by Nick Lake
The dragon.
The road they followed, the Hokkaido, did not go any higher, but in its skirting of the hills it did take them past one village that had succumbed. A passing merchant told them that the dragon had struck here, then retreated back to the mountaintop – there was no sign of any fresh fire.
But the village was ashes.
Taro stepped off the cobbled road and into what remained of the place. No one said anything, but Hiro and Hana followed. There was an eerie quiet, in fact – no birds singing, no frogs croaking. What was left was like the map of a village; two-dimensional. There were no walls and no roofs, only squares where houses had been, charred posts and ash marking them out. Taro nudged a blackened cooking pot with his foot. He had never seen such destruction. A bad rainy season, and any trace of the village would be wiped from the earth.
‘Taro,’ said Hana softly. He went over to where she crouched, within one of the burned-out houses.
He looked down, saw the object she had fixated on. It was the skeleton, badly charred, of a child. Taro blinked back tears. Hana brushed her eye with her sleeve.
‘There’s nothing,’ said Hiro, who had come up behind them. ‘A knife. A pot. Other than that, everything is gone.’ He saw what they were looking at and was suddenly quiet.
‘You really think you can kill this dragon?’ asked Hana.
‘It’s possible,’ Taro said. Though looking around at the ash-drawn lines of the village, the shadows on the ground that he thought might mark the remains of people, caught in the hottest part of the fire, he was not so sure.
‘Good,’ said Hana. She kissed him on the cheek, then left him there, as the fine grey powder swirled around him.
CHAPTER 10
THEY SAW NO more sign of the dragon, but that didn’t mean they were safe.
It seemed to Hiro that Taro and Hana needed some time to talk, so he was hanging back with Jun, letting the others ride on ahead with the cart. Taro had taken the stockier, shorter horse, the better to pull the cart with, and Hiro was enjoying riding the big stallion.
He was a little anxious, though, his feelings giving a yellow tinge to the countryside through which they passed. There was the cart, with all that rice in it – enough to tempt nearly anyone who saw it. And there was the dragon, of course. Hiro couldn’t blame Taro for leaving the monastery, not after what had happened, but he wished it didn’t have to be for this.
Taro could really die this time, he thought. There were instances – not often, definitely not often – when he felt real anger towards his oldest friend, usually when Taro was taking unnecessary risks. Yes, Taro had saved his life, when they were children, and Hiro had promised to follow him. He loved Taro – considered him his only family. But did that mean he had to support every dangerous idea his friend got into his head? There had been a time, back in Shirahama, when Hiro couldn’t wait to get out, to go on adventures. Now, looking back, he couldn’t even recognize the person he had been then. What kind of idiot wants to leave a place of safety? To fill his life with swords and blood?
Well, Hiro, it seemed, was that kind of idiot. And it was too late now, too late to return to the village, to un-know the things he knew, to un-see the violence he had seen. But did that mean that he should not want a future with a measure of peace in it?
Then there was the ball.
Hiro knew that something about the Buddha ball was wrong – he wasn’t stupid. Troubled looks crossed Taro’s face like wind over water every time he was near it, and Hiro had seen his downright agony when Taro actually touched the thing. Hiro knew how power could corrupt – he’d witnessed Lord Oda threaten his own daughter to try to get the ball. Was it possible that something similar was happening to Taro?
No – he didn’t think it was that. He thought the ball might be hurting Taro, and that was something Hiro couldn’t stand.
Crossing a wooden bridge over a shallow stream, he glanced around. They were passing through a narrow valley, the rice paddies sloping steeply on either side. Gulls circled above – they were drawing near to Edo, near to the sea.
‘Hiro?’
He realized from Jun’s tone that the other boy had said something, which he had missed as he gazed around at the scenery.
‘Sorry, Jun. What is it?’
‘I asked what you thought about this quest,’ said Jun. ‘The dragon. Do you think Taro can do it?’
‘We don’t even know if the dragon is real.’
‘If it is. What then?’
Hiro shrugged. ‘Taro’s a vampire.’ They had hardly been able to hide this fact from Jun, since they were travelling together. ‘He’s stronger than you or me.’
‘He still got a dagger through the chest,’ said Jun.
‘Yes. But you know, he wants to do this. He hates to be still. He has...’
‘Courage?’
Hiro adjusted the reins, to lead the horse round a large rock in the path. ‘I was going to say he has a destiny. He feels it, and anyone can see it. So he’s not afraid of things like we are. He doesn’t think about what he wants. He thinks about what he’s meant to do. If he didn’t, he’d just marry Hana and live quietly. But that’s not how Taro thinks.’
‘Interesting,’ said Jun. ‘And what about you? What do you want?’
Hiro looked at him, startled. ‘No one...’ It wasn’t a question anyone ever asked him. ‘I don’t know,’ he finished lamely.
‘Not at all? I mean, if you could have anything, if you could be... free.’
‘Free of Taro, you mean?’
Jun shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. But you know, you don’t have to do everything he does.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. He saved my life. So I do have to.’
Jun raised his hands. ‘All right. But just saying you didn’t. What would you want to do? If it was just you?’
Hiro thought for a moment. ‘I’d go back to Shirahama. I’d be a fisherman, and I’d live in my little hut, take a wife.’
‘The quiet life,’ said Jun.
‘Yes.’
Hiro watched as Taro and Hana rounded a bend ahead of them, the path dissolving in the dappled light from a grove of trees. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What would you do, if you weren’t... Actually, what are you? I know you helped Shusaku, and then you were working with the abbot...’
‘I’m not anything,’ said Jun. ‘I go here and there. I was with Shusaku, then he asked me to stay with the Ikko-ikki, to help them with their guns. After Lord Oda died, he suggested I stay with you and the abbot at Mount Hiei. I just try to be useful.’
‘Worse things to be,’ said Hiro. ‘But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Question?’
‘What you would do. If it was up to you.’
Jun scratched his chin. ‘I would be a daimyo, and have a big castle,’ he said. ‘And lots of concubines.’ He gave Hiro a grin, and the two of them laughed. ‘I’d have lots of intrigues and wars with the other daimyo. I wouldn’t want a quiet life.’ He shivered, as if at some horror only he could see.
‘Well,’ said Hiro. ‘We shall have to agree to differ.’
‘Yes. Because I’m sure it will be no time before you’re a fisherman and I’m a daimyo. Just the small matter of a dragon to kill first.’
‘Yes,’ said Hiro, as they entered the grove and he felt the particular coolness of air on his skin that is only found beneath trees. ‘Nothing’s ever easy, is it?’
As if to illustrate his point, a scythe appeared, rusty but sharp, out of the gloom and stopped, its point quivering in front of Hiro’s once fat belly. He wasn’t so fat any more, and right then he wished he was. At least fat gave some cushioning against stab wounds.
Hiro got his bearings: Jun was looking at him with wide eyes, a dagger held to his neck. He was no longer on his horse; the horse was grazing absentmindedly at the moss on the floor of the grove, as Jun dangled from the arms of a massive bandit.
The man at the other end of the scythe aimed at Hir
o’s stomach leered at him.
‘Off the horse.’
Hiro dismounted slowly. He sized up his opponent. The man was thin and dirty. Taro and Hana were standing very still ahead, the cart beside them, their horses grazing nearby. Taro, or someone else, had removed the cart horse from its harness, and the bars were lying on the ground, the cart leaning as if prostrating itself to some deity, the god of wooden-wheeled implements or some such—
Stop.
Hiro was babbling in his mind; he had to learn to stay in the moment, like Taro did. He continued his sweep. There were two more bandits standing up ahead, one of them pointing some kind of spiked field implement at Hana, like a rake but with straight tines. Hiro knew nets and rods; he didn’t know anything about farming. He did know, however, that tools of quality did not tend to be rusted and pitted, like the scythe in front of him.
That makes the blade weak, which means—
No. It makes them poor and desperate.
Still. The man with the dagger to Jun’s neck was standing way too close – he wouldn’t be able to keep his balance if Jun should stamp on his foot or lean back into him; it would knock him over. He’d had to let Jun down, presumably unable to hold him up, despite his huge bulk. And that scythe really was very rusty...
‘Let us go,’ Hiro was surprised to find himself saying.
Scythe-man laughed. ‘Might be we will. But we’ll help ourselves to that rice first.’
‘If it was mine, I’d give it to you,’ said Taro. ‘I can see you’re hungry.’ The man pointing the rake at Hana was definitely emaciated. ‘But it’s not mine to give.’
‘Don’t care. Give it, or die. Those are your choices.’ It was always the man with the scythe who spoke. Hiro saw a scar on his cheek, but he thought perhaps it came from a farming accident. The man was not holding the scythe like a warrior.
‘I’ll give you a cupful each, to take to your families. And you’ll say thank you.’
Another laugh. ‘We’ll take the lot. And we won’t say nothing.’
Taro sighed. ‘Accept my offer. Please.’
Hiro knew the tone behind that ‘please’. It wasn’t fear. It was weariness. Sometimes, when two people have spent nearly their whole lives together, they can read each other’s minds, or at least anticipate exactly how the other person will think, which amounts to the same thing. Hiro knew, in that moment, what Taro was thinking. He doesn’t want to hurt them. He knows he can win, but he doesn’t want to hurt them. For one tiny moment Hiro had a glimpse of what it must be like to be Taro – to be able to inflict such damage on people; to be afraid, though, of doing it. He’d seen the expression on Taro’s face when he touched the ball.
Hiro had occasionally wondered what it would be like if he was a vampire too. Right now, he was happy not to be.
‘What a shame,’ said the bandit. ‘Guess we’ll have to take it then.’
‘You don’t want to do that,’ said Hiro’s mouth, again to his surprise. It seemed that he didn’t want anyone to get hurt either.
‘Does that ever work?’ asked the bandit. ‘You just tell people not to rob you and they agree?’
‘Yes,’ said Taro.
‘Amazing. Must be some stupid thieves about.’
‘You’d be astounded,’ said Taro. ‘Some of them – if you can believe this – don’t listen when they’re told to leave people alone.’
‘Wha—’
Taro hardly seemed to move, but Hiro saw his sleeve flutter. The bandit holding the rake suddenly had his hand nailed to it by a shining shuriken. In front of Hiro, the man holding the scythe dropped his weapon, cursing. He clutched his hand, from which protruded another of the five-pointed throwing stars.
Quickly Hiro picked up the scythe, bringing it round smoothly till the point was a fraction away from the man holding the dagger to Jun’s neck. ‘Drop it,’ he said.
The dagger fell to the floor of the glade – thick with pine needles, it received the blade with a dull, soft sound. Meanwhile Hana had drawn a short-sword – with it, she pressed the man who had been threatening her backwards, and he tried to drop the weapon, except the throwing star was still in his hand.
‘Over here,’ said Taro. He pointed to the cart.
Hiro indicated with the scythe, telling the man who had dropped the dagger to move. He gave a light kick to the leader, herding both of them towards where Taro stood. From the corner of his eye he noticed that Jun was shaking.
When the three peasants were together, Taro looked them up and down. ‘The stars are clean,’ he said. ‘Take them out, and the wounds should heal well. Keep them wrapped – don’t let infection get in.’
The leader looked at him in confusion. His scar twitched. Hiro realized that he wasn’t much older than they were, though his lank, greasy hair and grey complexion made him look older. ‘But... You’re not going to kill us?’
Taro stared at him. ‘No. I told you what I was going to do.’ He unlaced the leather coverings over the rice, exposing the great pile of it. Then he rummaged in his bag until he found a cloak. He filled the cloak with rice, tied it in a bundle. ‘I make that about three cupfuls,’ he said. He handed the bag to the unwounded bandit, the one who had held the dagger to Jun’s throat. Then Hana slowly lowered her sword.
Eyes on them the whole time, the three bandits began to shuffle away, wary, like hunted animals.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Hiro called after them.
The leader stared, startled, then his shoulders slumped. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘See?’ said Taro. ‘I told you so.’
And then he tied up the rice again, and went to the cart horse, clicking his tongue to calm it as he approached.
CHAPTER 11
THEY CAME INTO Edo on an unassuming wooden bridge. They had followed the Hokkaido road for the last several ri, blending in with the hundreds, thousands of other travellers on Japan’s most important highway. The first thing that Taro noticed was that Edo was a city of water – a floating city, built on bridges and stilts, its streets lying on thin islands in the marsh, surrounded by rivers and canals.
But whenever they turned, they saw the mountain of Fuji behind them, its famously smooth, conical shape obscured by dark clouds of smoke at its top, the rivulets of red fire running from it visible even from here. It was impossible not to turn all the time – to remind oneself that back there, on that mountaintop, was a dragon, and it was sending fire farther and farther down the mountainside, closer and closer to Edo. Others, too, were unable to tear their eyes from the mountain, and made gestures to ward off evil as they hurried on their way down the cobbled road. Even from here, Taro thought he could just make out the silhouettes of burning trees.
Those in the valleys were terrified – they knew it was only a matter of time before the molten rock reached them, and many had already fled. In fact, a lot of the other travellers on the Hokkaido road were refugees from the fire. As they passed through those scorched lands, Hana had wept; Taro had come close too. The sight was one of hell on earth. Taro still wanted the twenty-thousand-koku territory, of course, but another motive had taken hold in him.
He wanted to put out that fire.
As they walked through the outer streets of Edo, Taro noticed that everyone in this enormous city was either earning money or spending it. On street corners, troupes of wandering actors performed Kabuki plays, while people sat on benches to watch them. Sleight-of-hands pulled doves from their cloaks; men sold fish and rice from stalls. Preachers, contortionists, acrobats and the sellers of miracle cures all jostled for attention from the crowds.
Taro felt overwhelmed. He had thought he could find Shusaku here – the older man would know where to go, who to speak to, and perhaps more important, who not to speak to. But Taro had not counted on the sheer size of the city and had no address with which to start looking. He cursed his own naïveté.
No sooner had they entered the city than Jun slowed his horse and turned to them.
‘I will leave you here,’ he said. It was the most he had spoken to Taro in the last few days. Even when they had stayed in a travellers’ inn, at a fork in the road, he had only nodded, shyly, when offered a sleeping mat by the window.
Taro bowed to the other boy. ‘It has been a pleasure to travel with you,’ he said, a little untruthfully.
Jun took their horses, too – saying that he knew a place they could be stabled, until such time as monks might come from the Tendai monastery to collect them. He left them with the cart horse only, so that they could pull the rice cart through the cobbled streets. Jun offered to take that, too, but Taro had promised the abbot he would deliver the taxes in person – even if he personally would have liked to turn round, take the rice to the peasants and distribute the lot of it, not just the cupfuls he had given away. There were people starving, people dying out there, and the shogun was taking cartloads of rice from the monks. It wasn’t right.
Yet Taro had made a promise. He’d sworn to the abbot he would bring the rice to the shogun’s palace, and that was what he intended to do. There was the message, too, of course. It still lay snug inside his cloak, unopened. The abbot had said it was private, had made him promise not to read it, and Taro intended to honour that promise.
They crossed a bridge over a canal and entered a poorer district. It was already late, the moon a thin silver sliver in the dark blue sky. The cart horse’s breath wreathed in the night air.
Here beggars worked the street corners. One of them, Taro saw, had a monkey on a chain – he was poking the monkey with a stick, making it dance. The sight was less amusing than saddening. There was a smell everywhere of cramped humanity – its sweat and its refuse. Piles of rotting vegetables and other unmentionables rose up in odd places, like pustules on the skin of the city.