The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  Kiyomasa waited patiently for the rant to end.

  “All your research and sacrifice will come to naught if somebody steals it from us.”

  “Let them have it! I want to see how they deal with the monster! But no, you’re right.” He calmed down as abruptly as he had exploded. “Very well. It is time for the changing of the guards anyway. Come, Captain.”

  Three mages in ill-fitting black and vermillion Rangakusha robes stood in the corners of an equilateral triangle, their hands outstretched towards the centre of the warehouse’s floor, where an eight foot tall cage had been set up. Within the cage, bound with heavy steel chains, lay a celadon-scaled dragon, half-asleep, half-stunned by the efforts of the mages. A large thaumaturgic device — a tangled mass of pipes and gears — tick-tocked rhythmically in the corner, serving some unknown purpose.

  This was the first time Kiyomasa had laid his eyes on the terrible beast and cold sweat trickled down his back. It took all his soldier’s training not to run away screaming. He gained a new respect for Heishichi, who calmly paced around the dragon making notes. At the end of his round, the wizard leaned over to the machine in the corner and adjusted some dial.

  Two more wizards entered the chamber, ready to replace their colleagues. All five men looked at their superior. The Daisen nodded and raised a hand with four fingers extended. At the count of four, the two of the standing mages quickly switched positions with the newcomers. The dragon snorted, but remained motionless.

  Heishichi nodded with satisfaction. The replaced wizards stretched their hands and backs and quickly left the warehouse.

  “Six times a day,” the wizard replied to an unspoken question.

  “And you’re here every time this happens?”

  “Of course. Somebody has to control the situation.”

  “Aren’t you tired? All this and your research?”

  “Exhausted. If it wasn’t for the extract from the maō plant, I think I would be dead by now.”

  Kiyomasa looked into Heishichi’s eyes. His pupils were large and the whites of his eyes blood-shot. A barely discernible twitch pinched his lower left eyelid.

  “Maō plant?”

  “A certain physician from Kiyō prepares this wondrous concoction. I have had no need for sleep in a week.”

  “Do your men also take this… extract?”

  “Of course! Though not as much. I do let them sleep for a few hours a day, that’s why the shifts rotate.”

  “And you said you only have these six men?”

  Heishichi gave him a long look.

  “I know what you’re driving at, Captain, and I can assure you, the risk is — ”

  “Never mind. Hopefully this situation will not last too long. I just needed to know what our resources are.”

  “So I’m free to go back to my studies now?”

  “I will let you know about my own arrangements later.”

  The wizard rolled his eyes and it was obvious he cared little for Captain Kiyomasa’s “arrangements”.

  Satō mingled into the throng of pilgrims surrounding the stage. The performance was to start at noon and last well into night. People of all classes and professions had gathered to witness the dance, a colourful throng of craftsmen, merchants, local samurai and travellers from neighbouring towns and villages. The men were accompanied by their wives, mothers and daughters in pastel-dyed spring yukatas, or by mistresses in gaudy kimonos and overdone make-up. As the multitude of people grew in the courtyard, the usual hangers-on appeared: street hawkers, snack vendors and an occasional pick-pocket.

  “So what’s all this about, then?” Bran asked. He had been looking gloomy all day and Satō was growing increasingly exasperated with his moping. The headache she’d been suffering all day didn’t help her irritation.

  “They’re going to perform a kagura,” explained Nagomi, “a holy dance. It will tell the story of the shrine and its kami.”

  “And what is the story?”

  “You’ll see for yourself. Most will unveil long before dark.”

  They had planned to make their strike after nightfall, but not before the crowds dispersed, hoping that the performance provided just enough distraction.

  “It’s about Watatsumi, the King of the Dragons, and his daughter Otohime,” she added.

  “How apt,” said Bran.

  “Shh, it starts now!” Satō tugged him on the sleeve. “Let’s come closer.”

  In a flash of smoke and fireworks, the announcer appeared: a priest in a fiery-red robe and a white dragon mask. He spoke loudly, in an archaic, theatrical manner, waving his hands and stomping his feet exaggeratedly. He greeted the audience and told a few bawdy jokes to put them in a good mood. When he decided they had had enough, he stepped back and a puff of white smoke appeared from behind the curtain.

  “See now the first tale of the Dragon Dance - a tale of how the Great Creators, the Goddess Izanami and her husband the God Izanagi, created the world.”

  Two actors in long, flowing white robes, in male and female disguise, came onto the stage. To the haunting sounds of bamboo flute, drum and wooden beaters, they performed a slow, majestic piece known as the Birth of Gods. The crowd was obviously familiar with the traditional dance, for it cheered and reacted in all the right places, sometimes even slightly before the appropriate moment for applause arrived.

  “In their wisdom the Gods spawn the three Dragon Kings to rule the Upper Sea, the Middle Sea and the Bottom Sea”, said the announcer, “but as the last of the dragons passes through the divine mother Izanami, it burns her so badly she dies!”

  The “Goddess” lay still on the wooden floor, the other actor weeping over her body. Suddenly his face burst with bright red light of the setting sun.

  “From the tears of divine father Izanagi,” the announcer cried from behind the curtain, “comes forth the Sun Goddess Amaterasu!”

  At this prompt, the crowd murmured a brief chanting prayer. Satō noticed Nagomi bend piously in a deep bow. Even if she was only represented by a prop on the theatre stage, the Goddess’s presence was almost tangible.

  The next scene was the dance of Ninigi, grandson of Amaterasu, descending upon Mount Takachiho with the Imperial Jewels, to rule the world from its top. This was met with great applause from the locals in the crowd, as Takachiho, rising majestically beyond the shrine, formed a natural backdrop to the performance. The actor’s dance was long and exhausting, martial in its nature. Ninigi danced with a wooden lance, a bow and a sword, conveying the many battles he and his father had to win in order to conquer and rule the land of Yamato.

  Near the end of this part of the performance the actor in female guise reappeared on stage. The two performed a symbolic marriage dance. The announcer spoke once more:

  “Many were the victories of Ninigi, and at last the land was subdued. He wedded an Earth Goddess and she bore him a child — a brave and strong son, prince Hikohohodemi, the Hunter prince.”

  Satō joined the enthusiastic applause, but when she turned to Bran she caught him yawning.

  “You did not like it?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sure it is all very impressive and symbolic for you, but most of it just goes over my head. I don’t even understand half of what is going on.”

  “Maybe that General in your head could narrate you an explanation.” She was joking, but Bran frowned.

  “Shigemasa is keeping silent lately. I think he’s too overwhelmed by all the magical energies of this place.”

  It was a hot, humid day. Dark clouds hovered above the shrine, but not a drop of rain yet fell. A nearby vendor was selling cold amazake. Bran bought a whole flask of the drink and gulped half of it in one go before passing it over to Satō. It was sweet and refreshing. Just then, the announcer reappeared on stage.

  “And now for the tale of love, love found in the strangest of places. See how prince Hikohohodemi descends into the depths of the sea and discovers his beloved Otohime!”

  The prince’s descent was ano
ther long and complex dance in which the journey to the bottom of the sea was created through minor illusions, conjured images of exotic fish, shellfish, corals and other “wonders of the deep”. At long last, the prince arrived at the Dragon King’s castle. The actor climbed an imaginary fence, and saw the princess sitting alone in the coral garden. Together they performed a complicated courtship dance. Their moves were exceptionally smooth and attractive, at times almost acrobatic.

  The music got more dramatic as the princess’s father, the Dragon King, appeared on stage. Smoke and sparks blew from its nostrils. The King was played by two actors in a dragon costume, its body and head fiery red, rolling its artificial eyes, lolling the cloth tongue and gnashing wooden teeth to the great amusement of the audience, especially the children. The prince and the princess managed to calm the Dragon King with another bout of dancing, and the prince was allowed to marry Otohime and remain in the undersea castle.

  This time Bran joined the applause at the end.

  “You’ve enjoyed this one?” Satō asked.

  “Oh, yes! Very much. Have you noticed the magic?”

  “You mean the illusions in the Sea Dance?”

  “There’s a wizard backstage, I can see his aura. Must be one of Hei — ” he stopped.

  “One of what?”

  “One of the troop,” he finished, though she was certain this was not what he meant.

  The crowd around them started to thin out.

  “Is it over?” asked Bran with a rather disappointing voice.

  “No, it’s just a break, the actors need to rest and eat,” Satō replied, laughing. “Come on, we should eat something too.”

  The dining room was full of people and they had to wait an unusually long time for their meal of rice, cold soymilk skin and stewed vegetables.

  “Have you noticed anyone suspicious?” Bran asked the girls.

  “In this crowd? Impossible,” Satō shook her head, “there could be a whole army hiding among the visitors. Listen, what if the Crimson Robe decides to strike today? He too must know this is the best moment.”

  The night before, Bran had at last shared his suspicions with them. Satō and Nagomi agreed that there was a dark presence prowling outside the shrine walls and together they concluded it could have been none other than the Crimson Robe — even though only the wizardess had seen the enemy up close, and long weeks had passed since then.

  Perhaps we want it to be him, Bran thought. Better the demon you know…

  He turned to the priestess. “What do you think, Nagomi?”

  “Me?” the girl looked at him, startled.

  “You’re the only one who’s not here to fight. You are with us because you want to be here, not because you have to. It ought to be your decision.”

  “I…” Nagomi took a deep breath. “We will fight, of course.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What other choice do we have? Your dragon, Sacchan’s honoured father... it’s not like we can run away.”

  “But what about you? This could be a battle to the death. It would be safer —”

  “You’re my friends!” she interrupted him. “Do you think I will just stand by and let you get hurt?”

  Friends? We’ve only known each other for a month… He looked to Satō. Their eyes met and she smiled reassuringly.

  Friends it is, then.

  “It’s decided then. Let us prepare ourselves and meet back in my room. Listen — ” He paused for a moment. “I’m not sure how this will end, but we may find ourselves having to flee again. If you have anything you feel will come in useful on the run, take it with you.”

  “No, no, no, NO!”

  Hurrying feet thumped on the corridor and Satō’s alarmed face appeared in the door of Bran’s room.

  “What happe — ”

  She stopped, noticing the mess on the floor. Bran was kneeling among the items thrown mercilessly around, holding his leather satchel.

  “They stole the ring,” he said.

  “Eeh! Who did?”

  Bran shrugged. He was calming down now and started to put the items back into the bag.

  “Did they take anything else?”

  “No. These weren’t common thieves.”

  A servant girl walked past the door with a tray.

  “Yōko!” Satō called her over. “Have you noticed anything suspicious?”

  “What happened, tono?”

  The girl touched her way into the room and bowed.

  “There were thieves here,” explained Bran.

  “Oh no! I must tell t’landlord!”

  “First tell us if you’ve heard anything.”

  Yōko wrinkled her nose in thought.

  “There were some… samurai. I could tell by t’way they walked. It seemed strange that they did not greet me — now I think they thought they could just sneak past me.”

  Satō dismissed the girl and turned back to Bran.

  “Hosokawa’s men,” he said.

  “Eeh? What would they want from your ring?”

  Bran asked the wizardess to sit down and explained what he and Dōraku had discovered about the onmyōji and the involvement of Lord Hosokawa in the ambush.

  “We are harassed constantly since Kumamoto. That daimyo is onto something. All those samurai we met on the way here, they’re not just here to protect the princess — you said so yourself.”

  “You don’t think he’s in league with the Crimson Robe…?”

  “No.” Bran shook his head. “We would be in much worse trouble if that were the case. I think he’s got his own agenda.”

  “You should’ve told me sooner. I wouldn’t have spent so much time with Gensai-sama.”

  He looked at her sharply.

  “What have you told him?”

  “Not much,” she shrugged, “he doesn’t even know my name. But I — I told him about Dōraku-sama, thinking they knew each other.”

  “And did they?”

  “He’s never heard that name.”

  “Strangers you meet on the road,” said Bran pensively. “We should have been more careful. It must have been that Captain, Kiyomasa.”

  “Captain Kiyomasa hasn’t left with the others. I’ve seen him outside, just now, discussing something with the priests.”

  Nagomi entered the room. The priestess wore a thick hooded cloak and carried a small bundle.

  “I have some soap, a towel, a flask of water, bandages… couldn’t think of anything — what’s happened?”

  Bran gathered his belongings back into the satchel and stood up. “Somebody stole my ring. But we’ll deal with that later. Let’s solve one problem at a time.”

  Just as they made their way back to the stage, the announcer jumped on it again. He was wearing a blue robe now, and his dragon mask was red.

  “You have seen how love was found in the depths of the sea. But alas! Nothing lasts forever. Three years have passed and prince Hikohohodemi is feeling homesick. His land is on the surface after all, not in the depths of the blue ocean!”

  The prince and the princess reappeared. Their costumes were now richer, indicating how their status and wealth had grown over time. But the prince’s dance was melancholic, his moves and gestures wistful and nostalgic, his whole body pointing upwards where his kingdom lay.

  The dancers moved in the same disjointed, purposeful manner as Dōraku had on the night of his performance. The haunting music, based on strange, jarring harmonies, resembled the samurai’s song. The memory of their rugged camp in the desolate, wild mountains seemed like a dream to Bran, as he stood in the measureless crowd of onlookers.

  Has it really been just a few days?

  At last, the princess allowed the prince to return to the surface. The Dragon King then came on stage, bearing gifts for the prince’s departure: a fish-hook and two magical jewels, orange-sized orbs, glowing white and blue. As the announcer explained, these were the kanju and manju, stones that controlled the ebb and flow of the tides. With these, the pri
nce returned to his homeland and, as a mercifully brief dancing routine showed, won a war against his former fishing companion, recapturing the land.

  The announcer returned on the stage.

  “A few months have passed and princess Otohime sends a message — she is with child. She agrees to give birth to her son on land, not under the sea, but she bids the prince promise he would not spy on her at childbirth.”

  The princess came from under the sea with her fish-like entourage. She hid inside a wooden hut to give birth. But the prince, sneakily, crept up to the birthing shed, among bursts of laughter from the audience.

  In the most impressive flash of special effects and fireworks so far — it was already getting dark — the princess disappeared and in her stead emerged a writhing, fiery, blue-headed dragon. It spotted the prince and, ashamed, flew away, leaving the new-born child on the sand.

  “The princess closed her heart before the prince, and closed the sea before all men,” explained the announcer. “Their love was but brief, like a candle in the darkness, but the memory of it remained forever.”

  Bran stood transfixed. It was no coincidence. Their love was but brief, like a candle in the darkness… Atsuko must have hoped he would watch the Dance and understand.

  Satō pulled him back into the crowd.

  “The sun is almost down. We have to go.”

  “I... yes, of course. But what about the dance? Will it really continue into the night? The story seems over.”

  “That’s just the first part,” Satō waved her hand. “Now they will show the tale of Jimmu, the first Mikado, who was born of Otohime’s child. There’re a lot of stories left to tell.”

  “I heard they’re going to do ‘Amaterasu in the Cave’ at dawn, at the special request of the High Priest,” added Nagomi.

  “Oh, that would have been nice! Too bad we can’t stay. Come on, Bran! I’m starting to think you don’t really care about our quest anymore.”

  The sun set beyond the cedar trees. Bran led them into the forest, along the compound’s western fence. They reached a place he assumed to be near enough to the big storehouse, but out of sight of the guards by the forest gate. He made ready to burn through the boards in the wooden fence. There was no need for ropes or acrobatics this time.