“Bran!” she cried. “I’m so glad I found you! Why are you — ”
The boy put his finger on her mouth.
“What are you…”
He pulled her towards him and slid a hand underneath her kimono. When he kissed her, his lips were as hot as the Sun.
“I’m fine,” Captain Kawamura replied to Nagomi’s offer of help. He scratched the roughly bandaged bump on his head.
“I assume it was the boy who hit me, but I didn’t see it”
“He wasn’t being himself,” Nagomi explained for the second time that day. “He has a Spirit within him.”
“I wish you’d told me before he got mad,” the Captain said, wincing, “we should have locked him in for the night.”
He invited her to the cockpit for cha and they waited. Not an hour had passed before a quickly moving figure appeared on the pier. In the ship’s storm light, Nagomi recognized the Daisen.
“Start the engine,” ordered Heishichi as soon as he jumped on board.
“What about the others?” asked Kawamura.
“They’re not here?” the wizard looked around in surprise. “Doesn’t matter. We have to set sail.”
“What happened?”
“See for yourself.” The Daisen pointed at the town. A long, dense line of torches, like a festival procession, snaked along the sea shore silently, slowly moving towards the harbour.
“They’re coming to conquer the demons,” he said.
“We’re not going anywhere!” protested Nagomi. “We have to go look for the others.”
The Captain looked doubtfully at the pitch-black forest covering the steep slopes.
“We won’t find anyone in the night.”
“The ship is more important,” the Daisen said. “You know your duty, Captain.”
Kawamura nodded heavily and disappeared into the engine room. Soon the deck rumbled with the rhythmical beating of the pistons.
The crowd was getting nearer; the first torches were almost at the pier. Nagomi stared into the darkness, hoping — praying — to see anyone returning from the forest. She noticed the Captain untying the mooring ropes.
“No!” she said. “We have to wait!”
“I’m sorry, priestess-sama. I have my orders.”
Before the last of the ropes unravelled, Nagomi grabbed Torishi’s bow and arrows from the bench and leapt overboard onto the wooden pier. She ran towards the head of the procession, which was almost at the harbour.
“Stop! Please, we mean you no harm,” she said, catching her breath. “Just let us wait for our friends.”
The pater raised his hand. The congregation behind him slowed down and began to spread out in a half-circle around her.
“Behold, the servant of the Deva!” the priest bellowed, pointing his finger accusingly at Nagomi. “The Adversary takes many guises.”
She stepped back, alarmed, and drew her bow with shaking arms, aiming at the pater.
“Let us sail away in peace, we won’t — ”
She screamed as the priest leapt towards her and pushed the bow away; the string twanged sadly and the arrow flew into darkness. He grabbed her by the arm with one hand and drew a long sacrificial knife from the folds of his robe with the other. His eyes gleamed madly. The crowd closed in on her.
“I am a star which goes with thee and shines out of the depths,” he intoned. “I spy out my enemies, swoop down upon them, scatter and slaughterthem. I — ”
She tried to wriggle herself out of the iron grasp. She heard a wild roar and a heavy, earth-shaking thumping, followed by cries of panic. The priest let loose her arm and when she turned, she saw a great black bear charging towards her, sweeping the people aside with swipes of its huge paws.
The bear stood between her and the priest, and growled, baring its teeth, its sides heaving. The priest dropped the knife and backed away, joining his retreating attendants.
“Nagomi, quick!”
She turned and saw Bran standing on the pier beside the Iroha Maru, waving at her to follow. He was carrying a barely-conscious Satō on his back.
The bear roared once more and they both ran towards Bran and the ship.
“I was aware of everything,” said Bran, drinking cha prepared by Kawamura, “but I couldn’t reason with the Taishō. He would not listen; he went mad with rage. We struggled for control of the body on the mountain path and he was stronger in his rage.”
“I wonder what finally made him give up,” said Torishi.
The boy shook his head.
“He prayed to the Jizō for advice, but whatever happened then was between himself and the Gods. He is silent now. I can barely feel his presence.”
“What about Sacchan?” worried Nagomi, wiping the wizardess’s feverish forehead with cold, damp cloth. “What happened to her?”
“It’s the potion,” Heishichi spoke. Everyone turned towards him.
“You let her drink the haoma?” asked Bran.
“You know it?”
“I know of it. It’s the sacred potion of the Sun Priests. They claim it allows them to unite with their Gods.”
“Is it harmful?” asked Nagomi.
“It shouldn’t be. But it may be a shock to the unprepared.”
“I know the smell,” said Heishichi. “It’s the maō plant. They must be getting it from the same source as my supplier.”
“What does it do?” asked Nagomi.
“In clear, concentrated form, we use it to keep alert and awake. But this concoction…” He shrugged. “It turned the townspeople to frenzy. They danced naked in the night.”
Satō stirred and moaned. “Bran…don’t…” she whispered.
Bran felt everyone’s stare.
“I didn’t…” he started, his face burning.
The wizardess woke up with a gasp. She looked around, bewildered.
“Where am I?”
“You’re back on the ship,” Nagomi said, holding the wizardess’s hand.
Satō’s wandering eyes found Bran, and the girl let out a stifled cry, covering herself with her hands.
“Whatever you think happened, it wasn’t me,” he said, trying to sound calming.
“It’s true,” added Torishi. “I was with him all the time.”
The wizardess sighed and lay down again.
“It…it doesn’t matter. When can we set off?”
“We are well on our way, Takashima-sama,” said Kawamura. “Safe in the open sea.”
It was their last evening out at sea, a dark, cold, unpleasant twilight. Sailing north, they had left the early Satsuma summer far behind. The wind howled down the funnels and vents, whistling ominously, shackles clanged on the rigging in alarm. The little ship rocked up and down on rolling waves as the paddles struggled to gain a grip on the water and keep the vessel on course.
Bran came out onto the deck to sharpen his Prydain sword. Sparks fluttered in the darkness with every grinding stroke of the blade on the damp whetting stone. Mindless work which allowed his thoughts to wander. He recognized the waters even in the night; the Iroha Maru was passing through the bay between Shimabara and Kumamoto.
This is where everything started.
Tokojiro’s betrayal and the fight at Mogi, the first quarrel with Shigemasa, the wobbly ferry to Kuchinotsu…
It seems so long ago now.
He recalled the many times he could have died on the journey or become trapped within his mind. It was an odd thought. Before coming to Yamato, he never thought about dying or even coming to harm…
Even after the Ladon I wasn’t really worried, he thought. I have the Llambed Seal after all.
Llambed… his thoughts now drifted back to Gwynedd.
They taught us how to kill and not get killed, he realized, recalling how much time and effort he had spent learning combat spells, summoning shields and falling safely off the back of the dragon. While wyverns and gryphons were good for transport and cargo, first and foremost the dragons were, after all, beasts of war. It seemed
so obvious in hindsight.
They pretended we were all going to be wyrm lore scholars, he scoffed. “Sanctity of life” — what a joke! Most of us would end up as soldiers in some dragoon regiment or other. Ready to die for The Dragon Throne. I wonder how many of my class are dead already?
And that was why his father was so concerned about Emrys. Swamp dragons were perceived as useless in combat. Dylan wished his son to follow in his footsteps after all…
He stopped his work and checked the sword. The runes along the fuller glowed with dull blue. The Prydain blade would not get any sharper; it wasn’t as well made as Satō’s katana. The sword had drunk so much blood since his arrival in Kiyō...
Every highborn here carries a sword from youth, he thought. They are all taught how to kill with it. I wonder if they realize what it does to them.
He sheathed the weapon and looked around. He noticed a figure sitting on the bow in complete silence. It was the Daisen, Heishichi, clad in a thick brown coat that protected him from the cold wind.
“You don’t carry a sword,” said Bran.
“I’m a merchant’s son.”
“Not even a commoner’s kodachi?”
“I have no need for crude weapons. I’m the Daisen.”
Bran leaned against the gunwale and faced the wind.
“What did your master need my dragon for?”
Heishichi smirked.
“Politics. What do you care?”
“His Excellency’s assistance was very valuable. I wonder what he wants in exchange?”
“I am not privy to the daimyo’s plans.”
“Then can you at least tell me why you are here?”
“To observe and study,” the Daisen said. “And to help Captain Kawamura with the ship.”
Not to fight, then.
“You still hope you can bring the dragon back to your Master. I told you, it’s attuned to me only. I won’t let you have it.”
“Then the beast is of no use to His Excellency.”
Should I tell him?
“There may be others.”
Heishichi looked up, for the first time genuinely interested.
“How do you know?”
“A skilled dragon rider can sense other dragons if they’re close enough,” Bran explained.
The wizard stood up.
“What do you sense?”
Bran smiled.
“If I tell you now, I have nothing left to bargain with.”
Heishichi’s fist lit on fire; his face remained calm, but his scarred cheek twitched.
“Don’t play with me, boy. I can squeeze that information out of you.”
Bran took a step back and summoned a tarian.
“You’re welcome to try. You’re not an onmyōji. Your magic is the same as mine and I grew up learning how to use it.”
The Soul Lance shimmered in his open palm. Bran noticed it was at least a foot longer than it had been the last time he’d used it.
“What do you two think you’re doing?” the voice belonging to Captain Kawamura boomed behind Bran. “Fighting on my ship? I’ll throw you both overboard!”
Heishichi cast the Captain an irritated look and extinguished his flame. He went past Bran towards his cabin.
“It’s not wise to make an enemy out of the Daisen,” said Kawamura.
“I get the feeling we weren’t going to be friends anyway,” replied Bran.
Satō stepped out onto the jetty and looked around with dismay. The sky was monochromic grey. A flat field of dull-yellow reeds, combed by the breeze spread as far as she could see; the monotony was interrupted by a few decrepit willow trees and tall fishing net poles. The canal into which they had sailed in the morning was boringly straight, its waters murky and dim; the only thing of interest for miles was a lonely, seemingly abandoned, small white-washed teahouse standing beside the jetty. She had never seen a more desolate, empty place.
A long, flat-bottomed boat powered by a single man, standing straight and pushing on a long pole approached down the canal. There was something familiar in the oarsman’s towering bulk; as he got closer, Satō noticed the unmistakable purple cloak on his shoulders.
“Dōraku-sama!”
The Swordsman pulled back the bamboo hat and grinned at her.
The white-washed teahouse was not abandoned after all. The inside was surprisingly clean and cosy; sitting beside the fireplace sunk in the middle of the floor, Satō almost forgot about the emptiness and bleakness outside.
The six people who came on the ship and Master Dōraku barely fitted into the small room. Satō had to sit close to Bran, conscious of not having taken a proper bath or washing her clothes in days. Every time their eyes met, she was reminded of the strange encounter in the forest. She knew it was just a vision sent by the maō plant, but it didn’t make her any more comfortable.
Master Dōraku poured everyone saké from a rice straw-wrapped bottle he had brought from the boat and, after raising a toast to their successful arrival, said:
“We have little time to linger. I’ll be taking you today to Yanagawa, and we’ll pick up the chase from there.”
“The chase?” asked Satō.
“I hunted the Crimson Robe for the last few days. They did capture your dorako after all,” he said to Bran. The boy exchanged glances with Nagomi. “And while it means they’re moving slowly, they are far ahead of us already.”
“Did you see how the dorako was captured?” asked Heishichi.
The Swordsman shook his head.
“They had already left Aso-san when I got there.”
“They are moving north,” said Bran. “I sensed it last night. What’s to the north?”
“The Crimson Robe’s island fortress, Ganryūjima” the samurai replied. “If he manages to get there, we’ll be in a much more difficult position.”
Satō drank her saké in one gulp and put the cup on the floor.
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go after them!”
CHAPTER 13
In Satō’s mind this was supposed to be a hot pursuit; but in reality, the flat-bottomed boat advanced lazily up the canal, pushed onwards by rhythmical prods of Dōraku’s pole. Her only consolation was that they were still moving faster than they would have on foot through this bleak, inhospitable landscape of marsh, reclaimed land and submerged rice paddies.
Brown-shelled turtles lived in droves in the canal, huddling every boulder or floating log; snakes writhed their way along the boat’s edge, and fish popped up curiously, hoping for a crumb. Once in a while the boat passed a village — a few straw-roofed huts, a storehouse raised on pillars and a tiny red-gate of a shrine. Several locals would come out to the bank to watch the boat pass, but they neither smiled nor waved, just stared with tired eyes.
“How long until we get to some civilization?” asked Satō.
“This is civilization!” replied Dōraku, chuckling. “These people are its pioneers. It’s a hard life on reclaimed land. But I can see what you mean. Yanagawa is just beyond those hills.”
He pointed to a grey, jagged shadow on the horizon. It seemed just as distant as it had when they started. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Tell us how you defeated those wolves,” she asked, hoping a diverting tale of swashbuckling and derring-do would take her mind off the overwhelming dullness.
“I didn’t.”
“Eeh?” She opened her eyes wide.
“There were far too many of them. They destroyed me; tore my body into pieces.”
She looked into his eyes to see if he was joking.
“But you still survived?”
“Such is the power of the Curse.”
“Then what chance do we stand against the Crimson Robe?” asked Bran.
“We can still be stopped,” the Swordsman replied with a grin, “and defeated.”
A large eel jumped away from under the pole. Satō thought long about what she just heard.
“You call it a Curse,” she said at last,
“but it seems a blessing to me.”
For a moment, the oar in Master Dōraku’s hands stopped.
“I would rather die ten times than have this Curse upon me,” he said slowly.
“But why? What’s so bad about it? You’re immortal, powerful, fast —”
“All this and more, Takashima Satō.” He stared at her with cold eyes. “But I am no longer human. The Curse replaced everything I ever was, turned me into a slave of my addiction and a slave of the man who had brought me to this sad imitation of life. I know you wizards play with blood magic and hope you can control it if used in moderation, but it’s a fool’s hope. Stay away from it, girl.”
As the Swordsman spoke, his eyes turned black like coal, and a cold wind rose about the boat, carrying with it the stench of blood and death. Satō reeled back.
“That… that’s not you,” said Nagomi quietly, breaking the silence. The priestess was sitting at the bow, with her fingers in the cool water, keeping silent throughout most of the journey.
“That was me for the first ten years, young priestess-sama,” said Master Dōraku, his voice kind once again. “I was a monster. I did things I can never repent of, never forget. My soul is corrupted forever.”
“What happened after the ten years?” Nagomi asked.
“I met a Butsu priest… but it’s a long story. He showed me the path, and taught me how to keep to it. It took me another ten years of meditation and wandering to release myself from the shackles the Curse had put upon me. But even then, the freedom was never complete.”
“The wolf,” said Bran. “That’s why you said the spirits were after you.”
The Swordsman smiled and nodded.
“What wolf?” asked Satō, disorientated. “What are you talking about?”
“Karasu-sama found me feeding on a wolf the night I met you in the forest. I thought I managed to lie my way out back then, but — ”
“I always suspected something was wrong,” said Bran. “Is that why Shimazu-dono called you a renegade? Because you broke your Curse?”
“There’s more than that. There is… politics among our kind. I always stayed out of it.”
“But you’re familiar with the Crimson Robe.”
“That’s different. I knew him when we were both still alive.”
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 87