“You want me to stand with you against the Taikun?”
The Overwizard puffed his cheeks and looked sharply at Shūhan—as did Satō.
“I… I did not say that.”
“But that is what you meant.”
“I only wish to know what you will do when the time comes to choose sides.”
“There can only ever be two sides in Yamato: those with the Taikun and those against him. I’ve learnt it the hard way—this is why you found it so difficult to come here. Tell me, have you spoken to anyone else about it yet?”
“I have,” the Overwizard replied, nodding. “I cannot give you the names, of course, but there is a… network of likeminded people, growing slowly.”
“A conspiracy, you mean.”
“I would not call it that.”
“Call it what you will, you’re still talking about sedition and treason.”
“This is not just for our benefit, you must understand. We care about the good of your people. You make decent trade, and are an honourable and trustworthy race. We are happy with our agreements. The others, however… they will not care for deals, they will come to steal and conquer. We need to work together against this new threat.”
Shūhan pondered this for a while, scratching his greying beard.
“Will you speak to the Taikun openly about these—signs?” he asked
“As much as I am allowed to divulge, yes, but from what I’ve heard of His Excellency, he is unlikely to be interested in what I have to say.”
“Yes, the Taikun can be a stubborn man,” said Shūhan, “and tough to deal with. There was a time when I desired nothing more than to serve His Excellency, but he chose to surround himself with advisers who cared for little but themselves. The ‘reforms’ they’ve introduced have only served to keep people like me away from the court.”
There was bitterness in his voice Satō was familiar with; he sounded like this every time he spoke of the Edo government.
“What about the Mikado?” she blurted. “If the news are as grave as you say, shouldn’t he be notified as well?”
The two older men looked at her in great surprise. She realised immediately how ridiculous she sounded. She might have as well proposed to discuss current affairs with the Gods.
“The Mikado has even less freedom than I do,” said Shūhan, “you know that. Only the Taikun matters.”
“Are we in agreement, then?” Curzius pushed, ignoring Satō’s question.
“It is yet too early to decide, Overwizard-dono,” Shūhan replied. “As your soothsayers say, the threads of Fate are tangled, but I can promise I will always do what I believe is best for my people and country, not just for Taikun’s courtiers.”
“That is as much as I wanted to hear.”
Curzius extended his hand and Shūhan shook it awkwardly. They both rose and headed for the exit. Shūhan held the Westerner back just before they were about to cross the doorway.
“This ‘network’ of yours…” he said in a low voice that Satō could barely hear from where she was sitting, “would they be in a position, should anything happen to me, to take care of my heir?”
“Is this your price?”
“It’s my condition.”
“Then I will see to it that they would. Farewell friend.”
She watched her father return to the table, sit heavily on the straw mat with a sigh and pour himself yet another cup. The room was deadly quiet, even the cicadas in the garden fell silent.
“Well,” he said at last. “What did you think of that? Not my noblest moment. To stand against my ruler and master, betray him in the hour of trouble… is that the way of a true samurai?”
“And is it the way of a true master to give ear to false accusations and imprison those who only wished to serve him? Kōshi the Philosopher said a faithful servant must—”
Shūhan smiled bitterly and raised a hand to stop her. “Quoting Kōshi is not as popular as it once was. Make sure not to repeat such words outside this house.”
“Of course, Father. I’m not a child anymore.”
“No. You’re not.”
He swallowed his saké in one gulp and stared grimly at the bottom of the empty cup. A lone raven cawed in the distance.
The great Suwa, chief of Kiyō’s shrines, lay slightly to the north-east of the city on the steep slopes of Tamazono Mountain. Beyond the long stairs and many gates, beyond the souvenir stalls and main worship halls of the shrine, beyond the cemetery, lay the forested inner grounds where only the priests could enter.
There were many sand and gravel paths climbing among the camphor trees, connecting the separate wooden buildings. Some led to lesser shrines dedicated to the worship of various local kami, others to warehouses or storage sheds, or, farther up the mountain, huts of hermit priests who chose a life of separation. A few disappeared into the underbrush, their original destinations long forgotten.
Nagomi scaled one of those white gravel paths, wearing her finest ceremonial gown of pale green silk embroidered with red thread, a wreath of flowers and ribbons of paper in her braided copper hair. On her wrists and ankles she wore bracelets of tiny brass bells. She was following Lady Kazuko, the wrinkle-faced, but bright-eyed High Priestess of the entire shrine. Despite the woman’s drab plain garments, she displayed an aura of authority and wisdom.
The gravel path led past a persimmon orchard then along a grove of tall green bamboo swaying gently in the wind. Nagomi and the High Priestess reached a square building with walls of cedar logs, curved tiled roof and a narrow entrance without a door. Nagomi hesitated a moment before passing under the thick straw rope tied across the entrance to mark sacred ground.
The inside was dark and musty, a faint smell of sulphur and brimstone permeating the air. The High Priestess pulled out a small clay vessel and blew on it—a tiny Spirit of light living in the pot awoke and an orange flickering flame burst forth, casting disturbing shadows on the wooden walls. The building had no floor or foundations. Its walls were sunk deep into the forest soil around a flat rocky outcrop. A narrow jagged crack ran through the rock, venting dizzying fumes from the depths of the Earth. A large bronze bowl stood on a tripod above the crack, steeped in smoke, filled with dark motionless water.
The source of the foul-smelling exhausts and vapours was hidden somewhere deep inside the Tamazono Mountain. They leaked through cracks in the ground in many places throughout the shrine grounds. The savage deadly movements of the Earth that produced these cracks were both a curse and a blessing. They provided fertile soil and the relaxing hot springs, but once in a while the kami of the Earth would show their terrible wrath and bring fire and death upon common and noble folk alike. Such was the lot of Yamato: what the Gods gave with one hand, they took with the other.
Atop certain holy mountains, like Tamazono, the sulphuric vapours had yet another valuable property. They enabled a suitably attuned soothsayer to see into the future. It would take years of practice for a priest to read the Waters of Scrying properly, to not be overwhelmed by the Spirits of the mountain’s heart and understand the secret signs. But Lady Kazuko, as if in anticipation of this day, had brought Nagomi to the Waters when the girl was only thirteen and had done so for a year now, getting her accustomed to the fumes surrounding the rock fissure.
The High Priestess nodded and Nagomi, as instructed so many times, approached the tripod and inhaled the pale yellow vapours until her head started spinning. She leaned over the bowl, stared into the cold surface and softly chanted the prayer. Lady Kazuko joined her encouragingly. In the stuffy darkness Nagomi recalled the dark dreams she kept having since returning from the excursion to get Satō’s sword. The Spirits in the flood waters, calling her name… A house of red stone by the sea… a black ship that moved without sail… a winged shadow in the night sky. It were these dreams that caused the High Priestess to take her to the Waters today, to peer into the bowl on her own for the first time.
She sang a droning c
hant and clapped her hands in a slow deliberate rhythm, the tiny brass bells around her wrists ringing in unison. As she became entranced, the mists grew thicker, almost tangible, like wisps of pearly sea foam engulfing her, the tripod and the bowl. A rip in the air opened and a waft of the cold wind blew from the depths of the Otherworld. Nagomi sensed the presence of the Spirits before she saw them, little faces in the smoke, studying her curiously, attracted by the sound and movement. The surface of the water stirred and muddied. One of the faces spoke unexpectedly, startling the apprentice.
“What do you seek from the Waters of Scrying?” enquired the Spirit.
“That which lays ahead,” she answered, as taught.
The Spirit giggled and disappeared, replaced by another.
“Look into the Water,” demanded the new spectre, “if you can see, of course!”
It laughed and swept aside.
“Can she see? She’s so young!” whispered another.
“We know her. Yes, we do,” replied yet another, “we called her and she came.”
Nagomi focused on the bowl and the dark water within, ignoring the giggling, prattling Spirits around her. A red spark suddenly appeared in the bowl then a blue one followed by a green one. Three round jewels in a triangle glistened in the water. They twirled for a moment, and one of the giggly voices whispered in her ear:
Turning, turning, jewels three,
What through blood stone can you see?
The ruby came to the fore of the vision. The other two jewels vanished.
Nagomi peered deeper into the dark mist and saw that the ruby orb was lying upon an altar in some ancient shrine, calm and timeless, shining with soft inner light. A hand appeared over it and grasped it firmly. The hand belonged to a long-haired man wearing a red flowing robe. The apprentice looked up from the jewel, but could only see a black oval where the man’s face should be, a shadow darker than night itself. The man leaned closer as if sensing Nagomi’s presence, and the shadow that was his face grew and grew until it engulfed the entire bowl in the darkness.
The other two gems appeared, and the whispering voice returned.
Turning, turning, jewels three,
What through tide stone can you see?
It was the turn of the blue jewel, the sapphire. This one started growing fast, encompassing the entire surface of the bowl within seconds. The water turned a stormy dark blue, dotted with tiny white streaks. Nagomi realised she was looking at the sea from high above, and the white streaks were billowing waves.
Something was stirring beneath the waves. The water bubbled as if a volcano was waking up at the bottom of the ocean. An enormous dark shadow appeared, rising fast, greater than any beast, a sea monster with broad, black wings. Just as the creature was about to break through the surface of the sea, the vision shattered into a myriad of tiny blue shards of sapphire glass.
The water was calm again, and dark. All three stones came into view one last time.
Turning, turning, jewels three,
One stone left, what can it be?
The third jewel, the jade, shone with a warm, hopeful life-giving glow. Nagomi sighed with relief and joy, her heart warmed by the gem’s radiance, but her sigh broke the spell before the last jewel could fully unveil its vision. The mists scattered, the portal to the Otherworld closed and the water in the bowl turned to its usual, no longer ominous, murkiness. The apprentice swayed and staggered away from the bowl.
“What did you see?” the High Priestess asked.
The vision was only ever given to one soothsayer. Exhausted, with a weak voice, Nagomi described what had been revealed to her in the water. Lady Kazuko’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you sure this is exactly what you have seen?”
“Yes, High Priestess. What did it mean?”
“Come with me, child.”
They trudged down the gravel paths towards the living quarters, past the narrow corridors into Lady Kazuko’s private chambers and library.
“Wait here,” she said.
She walked up to an octagonal rotating bookcase, wherein sacred musty scrolls lay on many shelves. She turned the case until she found the right compartment and took out an incredibly ancient-looking document. The priestess blew off the thick layer of dust and unrolled the paper.
Nagomi gasped at the beautiful illumination, a detailed image of dragons drawn in black ink, flying over the brightly red rising sun, the colours still vivid after uncountable ages. Below and alongside the dragons were calligraphic letters in the script so old and elaborate that Nagomi barely recognised it as ancient Yamato writing. She squinted, trying to decipher it, but the High Priestess started reading the squiggly words aloud.
“Ruby, the blood of the Dead,
Sapphire, the jewel of Awakening,
Jade, the bringer of Life,
Black, the wings of Despair.
The monsters come from without,
But the foe lurks within.
The Eight-Headed Serpent rises,
But the Storm God’s sword is sheathed.
At the breaking of the world
The Mightiest will fall…”
Here the scroll ended abruptly, the edge torn off and scorched.
“What is it?”
“This is one of the oldest prophecies given to us by the Spirits of the Cave of Scrying,” explained Lady Kazuko, “older than the shrine itself, passed through untold generations of first shamans and later, the priests. That it survived for so long is a miracle in itself—as you can see, part of it was lost in one of the fires. No living person remembers the rest. Most of the divinations in these scrolls have already come to fulfilment,” she continued, carefully rolling up the paper and putting it away onto a shelf. “This is one of the few still remaining unrealised. It is said that when all prophecies of Suwa come to fruition, Yamato will no longer require the Gods and the priests to guide it. I wonder…”
“But what does it mean? Why has it been shown to me? Is it just something every apprentice sees on their first-”
“No,” the High Priestess shook her head with certainty. “I know of nobody else witnessing the prophecy since it was first recorded, and very few even know of its existence. The Taikuns were always very keen to keep it secret—as I’m sure you understand.”
“I… I don’t think I do.”
“The Mightiest falls, child. There is only one man in Yamato who fits this description. This is most portentous. I must meditate on the meaning of what has occurred today, and you…” she neared the young apprentice with great seriousness in her eyes, “you must be very careful. Do not tell anyone what you have seen today. Not your family, not even your friends. Can you do that for me, child?”
“Y-yes, High Priestess,” Nagomi stuttered, frightened.
The priestess had never before asked of her anything of the sort.
“Good.” Lady Kazuko’s face wrinkled in a relieved smile. “Now you should rest. It must have been a tiring experience.”
Satō wiped the sweat from her brow, grasped firmer the sharkskin-covered hilt of the Matsubara sword and raised the weapon to chest level, aiming straight at the unseen enemy.
“Once again! Ei!”
She made a sudden thrust. Half a dozen boys repeated her movements, their swords glistening in the late summer sun, feet slipping on the gravel.
“From the stomach!” She pointed at her abdomen. Her own muscles tightened as her concentration grew. “Ei!”—the blade went sideways in a perfectly straight motion.
“Ei!” cried the boys, more or less in unison.
“Good, Shōin,” she praised the only boy who managed to repeat the cut precisely. “Now, gather the energy. Ie!” She raised the blade over her head. A chill went through her arms, her skin was covered with goosebumps. She could feel the sword grow icy cold. “And release—tō!”
Satō struck down powerfully, finishing drawing the rune. Even without pronouncing the spell word, a wave of cold air spread from the
tip of the sword. The boys repeated after her, but their movements were imprecise and had no effect.
“Listen to the cicadas,” she explained, “that’s the rhythm we use in this exercise. One, two, three and four!” She accented the fourth prolonged cry. “No pause. Focus on that final strike, put your entire soul into it. Come on. Ei! Ei! Ie—Toooh!”
The boys tried again, and again they fell out of rhythm by the last strike. Satō sighed. She had never imagined teaching others would be so difficult. As a prospective heir to the Takashima Dōjō she had to take over some of the training duties. She was given the youngest pupils, six thirteen year olds, sons of samurai and wealthy merchants at a cusp of puberty, to teach them the very basics of the Takashima method and assess their innate abilities.
“Don’t think of the sword as a weapon,” she explained one more time, “it is just a tool. This,” she said, pointing to her heart, “and this,” to her head, “are your weapons.”
The boys looked at her blankly. To them a sword was both a symbol of prestige and the power of their parents, and a toy they could play with pretending to be grown-up samurai. They had only recently been given real metal blades. Normally boys of their age would still train with wooden ones, but the Takashima method required affinity with steel from an early stage. Satō struggled to keep discipline among her unruly pupils, but as a girl she could hold no authority over them whatsoever.
As they tried the exercise again one of the boys, supposedly by accident, bumped into another and a quarrel quickly turned into a bout. The cheap blunt blades soon broke and Satō’s pupils started punching each other with fists.
“Stop it! Oh, I can’t stand it,” the girl despaired. “Bevries!” she cried and drew an ice-shackle rune with her sword. A simple holding spell froze all six boys in a chain of ice, binding their wrists and ankles together.
“Calm down and think of what I have taught you today. I’ll be back before dusk to release you—maybe…”
The Shadow of Black Wings (The Year of the Dragon, Book 1) Page 14