by Sarah Ash
There was no reply.
Kai swiveled his head around to try to make out what had become of Masao. And as the inexorable pull of the outgoing tide tugged Kai further out to sea, away from the contours of the familiar shoreline, he saw a white-haired man crawl out of the receding tide. Naked, water streaming from his body, the distant figure pushed himself up to hands and knees on the damp sand. As Kai stared, he saw color flood into the man’s long white hair, turning it as dark as if someone had poured a pot of ink over his head. The man got to his feet, raising his arms to examine himself, checking that his body was unharmed and intact.
“Look, Kai!” Masao’s voice carried faintly to him across the rushing sound of the waves. He was pointing excitedly at himself. “It worked!”
So Inari told us the truth in that respect…
“I’m going to reconnoiter.”
“Be careful,” Kai called after him even as the tide continued to carry him away from the shoreline. The last thing either of them wanted was to be recognized; they were fugitives from the new emperor’s justice.
“Wait there for me.” Masao turned away and Kai saw him go around the rocky spar, walking over the wet sands exposed by the low tide, making toward Kurozuro Bay.
Wait? What else is there for me to do but wait? I’m powerless to help anyone out here. Overcome by a deep and aching tiredness, Kai lay back in the water and closed his eyes, letting the waves lull him to sleep.
Chapter 2
The smell of burning still permeated the clean sea air, rising from the smoking ruins of the Tide Dragon temple. Shocked worshippers and pilgrims wandered like lost souls through the monastery grounds, talking in hushed voices of the extraordinary events: the terrifying appearance of the Tide Dragons; the miraculous shower of rain that had extinguished the blazing temple…
Naoki, heir to the clan of the Red Kites, forced his way through the milling crowds. He had made his half-brother Masao a last promise and he felt duty-bound to fulfill it.
The monastery infirmary was filled with the walking wounded; Naoki hesitated on the threshold, shocked to see so many casualties. Master Seishi’s assistants were working their way systematically through the queue of villagers and monks waiting patiently for their turn. And yet as Naoki scanned the crowded room, looking for Master Seishi, he saw that most of the injuries were not life-threatening: some patients had inhaled smoke; most had minor burns from falling debris.
“Please join the queue,” said one of the apprentice healers as he hurried past to the pharmacy.
“Where’s Master Seishi?” Naoki demanded. The apprentice stopped and peered at him.
“L-Lord Naoki? Is that you?”
Naoki realized that, unshaven and unkempt from the past days’ travails, he didn’t look much like a lord; but he heard the villagers begin to repeat his name in awed tones and to nudge one another.
“I’ll fetch him straight away.” The apprentice pushed his way back into the crush and returned a little while later with Master Seishi.
Naoki felt a pang of guilt on seeing the monastery healer; he was more than aware that he owed him his life, and there he was, planning on taking him away from his duties tending to the injured. He bowed low.
“What do you want with me, Lord Naoki?” Master Seishi’s expression was guarded, the light in his eyes cool and shrewd. “We’re very busy, as you can see. And I’m one healer short, as you are well aware.”
Kai. Naoki bowed again, silently acknowledging the fact. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work.” He paused, searching for the right words that might persuade Master Seishi to help him. “But could you take a look at my retainer? He’s a healer too – and he’d be here, helping you, if he hadn’t been taken ill himself.”
Master Seishi considered this. “An Akatobi healer?” he said guardedly. “Where is he?”
“In the guest rooms. His majesty has been good enough to let him rest there.”
“Has his majesty not asked his personal physician to take care of him?” Seishi said, one eyebrow raised in mild disapproval.
“I believe his personal physician is busy attending to the courtiers.” Naoki had no idea if this was true or not; he just wanted Seishi to assess Yūgiri’s condition, not one of Hotaru’s household.
“Lead the way then, my lord.”
As Naoki went ahead through the flourishing herb garden, he could not help remembering watching Kai at work tending the plants…and their first awkward exchanges. Even then I knew you were good-hearted, Kai. So unlike me…
“I see you’ve made a good recovery,” Master Seishi said as they crossed into the main courtyard. There were imperial guards milling around, but no one stopped them.
“Thanks to you, Sensei. I owe you for saving my life.”
“Then repay me by getting an imperial pardon for Kai,” Seishi-sensei said softly.
Naoki shot a hasty look around to see if anyone were close enough to have overheard. No one appeared to be paying them any attention;
“I’ll do what I can,” he said under his breath.
Two imperial guards were on duty outside Hotaru’s rooms; they crossed spears as Naoki approached.
“Who’s this, my lord?” one demanded, gazing suspiciously at Master Seishi.
“This is Seishi-sensei, the chief healer in the monastery. I’ve brought him to tend to my retainer. “
“Go through.” The spears were uncrossed and Naoki led Seishi into the emperor-elect’s quarters. Hotaru’s servants bowed as they entered, respectfully making way for them to pass.
It was, of course, highly unusual for a member of the imperial family to admit one of his lord’s retainers to his private rooms – but Hotaru had given the order that Yūgiri Hisui was to be cared for in seclusion and no one had dared to argue with the emperor-elect’s decision.
And I know all too well why you’ve taken this action, Prince Hotaru. Naoki pushed open the screen to the side chamber and ushered Master Seishi inside. Yūgiri is your sole connection with the Tide Dragons and there’s no way you’re going to let him out of your jurisdiction.
At first Naoki could only see a rolled futon, a large lacquered trunk, and a gilded birdcage which contained an elegant long-tailed bird with plumage as white as the first snows of winter.
Then he spotted Yūgiri sitting hunched in the furthest corner of the little room, hugging his knees to him, his head lowered so that his face was hidden by his long, pale hair. A bowl of water with a cloth had been set beside him but he appeared not to have touched it.
“Yūgiri,” Naoki said, “this is Master Seishi. He’s come to help you.”
“There’s no point,” Yūgiri said without looking up, his voice muffled. “No one can help me. It’s too late.”
Seishi knelt down in front of Yūgiri. “There may be something I can do to alleviate your suffering.”
Yūgiri slowly raised his head to stare at Seishi and Naoki saw the monk recoil. In truth, he also found it difficult to look into the young shaman’s face. For, staining the purity of Yūgiri’s ivory eyes, a drop of crimson could be seen in each, like a bloody tear welling up around the pupil.
“How did this happen?” Master Seishi asked, gently slipping one hand beneath Yūgiri’s chin so that he could take a closer look. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“It’s onmyōdo,” Yūgiri said in a flat tone. Naoki tensed, wondering what else Yūgiri was about to say; surely he wouldn’t dare reveal Hotaru as his abuser? But Yūgiri didn’t give any further explanation and Master Seishi didn’t press him.
“Are you in any pain?” Seishi was checking Yūgiri’s pulse, carrying out the standard observations that Naoki remembered him doing every day in the Infirmary.
Yūgiri merely answered with a twist of the lips that might have passed for a warped smile.
“Is your sight affected?”
Yūgiri hesitated. “Everything is tinged with a blood-red haze.”
“I can do little other than alleviate th
e discomfort. I’ll send over a soothing tincture that you can use to bathe your eyes.”
The screen was suddenly pushed aside and the emperor-elect came in, followed by his page, Kobai.
“I gave orders that no one was to be admitted.” Hotaru glared at Naoki. “And who might you be?” He turned to Master Seishi.
“My name is Seishi; I am the monastery’s healer,” replied Seishi, unruffled, bowing.
“I brought Master Seishi to Yūgiri,” Naoki said hastily, not wanting the healer to take the blame for his actions.
“Because the healer is unable to heal himself?” Hotaru said lightly. “But we mustn’t keep Master Seishi from tending to his other patients; I’m sure there are many who need his skills more than we do.”
“I’ll take my leave, then.” Seishi bowed again and made to withdraw.
“I’ll see you out,” Naoki offered but Hotaru shook his head. When Seishi had gone, Hotaru turned to Kobai who had been observing silently and said, “We are not to be disturbed.”
Kobai bowed and left and the instant he was gone, Hotaru drew a slip of paper from his sleeve and fixed it to the door-screen. Naoki caught a glimpse of characters drawn on the paper in a reddish brown ink that looked like dried blood. The characters wavered, fluttered, took off as though Hotaru had released a swarm of translucent flying insects. And in the same moment, Naoki felt the little room enshrouded in an onmyōdo barrier; the sensation was oppressive, stifling, as if all the air were being sucked out. Yūgiri shrank even further back into his corner.
“Now no one can overhear us.” Hotaru turned on Naoki. “What were you thinking, bringing that monk here?”
“I was worried about Yūgiri.” Naoki was determined not to let himself be intimidated by the emperor-elect. “I gave Masao my word I would care for him.”
“Yūgiri is our sole link with Masao.” Hotaru’s eyes glinted behind his lenses. “Do you want to break that link?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.”
“I’ve just been negotiating with the ministers to restore your clan’s lands – which my father, the late emperor, seized. There seems to be no significant objection to the restoration, so I’m sending a messenger to your father at Kurozuro, inviting him back to court.”
“Thank you, your majesty.” Naoki heard the news with considerable relief; if the clan’s years of exile were over, then it made all the hardships he had endured seem worthwhile.
“But I need to ask you: when was the last time you saw Kurika?”
“Kurika?” Naoki looked at Hotaru in surprise. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.” The airless atmosphere Hotaru had created within the barrier was beginning to make him feel light-headed.
“So your hold over him is growing weaker?” The voice was Yūgiri’s and Naoki turned, astonished that the shaman had dared to challenge Hotaru.
“What do you know of such matters?” Hotaru said coldly.
“Only that binding such a powerful kami comes at a price most would judge too dear. Whose life-force did you drain to seal the bond? And who will you sacrifice next?”
Hotaru raised one hand, pointing at Yūgiri. Yūgiri gasped, and doubled up, clutching at his eyes. Naoki saw a thin trickle of blood appear from beneath his clenched fingers, running down his cheek like a crimson tear. Even though he thought of himself as a seasoned warrior, the sight set his nerves on edge. He turned to Hotaru. “Please stop!”
Hotaru slowly lowered his hand. “May I remind you, shaman,” he said quietly, “that you answer to me now; you are mine to command.”
His voice, though quiet, sent a shiver through Naoki. Hotaru’s become powerful enough to inflict physical pain with a single gesture.
“You will stay here,” Hotaru continued, “until I send for you. Don’t try to escape; one of my servants is watching over you and will alert me instantly if you disobey my orders. Lord Naoki; I need to speak with you alone. Please come to my rooms when you have finished tending to your healer.” And with that he turned and left the little chamber.
One of his servants? Naoki glanced around uneasily, wondering what Hotaru had meant. Was another shikigami, like Kurika, concealed somewhere in the little room?
The moment they were alone, Yūgiri sank back against the wall, as if suddenly released from an invisible grip. Naoki knelt beside him.
“Let me look, Yūgiri.” He managed to pry Yūgiri’s fingers away from his face. The bleeding had stopped but flecks of blood had dried on his long, pale lashes.
“Does it hurt?” Naoki whispered. Yūgiri said nothing but Naoki saw that he was biting his lower lip. “Hold still, then; I’m going to cleanse your eyelids.” He did his best, gently sponging away the clotted blood with a clean, wet scrap of cloth. “Why did you bait him, Yūgiri?” The irony that he was tending to his own healer’s injuries did not escape him. “And what did you mean?”
“The price of binding a fire kami as powerful and willful as Kurika is a human life. That’s why it’s forbidden.”
“You’re saying that Hotaru committed murder to make Kurika his shikigami?” Naoki kept his face close to Yūgiri’s, both speaking in a murmur for fear they might be overheard.
“And one life may not be enough. Kurika’s become restless and hungry. He may demand another sacrifice…or go on the rampage again. Just as he did when he was first set free. When he set fire to Akatobi Castle.”
“You’re certain that was Kurika’s doing?”
The blood-stained eyes fixed intently on Naoki’s; he flinched involuntarily, wondering what pain Yūgiri must be silently enduring. “Do you have any doubt, now that you’ve seen what he did to the temple?”
Naoki nodded. The results of Kurika’s fire-raising had stirred up memories that were still raw and painful, even after seven long years.
“And what did he mean about your link with Masao?”
This time it was Yūgiri who flinched. His eyes became clouded, his expression hard to read. “I tried to keep Hotaru out.” His voice was dull, toneless. “But he was just too forceful.” He drew in a small, shuddering breath as though still reliving the experience. “And now he’s left his mark on me…in me.” One hand rose shakily to press against his forehead, as if trying to suppress Hotaru’s influence. “And all because he wants to use me to trace Masao. Because Masao and Kaito are his only hope of staying emperor in a year’s time. He may be able to fool the abbot and the courtiers, with his fake Tide Jewels. But the bond between the imperial family and the dragon lords of the sea is broken. And Hotaru knows it. Unless he can find some way to bind Masao and Kaito to obey him.”
“Masao and Kaito have really become the Tide Dragons?” Naoki could still not quite believe what Yūgiri was telling him. “So if Ebb hadn’t rejected me, I would have taken his place?”
Yūgiri shot him a harsh and bitter look
“I had to do it, Yūgiri. For the clan. And it’s all going to be all right. Our years in exile are over. The Red Kites are in the ascendant now.”
Yūgiri’s accusing stare did not soften; if anything, it became more intense.
“We’ll find a way to get Masao back.”
“But every time I try to contact Masao, that damned onmyōji emperor is going to be forcing his way into my thoughts, trying to discover where Ebb and Flood are so he can track them down and enslave them again. I don’t want to betray Masao. And yet I want – oh, how I want him to know that I haven’t abandoned him.”
Seeing Yūgiri’s anguish, Naoki felt another pang of conscience. “Is there anyone you know who could break Hotaru’s spell? Your father, Yosanosuke?”
“My father hasn’t the power. My gift is far stronger than his. He’s always resented it, but it’s true.” Yūgiri turned his disfigured face away from Naoki. “But I don’t know how long I can endure this – this malevolent presence in my mind. How long before it sends me mad.”
Chapter 3
Masao emerged, dripping from the receding tide, and started out along the shore. The d
amp sand felt slippery beneath his bare feet and he stumbled.
I’ve only been in Ebb’s body a short while and already walking on two legs feels unnatural. Is this how it’s going to be: a daily struggle to retain a hold on my humanity?
For a moment the hopelessness of his predicament overwhelmed him and he just stood there naked in the dawn light, paralyzed by despair.
Suppose I can never escape? Suppose I can never be human again?
The salt breeze off the sea was beginning to make him shiver. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had not eaten in a long while. He looked down at himself and saw that the Ebb Dragon seal had reappeared on the underside of his left wrist.
So there’s some hope yet…there must be a way of reversing the bond. Naoki did it. But…how? His empty stomach growled again. The hunger pangs were growing stronger, gnawing inside him, making him feel light-headed. Where can I get food? As a warrior, he was used to carrying emergency supplies with him: rice, stored in the hilt of his katana.
What I wouldn’t give now for a bowl of fresh-cooked rice… Even the thought of such basic, comforting food made his mouth begin to water. And I don’t even have anything to barter…
The faint sound of hammering broke the wind-blown silence of the early morning, reminding him that he had come to reconnoiter. No one had shouted out a challenge or shot at him from Kurozuro Castle high on its rocky prominence above the beach.
Is the siege finally over?
It was hard to make out clearly from the shore, so he would have to go up through the forest to see which clan colours were flying above the gilded finials: Black Crane or Red Kite.
But as Masao came around the headland that sheltered Kurozuro Bay, he saw a sight that made him blink in disbelief. The shore below the Kite encampment was filled with ships; men were busy mending snapped masts and plugging gaping holes gashed in hulls.
So many ships – washed up on the shore or smashed against the rocks. He shielded his eyes against the rising sun and recognized the banners of the imperial fleet.
“What happened here after Yū and I escaped? Did Lord Toshiro challenge the imperial fleet? Or. . .is this the aftermath of the Flood’s rage yesterday?”