Dylan knew that the Heavenly Army on the other shore also waited for the wave to pass towards the floodplains upstream. There would be a full day to attempt the crossing before another bore came rumbling down from the sea.
“Now there’s a sight,” the Admiral said, his eyes gleaming with youthful joy, “I’m glad I came all this way to see it. Ardian — ” he continued, turning to Dylan as the crest of the wave roared deeply beneath them, “I believe it is time. To battle!”
“To battle!”
There was a soft knock on the workshop door, barely a scratch, so quiet that Master Tanaka had not heard it at first, too busy with adjusting the pressure points of his new mistfire engine.
The knocking repeated, louder this time.
“I’m busy,” the mechanician murmured.
“Hisashige-sama!” A commanding voice spoke.
Master Tanaka dropped the octagometer and hurried to open the door. He lay prostrate on the floor.
“Kakka! I am most sorry, I was not informed of your visit — ”
“I am glad to hear that. This is not an official visit, and I’m not here in my capacity of the daimyo. Please, stand up, Tanaka-sensei.”
The lord of the Saga province, Nabeshima Naomasa, entered the room. Even wearing the plain indigo clothes of a low-ranking samurai, the well-groomed, weary-eyed man exerted an unmistakable presence. Here was a man born and bred to rule. His ancestors were friends to the Taikuns, his domain’s forces guarded the entry to the Kiyō harbour — arguably one of the most important positions in the Empire.
“Is this the engine you were telling me about?” the daimyo asked, stepping up to the desktop.
“Oh no, kakka. This is just a toy, a testing piece. The other one I had already brought down to the harbour.”
“Do you think the boat is going to be faster than the Satsuma one?”
“Difficult to tell. They had the Bataavian plans, I had to figure out everything from scratch… I will be trying it out next week.”
“I may need you to do it sooner.”
“Kakka?”
The daimyo reached into his sleeve and took out a curious item: a small ball of cork with a dozen long black feathers glued to it.
“A Bataavian shuttlecock,” said Hisashige. “I have received one too. But I do not yet know what it means.”
“It’s a message from the Overwizard of Dejima. It means one of our own is in danger, and we are called on to help in any way we can. And there is more. There have been many messages coming from Kiyō — strange and dire news.”
“I was too busy with my experiments…”
“I know. That’s why I decided to visit you and explain the situation personally.”
The daimyo sat down on the straw matting and gestured the mechanician to do the same. Master Tanaka listened to the tale with increasing disquiet.
“So that’s why I never heard from Shūhan-sama again… and here I thought he was just busy, like me. And Sakuma-dono returned to his Chūbu home... none of this bodes well.”
“No,” the daimyo agreed, “and this is why I have come to you for help. I need your divination machine.”
Hisashige’s face turned dark. “Why not ask the priests of Yutoku?”
“I have asked them for a general prophecy, but nothing detailed. I do not trust them as much as I trust you, sensei. Is something the matter?”
“My divinations are... not as accurate as they once have been. The future is strangely clouded. But I will endeavour my best.”
The Inari Shrine of Yutoku, where Master Tanaka had his home and workshop set up, rose in many-pillared, vermillion terraces on a wooded slope overlooking a rapid, broad river. A tunnel of bright red torii gates lined the path descending towards the pier. The dawning sun cast a crimson shadow on the water.
He stood on the pier with two other men and a boy, his adopted son Daikichi. A long and narrow boat, of the kind used for cormorant fishing, was moored to a thick bollard, bobbing in the fast current. A great ironbound chest rested in the middle.
“I should be sending a detachment of my samurai,” said Lord Naomasa. “They would be ready to go in one day.”
“And they would reach Shimabara in four,” replied Hisashige. “The eighth hexagram speaks plainly: Whoever comes too late, meets with misfortune. But if I’m not back in a week, please send your samurai, kakka.”
“At least allow me to accompany you, sensei. Or failing that, go in your place. It is a dangerous quest and you are not young.”
The mechanician bowed his grey head. “The boat takes two, and only I know how to control the engine. Do not fear, kakka; for the eighth hexagram also says there is a movement towards the union of the greats, and good fortune. And the fifteenth hexagram adds he who is humble employs the strength of his allies. Modesty brings good fortune.”
Lord Naomasa laughed quietly. “How can a lowly daimyo discuss with the mighty oracle! Very well. Etō-sama will have to suffice for the entire force of the Saga province.”
The third man bowed swiftly at the mention of his name. He was short and tense, his eyes darting left to right as if in constant expectation of a foe, his hand held on to the hilt of his sword.
Master Tanaka bowed back and then turned to the boy standing aside.
“Daikichi, take good care of my machines while I’m gone.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Remember to oil the gears and clean the pipes, as I have instructed you.”
“Of course, Father.”
The old mechanician opened his mouth once more, but then found nothing more to say and closed it again.
“Well, I’d better be off,” he said, turning back to the daimyo.
“And you are certain of the direction of your journey?” asked Naomasa.
“The blood signal is still fresh in my head. I’m surprised you can’t sense it.”
“One more proof, if proof were needed, of my lack of any magical talent,” said Naomasa with a sigh.
The intense pulsing of the blood magic beacon had reached Hisashige in his workshop the night before, when he was still busy calibrating the divination circuit on his clock. He had recognised the spell signature right away; it was similar to the blood pattern he had been given by Shūhan to weave into the glove. Now he understood what the beacon meant. Takashima Shūhan was alive and desperate enough to call for help using the most forbidden type of Western magic.
“I will bring him back, kakka,” Master Tanaka said firmly.
He climbed into the narrow, wobbly boat carefully and held on to the mooring ropes waiting for Etō to join him. Daikichi untied the ropes and pushed the boat into the current. Etō stood up, grasping an oar and guided them downstream. The pier, the daimyo and the little boy soon disappeared into the dawn haze.
The river carried them swiftly past the small town and a bridge into the narrow inlet of the Ariake Sea. Hisashige waited until they were out in the open waters, out of sight of the shore. Morning sun was already high upon them when he reached for the iron-bound chest in the middle of the boat and opened it with a creak.
Inside was the small mistfire engine, a tangled mass of copper pipes, coils, valves, shafts and gears. He grasped a brass lever and pushed it forward, then turned two valves on the side of a large glass cylinder. He spoke the words of command. The elementals awoke slowly, released from their copper prisons into the cylinder. Steam rose inside an iron funnel when the seawater mixed with the emanations of the fire sprites. The entire boat trembled as the crankshaft turned.
“Careful, Etō-sama,” the mechanician said, pointing to the glistening iron rod rotating furiously under their feet without any protection. “I’m sorry, I did not have time to build a cover.”
The samurai mumbled something and focused on the oar in his hand, now serving as the tiller. Hisashige pulled another switch inside the chest; a large gear clicked into place and suddenly the boat leapt forwards. Etō almost fell into the water, but held on to the edge of the boat valiantly.
The water rippled behind them in a broad v-shaped wake.
“It worked, at first try!” Hisashige rejoiced. “And she is fast. Let’s take it as a good omen for the rest of our journey!”
Etō only grunted as he struggled to keep the boat on course against the rolling waves.
CHAPTER X
A small square building of unpainted cypress wood stood not far from the shrine’s main gate, overlooking the wide platform of the dance stage.
“It will be a noisy and smelly place in the evening,” said Satō, wrinkling her nose.
The landlord bowed, his narrow eyes squinting apologetically.
“I beg your forgiveness, noble guests, but all other rooms have been reserved for Atsu-hime and her entourage. Perhaps you may find something more suitable in the town below?”
“Perhaps we should,” she said, eyeing the building with contempt. This is almost like going back to the stables.
Bran pulled her aside.
“Remember what that monk at Unganzenji said? The demons can’t stand anything holy. It may be just a legend, but I wouldn’t take my chances. We’re safer here, on the shrine grounds.”
“Very well, we’ll take what you have left,” Satō told the landlord.
“Settling yourselves in?”
Master Kawakami approached them from the direction of a larger, far richer building nearer the main hall, where he and other Hosokawa retainers had their accommodation.
“Almost, Gensai-sama,” Satō said with a bow.
“Let me know if you need anything. I still want to clash swords with you later.”
“It’s a wonder he hasn’t recognized us yet,” Satō whispered as the samurai passed under the main gate and descended towards the town, “with Nagomi’s hair and my Rangakusha outfit…”
“These men were ahead of us in Hitoyoshi, and were moving slow,” said Bran, “they must have marched out of Kumamoto a long time ago. Let’s just hope they take that princess they came for and leave before they realise who we are.”
“I don’t think they’re here just for the princess. That’s not an escort, that’s a war party.”
“You don’t think…”
They looked at each other in mutual understanding.
“Can you… sense the dorako?
Bran closed his eyes and breathed in.
“Over there,” he said, pointing towards a tall fence separating the shrine’s public space from the inner sanctum. “They keep it in a cage. It’s still asleep, but not for long… I can feel Emrys struggling to waken.”
“Emu- emris?” she repeated.
He blinked at her.
“Emrys — my dragon. I never told you its name?”
“I didn’t even know dragons had names.”
“Of course they do. How do you think I call him? Come here, dragon?”
He chuckled.
“Naming a dragon is important,” he added, “much more than a horse or a dog. It’s a creature of magic, so there must be some magic in the name as well.”
“And what does Emris mean?”
The dragon rider opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head.
“That is a long tale to tell. Let’s wait for supper, when Nagomi joins us.”
“Ah! Supper! That’s right.”
She hadn’t eaten a proper meal since leaving the shores of the Sendai River. The shrine fare was not much to expect, but at least it would have been warm — and made by somebody else.
The priestess was luckier than the two of them. She was allowed to live with the other priests and, in this way, she had gained access beyond the shrine’s fence.
“They’re making some repairs to the inner compound,” she told them at supper. “Preparations for the festival — or so they said.”
“A festival?” Satō asked.
“In three days there will be a kagura dance on that stage over there.”
“There will be crowds.”
“Hundreds, the priests tell me.”
“This will be a good time to strike.”
“Strike?”
Bran stared at her over the bowl of buckwheat noodles, frowning. He took a bite of a pickled herring and chewed it in silence for a moment.
“We haven’t really thought this through, have we,” he said, chuckling.
“No, we haven’t.”
Satō started to laugh as well. She had no idea what was so funny, but she couldn’t stop until her sides started hurting. Nagomi looked at them both and then joined the laughter.
“We… we do have to come up with a plan now,” the wizardess said at last, wiping tears from her eyes.
“First we need to find out exactly where and how Emrys is being held captive.”
“Emris?” It was Nagomi’s time to ask.
“You were supposed to tell us the story of the dorako’s name,” said Satō.
Bran slurped the remaining noodles and gulped the broth from the bowl before speaking again.
“This is how my mother told me the tale, when I was a child,” he began.
Satō leaned closer. Bran had never told her any legends from his country before.
“A long time ago — in the Age of Heroes — our land, the Island of Prydain, was invaded from across the Sea. The enemy flew on dragons white as snow, and was unstoppable for there were no dragons on the island at the time. We lost battle after battle and, in the end, the Kingdom of Prydain was reduced to a small country in the westernmost corner of the island, defended by a king from the Faer race, called Arthur.”
Bran sipped some cha, his eyes wandering about as he tried to remember the story.
“King Arthur was trying to build a great fortress to make a last stand against the invaders, but the walls of the fortress kept crumbling. At last, there came a boy with the powers of prophecy.” He nodded towards Nagomi and she smiled. “The boy guided the warriors to a cave. There was a pool inside the cave, of water dazzling bright like liquid silver. The boy ordered King Arthur’s warriors to search the bottom of the pool. When they did so, they found a giant round stone.”
“What was it?” Satō asked eagerly.
“A dragon egg, of course. Its magic was so powerful that it prevented the construction of the fortress. Once King Arthur ordered the egg taken out of the cave, it hatched into an enormous red dragon, larger than any ever seen by mortal eyes. With a dragon like this by their side, the Prydain warriors finally had a chance to fight against the invaders.”
“Have the invaders been defeated?”
“That’s another tale, I’m afraid,” Bran smiled.
“So, I take it that the red dragon’s name was Emrys,” Satō guessed.
Bran shook his head.
“It had no name other than Y Ddraig Goch, which simply means ‘The Red Dragon’ in our language. But the boy was called Emrys Wledig. He later grew into a great warrior and a poet.”
“Your warriors are poets too? Like the samurai?”
“Not anymore,” Bran replied sadly.
She pondered the tale in silence. A shy servant girl came out of the kitchen to take away the empty bowls. Satō glanced at her and reached out her hand.
“You, girl, wait! Show me your face.”
The servant lifted her head, frightened. Her eyes were blank, covered with the mist of blindness, but there was no mistaking her face.
“Don’t you have a sister in Suwa?”
“Y-yes, tono,” she stuttered.
“I knew it! What’s your name?”
“Yōko.”
Satō smiled.
“Your sister is in good health and well taken care of,” she said.
“Thank you, tono!” the girl fell on her knees. “That is great news.”
“Are you happy enough here? Do you need anything?”
“I am, tono. No, tono. T’ priests provide me wit’ all I need.”
“You have your sister’s smile. I will let her know I’ve met you.”
Yōko lay prostrate on the floor in gratitude,
but Satō bade her get up, slightly embarrassed.
“What is it?” Satō asked Bran and Nagomi when girl left the room. Both looked at her bemused.
“Nothing,” Bran said, shrugging and pretending to focus on his food.
“You’ve never seemed more like a samurai than now,” said Nagomi, “it’s as if you’ve suddenly grown up.”
We both have, the wizardess thought. Sudden heaviness pressed on her heart. Her friend’s face somehow seemed no longer as innocently childish as it used to be. She didn’t smile so much, and blue crescents under her eyes showed plainly how much trouble they had been having lately.
Do I look the same? She wondered. I feel worse. All the running, all the fighting — it’s drained me so much…
Bran yawned and stretched his arms.
“I know we should be thinking up strategies, but all I can think of is a well-stuffed futon.”
She could not agree more.
When he had first arrived in Yamato, Bran had trouble telling its people apart. All the men and women on the streets of Kiyō seemed too similar, with their uniformly black hair, brown eyes and flat, pale-cream faces.
Looking at the crowds filling the main courtyard of the shrine, a square of polished stone floor surrounded by a colonnade of vermillion pillars, he understood his early mistake. Every person in the multitude of pilgrims looked different. A commoner with a nose like a squashed taro; a noble lady, her face covered with white paint, one eye slightly larger than the other; a samurai with thick eyebrows joined above the nose and an innocent expression, oddly unsuitable for one who wore two sharp swords at his side.
There must have been hundreds of people here, coming and going, stopping for a moment before the talisman shops, then proceeding to the Offertory Hall where they had only enough time to clap, bow and throw a small coin before another of the pilgrims pushed their way in. How many thousands of copper coins jingled daily against the sides of the offertory boxes? And this was an ordinary day — how this place would look like on the day of the festival!
He was confident they had made a good decision to stay within the shrine grounds. With crowds like these even the Crimson Robe would think twice before attacking. Was it his shadow I saw in the forest? The wolves must have been the demon’s doing — and Bran suspected a lurking presence beyond the shrine walls. Will he come just for me, or for the dragon, too?
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 59