“His power has grown if he has dared to attack in broad daylight,” spoke the purple-robed man.
“Or his arrogance,” said the one in crimson, “and that may be construed as a weakness.”
Li-Min turned to Song. “I must go now, even at the expense of counsel. Can you find your way back alone?”
“I—I think so,” Song answered.
“If you lose your way, Kintu will guide you. He has made the trip many times.”
“And you? What will you do?” Song asked.
Exhaustion filled the old man’s words. “Whatever I can.”
And then he was gone. Vanished.
The other members of the Wise filed past Song, each laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of compassion. The last one, the one with the walnut face, comforted him. “Nothing happens beyond the will of the High One. When it is your turn to take your place among the players in this drama, you will find you have the courage and the strength already inside you.”
And with those words, they were gone.
The air was suddenly stifling, the glade as still as a tomb. Without the presence of the men, the ancient circle felt eerie and oppressive.
“Lead on, Kintu,” Song commanded, following the big dog down the mountain trail.
From the heights, Song looked far into the distance and could see smoke rising beyond the ridge of hills. He feared for Nori and Lord Dolisu and the scores of people who called the estate their home. It would be hours before he reached the scene of destruction.
And once he arrived, what could he do? Even the Wise, whose power and strength and magic he saw revealed today, could do nothing but wait for events to unfold as they were predicted.
Yet there was encouragement in their words, in the thought that all this was foreseen. The old tales, the prophecies, the teachings of Li-Min, they were part of something that was meant to be. With that comfort, Song could go on waiting with the rest, trusting in a hope.
The hours grew tedious with no one but the dog to talk to. He missed the company of Grandfather.
Not Grandfather, he corrected. Li-Min.
But the new name seemed silly. After all, the man had not changed. Only Song’s perception of him had changed. He was still the one who had raised him, and the bond of affection that tied them together had not vanished with the removal of the mask.
No, Song resolved, he would continue to call him Grandfather.
The path drew near the river, and Song gazed out across its vast expanse. Beyond, a fold of the Kindoli rose up to command the river’s course, and Song had an unobstructed view of its bulk silhouetted against the sky. What he saw there made him leap beneath the cover of a nearby tree. For circling above the mountain’s crown was the form of Ju-Long!
Fear locked the breath within his chest, and his knees trembled at the sight of the hideous, twisting body. He fumbled to remove his only weapon from the satchel tied around his waist.
The smooth wood of the Guardian Tree eased his panic, and he soon realized this dragon was not Ju-Long at all. This serpent was smaller, with a dark green body that glinted silver in the sunlight.
He watched the monster ride the updrafts that pushed along the cliffs. It glided as gracefully as a bird of prey. Then with a mighty stroke of its wings, it flew northward, straight for Kamiratan.
Ju-Long was calling his sons to himself.
He must tell Grandfather! Already, the sun dipped toward its rest. He must make haste!
He crept from beneath his shelter and jogged down the village path, his knuckles whitening around the wooden box. Then beneath his fingers, Song felt a movement, as if the face of the box had shifted.
Slowing, he inspected it more closely. He had not been mistaken. A section of one side panel had slipped out of alignment.
A sick feeling rose in his stomach. In his carelessness, he had marred the only thing that connected him to his father, to his past. He had disfigured a priceless heirloom that had endured since the beginning of time.
He pushed at it, trying to realign the edges with the rest of the box. At the slightest pressure, it slid back into place. He pressed it again, and it slid back out with a small click.
Songs lips parted and his fingers tightened around the wood. He had not broken the box. He had discovered its secret. The heirloom was a puzzle!
He walked along with hurried steps, but his whole attention was now focused on the box. With the first panel open, he turned it about, pushing and pulling at other areas. Under his probing fingers, the whole left side abruptly slid away, leaving a gap large enough to admit the tip of his pinkie. It would budge no further. There must be another step.
The puzzle absorbed him, and by the time Song arrived at the intersection of Lord Dolisu’s road, he had discovered seven more moves. But still the box did not open. He worked by touch alone now, for full darkness had overtaken him.
The reek of burned timber lay heavy in the low river valley, yet the pillar of smoke that had darkened the afternoon sky had long since dwindled away to wisps. And the excitement, he was certain, along with it. There were many others who would have gone to the aid of the lord, and Song was weary.
He continued toward the hut. Grandfather knew when to expect his return, and he would send word if he was needed.
“You are safe, then.”
Song started at the unexpected sound of a voice. The old man sat alone inside the darkened hut.
“Grandfather! Why are you not at the manor?”
“I have been turned away.”
“What?” Song lit a candle and peered at the old man in the flickering light. “What do you mean?”
“I was not allowed inside the gates to help. On Lord Dolisu’s orders, I was asked to leave. He blames me for this tragedy, for reasons I do not understand.”
“I thought Lord Dolisu was a man of integrity and wisdom,” Song mumbled. “He is the good brother.”
“He has been a great ally. I confess I did not expect such an event. It fills me with foreboding. There is evil at work here that I have not discerned. Evil that will seek to thwart what we must accomplish.”
“But what are we to accomplish?” Song cried in frustration. “What can we do?”
“We can live and learn and prepare, and wait for the next sign.”
Song paced the hut from door to window, raging against his complete helplessness. He clenched his fists, squeezing his fingers around the puzzle box.
“Grandfather!” he remembered. “I made a discovery!”
He rushed to show him the unsolved box.
“A puzzle!” the old man breathed, taking the box reverently in his hands. “Never once did I guess!” He fingered one of the sliding panels.
“I have a strong suspicion…” Grandfather murmured. “We must solve it as quickly as possible.”
“It has taken me the entire walk back to get this far,” Song told him. “I am not sure it can be done.”
Grandfather handed the box back to him. “It will open this night. Of this I am certain.”
“Then I will keep trying.”
Song settled on his sleeping mat with a stub of a candle, methodically testing every panel. Grandfather sat across from him, watching intently. Only Kintu snored.
Two hours later, the boy discovered the last move. The entire top compartment slid away, revealing a space about two inches square. Song peered in with bleary eyes.
A small object was tucked inside, nestled snugly in its ancient hiding place. As Grandfather waited expectantly, Song tipped it out into his hand.
It was a seed, dry and dimpled, like the pit of a peach.