They missed dinner that evening. In fact, by the time Yipachai passed through the courtyard on the way back to his dormitory, it was already well past sunset.

  Before he had returned to the West Wind’s grounds, Yipachai had released his bond with Pingou, and now walked alone through the cool night, with only the lights of the moon and the stars and the glowing lanterns in shrines to see by. The mhonglun themselves, of course, gave off a faint luminescence, just as his wings did when he summoned them, but those were hardly large or bright enough to illuminate his path.

  Naoko had gone with Suiwei back to the bear’s den. She’d said she’d wanted to say good night before returning to her own dormitory.

  She was an interesting one, of course. Yipachai had shared with her the main bits of his story—about his life in the monastery, and how he’d come to the School of the West Wind. He’d even told her about the bandits and about Harato, which had left her wide-eyed and disbelieving.

  Naoko seemed so trustworthy, and genuine. She’d listened intently, and asked questions like she was truly interested in what he had to say. Few other Banqilun had treated him that way. Harato certainly had. So had Takamoto and even Mamoru, to an extent.

  But despite all that, Yipachai still hadn’t told her everything. He hadn’t mentioned Haimunei, the sea dragon that had saved his life after Mangsut had thrown him overboard. He hadn’t told her that he’d seen the bandit again, here in Amigawa, or that he needed the money from the dueling championships to help him further his quest of vengeance.

  Instead, when Naoko had asked about why he wanted to learn the sword, he’d told her a half-truth—or rather, a few of them. He told her that living with Harato had inspired him, that it had opened his eyes to a world Yipachai had never even dreamt of. He told her that he had nothing to go back to the Het Kingdom for—no friends, no family, no work—and that starting over in Amigawa seemed to be just as good a path as any.

  Perhaps that last one had been more than only half-true.

  But then it had been Naoko’s turn, and fortunately, her story didn’t include bandits and kidnappings and murders.

  Somewhere to the northwest, deeper in the Lucong forest, Naoko’s parents farmed staffwood—which was essentially the same as the coppicing work Yipachai had done at Harato’s forge, only these trees grew thin and straight, and the family harvested the wood to be made into Lan Banti staffs and wands.

  They hadn’t had much, Naoko had told him, but it had always been enough. Sometimes even a little bit more than enough, which was how her parents had saved up to pay for her entrance fee. At first, they hadn’t approved of their daughter’s dream of studying at one of the famed Amigawan dueling schools. Not even years of watching Naoko play-fighting with the village boys while the other girls played with boring things like dolls had caused them to relent.

  But Suiwei had.

  Naoko had found her one day, blind and crying for the mother who had abandoned her. At first, she’d waited, expecting the mother bear to return, but she never had. And so Naoko had taken the little cub into her home. She named her Suiwei and began bonding with her—apparently Lan Kuanghi was both more practical and more accepted the further from the city one was in Amigawa.

  And as Suiwei grew, so did the strength she was able to lend to Naoko. Until one day, Naoko’s parents saw that she’d have a protector—and perhaps even an advantage—if she went and studied at the School of the West Wind. So they’d permitted Naoko to study for a period of one year.

  “They want me to go back after the dueling championships,” Naoko had said, the corners of her mouth tight. “At the end of rainy season.”

  “And will you?” Yipachai had asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to—I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to see my parents again, it’s just that…I don’t want to be a staff farmer for the rest of my life. But I’ll need coin if I want keep training here.”

  “And so if we can win the team duel at the championship…”

  Naoko had smiled, softly. “I can use the prize money to pay for my next entrance fee.”

  So their goal was the same, at least for the forseeable future. Yipachai had related to the sense of urgency Naoko had carried. That ambition that drove her to improve as quickly as possible in a short time. For her, it was the deadline before she was forced to go back to the farm. For Yipachai, it was the race to find Mangsut before the trail went cold.

  Whoo!

  Yipachai froze, his foot on the bottom step leading up to his dormitory. That sound…it didn’t belong here. But he couldn’t place why exactly it didn’t belong.

  Whoo! the cry sounded again, deep and throaty, coming from the air above the courtyard.

  An owl? Yipachai had yet to see—or hear—one in Lucong. In fact, he hadn’t seen one since…

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  Yipachai reached out with his mind.

  Tianfu.

  Yipachai, my dear boy! Tianfu’s voice was clear through the bond, like the peal of a bell that reverberated through Yipachai’s very bones. I’ve been searching for you for months now. That sly sea serpent only ever offered the slightest clue as to where she put you. “On a black beach out to the west,” my tail feathers! Are you well, young one?

  Yipachai froze, his feet refusing to take another step while the rest of him trembled. That voice. It was the first familiar thing he’d heard since the night he’d been taken. The first…friend from before…well, everything.

  His mouth dangled, half-open, while his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and refused to form words. He still couldn’t see Tianfu, and could barely command his body to turn around and search the night sky.

  Yipachai, are you quite alright? Tianfu’s voice was laced with concern this time.

  I—I’m— Yipachai said, his thoughts slow to form. I’m alright. He heaved a choking gasp as he sent the words to Tianfu, as if some kind of enchantment had finally been broken. Yipachai’s throat was raw, and he was surprised to notice moisture in the corners of his eyes. His every muscle felt like it was made of water.

  Are you certain? Tianfu asked, and Yipachai finally saw him alight on the edge of the doritory’s porch above him. You seem rather…unsettled.

  It was Tianfu, alright. Tan and cream mottled feathers, piercing orange-red eyes, black tufts that looked like horns on the top of his head. And most unmistakably, that strange manner of speech—different from other beasts. More intelligent.

  I’m fine, Tianfu, Yipachai said, at last allowing a smile to creep to his lips. And you?

  The owl stretched and resettled his wings. I’m near to bursting, now that I’ve found you again. I’ve been searching as often as I could ever since that evil night. Haimunei assured me you were safe when she left you, but that was ages ago.

  Something about Tianfu’s simultaneous concern and excitement lifted Yipachai’s spirits. He still had difficulty believing that he wasn’t dreaming everything that had happened this evening—first Naoko and Suiwei, and now this? But it was a comfort to speak to someone, even a beast, who knew who he’d been back then. Someone who hadn’t forgotten him.

  A sober feeling came over him, then, as he thought of a question. One he didn’t want to ask, but one he dare not leave unanswered. How are things back ho—I mean, back in Hongshu? Have you seen any of the others?

  Through the bond, Yipachai sensed Tianfu’s joy turn sour. An answer even before the owl spoke. Things are…not well in Hongshu. Or in much of the rest of your country, for that matter.

  Yipachai’s heart sank. Why? What’s going on there?

  Bandits, for the most part. Raiding and pillaging up and down the whole of the Runari Coast. Your monastery was one of the first.

  Memories of that night came flooding back to Yipachai. Bandits…is it the same group that took me? The ones with the Montililun ship and the man with the scar on his chin? Those bandits?

  Slow down, friend Yipachai. I have seen a Montililun ship manned by Hetanzou, yes, but I have not flown close enough to see a man with a scar on his chin. I will tell you, much of what I hear comes from other beasts who do not know the ways of Sentients as well as I do. But it seems that there are a great number of bandits—more than I’ve ever heard of even in rumor. And they seem to be working together, in some capacity.

  Yipachai shook his head. He didn’t want to think of it—didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want to imagine hundreds of Hetanzou villagers, facing the same horrors that he had. And the monastery?

  A sense of warm sympathy came through the bond. There are a few who remain. Younger monks, mostly. They’ve repaired most of the damage, but keep their stores intentionally near-empty, in case the bandits return. But most of the others who survived have returned to the safety of the city.

  And they’ve told the governor, haven’t they? Is anything being done to stop the bandits?

  Tianfu gave an irritated clack with his beak. So far, the villains have refrained from attacking Hanaburi. And as it stands, it seems the governor is content to keep his soldiers behind the walls until such a time as that changes.

  That fool! Yipachai was surprised to notice his hands were clenched into fists. He can’t just sit there and let his people be attacked!

  I agree with you, young one. Tianfu’s bright gaze bored into Yipachai’s own. It was difficult to tell if the owl was thinking, or merely content with the silence.

  So… Yipachai said, what do we do now?

  Tianfu seemed to shrink, as he momentarily sunk down until his legs and feet were nearly obscured by the rest of his body. A sense of weariness came through the bond. All of it together seemed like the owl’s version of a heavy sigh.

  I fear there isn’t much to be done, Tianfu said. At least not by us. As for me, I will return to Hongshu and help as I am able, though I fear that this isn’t much of a battle for beasts to fight. As for you, my young friend… It seems you’ve found a new life here. A purpose of some kind. You ought to enjoy it. Enjoy safety. Enjoy your youth. Grow, and enjoy the relationships you’ve made here.

  But I want to help, to fight! Yipachai said, though Tianfu’s words were comforting. In some ways, it was tempting to simply forget the troubles of Hongshu, Hanaburi, and the rest of the Het Kingdom. But to do that would be to forget Elder Satsanan. To forget about his quest of vengeance. His quest of justice.

  The world has always had more than enough young people who are willing to fight, Tianfu said, his voice somber in Yipachai’s mind. If you truly want to help, pray. Perhaps the Creator will hear you.

  Tianfu stood up straighter again, and tested his wings in the air.

  Wait, Yipachai said. Don’t go. You just got here, and…we need to plan, need to find a way to help.

  Tianfu took off, rising quickly on silent wings and wheeling away to the northwest. I must return now, my young friend. I am glad to have found you, and I am grateful you are safe.

  Wait, Tianfu!

  If you truly wish to help, Tianfu repeated, pray. And seek the True Song, as your mentor once did. The world could use more hearers.

  “Tianfu!” Yipachai cried, both aloud and with his mind.

  But Tianfu didn’t answer, instead continuing on until he vanished into the night. Shortly after, the bond grew strained, until Yipachai could hold it no longer.

  The bond snapped, and Yipachai was left alone on the steps leading up to his dormitory, feeling even more bewildered than when he’d first heard Tianfu’s call. And beneath that bewilderment, there was grief. For himself, and the life he’d lost, and for the villagers of the northern coast, who were being forced to face the same horrors he once had.

  The Rising Blade is set in the wider world of The Mhong Chronicles, only about a hundred years before the events of the main series.

  The Emperor's Dream, is out now! And you can . More on that below.

  have to read that series in order to continue on The Rising Blade—this story stands on its own.