Samurai (24 page)

T
HE
D
YING
E
MBERS OF THE
D
AY

H
E RODE HIS HORSE
out beyond the Ebony Hollow forest to the seashore.

And he thought about evil.

A Note from Jason Hightman

A Q&A with the Author

A Sneak Peek at
Goodraven

This book exists to get boys to read.

In an age when male readership seems to be getting smaller, and the reading choices for that audience seem to be dwindling, I set out to try to capture a part of that group with the most intense kind of storytelling I could manage. This book was intended to be LOUD. It was made for speed, gleaming with sharp, twisting angles, and roaring with energy. Maybe it was crazy to try, but the reasons for this approach are obvious.

Grabbing attention is not easy these days; books have to compete with an astonishing array of entertainment—interactive games, comics, music, blockbuster movies and television shows, even website creation and custom video-editing projects.

A book, any book, has an incredible uphill climb.

It’s enough to make a writer commit
seppuku
.

When faced with such a challenge, any author might resort to the use of an arresting image like…a samurai.

It all started with the simple question, what if the St. Georges were
not
the last Dragon hunters? I wasn’t interested in repeating the same events as in
The Saint of Dragons
. I wanted to strike out for new territory, for this adventure to stand on its own. This is how
Samurai
was born.

Medieval history has always intrigued me. The Asian soldier of the period has all the trappings to fascinate
young people, especially boys—the strange and magnificent armor, the meticulously crafted weapons, the complex modes of conduct, the unique, imposing castles, and the mystical temples wreathed in fog.

I decided for the sequel to
The Saint of Dragons
, I would do something that would work in Japanese history. The location gave me a chance to explore new avenues of danger for the hunters—Tokyo! Bullet trains! India! Tigers!—as well as providing new emotional worries for Simon and offering a fuller picture of the history of Dragon slayers.

The image of a modern samurai instantly appealed to me. How would a samurai fight the ancient battles in cities of neon and concrete? How would he view the use of a gun when faced with such a terrible enemy? We know from history that the rise of the firearm spelled doom for their warrior way of life, but what if circumstances pushed the hunters to accept the new weapon, or face certain death? How would the warrior incorporate the gun, and with what reservations? How would people from this tradition deal with other technology, and the expanding role of women?

But the idea was to not only imagine how a samurai would meld his ways with changing times and the Japanese “group dynamic” of the present day, but also to smash together an American/European way of thinking with the Asian fighter’s ethics and styles. Simon St. George
represents just about all American-and Western-born kids, who so often consider themselves as individuals first, without thinking very much about service to others or the community around them. On the other hand, the Japanese character, Key, must discover the power of individuality and witness the glory of being the lone hero.

With
Samurai
, I also entered a new world of Serpent lore. It was interesting for me to consider how Dragons—who hate each other fiercely—would
have
to deal with each other sooner or later or face the extinction of their entire species. Questions of good and evil play a big part in this series. I’ve received mail from readers who loved the idea that the wickedness in the world could be chalked up to Serpent influence, while others complained it took human beings off the hook for their own immoral actions. For me, allowing Simon to wonder about the chicken-and-egg relationship of humans and Serpents was more important than drawing a final conclusion. In this way, of course, the issue is much the same as accepted Christian ideas about people and demons: can the devil
make
you do evil, or does he just offer you the opportunity?

At the end of the book, Simon is beginning to question why evil exists on Earth. While he may never quite figure it out—since no one really can—pondering the reason is going to make him a better, stronger, tougher, and smarter person.

Where the story goes from here is certainly left open.
But I feel there are enough hints and clues as to the way Dragon hunting will continue in the future to satisfy a reader. The kindhearted “Light Dragons” that the Chinese serpent once proposed may finally come into being. One can only guess how Aldric would deal with a castle full of Dragon children who are learning to combat their own kind in the interest of a common good. That story may never be written, but the raw materials are here to stoke anyone’s imagination.

Jason Hightman

What initially attracted you to writing about Dragon fighting?

Dragons are an interesting and time-honored symbol of evil. I was drawn to the chance of enriching our understanding of how these evil creatures might interact in a modern setting.
The Saint of Dragons
was all about a group of Serpents trying to work together, but thwarted by their own instincts to lie and cheat each other. I was intrigued by the obvious issue that arose out of that: How does such a hateful species ever reproduce itself? How do the rival Dragons ever set aside their differences long enough to create new young?

Do you identify with Simon St. George? Is he based on anyone you know?

Simon is a pure creation of fiction, but every writer finds parts of himself in his characters. I can relate to his feelings of aloneness, his worrying about the world. But Simon is angrier, tougher, more rebellious, and quicker to action than I ever could be.

How did you happen to find inspiration in the Far East (or Japan) for
Samurai
?

With so much going on in Japan’s manga and anime culture, it seems amazing more mainstream books don’t merge the worlds of East and West, of knights and samurai. Once I started thinking about warrior culture all over
the world, I saw all-new possibilities in a focus on the Far East.

What do you like about writing for teens?

The audience is less jaded. Teens are more open to different ideas and reinvention. I’ve found adult readers sometimes object to the whole concept of Dragons and Serpents in contemporary culture. They are trained on traditional fantasies with more familiar-looking creatures, and don’t want anyone messing with the usual elements of these stories. Young people are more willing to let you experiment.

How does your background as a screenwriter influence the way you write novels?

Action, action, action. Quick writing, painting a scene with few words—that’s what movie writing is all about. I don’t know if my background helped or hindered this particular novel. Sometimes the demands of a story ask for a different approach. This time I was trying to concoct a dose of literary adrenaline.

Your next novel,
Goodraven
, is quite a change from Dragon lore. What intrigues you about this new topic?

The Saint of Dragons
and
Samurai
try for a reinvention of Dragons, and
Goodraven
aims for a reinvention of witches, but that’s where the similarities end. With
Goodraven
, I wanted to create a monster that evokes the primal
response a reader gets from Dracula and Frankenstein, but in a fresh adventure, presented specifically for a younger crowd, with youthful heroes.

At its heart,
Goodraven
is a shivery ghost story about a teenaged Victorian couple who find themselves lost in a bitter snowstorm, with a legendary Salem villain stalking them. Just forget everything you know about witches. You’ve been told only lies.

Tobias and Tess stood apart from the flow of people through the station gates; as always, the two of them against the world, watching it pass by.

“Last chance to turn back,” Tess murmured.

“Nonsense. We’re about to find out if there really
are
witches up there.”

A stooped old conductor ambled past them. “A lot of out-of-town folk here; train’s crowded,” he muttered. “You may need to sit apart.”

Tobias looked down at the train worker. “Oh, we’re never apart.”

“What do you mean, never?” barked the old man. “She’ll be sitting with other women…no scandal to it.”

Tess felt her heart flutter, but Tobias calmed her panic with confidence. “She’ll be sitting with me, sir. Thank you.”

“Dangerous to need each other so much,” the old man replied. “I’m a widower; I can tell you a thing or two about that—”

“And no new lady has snatched you up?” mumbled Tobias, under his breath. “You wonder how this could be possible.”

“You’d better get in. They’re boarding up,” the old man said, not listening, heading into the gates.

Hiding a smile, Tobias imitated the man’s fearsome voice, “They’re boarding up…”

Tess considered him. “You don’t have the right inflection. You have to sound more like you’re hiding a human head in your coat.”

Tobias tried again, darker, more convincing. “They’re booooarding up…”

“Much better. The human-head element was right there. Palpable.”

“Tobias! Tess!”

Celia Harnow, the innkeeper, shouted from behind them, her golden curls bouncing as she ran. She was a bubbly, boisterous woman whom Tess found somewhat likeable, for all her stumbling kindnesses, and whom Tobias found quite annoying, which he openly admitted.

“You forgot your train tickets!” she said, her baby face flushing red from running. “Here, now, they might’ve had to seat you apart—”

“Thank you, Miss Harnow,” Tess said politely.

“I’m so jealous of you two, tighter than two doves. Me, I’m stuck with the old goat, he wants me to stay with the inn and feed him and his firemen friends. I can’t even go to the Carnival.” “The old goat” was her husband, the usual target of her complaints.

“Yes, thank you, ma’am, we’ve got to be going now,” said Tobias, moving Tess along as he whispered, “The Dead hate to wait.”

As they neared the line for the train, Tess saw four little girls near a scowling, thin woman arguing with a porter over some boxes. She was saying, “Be careful with those, they have my dolls in them. I’m going to display them for sale at the Festival.” And Tess saw the woman rudely warn one of the girls, “Don’t touch these, they’re not for playing with.”

Tobias watched one of the sweet, tiny girls turn sad. Out of spite, he reached over and swiped one of the thin woman’s boxes. Tess hid her amusement. As the woman fussed over the loading, not even noticing him, Tobias broke open the box and pulled out a boy doll. He looked at the little girl. “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked.

Tess watched the little girl stammer. “Mmm, something…”

Tobias grinned, handing her the doll. “Like this?”

“Something scary,” the tiny girl giggled. Tess laughed with her.

“You’re a strange man,” said the girl.

“Yes,” said Tobias, good-naturedly. “Yes, I am.”

Tess shook hands with the little girl. “Tess Goodraven,” she introduced herself, and gestured to Tobias. “My husband, Tobias Goodraven.”

“Husband?” the girl laughed. “You’re too small to be married.”

“Not at all.” Tess smiled back.

Just then, the girl’s father turned, calling the child angrily, and Tess could see Tobias tense up. “What I love about Christmas is it always brings out the best in people,” she said, hoping to ease the situation.

Tobias took on a mock-scary voice. “And all the ghosts get homesick.”

She kissed him. “I feel brave.”

They moved toward the train. Its magnificent, huge black engine breathed steam over the beautiful station, itself a tiny jewel of architecture, covered in dazzling latticed iron and crowned with a small glass dome. Steam unfurled over the waiting crowd.

Several youngsters turned to her, shocking her with their gaze, for their eyes were pearly white and fixed upon nothing in particular. Others nearby stood with closed eyes, she noticed, and carried canes to help them along. They were blind children, from a school in Salem, she knew. They stood with their chaperones, and Tess felt a pang of sadness that they could not see the beauty that the train and the station created together.

Everyone was silent, in plain black and brown coats. Tobias and Tess stood out brilliantly, as always, he in gray, she in white. They looked around at the crowd, observing every detail, as the snow crept down around them all.

Tess realized sadly this was what normal people looked like to them.

Odd little curiosities.

The train would take them to the Winter Carnival in the old town, deep in the woods. Passengers were eager to be on their way, moving as one to come aboard. The train was a masterpiece. Tess and Tobias moved through several parlor cars, beautifully appointed, bordered in mahogany. The trip was a short one, but the Festival organizers had spared no expense in trying to attract visitors.

Car after car grew more opulent. Tess found herself wanting to sink into the chairs of each car, for they were truly rooms, unbelievably beautiful, dripping with Victorian grandeur, plush sofas, dazzling chandeliers, wide windows.

Then came the showpiece dining car, ornamented with cherry wood tables, brass fixtures, silver and linen and china the finest restaurant in New York would envy—a feasting place for kings. The second dining car was less expensive, but only slightly less extravagant.

There was a smoking car, complete with an upright piano, a harp, pre-Raphaelite paintings, and a high ceiling made of glass so that Tess could see the snowflakes drifting down upon them with fairy-tale delicateness.

Finally Tobias and Tess reached the elegant, day-trip passenger cars, and found their seats, together as always. Tess had traveled quite a bit in her few short years of life, and this train was as perfect a creation as she had ever seen in New York, London, or Paris.

It was a shame it would all be smashed to pieces.