Chapter Four

RAIN GRIPPED THE LONG bamboo stems in her jaws. She hurried back up the path, careful not to get them caught on the undergrowth as she climbed between the mossy rocks, threading her way uphill between the trunks of the gingko and pine trees, heading for the feast clearing.

Her mouth watered, but she didn’t stop to sneakily eat any of the stems she carried, as she might have done on a different day. Pebble walked behind her, inspecting the bamboo they passed for new shoots that would be perfect to pick for the feast.

Bamboo was being gathered from all over the Prosperhill for this Feast of Dying Light. There would be more than plenty for every panda. Nobody had said that this would be a special feast, but it had just seemed obvious that it was a celebration. Sunset Deepwood was back.

Rain and Pebble passed by Peony, who was drinking from a clear stream that trickled between two rocks, forming a tiny sparkling waterfall. She let some run over her muzzle and then shook her head, spraying droplets into the air. She saw Rain, and ran over to give her an affectionate lick on the ear.

“It’s so wonderful,” she said. “Everything feels renewed. Can you sense it too? Look there.” She pointed with her nose toward a little tussock where new bamboo sprouts were poking up through a layer of moss. “I’ve seen many of those, since Sunset came back to us. I think the whole Southern Forest is . . . it’s as if it’s celebrating his return.”

Rain nodded, pleased to see her mother so happy. She wasn’t quite sure it was true—bamboo often sprang up in odd places, and fast, and there was nothing about this new growth that seemed like a sign to her. But then, she’d been sure there was no Dragon Speaker and never would be again, and now here he was.

I guess anything is possible.

“Things will be better now,” Peony said. “We’ll be connected to the Great Dragon again. With his help, we’ll be able to get back to normal, the way things were before the flood.”

“Not . . . quite the way they were,” said Pebble in a small voice. Peony’s eyes turned sad, and she gave Pebble a kind nuzzle against the side of his head.

“No, you’re right,” she said. “Some things can be made right again, but not all.”

Rain looked at the ground. She wished she knew something to say to make Pebble feel better, but she knew there was nothing that could bring his big brother back. Unlike her, Pebble was just about old enough to remember the flood clearly, and the memories were painful.

“Let’s get to the clearing,” Pebble said, shaking himself from tail to ears. “We can’t miss the blessing!”

“Quite right,” said Peony gently, and led the way along the path.

The feast clearing was a dip on the peak of one of the steep hills that made up the Southern Forest. It was a clear, grassy space surrounded by trees and rocks. Rain dropped her bamboo in the center and took a helping for herself, then climbed up into the low crook of a tree and made herself comfortable as the rest of the Prosperhill pandas gathered. They climbed up the hill from all directions and took their places in the soft grass or up on the rocks, until they looked a bit like a flock of large, round birds.

From her perch in the tree, Rain turned to look around at the Bamboo Kingdom. The sun was setting at the mouth of the river, leaving half the valley in deep black shadow and the other half ablaze with golden light.

The Southern Forest was a rolling series of forested peaks that climbed higher and higher and eventually vanished into the clouds. Below her to the north was the rushing river and, on the other side of it, the sharp peaks of the Northern Forest and the White Spine Mountains beyond, like a pale reflection of the Southern Forest.

The world is so big, Rain thought. I suppose I could never know for certain that there was really no Dragon anywhere out there.

Rain felt a little guilty as she watched Sunset Deepwood crest the hill with old Mist beside him. When he’d first appeared, though the air had thrummed with the excitement of the other pandas, she hadn’t felt particularly impressed. For a start, her tricks with the cubs wouldn’t work anymore. And she might have to admit to Pebble that she’d been wrong. She knew it was petty, but it stung a little bit.

Still, she leaned forward curiously as Sunset selected a pawful of bamboo from the pile and sat down in the center of the clearing to wait for the other pandas to settle around him. What would he say? Where had he been?

Finally, a hush fell over the clearing. Usually, one of the oldest male Prosperhill pandas, either Mist or Squall, would say the blessing. But at this feast, neither of them spoke. Sunset seemed to pause politely until it was clear they were all waiting for him, then held up his bamboo and looked to the sky.

“At the Feast of Dying Light, your humble pandas bow before you. Thank you for the gift of the bamboo, and the kindness you bestow upon us.”

Normally, the final word would be the sign for the feast clearing to be filled with the crunching and splitting of bamboo as the pandas tucked into their delicious meal, but every panda seemed more hesitant to begin. Even Rain paused a little before she brought the green leaves to her mouth and began slowly to tear them off.

“Go on, eat!” Sunset chuckled. “The Dragon wouldn’t want you to go hungry.”

At that, the pandas finally started to chomp on their bamboo, though Rain thought many of them were trying to do so more quietly than normal.

“Speaker,” said Horizon, pulling a cane apart with her paws for Fir to chew on, “we can’t bear the suspense any longer. Won’t you tell us your story?”

“Yes, please, Dragon Speaker,” said Bay, and several of the other pandas nodded through their mouthfuls of bamboo. Azalea leaned so far forward on her rock she almost toppled over.

“I think I will have to keep to the bare bones of the tale,” Sunset said. “It would take another four seasons to relate everything that has happened.”

He paused, and the feast clearing seemed to hold its breath.

“I should begin before the flood, but the truth is, before the rains came and the mountains shook, everything was quite ordinary. My brother Dusk and I were walking together when it happened—as we did sometimes, even though his territory was far away. We saw the White Spines crumble and the white wave begin to roll down toward the river. We saw the sky darken and tear itself apart, and the great flood rise up to meet us. We were both caught in it. I saw my brother torn away from me, and he . . .” Sunset paused, hanging his head. “Poor Dusk. He was taken by the river. He drowned.”

A chorus of sighs ran through the clearing, and many of the pandas hung their heads and paused their feast. Rain glanced over at Pebble. He was staring at Sunset with wide and liquid eyes, his bamboo apparently forgotten in his lap. Many of them had lost family and friends in the flood, but Sunset’s story was so horribly similar to Pebble’s. . . .

Sunset closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

“I was swept away too, but I didn’t drown. I was washed up onshore a long, long way away from here. I didn’t know where I was, or what had happened, but I knew that all of you must be suffering—that all of the Bamboo Kingdom was in trouble—and so I set off to try to come back to you. Many adventures and trials lay before me. . . .” He paused to take a big mouthful of bamboo leaves. As soon as he’d finished the sprout he was holding, one of the other pandas rushed forward to take the freshest one left in the pile and present it to him. He thanked them, and chewed thoughtfully for another moment.

“You see, there were many in those times who had been hurt by the flood, and they blamed us. They blamed me. They could not accept that I, too, had had no idea what had been coming. So I was waylaid at every turn. Leopards, a herd of takins, even a flock of crows tried to keep me away from you. The leopards gave me this.” He twisted to show off the long, pale scar that broke up the fur across his flank. “Luckily, the Great Dragon gave me the strength to fight them and escape.”

He finished the next pawful of bamboo, and Rain saw several of the pandas begin to get to their paws to refill his lap, but Pebble practically flew to the pile in the middle of the clearing and reached Sunset first.

“Thank you, young . . . ?” Sunset said, with a tilt of his head.

“Oh! P-Pebble, Speaker,” Pebble gasped.

“Thank you, Pebble.”

Rain couldn’t help letting a tiny chuckle escape her throat as Pebble bustled back to his own spot. The Dragon Speaker was certainly impressive, with his grand stories of near-death encounters with leopards and everything, but Pebble vibrating with excitement at hearing the panda say his name was pretty silly.

Sunset kept talking, telling stories of long climbs over snowy peaks, fights with small but ferocious manul cats in the deep forest, and many missed feasts in his apparently tireless efforts to return to the Prosperhill. The gathered pandas gasped in all the right places, and some of them even forgot their own bamboo for a moment, they were so wrapped up in the dramatic tale.

Rain ate steadily and thoughtfully.

It was just so strange. Only this Long Light, she had been playing at being a Dragon Speaker for the cubs—well, for her own benefit, but she knew that Frog and Fir enjoyed the drama of her “visions” too. And now, here was a real Speaker. Did that mean that the Dragon was real too? But if there really was a Dragon, and Sunset really had this special connection to it, then why hadn’t he—he, of all pandas—had some idea that the flood was coming?

Obviously, that stupid blue-faced monkey hadn’t been right exactly, but . . .

“I think that’s enough about me,” Sunset said. “More than enough, in fact! All that matters now is that I’m home.”

“Quite right,” chorused several pandas, and others started to roar and slap their paws on the ground in agreement.

Sunset held up his paws, and they all fell silent. Rain blinked in surprise, then went back to chewing on her last woody stem. Commanding the Prosperhill pandas to stop their chatter with just a gesture—now that would be a great power to have.

“I’m home,” Sunset repeated, “with my beloved pandas. And I can see that you are all suffering, as I have suffered. Let me ease your pain. Tell me your stories of the flood. I want to hear how each of you survived, and what you lost. That way we will all be able to begin to heal, together.”

Rain let out a heavy breath. That sounded like the last thing she’d like to spend her Dying Light doing. Especially because she’d only just been born at the time. What was her story going to be? I was born. It was wet. I got dry later.

No, she was going to have to sit here and say nothing while the rest of the pandas recounted the terrible things that had happened to them. She shifted awkwardly in her tree and looked around at the other pandas, who all suddenly looked solemn. Perhaps Sunset was right, and this would make them feel better. She could sit quietly for it, if that was the case.

The first panda to speak up was Cypress. He padded to the edge of his rock and sat looking around at the other pandas.

“Well, um . . . I was in my own territory when it happened, higher up the slopes. The ground shook. I was almost crushed by falling rocks, and then the rain started. . . .”

He went on, talking about the long drop that had broken his paw, and how he had found his way to the Prosperhill after the rains stopped, where the other pandas had helped him rest.

“And what of your family, of other pandas?” Sunset asked.

“My older sister, Citrus, was my only family. I haven’t seen her since the flood. I . . . I thought she must be dead,” Cypress said. “But perhaps now that you’ve found us again . . . perhaps . . .”

“Thank you for your story, Cypress,” said Sunset. “Who would like to be next to share theirs?”

One by one, each of the pandas stepped forward, except the few like Rain, Frog, and Fir who were too young to remember the flood at all. The stories had a lot in common—slippery falls, dangerous climbs, encounters with panicking animals, fevers that seemed like they would be fatal—or were, in some cases. Rain listened with a heavy heart to stories of missing parents and dead cubs. Pebble and his mother told their story together, describing Stone’s death in the terrible tide.

When Peony’s turn came, Rain listened intently. Her mother had never really spoken of what had happened to her.

“I was pregnant,” she said. “And my mate . . . he died.” Peony cleared her throat, and Rain felt a sharp pang of sadness. She had never known her father, and had never really missed him—but it hurt to see how much it still pained Peony to even mention him. “I thought there was no way I could escape, but I kept climbing, higher and higher. And after the flood, my beautiful Rain came to me,” she added, shooting a fond glance up at Rain in her tree. “Safe and sound.”

Sunset shook his head. “It must have been so hard,” he said. He looked up at Rain. “The younger generation is truly a blessing. Tell me—were any others bearing cubs at the time?”

“One or two, I think,” said Peony. “The only one I knew for certain was a panda whose territory bordered mine. She disappeared. I found the body of her mate, washed up on the shore.”

“But she could still be out there,” said Sunset thoughtfully. “And her cub, or cubs. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find her? If we could find all our missing family?”

The pandas all nodded solemnly at this. Rain did too, but she felt a prickle of discomfort between her shoulders as she did so. Obviously, she wanted her mother’s friend and her cub to be alive, but was it really a good idea to make the Prosperhill pandas think that all their missing friends could be out there somewhere? And what about the ones who knew their loved ones would never come home? What about Pebble?

The bamboo pile was just a scattering of dry sticks now, and Rain would have liked to climb down from her tree and find a comfortable place for a nap before the Feast of Moon Climb, but she sensed that the other pandas were still waiting for something, so she didn’t move.

“Speaker,” said Squall. “Can you still speak to the Dragon? Does it have any guidance for us?”

“Please,” Horizon added, and several of the other pandas raised their voices in agreement. “Please, do you have a prophecy to share?”

Sunset sat back, and his eyes slowly closed. Rain leaned forward so far her paw slipped and she almost tumbled out of the tree before she caught herself. Was it really true? Was she about to see what a Dragon Speaker receiving a vision really looked like?

Eyes still shut, Sunset placed his forepaws down in front of him and dug his claws into the earth. He went very still, barely even breathing, as if he had been carved from stone. The pandas around him were almost as still as he was, though a few of them chewed their claws or scratched their bellies in anticipation.

Rain kept her gaze fixed on the old panda’s face. When his eyes snapped open, it was so sudden it made her jump. Was she imagining it, or did they glint more brightly than they should have? They were certainly wide and full of something like amazement.

Sunset lifted his left front paw, and there was something held in it that glinted like the light in his eyes. It was a tiny, perfectly round, blue stone.

Mist let out a gasp. “The Seeing Stone,” she whispered. “Through everything . . . you still have it!”

Rain cast a confused glance down at Peony, who reared up against the trunk of the tree to say quietly, “The Dragon Speakers have always carried the Seeing Stone. It’s very old, and very powerful—it came from the cave where the Great Dragon lives!”

Where is that cave? Rain wondered. But before she could ask Peony, Sunset spoke, still holding up the blue orb.

“The Seeing Stone has told me the will of the Great Dragon,” he said. Then he smiled, pure joy creasing the fur around his eyes. “The Great Dragon is pleased. You are already on the right path. When all the pandas are reunited, we will cross the waters together.”

Several of the pandas gasped, and Squall sat back on his haunches with such force he almost toppled over backward.

“Did you hear that?” Cypress murmured to Horizon. “The Dragon wants us to be reunited. Some of the missing must still be out there!”

“If Citrus is alive, we’ll find her,” Horizon replied to her mate, nuzzling her nose against his cheek.

“The Great Dragon speaks once more!” Mist proclaimed, standing up on slightly wobbly legs. “Thank you, Dragon Speaker.”

Rain sat on a tree branch that stretched out over the water, watching the moon glinting on the gold-speckled backs of the carp in the stream. She focused, waiting for just the right moment; then she thrust a paw down into the water and scooped out a wriggling fish. She held it up for a second in triumph, then let it slip from her grasp and splash back into the water again.

“You’re safe, this time,” she said to the dark water. “I’m not hungry enough to eat a fish today. But I could if I wanted to.”

“Yuck,” said Pebble’s voice behind her. She turned to look at him as he stepped out from the shadow of the trees into the moonlight.

“Fish is okay,” Rain said. “It’s not bamboo, but I like how it tastes of the river.”

Pebble walked to the edge of the water. The white parts of his fur almost seemed to glow as he looked down at the rippling reflections and then up at the starlit sky.

“Isn’t it amazing?” he said.

Rain hesitated. She guessed he wasn’t talking about the taste of fish.

“He’s so wise,” Pebble went on. “And did you see that scar? He must have been so brave, to escape those leopards. And he really understands, you know? I mean, his brother . . .” He trailed off, and Rain gave him a sympathetic look, though she found that her thoughts were a little bit less straightforward.

Lots of us lost family. He’s not the only one. It was the first thing that leaped to her mind to say, but she knew it wouldn’t exactly be kind to say it. It must be nice for Pebble to feel like someone important shares his sadness.

She looked out over the river. The far bank was invisible now, shrouded in darkness.

“Why do you think the Dragon wants us to cross over?” she wondered aloud.

“Hmm?” Pebble said, as if she’d interrupted his stream of thought.

“Well, Sunset said that the Dragon told him that when we’re reunited, we’ll cross the waters together, right? But the forest on the other side doesn’t seem particularly great. I mean, I’d like to be able to swim across, but . . . what do you think the point is? And how? Will we all form a big panda chain across the river? What about the cubs? And Mist, and Squall? Surely he doesn’t mean they’ll actually cross over, does he?”

Pebble shook his head. “You take things too literally. He’s the Dragon Speaker; he knows what he’s talking about.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Rain, although deep down, a small, rebellious part of her did. “I’m just saying I don’t know what he’s—”

She broke off. She thought she’d heard voices coming from just around the riverbend. Pebble gave her a strange look, but Rain kept silent until she heard it again. . . .

“. . . as I asked?”

Was that Sunset’s voice?

“Oh yes, we found it all right.”

The reply also sounded familiar, though Rain couldn’t put her paw on where she’d heard it before. It didn’t sound like any of the pandas—nor did the chorus of quiet hooting in agreement that followed.

Rain climbed along the tree branch and down onto the shore. With Pebble in tow, still slightly bemused, she snuck through the undergrowth and up and over a rock until she was looking down at a clearing where Sunset the Dragon Speaker was standing, looking up at the branches above him. For a moment Rain couldn’t see who he was speaking to. Then she crouched back, pressing her belly to the rock, as she realized that the trees were full of golden monkeys. In the darkness their bright fur almost blended in with the golden leaves of the gingko tree, but there must have been at least ten of them, maybe more, all gathered and looking down at Sunset.

“Good work, Brawnshanks,” Sunset said. “Give it to me.”

One of the monkeys half climbed, half fell out of the tree, catching himself on a low branch with his tail and presenting an armful of bamboo to Sunset with a flourish. Rain squinted in the dim light and saw that the leaves of the bamboo were covered in stripes of darker and paler green, and each growth section of the cane also seemed to be a different shade.

The monkey Brawnshanks cocked his head, and Rain saw that this was the same big monkey with the torn ear that she had argued with earlier that day.

But then he had been aggressive and bitter. He’d mocked the very idea that there would be a Dragon Speaker again, or that anyone would listen to the pandas. And now he was fetching bamboo for the Speaker, no more than two feasts after he had returned to the Prosperhill?

“I’ll need more soon,” said Sunset.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Brawnshanks said with a wink. “We’ll keep you well supplied. Congrats again, Dragon Speaker.”

With that, the monkey swung up into the trees, and the whole troop whooped again and scampered away, vanishing into the upper canopy.

Sunset gripped the strange striped bamboo carefully in his jaws, but he didn’t chomp down on it as Rain thought he might. Instead he carried it away into the shadows under the trees, and was gone.

“What is he up to?” Rain wondered aloud.

“‘Up to’?” Pebble frowned. “I think pretending to be a Dragon Speaker has messed with your head. He’s just talking to the monkeys. That’s good—that’s what a Speaker ought to do.”

“What about the bamboo?” Rain shot back.

“It looked tasty,” Pebble said, rolling his big shoulders. “The monkeys must have brought it as a welcome-back gift.”

“What, Brawnshanks?” She straightened up and adopted a haughty voice. “‘Do this, or the Dragon will never speak to you again’? That Brawnshanks?”

“Look, he’s the Dragon Speaker,” Pebble said. He got to his paws and bumped Rain affectionately with one shoulder. “Don’t be jealous. Are you really surprised the creatures of the Bamboo Kingdom are keen to get back in his good graces? If he needs that particular bamboo, he’ll have a good reason, you’ll see. Everything he does is for the good of the Bamboo Kingdom. That’s what a Speaker is for.”

“Yeah,” said Rain, bumping him back. “Maybe he’ll share this special bamboo at the Feast of Moon Climb.”

But the words felt hollow in her mouth.

Is it just me? Am I just jealous? Or is there really something here that’s not quite right?