Dragon Island (7 page)

It hurts.

My father often reminds me that life does.

And that’s exactly what Kitsune’s mouth-to-mouth resuscitation has given me: sweet, blessed life!

Why oh why did my plane have to crash on an island with monsters and life-threatening danger at every turn?

I wipe my face and roll onto my side so that the last of the water can pour out of my lungs unimpeded.

I lie that way for some time, my chest heaving as I gasp for air. When I start to feel better, I roll back onto my posterior.

Kitsune brushes my damp hair away from my forehead in three tender strokes. Her touch is calming.

“Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Rest. I will return in a moment.”

I nod again.

I close my eyes and listen to Kitsune’s retreating steps. I lie that way for several moments, panting for air, feeling every ache and pain bred of the past few days in its entirety. Then I remember the turtle monster and reach over my shoulder for Kusanagi.

The sword isn’t there.

I jerk up and swing my head from left to right as I scan my surroundings. Relief floods me when I see Kusanagi lying nearby on the rock face. I roll over and seize the sword’s handgrip just as Kitsune returns.

She is now dressed and a fresh wildflower rides in her hair above her right ear.

I sit up and wipe my face, hitching my knees so that I cradle Kusanagi between them.

Kitsune kneels beside me and bows.

“What are you doing?”

“Thanking you, Raymond-sai.”

“For what?”

“For saving me from the kappa.”

“Save you? I almost drowned. It was you who saved me!”

Kitsune shakes her head.

“Please, Raymond-sai. Adhering to the path of the reluctant warrior is one thing, but this is ridiculous!

“The water merely overcame you after you frightened away the demon kaiju. Your bravery must be proclaimed in song.”

“But I—”

I start to tell Kitsune that it was not bravery that sent me diving into the water pool, but sheer terror. I hadn’t leaped into battle. I’d done just the opposite: I’d fainted!

It must have been just like with the Oni, I think. It must have been the sight of Kusanagi that frightened away the kappa, not me!

But before I can confess all this, Kitsune closes her eyes and begins to sing.

And oh what a song it is!

Her hums from earlier this morning did not begin to hint at the loveliness of her voice. Her song is hypnotic in its beauty, like the lapping of the ocean waves or the wind through the leaves in the trees.

Its sound takes me to a place of deep stillness that somehow manages to simultaneously conjure sorrow and joy within my heart.

I look around and see that the plants within our immediate vicinity are literally leaning in toward Kitsune. I watch in amazement as dozens of vibrant wildflowers bud and then bloom with time-lapse-photography speed with her every note.

When Kitsune finishes singing, tears are leaking from my eyes. I turn away so that she cannot see what a sensitive little crybaby I’m. My visits with Dad have given me a lot of practice in that regard.

How am I supposed to be honest with her about my cowardice after that?

You can’t, I lie to myself. Let her think what she wants. Who cares? It’s no skin off your teeth!

“Uh,” I mumble, “you’re welcome...?”

Kitsune bows and then rises to her feet.

“Come. I was wrong. This place is no longer safe. If the Kappa have become brave enough to attack in broad daylight, then things are truly changing on the island.

“For the worse.

“We must reach the Toho as soon as possible.”

“Whatever you say.”

I stand, my movements clumsy and uncontrolled into comparison to Kitsune’s lithe motions. I wait until she turns and begins walking away from me before I pull the sopping wet underwear from my butt crack. The undergarment comes free with a wet, squishing sound that causes Kitsune to crane her head toward me. She shakes her head and grunts disapprovingly before I can pull my hand away.

So much for discretion, and so much for my dignity.

I strap Kusanagi onto my back and then close the distance to Kitsune. We walk in silence side-by-side. We re-enter the forest. The cicadas welcome us with their never-ending song.

Shafts of sunlight drift down between the branches of the high trees, bathing our surroundings, creating an almost fairy-tale-like environment. After a time, I begin seeing movement all around us from the corners of my eyes.

The forest is coming alive!

I jerk my head from left to right, trying to glimpse the wildflowers I know I saw leave their green stems to flitter through the air. I drop my gaze, hoping to catch one of the large, toadstool mushrooms at our feet in the act of raising its cap to peer up at us.

These are the things I think I’m glimpsing along my vision’s periphery. But when I turn my head to look at them directly, all my gaze falls upon is inanimate forest.

I hear Kitsune giggle beside me.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You are acclimating.”

“I’m what?”

“The food you ate. The water you drank...”

Kitsune bows her head, hiding the redness blooming in her cheeks.

“The song I just sang to you.

“The island is revealing more and more of itself to you.”

“What are you talking abou—?”

Kitsune abruptly halts. I follow suit.

“Hush.” she commands. “Be still.”

I stand there for several minutes, impatient and feeling like an idiot.

Then I notice one of the floating wildflowers drifting toward me.

The wildflower drifts in closer and closer until I see that it’s not a wildflower at all. Looking at the non-flower, a single word comes to mind: fairy.

“Still now.” Kitsune warns. “Let the kami come to you.”

Yes. I think. Not a fairy. Not here. Here on the island, they are called kami.

The kami dances through the air, its inverted petals hanging like a dress beneath the lean stigma constituting its torso.

It lands on my shoulder and continues its dance of slow, graceful movements. Then it catches another air current and lifts off.

I relax my eyes as though I were looking at one of those 3-D paintings in the mall and follow the kami’s flight pattern with my gaze. My eyes wash over countless tiny beings comprised of leaves and vines and bark nestled in the trees. Some of these are humanoid in form, but many defy description.

But all contain traces of intelligence in their visages—looks of worry, curiosity, and even amusement.

It’s amazing—another strange and miraculous world lurking just beneath the surface of the equally wild one I’m in now. It boggles the imagination!

Later, I thank the heavens above that this wondrous moment wasn’t darkened by knowledge of the terrors to come.

The network which runs throughout the multiverse connecting all places, times, and ideas is referred to as the axis mundi. The concept of the axis mundi has been expressed in many different forms throughout recorded history.

Norse mythology refers to the cosmic tree, Yggdrasil. The tree’s branches stretched far into the heavens, and were supported by three roots extending far away into other planes of existence.

Likewise, the Nesopotanians of the
Aegean
Islands
epitomized the axis mundi as an underground labyrinth that increased in size and complexity the closer one came to its core...

—Excerpt from
The Multiverse: A Wonderwork!
, by Daniel Sabella

“S
o, how far exactly are we from the Toho?” I ask.

Kitsune and I’ve been walking for hours, moving deeper and deeper into the forest, the chirping cicadas providing the soundtrack for our journey. The delightful enchantment the woods held earlier has all but vanished. Now the trees crowd in around us, herding us on toward some new peril.

It seems like that’s all I’ve done since I was marooned here—move from one danger to the next, getting deeper and deeper into trouble with every step.

Despite the length of our trek, Kitsune shows no sign of fatigue. There’s not a single drop of sweat along her perfect, golden brow. Even the bruises she received at the hands of the Oni have seemingly healed over night.

I, on the other hand, am covered in scratches and bruises, and can think of nothing but stopping to take a rest.

To pass the time, we have been practicing the song she sang to me after our escape from the kappa. The words are completely alien to me, so the going is difficult.

At least in my opinion.

Kitsune, on the other hand, seems to think me a virtuoso, and showers my efforts with praise, telling me I sound even better than her.

I’m good, admittedly, but I cannot help but think she is being overly generous.

But when Kitsune at last answers my question about the distance to her village, all thoughts of singing vanish from my mind.

“It is a day’s walk to the Toho village taking the deep labyrinth,” she says.

I swallow hard. Deep labyrinth? I definitely don’t like the sound of that! Kitsune quickly validates my apprehension.

“You crossed over into the outer labyrinth the moment your plane crashed here. But the deep labyrinth lies beneath the island. It is where all times and places converge, and the god-dragon Ryuu’s presence is strongest.

“We will have to move with haste and extreme caution.

“It is said there are kaiju who dwell there in the deep, dark passages,” she continues, “creatures unlike any other on the island.”

Uh-oh! I think. This only gets better and better!

“Their ways are different. Mysterious.

“Frightful.

“That is why the philosopher who came to our shores through the labyrinth ages ago called these beings Xenomians, for the inner workings of their hearts and minds are foreign to all.”

Xenomians? I think. Sounds like something out of a bad science fiction movie!

“What do they look like?” I make quotation marks in the air with my fingers. “These Xenomians?”

“I do not know.
 
Nor do any of the Toho. As a rule, it is only the shobijin who journey into the deep labyrinth, though not even they have walked Ryuu’s lair of late, as sick as they have been.”

“Shobijin?” I ask, almost dizzy with the influx of new information.

“They are the dragon Gryphina’s priestesses. Always twins. Always females. The shobijin have been the Toho’s bridge to Gryphina since before time began.

“In turn, Gryphina is Ryuu’s link to the Toho. The relationship is what you would call symbiotic.”

“So let me get this straight,” I say. “These priestesses—these shobijin—they serve as your village’s religious go-between?”

Kitsune sighs. “That is a gross simplification, but yes.

“But, as I said, the shobijin are in ill health. Their bond to Gryphina holds, but it is less than secure at present.”

I nod. “You keep talking about Gryphina. And this Ryuu. Who are they? Really, I mean.”

“I told you before, Gryphina is a daikaiju. And the daikaiju are—”

“Yes, the great dragons. I know! And I told you, I think I’ve seen one—looked it right in the eye. Twice.

“It could’ve been your Gryphina, or Ryuu itself for all I know.”

Kitsune throws back her head and laughs.

“What’s so funny?” I ask. I’m unable to keep the aggravation out of my voice.

After a moment, Kitsune regains enough control over herself to speak. “I am sorry, Raymond-sai. I do not mean to laugh at you.

“Let me explain.”

Kitsune stops walking and I follow suit. She turns so that we are face-to-face.

“We have all seen King Ryuu—or at least, evidence of his passage.”

Kitsune gestures to the sunlight trickling in through the forest canopy above. “His fiery breath keeps us warm.”

Her arms drop to point at the ground. “His great back provides the ground for us to walk upon.”

Kitsune’s gaze moves skyward. “And at night, his long tail stretches across the sky for all to see and marvel.”

I think about the Draco-like constellation of stars that stretches across the island’s sky at night and begin to glean where Kitsune is coming from.

“So what you are saying is, Ryuu is anything and everything?”

“Yes!” Kitsune answers excitedly. “Ryuu is the king of daikaiju and kaiju alike. He is the king of the Toho! The king of all!”

It’s textbook nature worship, I think. The Toho have anthropomorphized and deified the universe.

Big words. I know. What can I say? I read.