragon for that matter, it was never wise to flaunt his presence. Who knew what kinds of images the humans' radars could pick up these days?

Yuta made a quick check over his shoulder, towards the surface. Before he had so much as a second to analyze what he was seeing, a force as heavy and strong as a steel wall came rushing towards him, knocking him in the snout. The weight bared down on his whole body, sending him plummeting into the depths. Instinctively, he attempted to resist the pull, and found that it had some give. With some strain and effort, he was able to slow its progress. Yuta's hands flailed against the water, and surprisingly caught something. He snapped open his eyes and found that one of his massive claws had become tangled in what he now realized was a net. Scanning around him in his slowing decent, he saw that this blanket of string was large enough to encompass his monstrous frame, the slack draping downwards by at least twenty meters at each corner.

With the fury of hell rising up within him, Yuta grasped hold of the net with his free hand and ripped with all the force he could muster. Shockingly, amazingly, the net did not snap like tinsel beneath the strength of his claws, but held firm. Steel ropes, he deduced with sickening malice.

Yuta released the metallic ropes and made a frantic dive. The net's progress into the depths stopped abruptly. Yuta's heart sank when he saw the four weighted harpoons, each tethered to a corner of the net, begin their rapid ascension towards him. He was not quick enough. Before he had time to think, one side of the great canopy swooped over and beneath him, jerking him forcefully upward.

Yuta resisted the pull of the whalers' mechanical, impenetrable nets with every muscle in his body, all the while every second drug him into lighter, warmer waters. He could almost hear the whalers' frantic shouts as their sturdy steel ship creaked and leaned dangerously under Yuta's pull. But it wasn't enough. In moments they would have him. There wasn't even time to change Forms and perhaps preserve the great secret of his Race's existence before they would drag him aboard. To do so would mean to forego his resistance, which would only put him in their hands moments faster.

He would have to fight.

Yuta had no choice. He would have to find a way to escape their iron nets before any of them had time to collect proof of his existence, be it video footage or his lifeless corpse. He would try his best to leave as little damage as possible. People were likely to write off a ship full of crazed seamen spinning wild shanties before a ship full of mangled corpses.

His teeth bared for battle, Yuta turned to face the choppy surface, and was thrust into the open air.

 

*          *          *          *          *

The impact of the salty sea air was as dramatic as a blow to the head. In an instant, the world was filled with the roar of a million deafening sounds. Thunder rolled threateningly overhead as the heavy mist and wind whistled and swirled around him. The driving rain pounded the steel vessel like a million hammers on a tin roof, nearly drowning out the static of many men simultaneously shouting orders, pleas, and swears.

The boat leaned precariously under Yuta's titanic weight. Once he broke the water's surface, his weight become more dense, slowing the pull of the net.

Yuta saw his chance. He could spy the top of net, at which point corner met corner, creating a great slit 80 meters long.

With the determined fury and calculated stealth of a jungle cat, Yuta bore his claws into the net and began climbing. Had the one side of the whaler not been teetering so near to the water's surface, Yuta might have found this feat more difficult, but only a few easy strides gave him a firm hold on the edge of the ship. Slamming his monstrous claws onto the whaler's deck with resounding, threatening thuds, Yuta drove his nails deep into the metal of the rain-slicked ship. He felt an animalistic sense of satisfaction as he heard the soft metal tear and crunch beneath his palms like an aluminum can. Screams of terror erupted into the air, quickly carried away by the unforgiving wind. No doubt each terror-stricken soul aboard was beginning to wish the howling wind would show them the same kindness as Yuta's titanic, white, snarling head slowly rose from the abyss and each man was caught staring into the face of his doom.

Yuta was red with rage, or so he hoped to appear. Intimidation was his greatest playing chip. As long as they feared him so greatly as to be deterred from nearing him, escape would be as quick and easy as crossing the deck and diving back into the choppy sea. If he could do so and then take care to stay directly beneath the hull as he swam back into the unreachable depths, he would be free of the threat of more net-slinging harpoons.  

The dozens of crewmen scattered like ants as Yuta fought to pull himself onto the slippery deck. The lurched back to its upright position once both of his hind claws found a firm grip on the ledge.

Yuta wasted no time. Once all four claws had their footing, Yuta began to snake his way across the deck.

Like the faint twing of a sewing needle hitting a polished stone floor, Yuta heard, rather than felt, the harmless reverb of a harpoon bouncing off his left flank. The port side of the whaler was within a few easy strides, but instinctive curiosity caused him to pause.

Yuta whipped his massive head around, water sloshing from his shaggy, spindly mane. The screams died. Those brave enough to have remained on-deck were huddled in rain-drenched masses at the ship's farthest corners. Those at the group's outermost fringes were visibly shaking, some even fighting to push their way into the group’s midst and away from the frontlines of danger. Many didn't move at all, but stared in silent awe as Yuta's crouched form halted middeck.

The sailor who had hurled the harpoon was standing quite alone a mere, dangerous twenty feet from Yuta. His miniature frame was draped in a dark nylon rain slicker, his stance strong and defiant. A hero, or so the man probably thought.

For a moment, Yuta eyed him quizzically, quite shocked by the solitary, knowingly vulnerable man's actions. Surely he didn't think he could stand face-to-face with an angered Dragon and prevail. No.

The rain fell in heavy sheets. Other than the constant drumming against the deck, all was silent. Thunder rolled, ominous and calming.

Yuta carefully eyed the sailor as he picked up a second harpoon from a meager stack at his feet and hurled it without taking any particular care of his aim. He didn't pause to look for possible soft-spots or areas of vulnerability. He simply hurled with all his might, and then immediately bent down to retrieve another. One after another, the spears were tossed, each bouncing harmlessly from various points on Yuta's stock-still body. He was paralyzed with both awe and confusion, without any probable course of action.

By sheer luck, a renegade harpoon flew towards Yuta's face. It might have hit home and struck an eye, one of his only soft spots. With easy precision, however, Yuta swished his tail and knocked the harpoon out of the air. It clinked to the deck with a metallic thud, just as the others had, before skidding over the edge and into the murky water.

Yuta rounded on the careless sailor, bringing their noses within a couple feet of each other. Yuta's head alone was easily the size of this grown man's body, his teeth still bared in a grizzly snarl. The spines on his head and back stood straight up, flexing with his muscles as each breath passed his lungs.

The sailor faltered and stumbled a couple of steps back in surprise. Then, amazingly, he checked himself. The sailor fixed his posture in a defiant stance and raised his eyes to stare directly into Yuta's monstrous face, the face of death.

For a few long moments, Yuta took in the man's appearance. His posture screamed bravery, no doubt, at least to the crew who were able only to see his back from their retreated positions at the whaler's farthest corners. What they probably could not see, and what Yuta then realized, was that from head to foot, the sailor was shaking. Beneath his rain-slicked, jet-black hair, his face was twisted in a contortion of both terror and forced acceptance. He was unarmed, his harpoons spent, entirely alone, and now standing within touching distance of Yuta's razor-sharp teeth, each the size of one of the man's hands.

Without a word, the sailor squeezed his eyes tightly shut and Yuta saw his muscles tense beneath the rain-heavy slicker. He was bracing himself, bracing himself for death.

Yuta started as he suddenly realized what was happening. The sailor was committing suicide! Rather, trying to commit suicide. Yuta wouldn't dare touch him, of course, not unless circumstances left him no option. It was the second highest among very few laws within the Race, never to harm humans, the highest being never to harm a fellow Dragon. But now it was obvious that suicide was the man's objective, and Yuta was to be his vehicle. What better way to go than a quick death at the hands of a mythical beast in a staged act of heroism?

Yuta scanned the faces of the fear-paralyzed crew. No one moved a single foot to help their fellow crewman. Some of them had probably known this man and had possibly guessed what he might be getting at, but none dared follow his example of heroism.

A flash illuminated the scene upon the deck. For a moment, Yuta assumed lightning. Then, he caught sight of some movement within the dense crowd, a man hastily stashing a camera within his rain slicker.

With that one flash, the game had changed. Yuta's life had suddenly become complicated beyond imagine. His heart sank. He couldn't dare leave irrefutable evidence of his or the Race's existence, and what better proof than a photograph? It would mean the end of peace forever.

The trembling man at Yuta's feet was forgotten. Yuta stepped slowly, easily over him, like a distracted cat passing lazily over a forgotten mouse in careful pursuit of more interesting prey. Yuta's mind whirred as he tried to figure out a way to seize the accursed camera without causing too much harm to the human, every moment inching closer to his target. As he did so, the crowd dispersed as quickly as hornets leaving an arrow-pierced hive. Screams erupted into the stormy air, lost in the roll of thunder and waves. Many began to flee over the side of the ship, crashing into the gray seas. Some remained long enough to beat frantically on the trap to the hull, where the majority of the quicker crewmen had first fled to safety and were now barricading themselves against all horrors above deck.

 

*          *          *          *          *

How could I have gotten myself into this mess, Yuta thought sadly. One photo by one lucky sailor could potentially change everything the Race had fought for centuries to preserve: privacy. A colorful yarn spun on the alcohol-heavy tongue of scurvy-touched sailor was one thing, but a photo was proof of an existence that should have been long-forgotten. Fear of discovery was the exact reason harming humans was against the Law of the Race. Secrecy was the only thing preserving their species. Should the world discover irrefutable proof that Dragons were out there, and more so, that they were violent towards humans, it would mean disaster, ruin, and ultimately, extinction. Powerful as most Dragons were, even backed by every living member of the dwindling Race, they would be woefully outmatched against billions of angry, frightened humans and their ever-advancing weapons.

*          *          *          *          *

Yuta’s eyes were locked on his target, everything forgotten save the pathetic heap of a man clinging uselessly to the railing at the stern of the ship. The man’s body trembled. He squeezed his eyes shut as though he might block out the horror just by refusing to see it. When he felt the warmth of Yuta’s breath against his damp skin and heard the low, rumbling growl escape from Yuta’s throat, he couldn’t help but glance.

One fleeting glimpse was all it took. Upon opening his eyes and seeing the fury and poison etched across Yuta’s monstrous face, the man screamed and began scrambling to climb over the railing and join his peers, all flailing feebly in the open sea. Before the sailor could escape, however, Yuta seized the back of his slicker with a clawed fist. Jerking him off his feet, Yuta held the man so that they were staring at each other at eye-level. Yuta thought he might begin crying, from the helpless, desperately fearful look on his face.

While holding the man’s rain-coat with one claw, Yuta raised his other claw, and with one talon, tapped the sailor gently and repeatedly on the chest, where he had noticed him stash his camera. Without the slightest hesitation, the sailor plunged his hand into his breast-pocket and hastily withdrew the incriminating camera. With trembling, fumbling hands, he shoved it into Yuta’s outstretched claw and then proceeded to beg for mercy. “Okay, okay! There you have it!” he sobbed. “Please let me go!!”

Paying him little mind, Yuta absently placed the sailor back on his feet, while crushing the tiny black camera in his fist, relishing the sudden relief that washed over him as if it were carried by the storm. He let the pieces wash away in the rain and watched as the sailor darted to the rails and flung himself overboard.

As Yuta was turning to make his own exit and dive back into the assuring cover of the ocean’s murky waves, lightning pierced the sky. From the distance, a bellowing like the roar of violent thunder echoed through the storm. It was the sound of not just thunder, but a thunder with a soul and a ravenous thirst for chaos and terror.

The waves rolled in the distance with a determination and fury the likes of which the ensuing storm had yet produced. From the depths, great, jagged ridges broke the water’s surface like twenty sharpened blades cutting through a single piece of paper, leaving wakes of stark-white foam fanning out behind them.

Yuta’s eyes dashed to the twenty plus crewmen bobbing helplessly in the water, yet unaware of the mortal danger that was about to be upon them. They had fled the presence of one Dragon who might have caused them no more harm than some shattered nerves, and in doing so flung themselves into bed with the most notorious, lawless predators freely roaming the seas. These Dragons would show no restrain or remorse as they plucked them off like ripened grapes.

Yuta knew he might be their only chance. With only a moment’s hesitation, he braced himself against the wind and took a leaping dive over the stern, beyond the heads of the water-treading sailors, headed straight for the tallest, most jagged, intimidating set of ridges cruising towards him.

From bellow the waves, the sight of the approaching cavalry was much more fearsome. At least twenty full-grown Dragons swam in a uniform V, each one snarling with a thirst for blood and terror. Yuta had encountered these Dragons many times on the passage to Yokohama harbor, always aware of their lawless, bloodthirsty reputations, but had never found himself a witness, much less involved in their raids. Rumor had it that they plucked off a vessel every month or so, sometimes no more than a three-man pontoon, but often preyed on larger, commercial vessels. They were rebels, outlaws who wreaked havoc on humans for pure sport. They did it for the thrill, revenge for the repression the advancing age of humankind had forced them into, and they only ever struck during a storm. For all the chaos they relished, not even they were stupid enough to rouse considerable suspicion. The ocean was a big place, but matched against both the humans’ technology and the fury of every land-dwelling, peace-loving Dragon on the planet, their odds weren’t very good.

The Dragon leading the herd was a beast, a gargantuan 75-foot-long predator with a hide as rugged and scarred as battle-worn armor. His scales were a deep, marred green, and across his spine was a line of jagged ridges 9 feet high at their tallest and most intimidating. Yuta knew him well. He went by the name of Jormun most commonly, and was more of a legend than any Dragon Yuta had ever personally known. A terrible legend, but a legend nonetheless. Once more openly violent than any Dragon the world had ever known, the footprints of his legacy could be traced wide across the pages of human mythology. Every sailor that ever lived had heard his name whispered in hushed tones and felt his real or imagined presence every time they ventured into open sea.

Fortune had it that he and Yuta were quite friendly.

Having caught sight of the familiar, phantom-like white Dragon charging towards his raiding party, Jormun pulled to a halt. Those to his rear followed suit.

“Yuta?” Jormun growled jovially, as though Yuta hadn’t come to interrupt their afternoon of sport. He waited until Yuta had drawn close enough for casual conversing, the rest of the Dragons waiting silently at his heels, like obedient dogs. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Has to’ve been twenty som’at years, no less.”

Up close, it was obvious which was the larger Dragon, the “alpha male.” Jormun was longer and wider than Yuta from every imaginable angle. He made Yuta feel like a child running to try to stop daddy from going hunting with his friends. “Hey, Jormun,” Yuta said feebly. Now that he was the center of their attention, he didn’t even know what to say. He’d have to be pretty smooth to escape this situation without either getting his a*s kicked or enabling a massacre.

“So what’s the excuse?!” Jormun bellowed with a light-hearted chuckle. “Last time we went hunting you promised you’d be back for another go within the season. What happened, mate?”

Yuta tried to avoid eye contact. “I’ve been busy. Business to take care of.”

“You mean business like avoiding Kazi, right?”       

Yuta shrugged. It was true enough. The past few decades he’d been on a particular list among the Lords which was certain to be remembered should he happen upon their hunting party while at sea. The ocean was open territory, and as Yuta kept very few friends or relations, who would notice if specific misfortune should befall him while out on a hunting trip? Cowardly, he knew, but oftentimes he found that fear was a vital element of survival during uncertain times.

Jormun continued, “Yeah, I heard he’s been searching for you just about everywhere as of late.” At this, Yuta’s ears perked up. Yuta knew this already, of course, but a reason had yet to be discovered. If the rumors had spread so far as open sea, maybe tell of a purpose had spread along with it. “Although,” Jormun continued, “I must admit you’re avoidin’ skills have gotten a bit rusty, I’d say. Kidnappin’ a school girl ain’t exactly a good way to keep the humans from sniffin’ about, brotha.”

“True, perhaps,” Yuta replied, “but since when has keeping a distance from the humans been one of your strong points?” Jormun’s expression remained as jovial as it ever was. He was an easy-going sort, always laughing, and Yuta couldn’t think of a better Dragon to go hunting with; however, Yuta knew very well the potential for utter destruction and heartless slaughter that Jormun was capable of. He treated it like a game, picking off ships just to see if he could get away with it, and every one of his worthless followers were enamored with his ruthless behavior.

“The difference, brotha,” Jormun said quietly, moving closer to Yuta so that only the two of them could hear the words passed between them, “is that I don’t have a bounty on my head as of yet.”

Yuta withdrew slightly. “Bounty?” he asked, more than a little taken aback. “What sort of bounty?”

“Land,” Jormun replied. “Up in th’ mountains. Hunting territory, your pretty lake included.” Yuta’s heart began racing madly. A bounty was serious business. A Dragon’s primary asset was his hunting ground, and Yuta’s was among the best in Japan, secluded, large bodies of water for hunting fish, streams and rivers that attracted larger game, tall mountains for good hiding, and low potential for further development. A draw like that would make most Dragons’ mouths water. He’d be dead within a month, depending on how fast the word was spreading. “Lucky for you,” Jormun chuckled, “Me’n me friends don’t have much interest in land, and you’n I have always been good mates, right, brotha?”

Yuta nodded tentatively. “And look,” Jormun continued loudly, so the pack of waiting Dragons behind him could hear, “You’ve given me a right good excuse for a bit of fun today.” At this, the Dragons chuckled in malicious anticipation of the bloodbath they hoped would ensue. Noting how Yuta’s expression tightened into a threatening grimace, Jormun lowered his voice again and spoke, “Now, I have no reason to make Kazi’s day by bringin’ y’in, so long as y’keep your mouth shut and be on your way. Unless you’d like to join us.” Jormun offered. When Yuta’s expression remained hard and stoic, he continued. “Oh, c’mon now. It’s your own soddin’ fault y’know. You know well as I that those ruddy humans can’t be allowed to talk. In a way, I’m being a good citizen and protecting our secret, eh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Yuta stated. “I destroyed any evidence they could have had. No one is going to believe them. They have no proof. They’re probably already doubting what they saw.” Yuta paused, and then continued, “Killing them is pointless, and therefore no favor to anyone, and certainly not a civic duty.”

“Yeah,” Jormun shrugged in amusement, “Your word against mine, eh?” Jormun winked at Yuta, before turning back to his comrades. “Well, boys,” he shouted. “Take your time.”

The pack sprung into action, racing past the two larger Dragons towards the flailing sets of legs and abandoned ship. Before joining them, Jormun turned once more to Yuta, smiling. “You promised me a huntin’ trip a right long time ago, eh? On your way back from wherever it is you’re goin’ look me up, brotha.” At that Jormun winked again, and snaked around and past Yuta to take the head of the bloodthirsty pack racing towards a massacre.