Takasugi shielded his eyes and looked up. His chief concern of the day was not to repeat the disaster at Heian. No marching in blindly into the lion’s den, no falling for another obvious ruse. That meant having eyes both on the ground and in the air. He found the bird-like shape circling in the sky. Only a few people in the city knew what it really was — and he hoped they were all on their side.
In a way, the slaughter at the Mikado’s palace had made his job easier. Most of Kunishi’s haughty samurai either perished or were captured. Those who remained, accepted their defeat — and Takasugi’s command. The rest of the kiheitai had been trained in the new, modern way of fighting: the way of the commoner. They were prepared for tricks, feints, if necessary — dishonourable tactics. It was the last hope they had to prevail against the enemy; a faint hope though it was.
Near the bottom end of the market street rose a low barrow-mound, a younger, smaller sibling of the ancient burial mounds that dotted this part of Sakai like giant molehills. In his earlier plans, he had expected to have to fight for the hill. It was an important vantage point, from which one had a clear view of the wharves, piers, and warehouses of the harbour.
The only “soldiers” he found at the top were local kids playing at war. They wore armour made of bundles of packing straw and helmets out of old pots, and they whacked each other over the heads with sticks. They stopped midway through a fight and stared, wide-eyed, at Takasugi and his officers climbing the summit.
“Ho! What battle is this?” Takasugi asked. He crouched down, his eyes level with those of the kids. The boys exchanged glances. The tallest of them stepped forward.
“Sekiga — sekigahara, tono.”
“And I expect you’re the Taikun.” The tall boy’s side had clearly been winning the brawl, despite lower numbers.
“N-no, tono. We, um, got things a little mixed up. I’m Mori Terumoto, Commander of the Western Armies.”
Takasugi’s mouth fell open. Then he started laughing. He gestured at the interpreter. “Tokojiro-sama! Here’s another of your omens!”
He reached to his belt and took out a dagger in a black polished scabbard. He handed it to the tall boy. “Here. Take this as a reward for your great victory.”
The boy studied the scabbard. His eyes fell on the dagger’s pommel, and grew even wider. “That — that’s a Mori crest!”
“I was given this by Mori Takachika, fourteenth lord of Chōfu. May it bring you more luck than it did to me.” Takasugi stood up. “Now scram, all of you! Go to your homes. It’s time for the grown-ups to fight.”
He looked over his comrades. They were all tired from the fighting and marching, weary from the days of anxiety and lack of sleep. But they had never seemed so eager.
Only one face remained sullen and dejected. A samurai, representing the remnant of Kunishi’s noblemen. To him, the coming battle was a chance to erase the memory of an ignoble retreat, the ultimate dishonour. To everyone else, it meant a return home to Chōfu; a chance to regroup and prepare for further fight.
If only they knew what Bran-sama told me about the city …
Takasugi looked to the harbour, where their prize awaited: dozens of narrow, sleek single-masted ships tied to the long pier. These were the vessels of the tea traders of Sakai, smaller and faster than the flat-bottomed barges of other merchant harbours.
He pointed at the burning wharves at the opposite ends of the waterfront.
“Judging by the smoke and fire, Katsura and Yamagata have almost done their job,” he spoke. “Remember the plan — they are the horns, but we are the head of the ox. Ours is the final thrust.”
He turned back to his men. “Most of you have been with us since Iwakuni,” he spoke. “And you will notice we are fewer, wearier, and worse equipped than we were when we started this expedition — while the enemy is stronger and better prepared.”
“What’s the bad news?” asked one of the officers. Laughter rippled through the group.
Takasugi smiled. “But it’s all right,” he continued. “This is not a battle we have to win. We don’t have to crush the opposing force, or gain a strategic position. We only need to break through to the ships, and get out of this city. I’m sure you’re all as tired of it as I am.”
“Even if we manage that, who will man the boats?” asked the sullen samurai. “The sailors must have fled long ago.”
“We’ll figure that out when we get there. I’m sure a few of you know how to hold an oar.” Takasugi drew his sword and pointed at the forest of masts. “We are the kiheitai! We will prevail!”
The cheers of his men still rang in his ears when they reached the first wharf.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right here?” Bran asked.
Nagomi nodded. “Just don’t forget where you left me,” she said with a weak smile.
“I don’t think that will be possible.”
He had never seen anything quite like the great barrow-mound on which they had landed. There were ancient barrows back in Gwynedd, but the largest of them were barely taller than a standing man. This one was a true man-made mountain, hundreds of yards in length and a hundred feet tall, surrounded by a deep, wide moat. It was a construction from another age — the Age of Dragons, as only from dragonback could one appreciate the precise keyhole shape of the mound and the perfect arc of the surrounding moat.
“This place sends shivers down my spine,” he said. Judging by the age of the trees growing over the mound’s vast dome, the tomb had been abandoned for centuries. The city of Sakai had grown all around this and similar, smaller mounds, yet none of the merchant landlords dared to encroach on these great swathes of empty land.
“It is filled with great power — not all of it good,” Nagomi agreed. “But it will help me regenerate my strength. I’m no use to anyone like this,” she added, looking at her pale, trembling hands.
We could all use some rest.
The sun was almost at its zenith. The forest around them was silent. The birds may have been just resting, taking respite from the heat in the shaded canopies … but somehow, it felt as if there had never been any birds here.
Bran wiped his face. His hand smelled of dried blood. He needed a bath, to wash the filth of the fight from his body and clothes … He wanted to add something, but couldn’t find words. Nagomi noticed his worried gaze.
“What is it?”
“Will you be all right?”
“I told you, I’m safe here—”
“That’s not what I mean,” he interrupted, exasperated.
“Then what do you mean?”
“Did you really kill that man in the castle?”
Nagomi reached inadvertently to her waist. The sheath was empty. She’d dropped the dagger — dagger given to her by Satō — at some point in the chaos of the fighting.
“He was the enemy,” she said, looking down. “It was either him or me.”
“Don’t say it like that. That’s soldier talk. War talk.”
“There is a war on, you know.”
“Yes, but not everyone has to be a warrior. Somebody has to survive … all this.”
He didn’t know why he said it, or why his voice trembled. He still believed — had to believe — they would save Satō from the Fanged and, somehow, all live to see the end of the war … But whenever he remembered the limp, lifeless body of Yoshida Shōin in Takasugi’s arms, his resolve faltered. Shōin was just a boy, younger than him and Satō, younger even than Nagomi …
If kids like him are dying in this war …
A distant thunder rumbled through the sky. Wind rustled the trees — the first natural sound he’d heard on the mound since they’d landed.
“That’s no storm,” he said. “I have to go.”
“Be careful,” she said. She touched his shoulder. He pulled her in and hugged her tightly.
“We’ll get through this, all of us,” he whispered in her ear. “I promise.”
With its wings locked, Emrys soared effortlessly on a cool, st
eady stream. Banking slightly, the dragon turned a broad circle around Sakai Bay. Below, the merchant ships bobbed on the lazy, crystal-clear waves. It was a perfect, calm summer day — disturbed by the dumb thuds of battle coming from the harbour.
Bran began a slow spiralling descent towards the pier. The first task given to him by Takasugi — scouting the bay out — was over. There were no ships coming from Naniwa, no fleet approaching from Edo, no reaction from the Taikun’s navy. The only vessel he’d spotted was a lone fishing boat, returning from a morning catch, oblivious to what was happening in the port.
In a way, this in itself was unnerving. They were expecting a trap.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if those ships were rigged with gunpowder, or full of soldiers waiting for us in the cargo holds,” said Takasugi. “I will have the bakuto scout the ground for me, but I need your eyes on the sea — and the sky.”
Bran didn’t think it the best way to utilize a dragon in a war of swords and spears. Takasugi disagreed. “If the kiheitai are to survive, the men need to win a victory with their own arms,” he’d said. “Not one given to them on a plate.”
On the surface, it was a good enough reason. But Bran guessed another. After Heian, a Westerner riding a dragon was the last man to whom the rebels wanted to entrust their safety. If Takasugi was convinced of Bran’s intentions at all, it was only because Nagomi had vouched for him. From his perspective, Bran suspected, it made good sense to keep him and Emrys away from the troops now. At least for as long as the kiheitai were winning ...
He studied the decks of the ships through the spyglass. Those anchored closest to the wharf were empty and silent, abandoned by their crews. On others, curious sailors leaned over the bulwarks; a bemused audience observing the battle from what they deemed was a safe distance. Bran could not spot any obvious traps, either in True Sight or in visible light, and if there were any troops hidden on the boats, they were well camouflaged.
He turned his attention to the shore. It was obvious that whoever commanded Taikun’s forces was out of their depth. When cornered, the defending samurai, spearmen, and archers fought bravely, but as a fighting unit, they were outwitted and outmatched at every step.
One of the isolated groups fought right beneath Emrys, giving Bran a good view of the difference in tactics. Backed against the whitewashed wall of a large storehouse, the samurai blocked an alleyway leading north-west from the marketplace. The kiheitai attempt to break through head-on had just been thwarted, with severe losses. The black uniforms pulled back and hid behind the corner. One of their number shot a purple flare straight in the air.
Moments later, another squad appeared from the east, charging against the rear of the barricade. The first group renewed their attack. Caught in the pincers, the spearmen dropped their weapons and surrendered, abandoning their noble commanders. The samurai stood their ground and, one by one, succumbed to the rebel swords.
Lacking in Rangaku weapons and power, the kiheitai wizards used magic sparingly, but with great effectiveness. A system of colour-coded flares, perfected by Takasugi’s staff since Heian, made communication between different squads a breeze.
The fire elementalists burned their way through makeshift barricades. The ice masters created frozen bridges across port canals, allowing the soldiers to strike at the flanks and rears of the defenders from unexpected directions. The earth wizards summoned walls of dirt to shield their troops from arrows and a rare thunder gun.
Unable to form a solid defence against the rebels’ three-pronged assault, Taikun’s soldiers retreated in a haphazard fashion towards the waterfront.
The Mori banner, carried in front of the main column of the kiheitai, snaked its way among the warehouses. As it closed on to the main pier, Bran spotted movement on board the merchant ships. The sailors finally noticed the battle was not going in the defenders’ favour. Some jumped into the warm waters of the bay, others reached the long pier, looking for a way out of the encirclement.
Bran pulled on the reins. It was time for part two of Takasugi’s plan. Emrys swooped towards the boats. It whizzed over the swimming sailors and spat a line of flame in front of them, raising a cloud of steam, then another behind them. Having made certain they had nowhere to swim but back to their ships, Bran turned again and headed for the shore.
Emrys landed at the head of the pier with a heavy thud, crouching and snarling like a tiger. Bran leapt off with the bloodied sword in his hand. With it, he drew an arc of flame in the air before the terrified sailors.
“Get back! Get back to your ships!” he yelled, trying to sound commanding and thuggish. “Or I will burn you all to cinders!”
The men cowered and dropped on their faces. Bran stepped forward and stomped, scowling. The men tumbled over themselves in panic.
“Prepare to set sail, if you value your life!”
He glanced over his shoulder. The Mori banner flew proudly over the harbour. The kiheitai charge reached the waterfront. The Taikun’s men were laying their arms in surrender.
The battle was over.
Koyata was the first to reach Bran. He cast his blood-stained kodachi to the ground, put his hands on his knees and looked to the sky, wincing.
“How much time do we have?” he asked between heavy breaths. “Where is the navy?”
“There is no navy,” replied Bran.
“What?” The doshin stepped aside to let through the soldiers running to take over the merchant ships. “Are you sure?”
“Nothing but a few fishing boats. The sea was clear from horizon to horizon — and that’s a lot of sea from dragonback.”
“And no Black Wings? No mages hidden in the cargo holds?”
“None that I could see.”
Koyata sucked air through his teeth. “You know what it means, don’t you?”
“What what means?” asked Takasugi. He looked even more haggard than Koyata, and his voice was hoarse and croaking. He kept glancing towards the ships and shouting orders while Koyata explained the situation to him.
“Nobody is that incompetent,” he said when the doshin repeated Bran’s words. He eyed the nearest ship. “They knew we were going to be here. Where are the Aizu troops from Tennoji? Where are the castle guards? This stinks.” He stepped back to shout orders at the men scrambling onto the ships. “Hey, you! Don’t crowd the gangway! Are you soldiers or fishwives? Get the wounded on decks first! If you know anything about sailing, help man the empty boats! Two wind-masters per ship!”
His face went red with yelling. He paused to catch a breath. He turned back to Bran and blinked, as if surprised to see him and the dragon still there.
“Bran-sama,” he said eventually, “It’s time for you to go. You have fulfilled your part of the bargain.”
Bran hesitated. “Are you sure? It doesn’t feel like I’ve done anything useful. Shouldn’t I stay until you’ve all safely departed? We both know this isn’t over yet.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Takasugi. “Whatever trap the enemy has prepared, I’m sure we can deal with it ourselves. You have your mission, I have mine. Besides, you shouldn’t leave Itō-sama alone for too long.” His voice softened when he spoke Nagomi’s name.
Bran nodded and leapt onto the saddle. “Good luck,” he said and bowed. “I hope we’ll meet again in a more peaceful time.”
“May the Gods aid you in your endeavour,” said Takasugi in a formal tone. “And tell Itō-sama … tell Nagomi–sama.” His cheeks ran red. “Please tell her I will wait her return.”
CHAPTER XI
Nagomi lay down in the soft grass and watched the delicate wisps of clouds pass overhead in the wind like dandelion puffs. She tore out a long blade and chewed it between her teeth.
Her family’s busy schedule as the most wanted physicians in the city had meant they’d rarely had the time to spend outside Kiyō. When they could, they journeyed to a rural villa of her mother’s relatives at the far end of the bay. The estate had known better days, but it had a vas
t, unkempt garden, sprawling on a hill overlooking the sea and a smattering of small islands enclosing the bay from the south. The cousins could not afford a gardener to take care of it, so the grass there grew almost knee-high, just like on the top of the barrow-mound. She tried to recall those happy, innocent days as best she could, but nothing could erase from her mind the look on that soldier’s face. She raised her right hand to the sun: her wrist and forearm were still stained with that man’s blood. She sniffed it. The metallic scent was still there, faint. She remembered it spurting from the stab wound, and with it — a life.
I took a life. With my hands. Will I be able to use them to heal again?
But of course, she’d healed some of Bran’s injuries moments later. The warrior priests of old slew hundreds and then healed hundreds more. The Spirits were forgiving, they had to be; in their previous lives they were often warriors themselves.
I’m overthinking it.
She breathed in the fresh scent of the crushed grass. She let the energy of the tomb hill flow from the soil into her body. She was still too weak to stand up, but at least she no longer felt the cold.
I wonder when Bran will return. The thought of him getting hurt in the fight at the harbour did not enter her mind. Her visions may have deserted her for a time, but she was certain — they would leave this city unharmed. It was just a matter of time.
The tomb was full of Spirits. She sensed them gathering around her. Courtiers and court ladies of the dead Mikado resting below, servants and palace guards remaining on this side of the Otherworld to keep watch of their master’s resting place. They were so ancient they no longer had any remnant of consciousness, just a memory of one, a longing. Her prayer drew them in like moths to a flame. She felt no fear — she never feared the Spirits, even ones as old and powerful as these.
The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) Page 12