“Can’t you see? You will all die here. You, your beast and your little priestess.”
Bran grabbed the sword’s hilt with two hands and, with a desperate cry, charged and thrust it straight into Ganryū’s chest.
The blade wedged between the ribs where the creature’s heart would have been if it hadn’t already turned to ash, and Bran had to let it go to dodge the edge of the nodachi falling beside his head. Ganryū gloated, but the laughter died in his throat.
The General, a pale white waft of smoke, a phantom of mist and vapour clad in ghostly armour, appeared beside Ganryū, reached for the sword and wrapped his hands on the hilt.
“Your Curse, demon. I will take it upon myself. It’s the only way.”
“No! You can’t…” cried the Fanged, but it was too late. The sword in his chest turned black. Ganryū fell to his knees.
“No!” he repeated defiantly.
He looked past Bran, towards the mansion gate where Dōraku stood, observing the scene in silence, his two swords dripping with blood.
“Shinmen…” Ganryū whispered, “…you are… late... again.”
His skull cracked and shattered, and he crumbled to the floor in pile of ash and loose, old bones.
The General’s spirit beamed with heavenly radiance, and his ghostly face was, at long last, content and fulfilled.
“Farewell Bran ap Dylan gan Cantre’r Gwaelod. You are a real samurai now. Take care of Yamato for me.”
“Farewell, Itakura Shigemasa-dono.”
The spirit vanished in a haze of wisps and a twirl of raindrops.
“Emrys,” Bran commanded. “I know you can hear me now. Come to me.”
The dragon landed before Bran. It was wounded in several places. Thick, dark red blood oozed where Ganryū’s blade cut the deepest. Bran touched the dragon’s warm scales. Emrys purred with joy. At long last, they were united.
Bran’s world swirled and turned cold, empty and dark.
Drops of icy rain fell on his face. Bran was lying on the wet, muddy ground. When he opened his eyes, he saw Emrys leaning above him. The beast nudged him with its warm nose like a worried dog.
“It’s all right. I’m all right,” he croaked, reaching out to pat the beast’s snout.
Somehow, Ganryū’s crystal orb was in Bran’s hand. Its surface, smooth like glass, was cooling rapidly, but still warm to touch. He hid it inside the sleeve.
He stood up slowly, achingly, and looked around. In front of him was the wicket gate where Dōraku had held back the entire army of Ganryū’s students. There was blood and gore everywhere, slowly washed away into the gutters by the rain. Corpses, whole and hacked, entire body parts and bits and pieces, slashed away by the Fanged’s blades.
Bile rose inside his throat as the morbid smell of death and flesh penetrated his nostrils, mixed with the heavy, damp scent of rain and salty sea air. He bent forward and retched. He felt sorry for the warriors. They were followers of his enemy, and as such, his enemies; but, in a way, they got involved in this battle where they stood no chance. So many of them had perished without even learning the name of a man who killed them.
Those who remained alive were now standing in a half-circle around Bran and his dragon, grim and defeated, rain trickling down their lowered heads, their weapons thrown down in hopeless surrender. The dragon rider could not look into their sullen eyes for long.
Turning around, he saw Dōraku standing beside Emrys, silent, his face a featureless mask, the rain washing away any signs of battle. The Fanged held unconscious Nagomi in his arms. She seemed as faint as after Kirishima, but her skin had a healthy glow and there were no visible injuries.
Torishi and Satō walked slowly from the direction of the mansion. The bear-man glanced at the boy, but if he was surprised to see his Prydain face, he didn’t show it. The wizardess limped, supporting herself on Torishi’s shoulder. Her hakama was soaked in blood, her face covered in bruises and cuts.
“You’re alive!” shouted Bran. His heart felt suddenly lighter. “I thought —”
He stopped, seeing another man appearing from behind, a hairy giant similar in gait and posture to Torishi. His skin was slashed and torn, but he stood straight and looked the boy proudly in the eyes.
Bran rushed to help the wizardess down the path. She smiled at him weakly, absent-mindedly.
“Who’s that?” He nodded at the giant.
“One of Ganryū’s men,” she replied.
“I have no reason to fight you anymore,” the hairy giant said. “I will depart for the North tomorrow.”
“Are we letting him go?” Bran asked Torishi.
“He fought honourably,” replied the bear-man, “in defence of his Master. Why should I begrudge him?”
“How’s Nagomi?” asked Satō.
“She seems fine. We won. And we’re all alive.”
“We’re all alive,” repeated Satō in disbelief.
CHAPTER 19
Azumi parted the azalea bush and looked carefully around. A blue magpie screeched in the hydrangeas. It was dawning.
She had the right to feel angry, robbed of her right to avenge Ozun. But she knew she had been almost unbelievably lucky. Not only did she manage to survive meeting that terrible man with twin blades again and flee, the intruders succeeded in destroying the Crimson Robe!
She always sensed the plan was too complicated to succeed; she had been telling him that all the time.
“Why not just kill them all when they arrive?” she boggled.
“The boy is the prize,” the Crimson Robe had explained. “I need him alive, and separated from Dōraku and the priestess. Without them, he’ll be helpless.”
She shook her head; everything went wrong. The dragon broke free. The priestess reached the boy in time. And then the unthinkable happened: the Curse had been reversed… it seemed these children were indeed favoured by the Gods.
And now she was free, released from the Fanged’s dark grip. She could start her life anew…
Without Ozun.
The Master’s death meant the yamabushi could no longer be brought to life. But —
There is another Fanged. The one with two blades, Dōraku. And where there were two, there could’ve been more.
What did Shō say before he died? “I serve one of the Eight Heads.”
Ganryū’s banner. Eight-headed Serpent. A faint hope quickened her breath.
They will send somebody here to investigate, she thought. They will be looking for survivors…
She picked up the basket containing Ozun’s head, tied it onto her back and stepped onto the garden path. After a few steps she stumbled over something. A pile of blackened bones and the charred and twisted remains of a sword still smouldering with dark vapours and glowing a faint, ghostly light. Some remnant of the battle. She picked it up carefully through her sleeve; it pulsated with heat.
This is bound to attract their attention.
Azumi moved stealthily through the garden, around the mansion and onto the courtyard, hiding among the target dummies. She passed a group of grey-clad rōnin sitting on the wet ground in the rain. They weren’t even tied up; the Swordsman’s watchful eye was enough to keep them from running away.
The Fanged turned around and faced Azumi.
He can see me, she realized; her hair stood on end. There was no way she could hide from those golden eyes. Had he interrupted her duel with the wizard girl the night before only to feed on her now?
But the Swordsman made no move.
He’s... letting me go!
She ran the rest of the way, across the courtyard and through the thicket separating the secret cove from the rest of the island. Through an opening in the ochre wall she saw five of Ganryū’s students rowing the small boat out into the sea; there was no other way off the island. She picked up the pace. They spotted her, but did not stop. One of them turned towards the shore — she recognized Hajime by his broken nose, the leader of the Crimson Robe’s assault squad, and his finest student. He stood up on th
e stern and watched her wade in the shallows after the boat. Salt water attacked her wounds with a thousand needles and clawed its way into her eyes. Blinded and in pain, she tripped; the weight of the basket on her back pushed her down and the sea closed over her head.
A strong hand grabbed her and pulled her, bubbling and struggling onto the boat.
“Stop making so much noise,” the leader barked. “For an assassin, you’re terribly clumsy.”
Bran finished bandaging Satō’s left forearm. It was one of the many wounds she had suffered in the duel. He wrapped the girl’s hand in an herbal poultice, prepared by Torishi to draw out any poison, and tightened the linen wrappings. The girl hissed.
“Careful!”
“I’m sorry. I’ve always been clumsy with this sort of thing. How’s the leg?”
“A little better, but it hurts when I walk. What about you? You’re not looking so great yourself. Your neck…”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just a little sore.”
He rubbed the great, ugly torn scar running across his neck and collar-bone. Nagomi’s light had brought him to life and healed the shattered muscles and tendons, but was not enough to restore the mutilated skin torn by the cursed claws and fangs.
“Dōraku says it may never heal,” he added. “But I don’t care. I’m just glad to be alive. Nagomi’s not going to be sleeping for three days again, is she?”
“She woke up. What exactly happened up there?”
“I… I’m not sure. It was all like a dream. She channelled tremendous amounts of power. Brought me back to life, held Ganryū enthralled...”
“I can’t believe she got to ride the dorako. Remember, you promised to take me too!”
“I know.” Bran nodded. His head remained in the nod a little too long; a lump grew in his throat.
“Let’s go see Nagomi,” he said, standing up quickly.
They walked across the gravel courtyard arm in arm; Bran thought she was squeezing him a little bit tighter than was needed just to support herself — but couldn’t tell for sure. Ganryū’s students were digging graves for their slain comrades under Torishi’s command. Bran remembered the dozens of hacked corpses lying on the dirt in a pool of blood.
I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it.
Satō stopped before the nearest set of graves and bowed.
“They fought bravely. They deserve respect,” she said.
Bran bowed too, but out of pity he was feeling for every life lost during their quest.
Respect? They served a blood-thirsty demon and were willing to die for his sake. They were stupid or greedy. I have no respect for any of them.
“What happened to the kunoichi woman?” he asked.
Satō shrugged.
“She fled when Dōraku-sama arrived. She must have got off the island in one of the morning boats.”
“You don’t know? What if she’s still hiding somewhere?”
Satō shook her head. “It’s over, Bran. Don’t worry.”
They entered one of the low stone houses Dōraku had commandeered into an infirmary.
“How do you feel?” Bran asked, sitting down by the priestess’s bed. She was wrapped in Satō’s travel cloak and a thin blanket.
“I feel... strange. Weak. It’s not a bad feeling though, more like… when you sit in a nice hot bath for too long and it wears you out. I’m all warm inside.”
“What do you remember?”
“Not much... I was in a world of bright white fog...”
The Otherworld.
“You saved us all. You saved me,” said Bran. “I... don’t know how to thank you.”
“It wasn’t me… it was the power of the kami —” Nagomi gasped and reached her hand to touch Bran’s face. Her hand was warm.
“You look —!”
Bran nodded.
“Itakura Shigemasa-dono is no more. Without him, I have no power to change the way I look.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Nagomi. “You will be arrested the moment we get off this island.”
“Arrested?” Satō laughed. “He’s got a dragon now — I don’t think he has to worry about Taikun’s men.”
“I haven’t thought of all that yet,” Bran answered. “Everything’s still… for now we all need to rest, bathe, eat,” he added with a forced smile.
“A bath!” Satō clapped her hands. “Where do you think it is?”
“I’ll go ask Dōraku. I needed to talk to him about something anyway.”
He found the Fanged alone in a shack by the training grounds, sitting by a low table, smoking his long pipe and browsing through some papers.
Dōraku looked at Bran curiously.
“You can’t change anymore,” he said.
“No. That’s gone with the Taishō.”
“But you still speak our language.”
“It seems I haven’t forgotten anything.”
The Swordsman nodded. “That’s something, at least. How are the others?”
“They’re all fine, I guess. They could use a bath, though. And some more food.”
“There’s a kitchen for the guards,” Dōraku pointed to a small building, plastered white, “and a bathhouse attached to it. What about your dorako?”
“It’s fine too. The wounds heal fast. It killed one of our horses, I’m afraid. I’m really sorry about that...”
The Fanged nodded.
“Sad, but understandable. The beast must not have eaten for days.”
Bran scratched his cheek.
“I thought one of your kind cannot be killed.”
Dōraku put the pipe away.
“Yes, who would’ve thought that would work? Another soul taking the Curse upon itself voluntarily…”
It must have given even you a fright.
“What will happen to Ganryū’s men?” asked Bran.
“Left or preparing to leave. As soon as we finish the burials. I let them go, save for a few who will carry the wounded. There’s a supply ship coming in today from Kokura, it should take the rest of them to the mainland.”
“And the Ogasawara Clan? You said it’s their land...”
“We’ll be out of here before they get curious. Don’t worry, boy, I’m sure the Ogasawaras will soon have more important things to lose sleep over. As will everyone else in Yamato. I read through some of these papers,” Dōraku said, gesturing to a pile of documents before him. “I fear there may be no stopping the war after all.”
“What are these?”
“Letters and documents from Ganryū’s private chest. I hope they will give me some clues as to what the others are planning.”
“The others — you mean the Eight-headed Serpent?”
“You remembered,” said Dōraku with a smile and tapped his pipe on the table.
“So they are not a spent force after all.”
“No, I suppose not. They must be hoping to gain something from the approaching chaos.”
You knew all the time.
“Will this help?” Bran took the red gem from his sleeve. “I wish I knew what it really was.”
Dōraku turned the jewel in his fingers, puffing the pipe.
“They call these the Tide Jewels. They are as old as Yamato, if not more. Each holds a different power; I don’t know what this one did exactly, apart from apparently being able to influence your dorako. Heishichi-sama will know more.”
The Swordsman handed the orb back to Bran, but the boy refused it.
“It’s yours,” said Dōraku. “Think of it as the spoils of war.”
“I have no need for it. If you don’t want it, give it to… Satō.”
The Fanged put down the papers and stared at Bran in silence.
“I had hoped you would at least take some time to rest,” he said at last.
“I’ve made my decision. The longer I stay, the more painful it will be for me to leave — and the more chance you have to convince me otherwise.”
“Have you told the girls?”
Bran shook his head. “No. But I can’t stay here. Do you understand?”
The Fanged nodded.
“This is not my home. This is not my world! And now I can’t even disguise myself as one of you anymore. I have to go back.”
“You don’t have to explain. Are you leaving right now?”
“Yes. I have everything prepared.”
“Do you know the way?”
“I know where West is.”
The Fanged shook his head. “You’d soon get lost in the open sea. Here, take this,” he said, giving Bran a rolled piece of paper.
“I found it in the chest along with the letters. It’s a map drawn in Western style. I wish I knew how Ganryū came into its possession.”
Bran unrolled the scroll.
“We are here.” Dōraku pointed to a spot on the map between two of the largest islands. “You should go south-west along the coast — that way you’ll have navigation points all along your route. Then when you get to Hirado turn due west, crossing the Divine Winds — hopefully — until you get to Tamna Island — that’s Chosun land, but remote and sparsely populated. It’s only a hundred ri from there to Qin.”
“What’s this?” Bran lifted a piece of paper which had fallen from the map as it was unrolled. The Fanged glanced at it.
“It’s the copy of a missive from the Taikun’s High Council.”
“And how did Ganryū get that?”
“Good question. The Serpent must have spies high in Edo. The letter is not a day old.”
“Won’t you need it?”
“I know what it says. But it might be of interest to your people.”
Bran rolled the letter and the map and opened his satchel to put them in. This reminded him of something.
He took the medallion out and showed it to Dōraku.
“Did you know her?”
The Fanged studied the thaumaturgic image.
“Who’s Ifor?”
“My grandfather.”
“Your grandfather, eh? And he was...?”
“A sailor on MS Phaeton. They met in Kiyō.”
“What strange fate.”
It looked like Dōraku wanted to add something else, but he must have changed his mind for he just smiled wistfully.
“Then I guessed right — you knew her.”
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 96