In the Time of Dragon Moon by Janet Lee Carey Page B

my back, the woods two hundred yards or so ahead. I was in no hurry. I felt myself expanding under the scattered stars. It was good to be outside. I was reveling in my stolen freedom, when the sound of distant pounding feet made me turn.
    A man in courtier’s clothing raced from the castle, flying across the road and down the steps to the beach. Not wanting to be caught out alone, I stood very still as he ran along the sand. He stopped suddenly, thirty strides or so downhill from me, leaned toward the brambles, and roared fire.
    We should all balance the four sacred elements of earth, wind, water, and fire in our being.
But no man breathes fire. Yet my eyes did not lie. His flames lit the brambles, the ignited wood burst into a brilliant golden blaze. I watched transfixed, saw his face in the glowing light.
    Jackrun.
My fingers curled to fists as he shouted flames in sharp, bright javelins. I heard the rage in his roar. Terror blazed through me. And something else. Exhilaration at his unleashed power.
    A few birds flew upward, crying out, to escape. One slower than the rest caught fire and beat its flaming wings before it fell.
    Sparks popped and flew up like tossed jewels over Jackrun’s dark head. He hurled hunks of sand to put the fire out and kicked up more with his boots, moving like a fighting man who’d thrown off his weapons in favor of his hands and feet. It was then he looked up toward the bluff and saw me.
    I could have become a part of the blowing grass tickling my arms, night’s darkness, but I didn’t. I clung to a slender stalk of pampas grass as he made his way up the bluff with long forceful strides.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Uma?” he demanded. Smoke puffed from his nose and mouth.
    â€œYou breathe fire,” I said, still only half believing what I’d seen.
    He wiped his brow. His eyes were the colors of green earth and flame.
    â€œListen.” He grabbed my shoulders, shook me once, then dropped his hands again. “You cannot tell anyone what you saw.” His face was all passion and anger. Heat wafted off his skin. He’d been kind when he helped me carry Father’s trunk. Now I wondered who he was.
    â€œSurely others know?”
    Silence.
    â€œYour family?”
    He stood very still, his arms crossed, but the silent yes I saw in him made him grip his upper arms tighter.
    â€œYour uncle, the king, and his wife, the queen?”
    â€œNo,” he said, firmly, “not them.”
    His eyes fell on my double-belted waist. I’d put on Father’s belt—missing Mother, missing Father, feeling alone on this strange new island full of English—and forgotten to take it off. “If you have been given this power,” I said, “why hide it?”
    Jackrun began pacing the bluff, keeping his path small, as if the grass caged him. “Just give me your promise.”
    Never trust the English,
Father said. I could not make promises so easily anymore. I needed to gather information as sure coin to use if I needed it. “I know some warriors in my tribe who would love to have such power.”
    He barked a short, bitter laugh. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Uma.” His feet moved, his arms, his hands. “I have to get back,” he added, glancing toward the castle.
    â€œAnd I have firewood to gather,” I said.
You are the fox. They are the hounds
.
You must learn to survive.
    â€œI’ll give you a hand,” he said. We headed down the hill. Summer stars winked above, a treasury of diamonds. On the beach I slipped off my shoes and felt the sand between my toes as Jackrun rolled up his sleeves, fell to his knees, and dug a hole with his bare hands to bury the dead bird he’d burned. When he was done, he patted the small mound with care as if he were tucking in a child.
    He stood tall again, brushing off his hands. Green dragon scales covered his right forearm, each diamond-shaped scale the