The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  Bran closed his eyes and descended into the red dust plain. It was easier every time he tried it, and he was beginning to enjoy those moments. At the top of the tower there was complete silence and isolation, disturbed only by the wind blowing from nowhere to nowhere.

  Earlier Satō had tried to convince him he should prepare himself for their meeting with Lord Nariakira.

  “These are not the clothes you wear to meet the lord of the province,” she insisted.

  “But I already met him.”

  “Yes, but that wasn’t formal. There is a hierarchy to these things even you can’t ignore.”

  “The Shimazu are one of the Great Clans,” added Nagomi, “above them are only the Taikun and the Divine Mikado… A common physician’s daughter like me would never dream of meeting such an esteemed person.”

  “Is that why you are putting on make-up?” Bran didn’t think much of the priestess’s efforts with the white paint and lip carmin. Satō, too, was at her most feminine, practicing a girly giggle and blushing on command.

  “I just don’t understand why suddenly — ”

  “It’s what’s proper,” said the wizardess, futilely trying to put charcoal paste on her eyelashes. Her hand shook.

  “Now go away, you’re making me nervous with your staring.”

  The Taishō was nowhere to be seen. Had he wandered somewhere off, or was he not always present here in a physical form? Either way, his existence on this featureless plain must have been excruciatingly boring. Bran felt sorry for the old General. At least in the cave back in Suwa there were other Spirits to keep him company.

  Bran came down to the green dragon and touched its neck. This time he penetrated farther, trying to learn more about Emrys’ whereabouts. For a moment nothing seemed to happen; but when he pressed harder, his head began to spin and he found himself in the middle of a storm of unintelligible signals, a hurricane of raw emotions, impressions and visions. Wild yearning. Anger. Bloodlust. Fear. Freedom. The idea of a forest, a mountain-top, a rice field; the taste of fresh meat; the buffeting of wind.

  Exhausted, Bran let go of the jade-green phantom and slid down to the ground. It seemed the dragon was both further away physically, and further into the process of going wild and Bran was unable to pick up any sense of direction.

  The General appeared out of nowhere and came up to the boy.

  “Trouble, eh?”

  “I can’t get through. I need to… I need to stop thinking, somehow. There’s too much noise in my head.”

  “I can teach you how to do that.”

  “Really?”

  Shigemasa scoffed.

  “All well-educated samurai know how to meditate. Of course, it takes years of training, but I can teach you a trick or two today. Now sit straight, like a Man.”

  Bran knelt down with the body resting on his heels, with feet turned outwards. He usually could not withstand this position for longer than a few minutes.

  “Good. Fold your hands like this and don’t move. Now we need something for you to focus on. Look at the red light on top of the tower, and don’t let your eyes wander off it.”

  The boy duly stared at the light. He waited for about a minute for further instruction, but nothing happened.

  “What — ”

  The General hit him in the back with his sword’s scabbard.

  “Quiet! Think of nothing but your breath. In and out. In and out. Look at the light.”

  Bran soon lost track of time — there was, after all, nothing on the red plain to help him to orient his thoughts. He tried to count seconds, but lost count after a hundred. He continued to force his eyes on the gently pulsating red light…

  Another slap on the back woke him up.

  “No sleeping!”

  “Surely I’m ready now-”

  “It’s not even ten minutes since you started. Your mind is still full of random thoughts.”

  It feels like school now, Bran was annoyed, but stared into the light again. He focused on his breath. Finally the light at the top of the tower began to subdue, its pulsations grew slow and soft, as did Bran’s heartbeat. The Taishō grunted with satisfaction.

  “Enough. Try your magic now.”

  Bran felt light-headed and awake, but mostly, he felt his feet and legs burn with terrible pain. He stood up, made a few steps and staggered; falling, he reached out a hand and touched the warm, green scales again.

  Images and sensations flooded him. An enormous, lush green valley, perfectly round. Tall, sheer cliffs on all sides. White-washed villages scattered about its bottom like snowflakes. In the middle, a high fire mountain, gushing steam from several outlets.

  A ruby-hued light on the top, a beacon he couldn’t resist, summoning him closer…

  “Then it’s captured already...”

  No, don’t go there!

  Bran tried to call the dragon away; he sent out a powerful Word of command, but the strain of conflicting pulls proved too much. The thin link broke, and the beast cast him away.

  He swayed back; the General supported him and helped him stand straight.

  “Did it work?”

  “I saw — a great round valley, with steep edges and a fire mountain inside.”

  “Unnh. Must be Aso-san. Anyone on Chinzei will know how to get there.”

  “Aso-san. I’ll remember.”

  The General smiled lightly.

  “Be careful in your dealings with the daimyo of Satsuma. I knew the first one, Tadatsuna-dono. He drew off hundred thousand Qin soldiers with just eight thousand men. His descendant looks equally cunning.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Bran replied.

  When he departed, the image of the green valley and the ruby-hued light was still clear in his mind; but there was something else he recalled from the vision: a nagging, odd feeling of another Farlink. As if there was another dragon and rider pair somewhere near — somewhere in Yamato.

  Is my father coming to my rescue at last?

  CHAPTER 9

  The naked torsos gleamed with the omnipresent black pumice powder, covering the body with a thin layer the moment the porters cleaned themselves. The men lifted the four boxes marked with the circle-cross crest of Satsuma and carried them swiftly down the streets of Kagoshima, along its main road. One of the vehicles remained empty: Torishi insisted on running along with the porters.

  “I don’t like being locked,” he said. Bran quietly agreed with the bear-man.

  Sakurajima loomed on the right; this meant they were moving north. Soon they entered the outskirts of the city, passing at least one “great workshop”, belching white and yellow smoke from its red-brick chimney stacks, and started climbing up and down some low hills, before crossing the gate of thick wooden beams.

  It was a long journey, and as Bran left the confines of his black box, he felt pins and needles running all over his limbs. He was still jumping up and down trying to relax his tense muscles, when Lord Shimazu Nariakira came down from a flower-topped hill to welcome them. The porters immediately fell to the ground while Bran and his party bowed deeply.

  “How do you like my garden?”

  Bran looked around and spotted the garden’s most striking feature: from where he was standing, the trees and flowers seemed to form a window frame through which the mighty Sakurajima appeared like a part of the continuing garden arrangement, with the blue waters of the Kinkō Bay flowing before it like a decorative pond.

  “It is magnificent, my Lord,” replied Satō, her eyes hidden behind a paper fan. She was wearing a many-layered, long-sleeved kimono with summer motif she had rented a day earlier especially for the occasion. Tense and nervous, she had already tripped on its hem a couple of times; the blush of embarrassment visible even through the thick make-up which seemed to freeze a trained smile in place.

  “You’re Takashima Satō, aren’t you?” Lord Nariakira said and smiled. Satō looked as if she was about to faint.

  “I met your father once, you know. What a mind! Didn’t h
e tell you to come to me if there was any trouble? Naturally, I would do anything to help Shūhan-sama and his family.”

  The wizardess could only nod.

  “And you are Itō-sama’s daughter! How is he these days?”

  “He... he is well, kakka. He’s in Chubu, fighting smallpox.”

  “The man’s a hero! Just think of the lives he’s saving with his art... Men like him should be rich and powerful — not us, old wrinkly bats who’ve inherited their wealth because of what their great-great-great-grandfather did in one battle or another.”

  The daimyo chuckled and then turned to the towering Torishi — who hardly broke a sweat along the journey — and pretended to flinch.

  “And who is that? A forest giant of the Kumaso! I never thought I’d meet one of your people.”

  “I am the last one,” replied the bear-man. Meeting Lord Nariakira didn’t seem to make any impression on him. The daimyo’s face turned serious for a moment, “I’m sorry to hear that. My power does not reach far enough into the mountains.”

  Finally, the daimyo looked at Bran. He stared at the boy’s transformed Yamato face for a moment, perplexed, before bursting with laughter — though his eyes remained ever serious.

  “Yes! I see, I see. Come, come, my noble guests. I will show you something of interest!”

  They followed him down a steep flight of stairs carved in stone, to a narrow inlet, cut off from the rest of the bay with a tall, thick lock gate. Moored to a wooden pier was a ship unlike any Bran had seen in Yamato. It was about sixty feet long, its hull was sleek, narrow, streamlined, covered with copper plate and painted black. Three masts rose from the deck, but there was also a thin funnel above a long, rectangular cabin. A brass lightning box hung from the foremast in place of a storm lantern and brass tubes and vents pierced the stern deck above the boiler room.

  “But this is a... mistfire ship!” Satō forgot her decorum momentarily, picked up the hem of her kimono and ran down the pier to see the vessel up close. Lord Nariakira climbed on board and looked down an open hatch in the middle of the deck.

  “Captain Kawamura! Are you there?”

  A tall, robust, solemn-eyed man emerged from the hatch in a hurry. He was stripped to the waist, wearing only a pair of baggy monpe pantaloons. His upper body was smeared with oil and soot, and he held a big wrench in his hand, which he dropped, and pressed his forehead to the ground before the daimyo.

  “Kakka! I did not expect you today!”

  “Get up, Kawamura. How is she?”

  “Ready to set sail at your command, kakka!”

  “So, what do you think of my Iroha Maru?” Lord Nariakira said, turning to his guests, beaming with pride. “You won’t find a faster ship in all of Yamato.”

  “This is incredible! I had no idea anyone was building something like this!”

  Satō ran up and down the deck, before leaning down the hatch and examining the boiler room, “How big is this engine?”

  “There’s sixty-four elementals trapped in the Great Cauldron, noble lady,” replied Kawamura, visibly abashed at being questioned in matters of engineering by a woman and guest of the daimyo.

  “Sixty-four! To think Hisashige-sama was so proud of his eight!”

  “Old Tanaka is pretty close to building such an engine himself, last I heard,” said the daimyo. “And how do you like the ship, young Gaikokujin-sama?” he asked Bran, “How does it compare with what you’re used to?”

  “Very favourably, Nariakira-dono. I’ve seen yachts in the Brigstow harbour not unlike this boat.”

  The boy did not say out loud what his immediate thought was.

  I could take it out to the open ocean and sail back to Qin.

  At this moment he felt he was closer to home than ever since he woke up in Kiyō. Even if something happened to his dragon, even if the daimyo would not agree to lend him the ship, he could just steal it. With some effort and a bit of luck, using the knowledge he had gained on Ladon, Bran was sure he would be able to navigate his way towards the Qin coast.

  All I have to do is to follow the setting sun...

  He was nudged out from his musings by Nagomi. Her eyes pointed at Lord Nariakira.

  “I’m sorry, kakka... I was admiring the lightning box.”

  “Ah yes. An intricate piece. I got it freshly made in Bataave. Anyway, Captain Kawamura will be in command of the ship on your journey. He will show you around. Kawamura, you will sail wherever these people tell you to.”

  “Of course, kakka.”

  “There is one more person I’d like you to meet. Heishichi!”

  A lanky man came down the stairs onto the pier, wearing a long, hooded vermillion robe.

  Heishichi!

  “You’re the Chief Wizard! You are the one that kept Emrys in its cage!”

  The man dropped the hood, revealing his face. The entire left half of it was scorched into terrible, swollen scars and blisters. His left eye twitched constantly.

  “Is that… did my dragon did this to you?”

  Heishichi nodded.

  “But the priests at Kirishima…!” said Nagomi.

  “I wear these scars as a reminder of my disgrace.”

  “He wanted to kill himself,” said the daimyo. “I didn’t permit it, of course. My best wizard,” he patted the Daisen on the back.

  Heishichi bowed his head.

  “I allowed my Lord’s possession to be stolen. I have brought shame upon myself and all my family.”

  “Yes, well, you’ll pay it back with your continuing service, of that you can be certain. You may start by joining these four noble travellers on their journey.”

  Heishichi bowed again in silence; the right half of his face twitched. The daimyo turned to Bran again.

  “I will have your things brought from the inn before long.”

  “When do we leave, kakka?” asked Bran, darting away from Heishichi’s pained stare.

  I don’t suppose we get to choose our travel companions.

  “At dusk. I will be sailing before you, in my own official ship. This will draw the eyes of the spies.”

  “Will Dōraku-sama be joining us?” asked Satō.

  “For now he’s coming with me.”

  “I’m sorry, kakka” intruded Nagomi, “but where are we going?”

  “That’s a good question, young priestess-sama.” The daimyo looked at Bran. “What do you think?”

  “I think… I think we should go to a place called Aso-san,” the boy replied.

  “You managed to contact your dorako then?” Satō asked.

  Bran nodded.

  “Heishichi?” the daimyo turned to the wizard.

  “It makes sense, kakka,” the Daisen replied.“It is a nexus of power even greater than Mount Takachiho. A creature attuned to the magical energies would be drawn to it.”

  “But it will not be there by the time you reach Aso,” added the daimyo. “Even on Iroha Maru it shall take several days to sail that far north. You will have to adjust your course along the way.”

  “I will try my best,” Bran said, bowing.

  “Of course you will”, Lord Nariakira said, smiling; Bran felt uneasy under his stare. The daimyo seemed to be guessing at his deepest thoughts.

  “And now I must leave you. I have to prepare for my own journey.”

  The daimyo bid them farewell and climbed back up the stone stairs. Captain Kawamura shifted his wrench nervously from one hand to another.

  “Follow me, please, I will show you the cabin...”

  Satō had spent half a day in the engine room, observing preparations for the launch and making note of the various valves, gauges and transformation chambers. The entire engine was of Bataavian make, and built so that even a person without magical talent could maintain it with ease.

  The great cauldron had a small glass window in its cast iron wall, through which she could observe the elementals inside. The orange and blue wisps seemed to dance, or fight with each other within the confines of the chambe
r.

  “I never really understood what the elementals are,” she said, more to herself than to the Captain, who was busy adjusting a flange on a copper pipe. “They look so… alive.”

  “In a way, they are,” a hoarse voice spoke behind her. She turned around to see the Daisen Torii Heishichi. His scarred face was hidden in the shadows.

  “They grow, like crystals, but they can’t multiply on their own, so they can’t be said to be alive like us or animals.”

  “Some of them seem to have little faces,” the wizardess observed. She had never seen elementals as big as these. The ones her father had worked on, obtained at a great cost from Dejima smugglers, or products of his own experiments, were just wisps of luminous air, barely longer than a man’s thumb.

  “Yes, that’s something my students find most disturbing when they start working with the elementals. As they grow, they are beginning to look more and more human. Some Western scholars believe that that’s how the magical creatures came about in the first place. And I’ve even seen an elemental larger than a new-born child.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Almost like a new-born child,” the Daisen said, smirking. “It had a face and what could almost pass as limbs… But it was very unstable and soon perished. With a terrible cry.”

  With that, the lanky man stepped back into the shadows. Satō felt a shiver running through her spine. She wasn’t certain if the wizard was telling the truth or was having a dark joke at her expense.

  A cry? Does it mean the elementals feel pain?

  She looked into the cauldron once more. The wisps whizzed back and forth all around the chamber and whenever one of fire met with one of water, a white flash of mistfire was produced which travelled up towards the funnel outlet.

  Does it hurt when they do that?

  Captain Kawamura finished working with the flange and clapped his hands.

  “Right, time to increase the pressure.”

  He turned a great red valve, and even more elementals poured from their holding chambers, now a full thirty-two pairs of fire and water sprites. The inside of the cauldron filled with white smoke and its walls heated up.

  Satō tried to listen to the tiny cries of the elementals, but all she heard was the rushing of mistfire up the pipes and the rhythmical beat of the firesteel and brass pistons.