The Blooms of Shenkuu: Legacies

     t-shirts being sold at Neopian marketplace

     “I have never been more exhilarated, I was shaking from the tips of my teeth to the point of my tail … what a show …”

     “A Lunar Festival to Remember” by Sam Skeith, Neopian Times Issue 952

     “As a Neovian, I know what it feels like to live surrounded by shadows. I now realize the Haunted Woods is not the only land where things go bump in the night.”

     A Neovian Chronicler in The Neovian Chronicle

     “I fear that what has happened this night will shake the very spine of the world. And now she has risen like the moon … what new legacy will now be written in the mists?”

     diary of the Emperor, 16th day of Awakening, Y24

     *****

     Kimikojo loved to fly.

     And she was a fairly advanced flyer, for her age. If you asked her about it, she might tell you in her soft, wispy voice that she has “the most notorious wings in the kingdom,” as if the little Vandagyre child were imparting a state secret. Actually, this was just something an old Korbat had told her once at one of her father’s balls, leaning down with adult breath and peering at the princess over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. But Kimi had fluttered off to bed that night very pleased with this comment, though if she was being honest, she didn’t actually know what notorious meant, or how to spell it, as large words gave her a bad case of the panics. In fact, any kind of reading at all made her jittery: the red tips of her feathers would bristle, and she’d turn her beak to the window, ears perked to the whispering drafts of the sky.

     And if you inquired further, she could also tell you, in charming breathless flurries, that she liked dresses with flowers, traditional Shenkuun teacups, and making her older sisters wrinkle up their faces and fan themselves, as if a breeze from Qasala had travelled all the way through the mountains and right up their necks! And she knew she was the smallest and least talented of her sisters, but it wasn’t easy having a fearless warrior and a cunning, scholarly heiress as older siblings. She couldn’t even run away as a plight for attention - her perfectly lovely sister Lunara had already been there, done that. Princess problems, indeed.

     As far as the eight and three quarters (it was her birthday soon) royal could determine, her best years were behind her. She knew too much about too many things now. Even her favourite teacher, the high Priestess, had abandoned her. She hadn’t had a Neopian magic and lore lesson in weeks. It was all politeness and politics from here on out.

     But really, where had the Priestess gone? Now there was no one to sing with her. “Akashi ne, dothtar tri yi oh,” she sang to the mists outside her tower window. Where the moon slips behind, the river keeps her. She had never thought to ask what any of the songs the Priestess had taught her even meant. Certainly she would return soon.

     It was while she was struggling to tame her hair into a manageable braid when the Quilin appeared. It was Chi, the Priestess’ petpet. She had never seen Chi alone before, so she turned with a big smile to her bedroom door behind her, saying, “And where have you been?”

     But there was no one in the doorway. And when she turned back, the Quilin was sitting right in the middle of the dresser with a large egg-shaped stone in front of him. It was obviously very valuable, it had gold trim with little symbols of the moon and a nice copper chain. “Why, thank you, Chi,” she said graciously in high-speak, reserved for Lords and such.

     She twirled around with the egg stone around her neck for a bit, admiring herself in the mirror. Lunara would be so jealous. But then, the Vandagyre frowned. Why was Chi here alone? And she wondered exactly where Chi had found its bauble.

     When the thought came to her, her wingtips shuddered in disgust. She hated to admit it, but she needed her sister’s advice. And so, dragging her feet and moving with the stubborn foot stomps so common to spoiled youths, she leapt out of the window and into the misty morning.

     *

     Without wings, the Imperial City and its surrounds are only traversable by the most hearty of visitors: those with a great love of heights and perilous rope-bridge crossings. But for Kimi, it mattered not. The worst she had to fear was inclement weather, or great cold northerly gusts of wind from Terror Mountain that might repel her off course on her way to the Lunar Temple. But today was the start of the Lunar festival period, so people’s spirits were soaring, and so was the temperature. The air felt warm and tingly along her body. She imagined a golden princess with blue eyeshadow fanning a breeze all the way from the Lost Desert, though perhaps that wasn’t how weather worked at all.

     She scanned ahead for the old red flag with the moon’s image that signified she had reached the Lunar temple. She couldn’t see the ground for fog, it was always thickest on cold mornings, and she knew it was densest at the base of the valley, so she could read the topography below her based on how thick it was. The deepest crevices were white as dumplings; the higher roads, buildings and bridges were semi-transparent like the water left over from cooking rice; and peering down at the crests of peaks and taller structures was like looking at the world through a thin glass noodle. As she tucked her tail and dove through the soupy layers of sky to the temple gateway, Kimi realized that she had left the palace without her breakfast.

     “Oh, Snorklesnouts,” she sighed to no one in particular. Maybe the old Gnorbu Grandfather would have some rice cakes lying around his study. If he could find them under all those scrolls!

     “Glurp,” someone replied.

     Kimi looked around the garden at the temple entrance, and noticed the old man’s fat Gikerot a few steps ahead, blocking the stony path. He was using his long blue tongue as a funnel, slurping dewdrops from a large lotus leaf.

     “Aie-yuh! Sorry Go-choo. I almost stepped on you. People are always telling me not to be underfoot. Aha! I can see what they mean. In a few steps, you would have very probably been under my foot,” Kimi peeped, the tinkle of her voice like a chime. “But I do say, what a curious place to take your tea. They also say that princesses should not gulp their food down like a Snorkle. I think if I slurped my breakfast like that, father might pull out his beard. Though it’s very well that you are not a princess, as that slurping sound might have saved your life. Yes, it just might have saved you from my terrible underfoot.”

     The Gikerot was not bothered. He just rolled his eyes back and continued slurping. In truth, he had nothing to be bothered about, as he was the largest of his kind that she had ever seen, much larger than her biggest foot (which was her left talon, she knew from the royal shoemaker’s rigorous measurements before every grand occasion), and in no danger of being squashed by the tiny royal. Unabashed, Kimi lifted her skirts, carefully stepped over the creature, and carried on up the stone path, and up the stone stairs, and up to the top floor, where she knew her sister would be.

     The inside of the tower was crumbly and cold. It was the oldest building in all of Shenkuu, made of the same material as the mountain itself. She wondered if the old Gnorbu who ran the place had lived here that entire time. He must be very old. “He smells very old,” she whispered to herself as she slowly dragged her little self up the stairs.

     Stairs. How tiresome. But while there was plenty of wind whistling between the stone slats, there wasn’t much room for a Vandagyre’s wingspan.

     She counted each step to keep herself distracted from the bother.

     “… 362! … Good … day, … Grandfather. Why … so…many… steps?” she wheezed brightly as she took the last leap to the viewing deck from the last stone step. The wise Gnorbu was waiting to greet her.

     “Ah, there you are, Princess. And there are 362 steps for the 362 days of the lunar year, of course.”

     Kimi wiped her brow. “Oh yes, how splendid.”

     “Very auspicious, indeed. And what an auspicious time for your arrival. With the new moon brings new beginnings. Sometimes dark ones, though, and they may be dark, when the moon is hidden. But nonetheless, we all must begin somewhere, for how can one ever hope to find one’s way without a starting point?”

     He always talked in riddles, she never could make head nor tails of it. His words twirled like feathers in her brain.

     “Uhm… Your staircase seems to be even more topsy turvy than last time I visited, Grandfather. Or is it the ground sinking? Sometimes I wonder if this whole place might just fall off the mountaintop entirely. Father says this tower is a relic. What’s a relic?”

     “Don’t you worry about all that, my dear. This temple is almost as old as the moon itself. Why, it’s been here before your father was even born, before the Imperial City was built. It’s an auspicious piece of history, it marks the passage of time itself. Ancient, yes. And perhaps to some, like your father, who must live in the world of the now, who speaks the fast-paced language of short-term fancies like economies, or societies, it may seem a relic. But relics are old things that have lost their purpose in this world. And this temple certainly has not. As long as there are stars in the sky and the moon turns around Neopia, the Lunar Temple has purpose and relevance in all our lives… “

     But the old temple keeper had lost his audience. The princess was saved another headache by a purple flash that whirred around her in frantic circles, making low trilling sounds. It was Umbra, her sister’s Kazeriu.

     “Flrrrflrrrrr,” she trilled to Kimi.

     “Oh yes, please take me to Lunara, Umbra — Sorry, Grandfather, I’m just going to get some air,” she informed him as she followed the petpet to a ladder that led to the outdoor alcove. “I’ll clear my head and come back later, and then you can fill it up again, I promise.”

     Upstairs, Lunara was seated on a large red cushion, leaning into the morning’s mists floating up through the turret windows. Kimi thought that spending all her spare time in a smelly old tower might be making her sister loony. She worried that her favourite sister might start to speak like she was reading off a scroll, but she hoped not.

     Her oldest sister was meant to be the next Empress, but what Kimi most admired her for was her straight talk, and dress sense: Lunara was the most elegant and fashionable of all the ladies in the city, not that Kimi would tell her that. And she always wore the most distinguished purple jewel on her forehead, which Kimi hoped to borrow one day, but it seemed like her sister never took it off. Kimi looked up to her, even though she really hated when Lunara called her —

     “Petals? What are you doing all the way up here? Did you fly all the way from the palace?”

     Umbra had nudged Lunara out of her contemplative state, and settled in a little curl on her lap. Looking at her poised, serene sister, a lump rose in Kimi’s throat, and she suddenly felt shy. It was as if the small space between them opened like a yawn and created a deep valley. Why had she come again? She couldn’t remember. Her brain fuzzed up like a rotten peach. She teetered back and forth in her little slippers nervously.

     “I was just wondering if — well I was ever so curious —“ She always got tongue-tied around her sister. “How old do you think the old Gnorbu is? Is he as old as Kreludor? And why does the moon hide on its birthday? And what do you do up here all day?”

     Lunara laughed at the little inquisitor. Then she patted the space on the cushion next to her, and Kimi sat down next to her.

     “I call him Grandfather Time, because he’s a positive relic.”

     There was that word again. Kimi tried to remember what it had meant. “You mean … he’s from a different time?”

     Lunara laughed again. Her littlest sister had that effect on her. “Something like that. You know that he knew King Altador before he was king? That was thousands of years ago, and he wasn’t asleep for all that time - he’s been charting the stars, learning the secrets of the universe, and who knows what else. I mean, nobody even knows his true identity, Shenkuuns just call him “Grandfather” because no one knows what else to call him. And if you ask him, he says he can’t remember because it’s been so long since anyone used it to call him by.”

     “How thrilling,” Kimi marvelled at the idea. To be so old that you forget your own name, for no one to know who you started as. “I hope I don’t forget my name though. That would be quite vexing.”

     “If you forget your name, I’ll tell you. Plus, you’re a princess of Shenkuu, I hardly think you’ll be lost to history, Petals.”

     “I really wish you would stop calling me that, Lunara. How will I remember my name if you don’t use it properly?”

     Lunara put her arm around her sister. “The first time I saw you I was about your age, you know. And you were so small, and I had never seen a baby Vandagyre before, and I thought your little wing feathers looked like flower petals. You were so beautiful and sweet, and you will always be that way to me.”

     “But my wings are much bigger now. I’ve grown three centimetres this year.”

     “Yes, you are getting much bigger now. Maybe one day you can carry me into the sky and show me what it feels like to fly.”

     “Oh, Lunara, don’t be silly. I’m only a Vandagyre - not an Eyrie!”

     And so the two sisters chattered the morning away among the clouds, their secrets safely tucked away in the mist, neither saying anything they feared the other might not be ready to hear, ignorant of what was to come.

     *****

     When Soratashi walked the streets of Shenkuu, he was always noticed. The most obvious reason for this was he was a large, burly Eyrie in a place whose inhabitants were generally known for being fairly small of stature, as was indicated by the frequency of small, narrow doorways leading to low-ceilinged spaces. The second was that although he had lived in Shenkuu’s Imperial city for decades, to the local Shenkuuns he was still viewed as a foreigner. He had done his best to assimilate: he had had a local seamstress tailor a few sets of long, loose-fitting pants and kimono-style jackets with matching waist belts, as was the fashion in these parts. The only exception were his heavy brown work boots, which he rarely swapped for the wooden sandals and softer materials favoured by most. Not to mention that he was one of the only foreign-born residents who held such a prestigious position in the city – for he was the Shenkuu Skyport Harbormaster, a ‘shiptamer’ with an unusual knack for keeping the land’s prized fleet of flying ships in order, and in good working condition. This was no easy task, but the stoic Eyrie bore it without complaint. He wouldn’t let on to most, but actually he quite enjoyed his post. It was what had kept his wandering heart in one place for so long.

     But there was even more to his conspicuousness than his status, size and foreign fashion. For Sora was also an amputee of mysterious circumstances. Many whispered about him when he passed, offering up any speculations they had gathered from local gossip circles, or produced in their overactive imaginations. Some thought he had lost it to the Snowager in Terror Mountain, others thought he was a runaway soldier from the ranks of the Darigan army. The scar on his back, and the bronze mechanical wing strapped in its place (did it work? people wondered), were the kernels of many a yarn. He was a hero or a villain, depending on the day, depending on the one speculating. His circumstances brought him both favour (usually fresh packages of homemade rice cakes from kind old shop owners) and ill-will (anywhere from sour looks to those looking for a fight). Thankfully he was big enough that even the ill-wishers generally left him alone.

     But as long as he was at the Skyport, he never really felt alone. Apart from the bustle of his own large crew of engineers, riggers, and deckhands, as well as the navy captains and their shipmates, and sometimes the Imperial Bookkeepers or other officials, there were the ships themselves. He couldn’t explain it to anyone –and they’d probably find him more suspicious than they already did if he had– but he felt like they were alive, somehow. When he touched them or was nearby, he felt as if the groans of the boards, the creaking of mast poles, and the ruffling of sails in the breeze were a secret language that only he could understand. And there had been a few, well, incidents. Like with the Hegelob’s Blessing. The crew had been having trouble with her for weeks, a series of strange accidents. Mops and buckets had mysteriously moved around the deck, and when Jaymin had gone below to make a manifest, the door had locked him below, and he was trapped there overnight. When Sora went on board to take a look, he did what he called ‘reaching’. He sort of leaned in his mind into the ship itself, and noticed what was there. He felt as if the ship led him to discover that sea rot had weakened the starboard side of the lower deck, and needed to be repaired. The damage had been hidden by some old crates. He didn’t know how he knew to look there, or where he learned to ‘reach’, but after they had fixed it, there were no more accidents.

     Actually, considering working at a sky dock (even with wings) was a dangerous business, accidents had been at an all-time low since Sora had become Harbormaster. From Sora’s perspective, it was really a matter of mutual respect: he reached out to the ships, they told him what they needed, and he obliged. They hadn’t lost one ship to disrepair, or one crew member to an accident at the dock, and the Emperor knew it. So, in a time when all things were closely watched, and when those in Shenkuu tended to stick to themselves, that was how a foreigner gained Imperial favour, and kept it.

     And the time of the Lunar Festival was no time to let that record slip. All eyes in the world were on Shenkuu, with reporters and tourists flocking in from far-off lands. Today was the day before the new moon, and the opening festival banquet and fireworks display that kicked off the season. Dozens of ships that had been sent out to collect guests were arriving at the port that day, arriving every hour, on the hour, as organized by the Skyport Keeper of Populations, a frowning Draik with long claw nails that seemed to forever be scraping down ship’s manifests, or tapping the long strings of jade beads that he used for counting. He was already standing outside the Captain’s Club, a low tea-house styled building where the Shenkuu Naval Captains conducted casual intelligence briefings, and fell into step with Sora as he rounded the corner to the docks.

     “The Cyodrake’s Gaze tours are scheduled to start this afternoon with an inaugural tour between the arrival of The Brave Dumpling and Eye of the Sun. It’s safely moored at port 1, gangways will be rolled down by a few Imperial guards. Then we have Pygui’s Peril arriving with groups from Meridale and Brightvale and A Handmaiden’s Kerchief with the Altadorians and some folks from the Lost Desert…”

     As the Draik had continued to prattle on dryly about schedules, they had passed under the shadow of the bow of the Cyodrake’s Gaze in its hangar, and almost reached the Harbormaster’s hut in the center of the pier where an agitated Buzz was whizzing in impatient circles above it. When he saw Sora he dove toward him, nearly banging his head on the banner pole that marked the site as he sped to a stop at Sora’s feet.

     “Pardon me, Harbormaster sir, but I have been sent here with a message from the lookout. There’s a ship coming sir, a ship headed right this way and sir…” the Buzz paused and looked at the Draik standing beside Sora, and his nose crinkled up as if there were a foul smell in the breeze. “Well sir, they need you to take a look at it. Sir.”

     Sora straightened his back to its full height and flexed his one good wing. He did that to hide when he was nervous. They weren’t expecting the Dumpling for hours yet. And the Draik would know something was amiss if he showed his surprise, although he probably already suspected something, shrewd as he was. But Imperial Officers were known for their slippery loyalties, they’d report their mother to the Emperor if they thought they had something to gain. He’d have to act like nothing was amiss. Thankfully the lad had bitten his tongue. If there was trouble, he needed to be the one to know it, the one to report it, before rumours slipped from lips right up to the Emperor’s pointy ears.

     “A ship, you say, lad? If I had a coin for all the times that loon Bo had told me there’s a mysterious object in the sky. Last week it was a faerie, falling from a cloud! And all the faeries grounded these days. It’s probably just the excitement of the festival’s got him as hot and jumpy as a bowl of Orrin’s Kimchee in the belly - and we all know the ache of that, ay! I’ll come with you lad, add it to mah list of things to do today, as if we all don’t have a barrow-full already. I’ll be back to go over the arrival schedule shortly, Master Riyoo, don’t you worry about that.”

     “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you, Harbormaster?” He spoke casually, but stroked the beads around his neck, calculating. “After all, an unknown object is the sky the day before the Lunar festival, well, that seems … noteworthy.”

     “Ah, I don’t want yeh to be wasting your time, Master Riyoo. It’s just a case of the jitters, flight of fancy, you know how a young lad can be. No, I’m the Harbormaster,” he added jovially but pointedly, reminding the officer to remember his role, “it falls on me, besides.”

     “Ah, yes, quite right. A … flight of fancy … like you say. I’m sure it’s just as you see it. Good day for now, then.”

     And with that, the Draik turned away, shuffling his papers. Soratoshi unfurled his wing, and swept the vexed young Buzz along the platform to the lookout tower at the end of the dock. They moved swiftly, but without urgency, so as they passed the dock workers readying the mooring ropes, and chatting in the bright morning, nothing would seem amiss.

     “What were you going to say? Before you saw Master Riyoo on the platform back there?” he asked the Buzz cooly when they were out of Riyoo’s earshot.

     “Oh, that. I was going to say sir … about the ship, is that it’s not one of ours. That is – it flies, but it’s not from here. But that’s not possible, right sir? I mean, Shenkuu is the only place that has flying ships in the whole world.”

     Soratoshi sincerely hoped that Bo was wrong. If other lands had the power to make flying ships, that was very bad news for the Emperor. It was one of the oldest and most guarded secrets of the kingdom of Shenkuu, how to make a ship that flies. He hoped again it was a mistake.

     When they reached the top of the lookout tower, Bo was pacing back and forth, swishing his red Pteri tail back and forth anxiously.

     “Oh Soratoshi, sir, I mean Harbormaster, it’s coming this way, it’s nearly upon us. What will we do? And the day before the festival! A black ship! A foreign ship! This does not bode well for the new year. What a dark omen – what a –”

     Soratoshi swept the little imploding Pteri aside in a quick but careful motion, so as not to hurt him, and peered into the scope. A ripple of heat waved through him. It wasn’t a mistake. There was a strange ship in the sky, like none he had ever known.

     To be continued…