The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon - Chapter 42: The Tigers And The Sea

Chapter 42: The Tigers And The Sea

Xiang watched as his grandfather stared at the sea. The old tiger-man was still and silent.

“Grandfather,” he murmured. “Do you want me to help you reach the sea?”

Age had bent the old tiger-man’s back, and he needed a cane to help him walk. Yet when he turned to Xiang, there was a smile upon his lips, fragile but growing stronger with each passing moment.

“No,” his grandfather murmured. “I can do it.”

And so he made his way down to where the waves lapped against the shore, his cane digging into the soft sand. As the first wave washed over his feet, his grandfather dropped to his knees. Xiang hurried to his side, worry clawing at his heart, but then his grandfather laughed.

“It has been so long since I have seen the sea,” his grandfather said, and if there were tears mixed with the laughter, Xiang was wise enough not to mention them. His grandfather scooped up a handful of wet sand and let the next wave wash it away. “It feels it feels like home,” he said, and then his smile turned watery indeed. “I wish your father were here with us. Oh he would have loved this place. I know it.” His grandfather struggled to rise, and Xiang helped him back up onto his feet. “This is a good place, Xiang. Our people will do well here.”

“I think so too,” Xiang murmured. “It is a good place a good home.”

And it was.

When they had accompanied the dragon back to his lands, they had been met with endless fields of rich produce and houses made of stone with fine shingled roofs. Xiang and the other tiger-people had marvelled at the magical pump that delivered water to each house and to the system that handled waste with none of the mess so often found in other places.

The villagers were friendly folk, and while they had been initially been taken aback by Xiang and his people, he could tell that it was simply because they had never seen any tiger-people before. Their smiles were warm and welcoming, and when they invited all of the new arrivals to join them in a feast, there had been no hidden malice, no snide remarks, or veiled insults.

The dragon had spoken truly. They were all equal in his eyes.

They had stayed in the village for a few days, resting and learning more about the others who served the dragon. There were dwarves, humans, monsters, and ascended animals. All worked together at his behest, their different skills woven into a tapestry that promoted success for all.

And his people would be a part of it.

Their lands to the south were said to be rich in fish and the bounty of the sea, and there were jungles and mangroves nearby where all manner of resources could be obtained. In time a road might be built to their settlement, but in the meantime, it would be quickest to take a boat up the coast and then up a river to one of the villages. They could also fly. Several of the flying monsters had agreed to accompany them to the coast, and there were others down there that might be tamed or won over if they were careful.

Xiang had never been especially fond of flight, but that was because he had never experienced it himself. Now that he had soared in the flying ship the dwarves had and through the air courtesy of Doomwing’s magic, he found himself looking forward to the opportunity to fly again. The largest of the bird monsters that had accompanied them south was big enough to carry two or three people at once, and Xiang had already spoken to him.

The monster would set up a roost nearby for himself and his family. They would aid the tiger-people in exchange for a share of their catch. Their swift wings and keen eyes would certainly prove useful in the days ahead, and they were fierce fighters too, gifted with razor-sharp claws, fearsome beaks, and wind magic.

The site of their settlement was a sheltered cove with the jungle to one side and mangroves to the other. White sand awaited them on the beach, and the seas nearby teemed with life. It was a good place, far better than the desolate lands Xiang had hoped to purchase with his tournament winnings.

“Come on, grandfather,” Xiang said. “We should decide what to do first.”

He helped his grandfather back to the makeshift camp they had set up. Doomwing had departed to survey the seas nearby, leaving behind a doppelganger named Brother Dragon. It was a strange name, reminiscent of the names he had seen amongst beast-people monks.

“What do you think?” Brother Dragon asked. “Can your people make a living here?”

His grandfather laughed. “We can do more than make a living here. We can make this our home and bring all the bounty of the sea before you.” He grinned. “I am an old man now, but I remember my fishing days well. The seas here are full of fish, and this cove will protect our boats from rough seas and storms. We have not explored the mangroves yet, but such places often have crabs, shrimps, lobsters, and other such animals. As for the jungle, we shall not want for wood, and there are many other resources to be gained there too.”

“We shall have to be careful,” Xiang said. “I am strong enough to drive off most foes, but there may be dangers here that I cannot face.” It went unspoken that if he could not fight something off, then the others would stand little chance. He was, by far, the strongest of his people.

“Fear not,” Brother Dragon said. “I have tree-folk in my service. They have yet to arrive, but I have called for some of them. They will aid you in establishing your settlement and help protect you from threats.” The doppelganger’s eyes gleamed. “As for threats beyond you or the tree-folk, I shall deal with those.”

“In what way?” Xiang asked.

“I shall try reason first. Powerful monsters generally possess some intelligence. If they acknowledge my authority and follow my rules, I see no reason to exterminate them. But if they defy me and threaten those who serve me, then I shall crush them.”

As expected of a dragon mercy offered from a position of overwhelming strength.

“This camp will suffice for a few nights,” Brother Dragon said. “But you will need to build proper homes soon.”

“Yes,” Xiang agreed. “It should not be too difficult. We have some experience building our own homes, and the tools the dwarves gave us are excellent. If we take trees from the jungle, it should not take us long.”

“You refused further help from the dwarves,” Brother Dragon said. “With their magic and skills, they could have built you houses of stone.”

“Yes,” Xiang said. “But this my people have wandered for so long with no place to call home. Now that we have a home, we would like to build our houses with our own hands. It is sentimental perhaps, maybe even foolish, but it is something we must do.”

Brother Dragon’s lips curled. “I knew a tiger-man once. He spoke of how fiercely independent his people were. What they built, they built with their own hands. What they claimed, they seized with their own strength. Such independence has its merits, but never forget that you serve me now. You and your people are no longer alone.”

Xiang bowed his head. “Of course.” He patted his grandfather on the back. “It is only mid-morning, grandfather. I shall go with some of the other men and harvest some lumber, enough to begin building houses and boats. I trust you can supervise the making of boats?”

His grandfather puffed out his chest proudly. “I may be old, grandson, but not so old that I have forgotten how to make a proper fishing boat. You and the others youngsters should consider yourselves lucky that I am still around to share my wisdom, else you might end up on the water upon some ramshackle raft.”

“Hah!” Xiang found himself smiling again. It had been so long since his grandfather had been so happy, and it made him happy too. “I humbly accept your wisdom, grandfather.” He turned to Brother Dragon. “Can I leave the women and children here with you?”

“No harm shall come to them while you and the others are gone,” Brother Dragon assured. “But I am sure there is work they can do while you are gone.”

“Indeed.” Xiang nodded. “I will find work for them to do.”

Xiang made his way over to where the women and children were. All tiger-people knew how to fight, but their days of wandering had led them to prize the safety of their women and children even more than most tiger-people. They simply could not afford to lose them, and so it had been the young men who had become mercenaries and adventurers, taking risks that could just as easily lead to profit as death.

“Husband.” His wife, Hua, had their youngest on her hip whilst his three other children played nearby.

To his relief, none of them had been too aggrieved by his loss in the tournament. He had Antaria to thank for that. Upon meeting his children, the princess had lavished praise upon him, telling them that he was by far the strongest of her opponents and only good fortune and preparation had allowed her to triumph.

His children had taken to the princess, perhaps because of how kindly she looked upon them. They were used to others looking upon them with fear and suspicion, but the princess had greeted them warmly and treated them like normal children. She had even answered his daughter’s many questions about her hair.

Tiger people did not grow long hair the way humans did. Instead, their heads resembled tigers. As a result, his daughter had come to find long hair fascinating. The princess had answered her questions patiently, pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of having long hair, especially as it pertained to combat.

His children had also been quite taken with her raccoon companion, Filch. Although the raccoon had eyed Xiang with suspicion, he had allowed the children to bribe him with food a strategy that Antaria had suggested when the children had asked how they could befriend him.

It was deeply satisfying to see his children worrying about when they might next encounter the ornery raccoon, rather than worrying about their next meal or if they would have a roof over their heads.

“How goes it?” Xiang asked. His wife had some talent as an alchemist and apothecary, and Brother Dragon had promised to teach her and any others who showed promise. She was also in charge of their supplies, and she had developed a keen mind for managing money.

“We were running short of supplies, but we were given many before our departure from the village. As it is, we have enough to last us for at least a fortnight although I do not think it will be hard to acquire more food and water.”

“Yes,” Xiang said. “We found a spring nearby, so fresh water should not be an issue. I plan to build our new village around it.”

“A fine idea,” Hua said. “So you are taking men into the jungle to harvest lumber?”

“Yes,” Xiang replied. “While we are there, we will begin clearing land around the spring and checking for monsters and other threats. We have almost the whole day ahead of us, so we should be able to accomplish a lot before returning here come nightfall.”

“Be careful,” Hua advised. “You are strong, but if the enemy proves stronger, ask Brother Dragon for aid.”

“I will,” Xiang said. “And we are supposed to receive help from tree-folk soon. I do not know exactly when they arrive, but they are supposed to be quite strong.”

“Once you are sure the area is safe, send for me,” Hua said. “I can take some of the women and children and collect useful plants and herbs. I have seen several already, and it never hurts to keep our supplies well stocked.”

“While we are gone, can you and the others finish making camp?” Xiang asked. “Perhaps set up a few wards and the like?”

“Of course,” Hua said. “It will be good practice, and it is time some of the children saw us make them.”

Wards came in many shapes and sizes. However, the ones used by tiger-people were large posts of specially prepared wood that were driven into the ground. They were imbued with magic and served a variety of purposes. They were most commonly used to repel pests, animals, and weaker monsters.

Xiang could remember the wards around their old home dozens of finely carved wooden posts that ringed their village. He had little talent for such things, but Hua had some skill, and there were others amongst the women who were especially gifted in making them. One of the old women could even make healing wards that helped heal injuries although the effects were slower and weaker than taking a potion.

Brother Dragon had expressed some interest in the wards, saying something about how they could be greatly improved with certain alchemical techniques. Xiang had not been able to understand a lot of what he’d said, but his wife had been suitably impressed and had vowed to learn all that she could from him.

“All right then,” Xiang said. “I leave the camp in your hands, wife.”

“Be safe, husband.”

Xiang went into the jungle with more than a dozen other tiger-men. They were all battle-tested although none were as strong as him. Like him, they knew how lucky they were to receive an opportunity like this, and none of them had any intention of wasting it.

Xiang had not known a lot about harvesting lumber until he had met a human mercenary whose father had been a woodcutter. Xiang had still been young then, and the human had been close to retirement. He had taught Xiang about what to look for when harvesting lumber and how to bring a tree down safely before preparing it properly. Xiang had wondered why he was bothering to teach him, but mercenary work often involved preparing fortifications and other construction. With his strong body and talent for cutting things, Xiang was often asked to help.

The human had eventually retired, using his money to set up a tavern in a popular town, but Xiang had never forgotten his lessons or the kindness he had shown him. The human had not needed to teach him. He could have simply ordered Xiang around, but he had taught him, and so Xiang had been sad to see him go while being happy that he had been able to retire without any serious injuries. Few mercenaries were so fortunate.

He and the others searched the area for threats before he began to point out the trees they should take and how they should be brought down. The others lacked his experience in this area, but they knew how to follow instructions. Besides, the prospect of labouring to build their own homes had filled all of them with enthusiasm.

Yet as the day wore on and morning gave way to afternoon, Xiang sensed a change in the air. So far, they had mostly encountered normal animals, the kind who could be easily scared away or dealt with. What was a regular tiger or leopard to a tiger-man? The few monsters they’d sighted had been smart enough to know the odds were against them and had slunk off, fading back into the jungle. Even so, he’d delegated two of his men to keep watch. They could not afford to be careless now when everything they wanted was within reach.

Now, though, the air was different. He could not put his finger on it. The birds still chirped. The jungle was still filled with movement and sound. And yet his instincts, the ones that had served him so well in battle over the years, were telling him that a threat was approaching, one that he had to be wary of.

“Hold!” he cried, motioning for the others to set aside their axes and saws. “To arms!”

They went for their weapons at once and they were right to do so.

Emerging from the towering trees and moving silently despites its sheer size was one of the tree-folk. The creature had to be at least thirty feet tall. It was vaguely humanoid, its branches and roots twisted together to form its limbs while its trunk made up its body. High above them, a face could be seen in the wood, and it paused mid-stride to look down upon them.

“Do nothing foolish,” Xiang warned his men. “The tree-folk here are not our foes.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice as he shouted up to the tree-man. “Greetings. I am Xiang. My men and I serve Doomwing.”

“Hmm” The tree-man gave a low rumble, akin to a hillside giving way in the midst of a storm. “He did say that tiger-people would be coming here. You must be them.” The tree-man glanced past them to the trees they had already felled, and Xiang wondered how he must feel about it. “You have a good eye for lumber.”

“You are not upset?” Xiang asked carefully.

The tree-man chuckled. “Upset? Do you plan to cut down the whole jungle, or have you taken only what you need? Your folk are not like mine. You cannot withstand the wind and the cold and the rain. You need houses, and for that, you need wood. Be mindful of your actions and take no more than you need, and you shall not incur my wrath. Besides, those trees were not my kin, and others shall soon replace them.”

“Thank you for your understanding.” Xiang bowed his head, as did his fellows. This tree-man had more magic than him and Antaria put together, and by no small margin either. “How should we address you?”

“An interesting question.” The tree-man made a series of sounds that reminded Xiang of the whale-song he had once heard as a boy. “That is my name, but you cannot make such sounds, can you? Call me Roots-Delving-Deep.”

“I am Xiang,” Xiang replied. “I am honoured to meet you. Have you come here to aid us?”

Roots-Delving-Deep nodded. “I am to stand guard over your people and to drive away monsters that might threaten your settlement.” He paused. “But I am not to aid you once you venture away from your settlement.”

“Ah.” Xiang could see it now. Doomwing wanted them to be safe in their homes while still providing them with a chance to test themselves and grow. “Your aid is most welcome.” He pointed. “The rest of my people are that way. They are staying on the beach for now.”

“A wise choice. Continue your work, tiger-man. When night falls and you must leave this place and return to the beach, I will stand guard here. Your work and materials shall be kept safe.”

Xiang was pleased to hear that. It would be troublesome to post guards here, yet they could not leave their work and materials unguarded. “Thank you. By the way, are there any monsters in this jungle that we should be concerned about?”

“There are many monsters that might be a threat to you if you are careless, but you have the strength to overcome most of them or at least escape, provided you remain alert and make use of your cunning. However, there are a few you should avoid at all costs.”

Xiang suppressed a shudder. The tree-man’s voice was flat, and the words were an order more than advice. “Who?”

“There is an elder hydra who rules over much of the jungle. She could slay all of your people with ease. Even I could not face her and live. If my fellow tree-folk were to join me, we might be able to best her, but few of us would survive.”

Xiang’s eyes widened. “Such a creature lives here? Yet why has she not driven you from this place if she is so much stronger?”

“We serve Doomwing, and she is no fool. She knows that if she draws Doomwing’s ire, she will die. Even an ancient hydra could not withstand him, and there are not many primordial hydras left in the world.”

“So we should just avoid her?” Xiang asked.

“Yes. She and her brood live deep in the jungle, so it is unlikely that you will encounter her. But if you do meet her, flee. She will let you go. I suspect that it will not be long before she seeks Doomwing out to establish terms.”

“We will be careful,” Xiang promised. “Who else should we be wary of?”

“There are several spirit tigers in the jungle, as well as a number of ghost leopards. They may be able to slay you, but they rarely emerge during the day, and they can be found only in the deepest parts of the jungle. If I or one of my fellow tree-folk are with you, you should be safe. Our magic can harm them, and we are too durable for them to risk combat.” Roots-Delving-Deep gave another low rumble. “And be mindful of the birds. Drakes and wyverns roost amidst the high places. They will not go anywhere near Doomwing or his doppelganger, but if you stray out onto open ground, they may target you.”

“There are many threats,” Xiang mused. “But also much opportunity.” He exchanged looks with his fellow tiger-men. “As strange as it is, I am pleased by that. As much as I have looked forward to the peaceful life of a fisherman, I cannot deny that battle has honed my skills and increased my power.”

“That is the way of life,” Roots-Delving-Deep replied. “There are many paths to power, but a life free of struggle rarely leads to true power.”

Brother Dragon gazed out over the sea as the waves rustled to a stop just shy of his claws. Doomwing was far out to sea. He had noticed some strange activity there. It was most likely nothing, but the last thing they needed was for a kraken or a leviathan to show up and smash the coast. His years of slumber might have emboldened some of the larger sea dwellers, so a reminder of his presence and power might be necessary.

Perhaps he’d even stumble across some merfolk. On one hand, it would be good if there were some to trade with, for there were many things beneath the waves that could not easily be obtained on land. On the other hand, if the merfolk were too close, there might be a dispute over territory. The results of any such dispute were obvious, but it would still be a tiresome affair, especially if a primordial kraken or leviathan showed up.

“Brother Dragon.” It was Hua. “Will you not join us?”

He turned. Night had fallen some time ago, so the tiger-people had all gathered in their makeshift camp on the beach. They were all in high spirits, especially since Xiang’s grandfather had taken a roughly-made canoe and paddled out into the cove, returning with a decent number of fish.

He was impressed. He hadn’t thought the old tiger-man had it in him, but despite his exhaustion and needing to be helped out of the canoe by Xiang, he had been grinning from ear to ear.

“I am not useless just yet,” he had snapped. “And someone had to test the canoe. It might as well have been me, considering I’ve forgotten more about fishing than any of you have ever learned.”

Xiang had heaved a great sigh and had carried his grandfather back to the camp, refusing to let him walk. Still, the fish had been turned into the centrepiece of the evening meal, and the tiger-people had gathered around their campfires to talk, eat, and make merry.

“I am a doppelganger,” he explained. “Despite my appearance, I do not need to consume regular food. Instead, I can subsist on ambient magic.”

“Oh.” Hua smiled. “But even if you do not eat, surely you can still enjoy our company?”

Brother Dragon considered the offer. “It has been a long time since I shared a fire with a tiger-man.”

“You have mentioned knowing a tiger-man several times,” Hua said. “Would you be able to tell us about him?”

Brother Dragon looked past her to the other tiger-people. Young and old alike were smiling and happy. Their bellies were full, and they talked of the bright future that awaited them. He could almost picture his old friend sitting amongst them with his robe and the wide-brimmed straw hat he often wore when travelling. He would have liked this place, and he would have been more than happy to share a tale or two by the fire each with a lesson, of course, because that was the way of his order, to couch lessons in stories that even a peasant could grasp.

“Perhaps I could share a story,” Brother Dragon said as he followed her away from the waves and back to the campfire.

“It’s raining again,” Brother Tiger drawled. “Not that it matters to you.”

Doomwing chuckled. His actual body was some distance away dealing with a dispute between a group of younger dragons. Honestly, they were little better than hatchlings, and what passed for deadly battle amongst them was scarcely any different from play fighting. It would have been amusing if one of their parents hadn’t been a fellow primordial dragon who was threatening to enter the battle on his child’s behalf. Instead, his construct was accompanying Brother Tiger as the monk journeyed north. Brother Tiger had no particular destination in mind, but it had been some time since he had passed that way, and he was curious to see if much had changed.

“I could say the same of you,” Doomwing replied.

Days of intermittent rain had softened the road, but the previous night’s downpour had turned it into a quagmire. Despite that, however, neither he nor Brother Tiger were much encumbered. Doomwing’s construct was more than capable of using magic that would repel muck and allow him to walk unhindered through the mud. Brother Tiger was likewise capable of using several techniques that made traversing the swamp-like road far easier than it would be for any normal traveller.

“There seems to be an inn up ahead,” Brother Tiger said. His vision was not so keen as it had once been, but it was still keener than most. “Perhaps we could stop there and ask about any local goings on. I can also offer my assistance. There are almost always injuries that need healing or equipment that needs repairing in weather like this.”

“By all means,” Doomwing replied. “Let us hope it is more peaceful than the last inn.”

The last inn had turned into a battlefield not long after their arrival after rival mercenary groups had arrived at the same time. Both had wanted lodgings, and there had not been enough rooms to accommodate them all. Brother Tiger had done his best to mediate, but the mercenaries had been spoiling for a fight. In the end, Doomwing had knocked all of them out with a few spells before looting their belongings to pay for the damage they’d done to the inn. He’d finished by awakening them and then tossing them into a nearby stream. He’d almost been disappointed when they’d exercised the good sense to scuttle off rather than trying to get revenge on his construct.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“In fairness,” Brother Tiger replied, smiling faintly. “We only encounter violence in perhaps a tenth of the inns and taverns we visit, and it’s usually of the drunken kind where the combatants are more of a danger to themselves than others.”

“True.” Doomwing chuckled. “And watching you lecture them on the evils of drunkenness is always amusing.”

“It is not the drunkenness that is the problem,” Brother Tiger replied. “It is the loss of control. Whether it is alcohol, battle, or even magic to lose control and lash out at others is no way to live. Moderation is the key. Control of one’s life and one’s surroundings begins with control over one’s self.” He paused. “Although that is easier said than done.”

“It is a pity that so many enjoy excess then,” Doomwing replied. “And before you say anything, I am aware that hoarding treasure could be considered a form of excess.”

Brother Tiger bit back a smile. “I will not lecture you again, my friend. Besides, you are a dragon. I would be more concerned if you didn’t hoard treasure.”

It did not take them long to reach the inn, but they arrived to find a small rabbit-boy being berated by an irate merchant. The goat-man was gesticulating wildly, and the rabbit-boy was shrinking in on himself more and more with each word. Brother Tiger’s gaze hardened, and he quickened his pace.

“Good afternoon,” Brother Tiger said. “May I ask what is going on?”

The merchant rounded on him, ready to continue his tirade, but the words died in his mouth as he took note of the robe Brother Tiger wore. The monks of his order were respected throughout the land, and a merchant who treated one poorly could easily find themselves cast out from polite society.

“Ah master monk” The merchant took a deep breath to calm himself before pointing at the rabbit-boy. “My apologies for making such a ruckus, but I caught this thief sneaking out of my wagon. I only ask that he be punished appropriately.”

“A thief?” Brother Tiger looked from the merchant to the rabbit-boy.

To Doomwing, if the rabbit-boy was a thief, he must be a lousy one. His threadbare clothes left him with nowhere to hide stolen goods, and he was clearly terrified by what was happening. Besides, what kind of thief would sneak into a wagon to steal something while at an inn in the middle of nowhere?

“Are you sure he is a thief?” Brother Tiger asked.

“Why else would he be sneaking out of my wagon?” the merchant replied.

“Has he actually stolen anything?” Brother Tiger pressed.

“Well nothing seems to be missing, but I might simply have caught him before he could escape with stolen goods.”

“Escape to where?” Brother Tiger asked. “This inn is the only building for miles.”

“Perhaps he is working for the inn,” the merchant said. “Robbing travellers when they let their guards down.”

That remark earned him a thunderous glare from the enormous bull-man who ran the inn, and the merchant quailed. Goat-men were hardy, but in a contest of strength, there were few amongst the beast-folk who could challenge a bull-man.

“The owner of the inn is a bull-man,” Brother Tiger said. “And I doubt any of his staff are rabbit-people either.” He turned to the bull-man. “Would that be the case, sir?”

“That is right, master monk. My staff are cattle-people like me. There are no rabbit-people here.” The bull-man scowled at the goat-man. “I’ve never seen that rabbit-boy before, so I warn you to watch your words. I am no cheat or thief, and neither are my employees.”

The goat-man bowed his head. “My humble apologies.”

“If I am not mistaken,” Brother Tiger said. “There is a village of rabbit-people perhaps a day’s travel from here. Did you happen to pass that way?”

The goat-man’s eyes widened. He had realised what Brother Tiger was implying, and it did not speak well of his intelligence. “I yes. I did pass that way.”

“I see. I think I know what happened.” Brother Tiger knelt, but his tall frame meant that he was still taller than the rabbit-boy by a reasonable margin. “Child, do you know what I am?”

“A monk,” the rabbit-boy said.

“Yes. That’s right. Now, you know it is a grave sin to lie to a monk, don’t you?” The rabbit-boy nodded quickly. “Good. Now, tell me the truth. Why were you in the merchant’s wagon?”

The rabbit-boy hesitated for a moment.

“Speak truly,” Brother Tiger said. “I am a monk. I will protect you, but you must speak the truth.”

The rabbit-boy sniffled. “I was playing hide and seek,” he said. “And I thought it would be good to hide in the wagon. It was working. Nobody could find me, but I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew I was here.”

“A likely story!” the goat-man blustered. “I ”

Brother Tiger looked at the merchant, and Doomwing bit back a chuckle. The tiger-man hadn’t done anything more than look, but the expression on his face and the ice in his gaze spoke volumes. “Do you truly believe that this boy is a thief? Perhaps you believed it at first, but you seem to be a merchant of some means. You must be wise enough to see that he speaks the truth.” The merchant made to speak, but Brother Tiger spoke over him. “Will you put your pride before the truth?”

The merchant sagged. “Perhaps I was mistaken. But what am I to do? I cannot take him back to his village. I have appointments to keep. I cannot afford to double back.”

At the merchant’s words, the rabbit-boy paled, which was an impressive feat considering his white fur. “But but what will I do?”

“I am heading north. I can take him back to his village.” Brother Tiger patted the rabbit boy on the head. “Fear not, young one. I will see you safely back to your village.”

The rabbit-boy sniffled. “Thank you.”

Brother Tiger smiled and then stood. “Mistakes happen from time to time,” he said to the merchant. “Not a single one of us is perfect. How can we expect forgiveness for our mistakes if we refuse to forgive others for theirs?” The merchant sighed heavily. “But days such as these are trying, and I know well how difficult a day on a muddy road can be. Perhaps you did not handle this situation as you should have, but there is no reason you cannot do better next time.”

“Of course!” The merchant brightened. Brother Tiger was giving him a way out, a way to save face despite his mistake. “I shall strive to do better!”

As the merchant scuttled off, Brother Tiger motioned for the rabbit-boy to follow him into the inn. “Follow me, child. You look hungry. Dusk is not far, and the rain is worsening. We shall have to wait until tomorrow to begin the trip back to your village.”

Doomwing followed them into the inn, ignoring the strange looks he received. Most people assumed his construct was a dragon hatchling, and dragon hatchlings were rarely far from their parents. Little wonder then, that the stares directed at him were often accompanied by wary glances at the sky.

As Brother Tiger and the rabbit-boy ate, the rabbit-boy introduced himself. His name was Haruto. His family lived in a village of rabbit-people, and they had been farmers for as long as anyone could remember. He had never met a tiger-man before, never mind a tiger-man monk, so he had many questions, which Brother Tiger was happy to answer.

“Are you planning to become a monk?” Brother Tiger asked once Haruto had stopped asking questions to eat his meal.

“No,” Haruto said before adding quickly, “Not that that I think monks are bad. Monks are great. But I’d like to be a hero.”

“A hero?” Brother Tiger smiled. “There are many types of heroes. What sort would you like to be?”

Haruto made a slashing gesture. “I want to save princesses and slay dragons!”

Doomwing cleared his throat, and the rabbit-boy paled. “Slay dragons?”

“Only bad ones,” Haruto said quickly. “Not good ones.”

Brother Tiger smiled. “Do not be afraid. My friend is only teasing you.”

“What’s your name?” Haruto asked Doomwing. “I forgot to ask you earlier.”

“I am Doomwing.”

“Doomwing?” Haruto’s brows furrowed. “My father told me a few stories about a dragon named Doomwing, but he’s supposed to be huge. They say he can tear mountains from the ground, set the seas ablaze, and even pierce the very sky with his magic.” The rabbit-boy made a face. “But you’re not very big for a dragon.”

Doomwing was sorely tempted to bring his actual body over to the inn, if only to see the rabbit-boy’s reaction. His thoughts must have shown because Brother Tiger had to bite back a laugh. “I’ll grow,” was all Doomwing said. “And it’s not like you’re very big either.”

“Hey!” Haruto cried. “I’m not that small!”

The bull-man who owned the inn had been listening to their conversation while pretending to work on a ledger. He snickered, and Haruto gave a strangled squawk of dismay before slumping back into his chair.

“Okay, maybe I am pretty small, but it’s not like rabbit-people are very large.”

That was true. Rabbit-people tend to be swift and agile but not very big. In contrast, cattle-people were known for their strength and durability.

“Size is not everything,” Brother Tiger said. “Size means nothing without courage, and strength without compassion can all too easily serve evil.” He patted Haruto on the head. “And not all heroes wield swords. Some wield magic, others their wits, and still others their words.”

“I guess” Haruto grumbled. “But I’d still like to be the kind who uses a sword.”

They spent the night at the inn. Haruto had not fallen asleep easily, so Brother Tiger had given him a meditation exercise to practice. That had done the trick, and the rabbit-boy had woken up the next morning claiming to feel more enlightened in a bid to hide the fact that he’d fallen asleep.

“The rain seems to have stopped,” Brother Tiger said as they walked out of the inn. “And the road has dried a little. Hmm Doomwing, would you be able to help Haruto?”

Doomwing sighed. “Very well.”

The rabbit-boy squeaked when Doomwing’s magic washed over him. “What did you do?”

“I used a spell that allows you to walk across mud unhindered. You are already smaller than both of us. It will take us forever to reach your village if you have to slog your way through the mud.”

“Oh.” Haruto walked over to the road and took a step onto it. When he saw that his feet didn’t sink into the mud, his eyes lit up and he began to skip back and forth. “This is great!”

“Save your energy for the walk,” Doomwing advised. “Because Brother Tiger is too old to carry you, and there is no way I’m going to.”

“Don’t worry,” Haruto promised. “I can make it back.”

The rabbit-boy could not, in fact, make it back. To his credit he tried valiantly, but he was too young and too small to keep up with them. In the end, Brother Tiger decided to carry him although Doomwing did use a spell to reduce the rabbit-boy’s weight to basically nothing. His friend was getting on in years.

They reached the village not long before dusk, and it wasn’t long before Haruto was pulled from Brother Tiger’s back and subjected to a scolding that he would not forget any time soon. The boy’s mother was a ferocious rabbit-woman, and Doomwing could almost imagine her breathing fire, she was so angry. At the same time, however, it was easy for everyone except Haruto to see the relief she felt at having her son returned, and she heaped praise upon them both for bringing him back to her.

Apparently, the village’s men had searched the area all night but had found no sign of him. They had feared the worst, and she had prepared herself for bad news. His safe return was like a miracle, and she insisted on offering them a place to stay, as well as the finest meal she could prepare.

Haruto’s home was a humble place and a bit crowded with him, his mother and father, and five siblings. Rabbit-people were known to have large families, and his was no exception. He was the youngest of his siblings, with his older brothers helping their father toil in the fields whilst his sisters helped their mother who was a weaver.

“Master monk,” Haruto’s father asked once dinner had finished. “Could I trouble you for some advice?”

Brother Tiger smiled while Doomwing turned most of his attention to the squabble his actual body was adjudicating. “Of course. How may I help you?”

“We’re harvesting our crops now, but we’ve had a few injuries more than usual, to be honest. We also have a few women expecting in the next couple of months.” He shrugged. “That always seems to happen during harvest time. We did have a healer, but she passed away last year. Her apprentice is doing her best, but she’s still quite young I feel ashamed to ask after you’ve already done so much for us by returning my son, but would you happen to know anything about healing?”

“I would,” Brother Tiger replied. “I would be happy to look at the injured and to offer what care and guidance I can.”

“Thank you.” The rabbit-man bowed low. “It would greatly ease our worries if you could.”

The next morning, Doomwing followed Brother Tiger around as he met with the injured, checked in on the pregnant women, and consulted with the young healer. He doubted he would learn anything interesting the magic the rabbit-people employed was crude and lacking in both power and sophistication but there was no harm in observing. Even if he didn’t learn anything new, what he saw might inspire a new idea or two.

The injured had a variety of ailments, most of which were well within Brother Tiger’s abilities to treat. It was more a question of time. The treatments available to them would take weeks to heal their injuries, and the harvest would be over by then. Admittedly, they would probably be crippled without magic, but there was still a harvest to take in.

The pregnant women were likewise in a reasonable state although from what Doomwing had observed, the birth itself was often the most dangerous time. Things could go wrong quickly, and healing magic that was designed to slowly but surely treat injuries and cure illnesses was of little use when a woman and her infant could be dead within minutes.

As for the healer, a young rabbit-woman, Doomwing was grudgingly impressed. Her magic was crude, and the alchemical and apothecary methods she possessed were laughable when compared to his expertise. However, she made the most of what she had, and Brother Tiger praised her for her ingenuity. She needed more experience and better techniques. Time would provide the former, and Brother Tiger promised to provide as much of the latter as he could during his stay.

In the afternoon, they happened across Haruto. The rabbit-boy must have finished his chores because he crept off to an isolated corner of the farm and pulled something out of the hollow of a long-dead tree. It was a sword a rusty, broken blade that he must have found buried in the ground somewhere nearby.

Grinning from ear to ear, the rabbit-boy began to swing the broken sword around haphazardly.

“You should go stop him before he cuts his own arm off if that blade can even manage that much,” Doomwing said.

But Brother Tiger was frozen, his gaze locked onto the sword.

“What is it?” Doomwing asked.

“I recognise that sword or at least, I’ve seen many like it before.”

“Oh?”

“Before I became a monk the soldiers under my command used swords just like that,” Brother Tiger said.

“I thought tiger-men fought with their claws,” Doomwing said.

“Yes, we prefer to fight with our claws. However, weaker tiger-men have a tendency to break their claws if they use them too much in battle, which is why we also use swords.” Brother Tiger shuddered. “If he found a sword like that nearby this village ah. I see.”

“What?” Doomwing asked.

“My brother was asked to set this area aflame. He must have been stopped before he could. Otherwise, this village would have been completely destroyed and all of its people slain.” Brother Tiger swallowed thickly, and Doomwing knew that he was no longer seeing the village with its fields of crops but a wasteland of ash and blood. “Even now, it seems I can’t escape my past,” he murmured. “I”

“Brother Tiger? Doomwing?” Haruto had noticed them. The rabbit-boy stared at them and then glanced down at the broken sword in his hands. “I”

“You’re holding it wrong,” Brother Tiger said gently.

“Huh?”

“You’re holding it wrong.” Brother Tiger picked up a stick and took up a stance. “You should hold it more like this and use this sort of stance.”

Haruto’s eyes widened. “I really? Is that how you’re supposed to use a sword.”

“It is one way to use a sword,” Brother Tiger murmured. “Here. Copy what I do.”

Not quite able to believe his good fortune, Haruto hurried to obey. His movements were clumsy compared to Brother Tiger’s, but he tried his best. After a few repetitions, Brother Tiger stopped demonstrating and moved to correcting Haruto more directly. It went on like that for almost an hour, and by then, Haruto could barely stand.

“How come you know how to use a sword?” Haruto asked. “I thought monks didn’t fight.”

“I wasn’t always a monk,” Brother Tiger replied, and then he sat down in front of Haruto. “Haruto do you know what a sword is?”

“Um a sword?” Haruto said. Doomwing laughed, and the rabbit-boy glared. “Hey!”

“A sword is a tool, Haruto, and it is no better or worse than the one who wields it. In the hands of an evil person, a sword can be an instrument of terror and suffering. In the hands of a good person, a sword can bring freedom and safety.”

Haruto was quiet now, hanging on every word. There was an intensity in Brother Tiger’s voice that had not been before. Even if he didn’t know why, Haruto knew that these words were important.

“You are young, Haruto,” Brother Tiger said. “Young and innocent. You do not know how terrible this world can be, the kind of suffering and sorrow and heartbreak it can inflict, and I pray you never do. But if you really want to be a hero, if you truly wish to walk the path of the sword, then you will learn about all of those things. I know. I have been there.” Brother Tiger reached for the broken sword and then jerked his hand back just before he could touch it. “Haruto once you take a life, there is no going back.”

“Are you saying I should never kill?” the rabbit-boy asked. He was young, but he wasn’t stupid. He must be imagining how hard it would be to be a hero without ever taking a life.

“You are not a monk. You have not made a vow to never kill. But killing killing will change you, and if you kill someone, you can’t take it back. They are dead, regardless of whether or not they deserved it. And as hard as it may seem to take a life, Haruto, it it can become very easy too. It can be so easy that one life turns into two turns into ten turns into a thousand turns into too many more.”

Haruto had gone pale, and the sword had slipped from his fingers.

“I wish I could tell you that you will never have to kill. But this world this world is not always kind. There may come a day when killing is the only option you have. Maybe it’s bandits attacking your village. Maybe it’s a monster attacking your family. Or maybe it’s an army marching to lay waste to everything you hold dear. When that day comes, you may have to kill. But first, ask yourself if there is another way. Ask yourself if you truly have to draw your sword. But if you must kill, if you must take up arms, then there is something I want you to remember.”

“What?”

“If there is no other way, if you have no option but to kill, then do not hesitate. Do not think about just the people you might have to kill. Think about those who will die if you are not willing to kill. You should not take a life lightly, but once you are in a position where you must take a life, do not falter, do not turn away, do not shirk your duty. Kill if you must, so that others may live. Kill so that others do not have to because taking a life is a great burden a great burden and a hero must have the strength to carry that weight.”

“Before you were a monk were you a hero?” Haruto asked.

Brother Tiger shook his head. “No. I was no hero. I killed when I shouldn’t have and failed to kill when I should have, and the weight of those failures was too much for me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay if you don’t understand yet,” Brother Tiger said. “And I hope you never have to understand. But remember my words, Haruto, and may they bring you comfort and wisdom if they are ever needed.”

“Okay. I’ll try to remember.”

They stayed in the village for almost two months, long enough to see the harvest brought in, the injured fully healed, and the pregnant women deliver their children safely. Brother Tiger taught the village healer as much as he could while continuing to train Haruto. To Doomwing’s surprise, the rabbit-boy seemed to have some talent with the blade.

When the time came for them to leave, the villagers saw them off with a combination of smiles and tears, with Haruto promising to come find them again when he was all grown up and a hero in his own right.

They spent their first night away from the village under a tree.

“How many years do you think I have?” Brother Tiger asked as he stared into the campfire.

“At least another ten,” Doomwing said. “You are old, but you still have some measure of strength.”

“Ten years?” Brother Tiger smiled ruefully. “It’s been so many years already, and I still have so far to go” He shook himself. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but what do dragons believe when it comes to death? Where do our souls go?”

“There is a great and endless cycle of death and rebirth,” Doomwing replied. “That is what our creators taught us, and it is what I believe.”

“Have you seen it?” Brother Tiger asked curiously.

“No. There are things beyond even my magic.”

“Ah. A pity. I was going to ask what it looked like.” The monk smiled faintly. “Do you know what tiger-people believe? According to our ancestors, we came in ships from across the sea. We believe that when we die, our souls go back across the sea to the land of our ancestors. We call it the final shore, and they say that when we reach it, we will be greeted by those we have loved and who loved us in return. I wonder I wonder if there will be anyone to greet me.”

“I think there will be many,” Doomwing replied. “Perhaps not tiger-people, but many others.” He paused. “You have done so much for others, my friend. Perhaps perhaps it is enough.”

“It can never be enough,” Brother Tiger said. “It can never be enough.” He looked down at his hands. “The good deeds I do now could never be enough to wash away the sins of my past, but still but still I must try.” He took a deep breath. “They say that souls are guided to the final shore by cries of welcome from those who love them. But if no one calls out if there is no one there to greet them, then they wander forever.” He sighed. “I wonder which of us is right, my friend.”

“If the dead cannot return, then perhaps we shall never know.”

“I hope you are right,” Brother Tiger said.

“Oh?” Doomwing’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because if there truly is a final shore, then I have to hope that we never see each other again after I pass. Time no longer wearies you, so if I see you there”

“Ah. I must have died.”

“But if you’re right even if I die, then, well, there’s still a chance I’ll see you in my next life. After all, you’ve lived for so long already. Who’s to say you won’t still be around when I come back.”

Doomwing chuckled. “You do realise that if you reincarnate, you won’t be you anymore. In fact, I might not even be able to recognise your soul.”

“Maybe, but I’d like to think we’d still become friends somehow.”

“I’d like to think so too.” Doomwing nodded. “You still have plenty of time, but when you do pass I’ll keep an eye out for you. That way, we’ll know which one of us was right.”

Brother Dragon let his last words linger in the air before turning to the tiger-people. They had listened avidly, and Xiang was the first to speak.

“This Brother Tiger what became of him?” Xiang asked.

“He died a hero.” Brother Dragon smiled sadly. “His was a death more glorious than any tiger-man could have imagined. It was a death worthy of the greatest of dragons. And I think I think at the end, he finally made his peace with his past, and that was worth more to him than any glory he achieved.”

“And Haruto?” Hua asked.

“I do not know,” Brother Dragon admitted. “A great evil came from the skies, and we never had the chance to go back to that village.” Brother Dragon did not have the heart to tell them that Haruto and his fellow villagers had most likely perished in the devastation the Exiled Star had wrought.

“Brother Tiger was a monk,” Xiang murmured. “Did he leave any teachings behind? I would like to study them if I could.”

“He did leave teachings behind,” Brother Dragon said. “I can teach you, if you like. I will not say that I agree with all of them, but nobody knows them better than me.”

“I would be honoured.”

“He would have liked you,” Brother Dragon said. “I think he would have liked you a lot.”