The men stayed only one night.
The next morning, as Song twisted the dried leaves of garlic bulbs into long braids, he had much to think about. Did he really believe the tales? He wasn’t sure. But the dragon was certainly real. And the box had repelled it. And his name had been placed inside the box. Somehow, he fit into whatever drama was playing out.
Was he a descendent of one of the brothers predicted to rise again? Was he a son of the good, mighty Elder?
Despite his name, he was not mighty.
Could he be a son of the Younger? Did he have treachery and hatred in his blood?
He hoped not.
Yet, didn’t Grandfather warn him about not letting hatred and bitterness fester? And hadn’t he done exactly that? Even now the thought of Keeto made his blood heat.
Perhaps Keeto was one of whom the prophecy spoke. Perhaps he was a natural, blood enemy. Perhaps there was reason for their feud that went beyond what either of them understood. Would one rise to smite the other down, as the prophecy said? Was it happening already?
Song shuddered.
But what about Karina? She couldn’t possibly be a blood enemy, could she?
At that moment he heard her humming on the village path, her voice as sweet as the song of the thrush. It brought him pure, honest pleasure just to hear her.
No, Karina could never be his enemy.
The girl entered the clearing and her face lit up at the sight of him. “Good morning, Song.”
He waved. Lifting the long braids with their dangling bulbs, he carried them into the hut to hang within easy reach.
“Hello, Karina.” Grandfather looked up from the parchment he wrote on. “Does the village hold so few chores that you seek more elsewhere?”
“It is companionship I seek, and chores hold no repugnance for me. Have you work that needs completing?”
Grandfather gazed at her affectionately. “I hold no claim to your aid, but if you were to wash the laundry in that basket, my aging back would thank you.”
Song reached it before her. “We’ll do it together,” he said.
“Many hands make a burden lighter,” she agreed, grasping one of the handles.
They set the basket on the bank of the stream. It contained only a few garments, but each must be soaped, scrubbed, and beat upon the rocks to loosen the soil that clung to the fabric. Then they must be rinsed, wrung out, and draped over a bush to dry completely.
As they bent to the work, Song noticed Karina looked dingy and sooty, as if she, too, might need a good ducking in the mountain stream.
“How is it in the village? I have not been there since Keeto...” his voice trailed off.
Karina gave him a sympathetic look. “The village is being cleaned and rebuilt, but much is still in turmoil. We have nothing, and two ghosts haunt our thoughts.”
“I’m sorry I have not been able to come.”
“You need not apologize.”
She stopped work and considered him. “I spoke again with Keeto. Perhaps this time—”
“Keeto will not change.” His voice sounded brittle, even to his own ears.
“There is always hope.”
Song’s eyes were drawn unwittingly to her scar, which was turning purple with the exertion of her labor. After Nori’s flawless complexion, the disfigurement seemed gross and unnatural. Repulsive.
“Why do you look at me in such a way?” she asked with a small smile.
Song felt immediate shame. “No reason. You just look tired.”
“I am.” Her eyes grew weary. “Sometimes I wonder if things will ever return to how they used to be. I find myself looking for little reminders that life is, indeed, normal.” She gave him a keen glance. “Little details like your panda. Have you finished it?”
“I forgot it at the waterfall. Honestly, I have not thought of it since. A figurine seems silly now, after everything that has happened.”
“You must not give up on it. Your art is an important part of you, one you must not forget. Especially when life gets hard and you feel insignificant in the face of tragedy, as I do,” she whispered. “That is when you must remember who you are.”
“But I do not know who I am!” he burst out. Did she still not understand? He’d never known his parents. He didn’t even know how they died. He didn’t know anything about himself.
Karina sat back on her heels, her coarse tunic bunching about her knees. It was shapeless and ugly, tied with hemp at her waist.
These things had never bothered him before. Could the poison of the brother’s feud be staining their friendship? Could Karina really be his enemy?
She looked at him piercingly. “You are my friend, Song Wei. That is of no small consequence. And there is honor in your heart.”
The words made him feel worse.
She softened. “Would you like me to go back to the waterfall with you and retrieve the panda?”
“No carving is worth risking our lives for,” he muttered.
“We cannot live our lives around fear,” she countered.
“I don’t want to go, Karina!” he exclaimed, more harshly than he intended.
She paused, stung by his outburst.
He hung his head. “Karina, I’m sorry.”
What was wrong with him? What was happening to the friendship he had so long treasured? Anger and confusion were ripping him apart. He wanted to confide in her as he had always done, but he wanted to protect her as well. Maybe it would be best if they put some space between them, just until he figured out if the stories were true. “Karina, I don’t think—”
But footsteps sounded on the village path.
Nori sashayed into the clearing looking fresh and beautiful in a pink silk tunic that clung to her figure and rippled when she walked. Song hated himself for noticing. On her feet she wore walking slippers, not of straw but of soft leather. Asito followed in her wake, bedecked in blue and grey and his ever-present sword.
“Song!” the girl trilled. “I’ve come to speak with you.”
Turning to her chaperone, she ordered, “You may go, Asito. Song is perfectly capable of walking me home when my business is concluded.”
With an emotionless glance at Song, the servant vanished.
“Song, do come here,” she commanded.
Song could not look at Karina as he approached Nori.
The girl arched her eyebrows at Karina. “I’d like a private word.
“I have a proposition to make,” she announced after pulling him a few steps away. “I have not spoken yet with my father, but I am sure he will agree. I want you to come live in my father’s manor.”