He grabbed his bag and the sword and reached for the door. It was unlocked—in fact, he couldn’t find any lock on it at all. It slid open noiselessly. Encouraged, he walked down the narrow musty corridor. The floorboards creaked with his every step. It was hard to be stealthy in this old wooden house.
He reached the small vestibule before the front door. The wooden floor descended in two steps onto a stone pavement. There was an umbrella stand here and many shoes of various types, mostly sandals and straw slippers, all quite small. Bran hesitated for a moment. There was no guard, nobody rushed to stop him from going outside. It felt like he was betraying someone’s trust by running away.
The stones radiated coldness. He looked down at his bare feet. They seemed big compared with the tiny sandals on the floor. He stepped down and gasped. The pavement was slick and icy. Dew froze on it after sunset. He dared make one more step then another, and reached the door, a dense weave of reed on a wooden frame. He found a shallow indentation in the frame where a doorknob would normally be, and slid the door wide open. A tiny bell hanging from the beam tinkled in the wind, startling the boy for a moment. Still nobody came. He stepped outside underneath a rectangle of cloth hanging across the doorway and found himself on the street under the broad eaves of the house.
The city was utterly quiet. A single cat meowed in the distance and then he could hear no other noise except the wind blowing under the eaves and a faint rush of the sea somewhere far away. The narrow street, running steeply downhill, smelled of wet wood and stone, and rainwater. None of the usual city smells were present, none of the sounds. It felt as if the town had been deserted for a long time.
Bran walked down the hill for a bit. The main street mingled into a myriad crossroads below, all lined with the same rows of low, dainty wooden houses, one barely distinguishable from another in the moonlight, walls washed white or covered with vertical wooden slats. The air was fresh and crisp. Bran shivered and the cold sobered him. He was alone in an unfamiliar city, trying to get to a place of which he was barely aware. The streets and houses seemed identical, featureless in the darkness. If he became lost he would wander around the same district for hours. For all he knew, he may have been safer inside than out. Perhaps the only friendly people in the city were in the house he had just left. He had already learned that the people of the Orient did not necessarily take kindly to users of Power. What if the Yamato were as hostile as the people of Fan Yu?
He climbed back up, but did not enter the house. He let the tranquillity of the night soothe him. He extinguished the flamespark and was instantly wrapped in complete darkness. The moon hid behind a thick cloud and the city was now just sounds and smells. He listened to the calming distant rush of the waves, to the whistling of the wind dancing over the roof tiles. He breathed in the gentle aroma of fresh moist wood and cold slate. Deep within he could faintly feel Emrys. The dragon was bewildered, confused, alone. Bran tried to placate it through the Farlink, but it was futile.
He heard a shuffle. Somewhere near, somebody or something was trying to sneak past him. Bran slid out his sword from the sheath as quietly as he could and crept in the direction of the sound. Barefooted, he made as little noise as a cat. As a faint ray of moonlight pierced the clouds he saw a shadow, a silhouette against the wooden wall. Bran leapt, lighting the flamespark again with a blinding flash, his sword pointing towards the shadow. He saw a little boy huddling, pinned against the wall. The boy was covering his eyes from the flash, looking for a getaway. Bran instinctively raised his sword threateningly and grabbed the boy by the coat.
The boy twisted his fingers into a rune and cried out:
“Bevries!”
The freezing spell fizzled out without effect, but Bran was thrown off guard by what he recognised, without a shade of doubt, as Western magic. The boy slipped out of his grasp, leaving only the outer coat in Bran’s hand, and disappeared into the darkness.
The commotion finally awakened the household. A servant ran out with a lit lantern and was now staring at Bran with a puzzled expression. Ine appeared a moment later, hastily tying up her kimono. She grunted something to the servant and took his lantern away. She looked carefully around and motioned Bran to come back inside.
She took the captured piece of clothing from him and frowned at the large round crest on the back then she looked outside once again and closed the door shut. This time she put a heavy crossbar against it from the inside. She followed Bran as he went back up to his room then showed him how to lock his door too. It wasn’t much of a fortress—the walls of the infirmary looked as if they could easily be kicked through—but the house was filled with a sense of insecurity, as if some pact with the outside world had just been broken.
The wizardess burst into her father’s study, beaming.
“Father! Guess what?”
Shūhan lifted tired eyes from a piece of paper he held in his hand.
“What is it, dear?”
“The Gaikokujin—he’s a dorako rider!”
“He started speaking then?”
“No. Well, sort of. We don’t know what language he speaks, but I showed him the map and he—“ She paused, not wishing to admit to her knowledge about the Dragon Book. “He’s from Dracaland, and showed us the rest in mime… What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, dear, that’s… interesting.”
Shūhan pretended to smile, but Satō could tell he was scowling underneath.
“You are worried.”
The wizard sighed deeply.
“There have been too many of these ‘accidental visits’ lately. First the Varyaga castaways then that foreigner who looked like one of us—“ he hung his voice trying to remember the name.
“Black Raven,” she said. She was too young to have met the mysterious stranger before his sudden disappearance, but the story of how he had been brought to Kiyō from the far north and kept in a cage for the amusement of the Magistrate, like a monkey, was as famous as it was shameful.
“That’s right. I wonder what happened to him. And now this… It’s as Curzius-sama said, last year—the Westerners are encroaching on Yamato on all sides. Soon they will find a way across the Divine Winds, like they broke the Qin Barrier…”
“Father, I don’t understand… Why are you concerned about this? Isn’t opening Yamato what we’ve always wanted? Isn’t it good that Dejima’s monopoly is broken, and other Westerners are forcing their way in, at last? You’ve always said we’re only being fed scraps from the Bataavian table…”
Shūhan scratched his neck, as he always did when he was uncertain of something.
“It is always better to control than to be controlled. Yes, I would love nothing more than if the Taikun relaxed his anti-foreign laws and established more trading posts, but I wouldn’t want him to do it at sword-point. It’s what the Dracalish have done in Qin, and we have heard of nothing but calamities and disaster since.”
“Bran-sama is not like them. Besides, he’s just a boy…”
“He’s a soldier. You told me he carries a sword, and now we learn he rides dragons. Who knows where he’s coming from? Perhaps there’s a Dracalish fleet waiting for a message from him beyond the horizon…”
“He would make a rubbish spy—he doesn’t even know Bataavian!” protested Satō.
Shūhan chuckled and nodded.
“Maybe you’re right. I’m being too mistrustful. Sometimes I forget the outside world is not full of spies and traitors, like Yamato. It’s because of this letter here,” he waved the piece of paper in his hand, “it’s a message from Curzius-sama, from Edo.”
“Bad news?” asked Satō.
She was acutely aware of the distrust with which her father treated the conservative officials at the Edo court. The feeling was mutual.
“The government is fractured. The courtiers are quarrelling and bickering with each other. The Taikun barely had time to see him between one meeting and another. It’s as if a stone’s
been thrown into the hornets’ nest. They can all sense the oncoming storm, and there are always people who want to profit from chaos.”
“Do you think there will be a war?” Satō asked with a grave face.
There had been peace in Yamato for over two hundred years. The threat of war seemed as distant and mythical as the tales of Gods, demons and dragons, but it had always loomed somewhere on the horizon, like a storm brewing slowly in the distance or a quietly rumbling volcano.
“War?” Shūhan looked at her with surprise. “No, I don’t think so. There would have to be armies for there to be a war, and only the Taikun has an army. No, a war is out of the question, but a coup would not surprise me… One minister is replaced by another, one daimyo is exalted while the other is humbled, that sort of thing.”
Stricken by a sudden thought, the old wizard stood up, put his hand on Satō’s shoulder and looked into her eyes with concern. It frightened her.
“The courtly intrigues, the rumours of war, the treaties and spies,” he said, “in the long run, all this is not important. What matters most in life are good health and a happy family. Do you understand this?”
“I do,” she replied, nodding obediently.
“Remember this, then: should anything happen to me because of all we’ve talked about today—you must keep yourself safe.”
“Father, I’m sure-”
“No, listen.” He raised his hand to silence her protests. “We have friends who will not abandon us. Our family is well known, our name will always open certain doors even in times of trouble. If you ever have to look for help, go south, always south—Kumamoto, Kagoshima… The farther you are from Edo, the safer. If I could, I would take you away from Yamato altogether.”
It’s my fault Father is worried. I brought the danger to our house.
“South, I understand,” she said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.
Shūhan’s face wrinkled with a relieved smile.
“Forgive an old man’s talk,” he said dismissively. “I’m sure this will all blow over in a few months and everything will be back to normal. It is normal, as far as we’re concerned. We mustn’t let some distant gossip change our way of life. We still have students to train, a household to run. Nothing changes.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Now, if you could boil some water for me, dear. I need to go back to my experiments, and let’s forget all about this conversation for now.”
“Yes, Father.”
She met Nagomi in front of the Itō house.
“Did Ine send for you too?” the red-haired apprentice asked. She was out of breath, having run all the way from Tamazono Mountain.
“Yes, she said it’s urgent. I hope Bran-sama is fine…”
Nagomi’s older sister awaited them in their father’s office. The longest wall was lined with rows of small wooden drawers filled with Qin herbs and Bataavian medicinal ingredients. The room smelled sweetly of crushed spices and molasses, as Ine was in the middle of preparing some mixture in a large mortar. She put away the pestle when the girls entered.
“Good, you’re both here. Sit down. Things have taken a rather nasty turn.” She opened a drawer and took out the cloak. “Do either of you recognise this crest?”
Satō drew a sharp breath when she saw three horizontal stripes, the symbol of the Sakuma clan.
“It’s Keinosuke’s, one of my students,” she explained, “where did you find it?”
“Bran-sama caught him spying around the house at night.”
“What was he doing outside?”
“He walked out,” Ine said dismissively. “I told you before, this house is a hospital not a prison. I cannot close the door for the night; everyone in the neighbourhood knows they can visit me at any hour if there is an emergency. What worries me most,” she pointed at the cloak, “the boy saw the Gaikokujin and ran away. If I know little boys, half the town will know of our secret by dinner.”
“You don’t know this boy.” Satō grimaced. “He’s… peculiar. I would expect him to bargain something from us for the knowledge.”
“The Book?” Nagomi guessed.
Satō nodded.
“He’s been more and more persistent about it lately. I’m sure your house was not the only one he’s been spying around.”
“There is one more thing,” Ine added, “not that it makes the situation much worse, but I believe the boy is a wizard.”
“What?”
“I saw him use magic—in the middle of the street, no less.”
“We had no idea…”
“This place is not safe anymore,” said Ine authoritatively. “I’ve brought the boy back to health because it was my duty as a physician, but now he must leave.”
“I understand,” said Satō, “he will be gone before nightfall.”
The two girls descended to the small square garden at the back of the house, separated from the street by a high clay wall. The bamboo rocker was silenced in the rainless weather. Cherry blossom petals floated on top of the stone basin, naked cherry tree branches reflected in the water. The short blooming season was almost over, so now green leaves were sprouting from the black twigs and spring proper would start. A single hydrangea bush in the corner was also turning green.
They sat on the edge of the veranda. Nagomi dangled her short legs over the edge, not quite reaching the ground. Satō started contemplating the day’s news. A wizard—of course! It made sense. Dragons were no ordinary creatures, and to ride one would require extraordinary skills. At least now it's definite he was brought by magic, not by divine intervention, she thought with surprising satisfaction.
The fact that the boy was a wizard changed everything. Even if Satō might have considered giving him away to the authorities this was out of the question now. Nobody would believe Shūhan had nothing to do with the sudden appearance of a fellow magic user. It was now even more imperative to keep Bran-sama’s presence a secret. They were making a very shoddy job of it. Keinosuke she might hope to deal with—he was just a kid, after all, nobody would believe his word against hers and that of the entire Itō household, but if anyone else caught wind of the foreigner… She had found and saved the boy, so it was up to her to make the decision.
“What should I do? I can’t bring him to our house,” Satō said, moping. She did not wish to involve her father any more. “And without the Overwizard present, nobody at Dejima wants to take any responsibility for the castaway.”
“We might transport Bran-sama to the shrine,” replied Nagomi.
Satō looked up at her.
“Kazuko-hime mentioned she’d like to see him.”
What part of “keeping a secret” does she fail to understand? thought the wizardess angrily, but then calmed down. With Nagomi’s parents constantly away, Lady Kazuko had become a surrogate parent to the girl. If Satō told her father about the boy, there was no reason for the apprentice to not discuss it with the High Priestess. Still, the speed at which the news was spreading throughout the city was worrying.
“I suppose it’s the best idea we have,” Satō said at last. “It’s not far from here, and he could go all the way in a palanquin… but how safe would he be in the shrine?”
“Safer than anywhere else,” Nagomi reassured her. “We’d put him in the private quarters, where even the Magistrate’s men can’t reach without a permit. The Suwa Shrine is under Taikun’s direct protection.”
“Good. I will yet consult my father, but I’m sure he will accept this plan,” decided Satō.
Maybe the Gods of Suwa will help us where men can’t, she thought.
These were the greatest trees he had ever seen. Ancient and primeval, they rose into the clouds like mountains of timber, their trunks straight, broad as houses, their roots interconnected into an imperceptibly vast network of gnarled, moss-covered limbs. The forest was shrouded in a thick mist, filled with sounds of the jungle—screeching of monkeys, whistling of birds, deafening buzz o
f cicadas.
He was starving and worn out, growing drowsy and irritated with hunger. He hadn’t eaten for days, flying from one rocky outcrop to another over a vast featureless ocean. At last he had reached this island covered with dense vegetation. He found water, roaring waterfalls and calm mountain springs, but where was food? It’d been so long since he last ate… The fires in his belly were nearly extinguished.
Something stirred in the undergrowth. A scared tiny deer, no bigger than a dog, jumped out of the ferns. With a snap of powerful jaws he swallowed it in one gulp. Sustenance at last. But he needed more if he wanted to fly any further. Much more.
There was a knock on the door and Bran snapped out of his meditation. The jewel on his finger darkened, the Farlink vanished.
“Yes?” he said, before remembering where he was. “Hai?” he repeated in the language of the locals.
The door slid open and a familiar face appeared in the gap—the boy in the black and orange clothes. Bran bowed and greeted him in his own tongue.
The boy said something and gestured him to follow outside. Bran struggled for a moment with the straps of his clothes, and started to move towards the door, but his guide pointed to the bundle of his meagre belongings under the wall. Apparently they were going outside.
“Another lesson in geography?” he joked, though the boy would not understand, “or maybe history?”
He strapped on the sword belt, put on a blue short-sleeved cotton jacket, slung the satchel over his shoulder and the two walked out along the dark corridor, down the steps, through what Bran recognised as the kitchen, to a back exit. It led onto a small paved courtyard hidden away from the street, with a narrow gateway leading outside. Straw sandals, a few sizes too small, waited for him on the stone pedestal. In the middle of the courtyard stood a kind of a litter, or a covered sedan chair, a black and red ornate box. A heavy cloth embroidered with a clover-like insignia covered its entrance, the same crest that was moulded onto the roof tiles around the courtyard and painted on the cloth rectangles over the doors.
The Shadow of Black Wings (The Year of the Dragon, Book 1) Page 19