THERE WERE THREE OF US. ESH, DRAHK AND I.
Shima was a muddy speck on the horizon behind, icy winds cutting through the woolens and oilskin Yukiko had wrapped herself inside. They flew above the storm, air so thin each breath was a knife in her throat, the frost leaving bite marks on her cheeks. She pressed herself to Buruu’s warmth—the last fire in a world gone utterly black and cold.
You were the youngest?
YES. DRAHK THE OLDEST. FULL OF PRIDE AND FIRE. I LOOKED UP TO HIM AS IF HE MADE THE DAY BREAK AND THE MOON FALL. ESH THE MIDDLE SON. EVER UNSURE IN DRAHK’S SHADOW. EVER SEEKING TO PROVE HIMSELF.
Yukiko could feel a sadness in him, the same tinge of ashes and red she felt when she thought of her own brother. She could tell they were dead by the way Buruu spoke, and she hugged him fiercely, pouring into him with all the love she could muster. It was a long time before she could form the thought burning in her mind.
What happened to them?
Buruu sighed, eyes narrowed against the piercing wind.
WE GREW. HUNTING AND BRAWLING AS BROTHERS DO. ALL KHAN-SONS, EAGER TO PROVE OURSELVES. WE WERE NEVER HAPPIER THAN WHEN THE OTHERS CAME TO US FROM MORCHEBA; YOUNG BUCKS FLYING WESTWARD, FEATHER AND FUR AS BLACK AS NIGHT.
They came to fight you?
ONLY TO FIRST BLOOD. TESTING EACH OTHER. ARASHITORA DID NOT KILL OTHER ARASHITORA, AND IN OUR EYES, THEY WERE STILL CHILDREN OF RAIJIN. THE MORCHEBANS HAD HUNTED THEM FOR THEIR SKINS UNTIL ONLY A FEW PACKS REMAINED. WE WERE ALL BROTHERS ON THAT BRINK OF EXTINCTION.
So what happened?
She saw an image in his mind’s eye; a great, blood-red ocean, muddied by the perpetual storm overhead. A spire of gleaming obsidian rose out of the seething spray, flat-topped, like a nail piercing the ocean’s face. She could see its name in Buruu’s mind; the Bloodstone. Here the young bucks would meet, black and white, in summer when the tempest calmed and the hunger of the first sea dragons rose closest to surface. Their children would swarm in the oceans, thrashing through churning foam with long tails of glittering silver. The young arashitora males would gather and clash, their blood falling with the rain and driving the dragons to frenzy.
It was the fifth summer of Buruu’s youth, his feathers and fur still off-gray, stripes not yet black. Esh was practically full-grown, and Drahk was old enough to be considered an adult—when next a dam came into heat, he would surely contest for the right to mate. They perched on the Bloodstone and watched the Others fly from the East, feathers as black as the spire beneath Buruu’s feet. He sensed some familiar shapes and scents, others new, half a dozen in all. They landed on the stone’s flat top, snuffling and preening before laying down to rest. The Everstorm bucks were in no hurry to commence hostilities—the contests sometimes lasted weeks.
Buruu watched the young females circling near the cloud line. They did an impressive job of appearing aloof, but all knew why they were here—scouting prospective mates among the Everstorm pack, feeding curiosity about the Morcheban blacks. He spotted one amongst the group, gray fur set with just the faintest impression of her stripes, dipping and rolling through the clouds. Buruu watched as if hypnotized, tail moving in confused, agitated arcs.
Who is she?
SHAI.
She’s beautiful.
I THOUGHT SO, TOO.
The Others stirred, prancing for the females’ benefit. This set the Everstorm bucks to growling, hackles raised, roaring challenge. Buruu took note of the new faces amongst the visitors—one particularly proud, a sleek head and a cruelly hooked beak, eyes burning emerald green. He roared his name was Sukaa, firstborn of Torr, Khan of the Others. And though he was barely older than Buruu by the look, he would suffer no challenge from those not born of Everstorm’s strongest. Prowling back and forth, he demanded to fight the sons of the Khan.
Drahk dismissed him with a glance. The buck was too young. No sport at all. Middle child and ever keen to fight, Esh accepted the challenge. And so the pair took to the air, two sleek, broad shadows on the wind, rolling amidst the thunder and circling like starving wolves around a haunch of bloody meat.