A kick to the ribs woke Yipachai the next morning. He jerked into a sitting position on his mat and scanned the darkness of the novice’s dormitory.

  “Get up,” a man’s voice said, sounding dry and tired. “We have to run to the forest sanctuary for morning meditation.”

  Yipachai heard clothing rustle, and sensed that whoever had spoken was already gone. He got to his feet and fumbled around for the clothes he had left folded at the foot of his mat the night before.

  Suddenly, a flash of green flames shot out of the darkness and collided with the ceiling of the dormitory, blooming into a bright, even light.

  Yipachai blinked and shielded his eyes. Why in the ever-rolling sea didn’t they give warning before doing something like that?

  He shrugged into the loose, short-sleeved tunic and trousers he had been given—the initiate who had delivered the clothing had informed him it was for a Banqilun child of no more than ten years old.

  The other novices in his dorm were already dressed and jogging down the stairs outside the dormitory. He sprinted after them, slipping into the straw sandals that had also been left for him.

  “Wait,” he called as he tried to quickly tie the knots around his ankles. The others were already jogging across the courtyard, a group of top-knotted shadows moving towards the western edge of the school’s grounds. “How will I know the way?”

  “Follow the lights!” one of the other boys shouted.

  As if someone had been waiting for the words, another ball of Lan Banti fire tore across the courtyard and slammed into the west gate, causing it to shine with that same steady glow. It made Yipachai’s eyes water, but by that light, he could see other groups making for the gate from the other dormitories. Most were other boys of varying ages, but a few of the groups were made up of girls, their willowy frames still abnormally tall compared to what Yipachai was used to.

  Apparently, that was another one of the quirks that made the School of the West Wind different from the others dueling schools in Amigawa. The girls wore the same style of tunics and trousers as the boys, and kept their hair tied up in tight buns atop their heads, looking much like the topknots Yipachai had grown accustomed to seeing among Banqilun men.

  Yipachai had barely made it down the stairs by the time the last group of girls passed through beneath the gate. He’d already lost sight of his roommates when the groups of students had intermingled.

  He took off at a run, gritting as the rough fibers of his sandals shifted around on his ankles, his feet, in between his toes. His breathing was already loud in his ears, and he could feel a thin sheen of sweat on his skin as he pushed through the humid air of the morning.

  He reached the gate just as another bloom of light appeared ahead of him, and he saw the silhouettes of Banqilun jogging along a wide trail that led deeper into the forest. They were already pulling farther ahead of him.

  And Yipachai’s heart was already racing, his breathing heavy. He had barely cleared the gate when the Lan Banti light faded abruptly, casting him into shadow once again.

  The path ahead of his feet was just barely visible in the glow of the second Lan Banti light. It got progressively brighter as he advanced, but suddenly a new fear grew in his mind—if he couldn’t keep pace with the lights, they’d dim before he reached them, and he’d be left careening through the dark.

  Yipachai quickened his pace, but his legs soon informed him it was futile. He had strengthened his arms and back—at least somewhat—in his time working at Harato’s forge, but he had never had to exercise like this. Had never run for more than a few minutes, except when the other boys at the monastery had chased him through Hongshu.

  But this forest was not Hongshu, no matter how familiar the trees were. No, Lucong, for all its similarities, was not a place Yipachai knew. And if he didn’t keep up with the other novices and initiates, he had no doubt these trees would lead him astray, perhaps swallowing him forever.

  Sweating from both exertion and fear, he reached out with his mind, seeking beasts that might be willing to help him, seeking…there! He sensed Pingou’s mind somewhere to the east and hastily opened a bond.

  Are you awake? he asked the heron.

  I am now, Pingou said, sounding displeased.

  May I use some of your strength? I have to run for my training and I…I can’t keep up.

  A sense of exasperation came to Yipachai through the bond, as if Pingou were…sighing?

  Take what you need, but let me go back to sleep. It is not yet time for hunting.

  Thank you! Yipachai said, and immediately widened the flow of Kuanghi between himself and Pingou. Strength entered into him, refreshing his burning legs. His heart slowed, but only slightly.

  It’s better than nothing.

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  Another Lan Banti light winked into existence ahead of him, and a groan escaped his lips. It was still so far ahead of him. And uphill.

  He passed the light he had been aiming for just as it faded away. That wasn’t good. He had been ahead of the other one before it dimmed. Which meant that even with Pingou’s strength supplimenting his own, Yipachai was still falling behind.

  He tried to pick up his pace, but it was no use. The next light faded before he reached it, and the one after that while he was still nearly half a minute away. By that time the lights ahead of him were little more than waypoints for him to reorient his path, rather than providing the illumination he needed.

  When his burning lungs could take it no longer, Yipachai slowed to a stumbling jog, his feet tangling in vines and creepers as he went. He could no longer see any lights ahead of him. Could no longer hear the footfalls of the other students.

  It was all he could do to keep himself moving forward. He stumbled more than a few times, and went sprawling more than once, until at last his eyes caught the dim glow of pre-dawn.

  The path was several paces off to his right. No wonder he had had so much trouble staying upright. He made his way back to it, then resumed his eastward trot, when he became aware of a familiar sensation.

  A song.

  Or, rather, a low hum, reverberating in Yipachai’s ears—and his soul. It was a calming sound, one he had spent countless hours meditating to. The sound Elder Satsanan had told him to listen to, to allow it to guide his thoughts where it would.

  The sound of the Mhong trees.

  With a new sense of invigoration, he hurried on, the sun rapidly ascending behind him, the hum of the trees growing louder with each step, until at last he beheld them. They were just like the ones in Hongshu, far taller and wider than any tree Yipachai had ever seen in any forest, their trunks reddish-brown, their boughs decorated with enormous leaves of deep green. The Mhong trees grew in a large circle, their branches overlapping one another, but never entangling, as if they had been meticulously arranged.

  Just outside the ring of Mhong trees, on the near side, was a rectangular open-air sanctuary, built of flat, gray stones. Shrines to the mhonglun had been erected at each of the four corners, with a fifth, larger shrine standing in the center.

  The other students were there, some sitting in quiet meditation while others stood and stretched. Perhaps Yipachai wasn’t so far behind them after all. He slowed to a stop, each breath stinging hsi throat, his calves cramping and angry. He tried to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, but it was still pouring down his face too profusely to be stopped.

  He scanned the sanctuary for a place to sit—or better yet, a place he could get a drink—but suddenly became aware that all the other students had risen and were grouping up on the east side of the platform.

  And they were all staring at him. In front were the oldest boys, looking like they hadn’t sweat a drop. They fixed him with looks of disgust so strong, Yipachai felt like he’d been punched.

  Behind them were other groups of younger boys and all the girls, who either gave him the same sorts of glares or ignored him entirely. He caught a glimpse of his roommates, whose names he couldn’t keep straight after their brief introductions the previous evening, but found barely a hint of recognition there.

  Yipachai approached slowly, cautiously, wishing he weren’t so much smaller than the rest of them—that hoard of dark eyes that bored into him like he’d just desecrated one of their sacred relics.

  He bowed his head to the group of older boys as he passed them, just in time for the entire group to take off at a run—back the way they had came.

  “Breakfast is ready,” a male voice said as the group streamed past him.

  Yipachai whirled around, trying to catch who had spoken, but the other boy was already gone. All Yipachai could see were tall, thin backs and bobbing topknots and buns.

  Swallowing his complaint, he started off after them, each step sending a fresh jolt of pain through his legs. This time, he wasn’t afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the group. Instead, a new thought filled his mind.

  I haven’t even made it through breakfast.

  The dining area was nothing more than a long wooden roof that sheltered dozens of low tables. Or rather, they were low for the Banqilun. For Yipachai, they were sized just about right.

  He was certainly the last to arrive, sweating and red-faced as he was, but he breathed a prayer of thanks to the mhonglun that breakfast wasn’t yet finished—steamed rice and fish with a light soup.

  The salty aromas wafted to him from the only enclosed part of the structure, where several young Banqilun bustled in and out of the kitchen with arms full of dishes.

  Before helping himself to breakfast, Yipachai stopped at the water pots. Three cups of cool, earthy water later, he had a bowl in each hand and a spoon tucked between his fingers.

  Scanning the tables of novices and initiates, he spied his roommates sitting around a table and talking quietly. It was probably time to actually introduce himself, after all.

  A tightness grew in his chest as he approached the table. Four Banqilun boys, most likely around his age, but Yipachai couldn’t tell. They looked…normal enough for Banqilun, though their skin tones varied slightly, and their beards weren’t all the same length or fullness. But what if he wasn’t supposed to sit with them? Was there some kind of greeting he was supposed to make? The only Banqilun he really knew were Harato and Takamoto… and Karu, he supposed.

  Yipachai gave what he thought was a polite nod of his head as he approached and set his bowls down on the table. Then, he bowed the Banqilun way, folding himself nearly in half with his hands at his sides.

  “I’m Yipachai,” he said as he straightened.

  The boy directly across from him rolled his eyes. Another of them stifled a laugh. Then, almost as if they had rehearsed it, all four of them rose and walked away, leaving Yipachai standing alone at the table.

  He sighed. It seemed this monastery-disguised-as-a-dueling-school wouldn’t be much different from his monastery back in Hongshu. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  He sat down heavily and ran a hand through his hair. It still felt so unfamiliar. Should he shave it again? Would the masters make him wear it in a topknot like the rest of the Banqilun?

  Smiling at the thought—because there wasn’t much else to smile about—Yipachai ate a spoonful of his soup. It was good. Saltier than Hetanzou soup, with an earthy flavor that he guessed came from the chewy green leaves that had been boiled into it.

  He moved on to the rice and fish just as a bell began tolling from the sanctuary across the courtyard. He looked around and saw that he was one of the only ones still sitting.

  Hurriedly, he began stuffing rice and fish into his mouth, then stood and tried to continue eating as he carried his bowls over to the students who must have been on dish washing duty. The bell continued to toll.

  Admittedly, Yipachai was still new at the School of the West Wind, but so far, it had turned out to be quite similar to his old monastery. And a slow bell at the end of a meal could only signal one thing: breakfast was over.

  Which meant it was finally time for blade training.