He tried not to think of the worst scenario, in which the boy and his dragon both survived the sinking of the Ladon only to perish over the open ocean on the way home.
“He gave me this as a gift,” the princess said, presenting a golden buckle adorning her silk sash. “But the greater gifts were his tales of the women in your land. Women who could be warriors, generals, or even Empresses.” The words as spoken by Einosuke sounded bland and neutral, but Samuel heard the sadness and longing in her voice. “It gives me the strength to perform my duties even today.”
He guessed that the structures of power in Yamato were similar to those of Qin, and that the princess had about as much control over her life as the Qin Emperor’s concubines, locked in the Forbidden Palace.
No, the Emperor’s concubine would never meet a foreigner on her own. This “princess” seemed more influential and independent than any woman at the Qin court. And if she was that influential … maybe she was able to help him with his own quest.
“Princess,” he started to speak with some trepidation, “I wonder if I could ask you a little favour.”
“Of course. I will do anything in my power to assist a friend of Bran ap Dylan.”
“I would very much like to visit one of your great shrines.”
A glint appeared in the princess’s eye, as if she had come up with a great idea. “I can’t see any reason why not.”
The Western woman’s silver dragon was almost twice as large as that of Bran’s, and much more threatening. It exuded none of the friendly warmth she sensed from Emrys. It gazed at Nagomi like a bored and irritable nobleman: one of those angry samurai who wandered the streets of Kiyō with their hands always on the hilts of their swords, looking for a fight.
The stirrup was too high for her, and Bran had to raise her by her waist almost over his head. The woman — Gwen — grasped her from there, helping Nagomi settle in the tall saddle. At which point, Bran took her by the ankles and started lashing her legs to the tack.
“What are you doing?”
“We might be attacked by the Black Wings along the way — or the Fanged. Gwen may have to perform quick manoeuvres and Nodwydd is very fast and agile. She knows how to stay in the saddle, you don’t.”
“In that case, make sure you tie it properly.” She was almost certain that death from falling from a dorako’s back was not part of her destiny — but it wasn’t a risk she wished to take. Bran flashed a brief smile and disappeared under the dragon’s neck to tighten the straps. When he reappeared again, his face was strangely solemn. He took her hand in his and stroked it twice in silence.
“Bran, you’re scaring me,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He smiled again. “It’s just that …” He stared at the calm green valleys below the fire mountain. “We keep going from one danger to another. We’ve already lost Satō and—”
“We haven’t lost her. She’s still alive.”
“I know she is. I didn’t mean that. It’s just — she’s not here, is she? She’s not in a safe place. What if the same thing happens to either of us? What if you or I get lost?”
“Then the other one will come and save them,” she replied and leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was an awkward hug, but there was an odd quality to it, a sort of desperation absent from Bran’s embraces before.
He’s really scared this time, she realized, and his fear reached through to her. Her heart rattled against her chest. “It will be all right.”
“Yes. Yes, it will.” He pretended to rub his nose, thinking Nagomi didn’t notice him wiping his eye. “We have to be off now. Take care.”
He exchanged a few words with Gwen before departing to mount his dragon. The woman waited with the launch until Emrys was high in the air. Nodwydd reached Bran’s altitude in just a few flaps of its silver wings, then slowed down, letting the emerald mount lead the way.
They flew like this for over an hour. Mount Fuji became a distant, majestic molehill. They passed over wild forest valleys and climbed past another mountain range, a single, sharp ridge running almost straight from east to west. Beyond it spread the Kanto Plain, land as flat as an okonomiyaki pancake, as far as Nagomi could see. To her right, the plain was bound by a gentle, thin golden crescent of an ocean shore. Ahead and to the left there was nothing but rice paddies, fields and orchards, towns and villages, and linking it all, a network of roads and canals as dense as a spider’s web. Somewhere to the north rose the great city of Edo, but it was yet too far to even glimpse.
So many people …
A brief vision disturbed her admiration of the hustle below: a wall of darkness, like a huge black tsunami wave coming from the sea and engulfing the plain and everyone on it. When it passed, Nagomi glanced towards the eastern horizon and saw a thin dark line running across it, fencing the sea off from the outside world.
Are these the Divine Winds? I’ve never seen them from land before …
Emrys slowed down and the two dragons flew parallel to each other. Bran looked over Nagomi’s head at Gwen — and nodded. She felt the Western woman nod back. Bran tugged on the reins and banked away, down and towards the sea. Gwen also spurred her dragon — and steered it up and onwards.
In a few moments Nodwydd reached a speed unmatched by anything Nagomi had ever experienced. The earth and clouds whizzed past and soon the jade dragon was a mere dot in the sky. Another flap and it vanished altogether.
“What are you doing?” Nagomi asked. “Bran’s going that way! Stop! Turn around!”
Gwen did not answer — of course, she wouldn’t understand Yamato. Nagomi stirred in the saddle, but Bran’s ties were tight and she could barely move. She turned her head around towards Gwen’s face. The Western woman looked back at her with an inscrutable expression, part determination, part regret, part … something else.
She gestured at the straps on the saddle, requesting Nagomi to hold tighter. The dragon swerved left, further away from the coast, towards a distant line of hills. Nagomi protested again. Gwen laid a hand on her shoulder in the same calming manner as Bran would — but it brought the priestess no solace.
What is she doing? Has she betrayed Bran?
At length, she calmed. There was no point in struggling as long as she was tied to the saddle. The priestess did her best to study her surroundings, in case she had to escape, but she was too unfamiliar with this part of Yamato. The broken cone of Fuji remained the only constant point on the horizon, but the dragon turned and swerved so much in search of air currents that Nagomi soon lost all sense of direction. She guessed they were heading in the direction of Edo — or even further north.
They flew for an hour more, before Gwen guided the dragon down, over a bumpy stain of low hills, the only feature on an otherwise dull and empty plain. She circled a high peak looking for a landing place before bringing it to the earth.
The Western woman climbed down first. She reached under the dragon’s belly and pulled on one of the lashes — the knot came undone. Nagomi jumped down hoping to run, but her cramped legs gave out under her and she fell face-first into the moss. Gwen helped her up. She didn’t let go of Nagomi’s hand, holding it in a vice-like grip.
She’s strong! Of course, she’s a soldier. A woman soldier.
The woman pressed something into Nagomi’s hand: an envelope, signed “Nagomi” with that elegant, old-fashioned handwriting Bran had learned from General Shigemasa. She tore it open. As well as a piece of paper, two small stones fell out of the envelope: a black, jagged shard of lava and a smooth grey pebble.
Gwen let go of the priestess and gestured at her to go away somewhere that she could read the letter in peace. She pointed to her eyes with two fingers and then at Nagomi: I see you.
Nagomi wandered off to sit on an overturned tree trunk. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the paper. The characters were not as stylish and graceful as on the envelope, instead they were hasty, running all over the page, not keeping to vertical lines. The first line read: I�
��m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Before anything else, Gwen has nothing to do with this — I asked her to help me. She is not aware of our situation, so don’t blame her for anything.
I thought about your visions all night, and I think you’re right. To rescue Satō, you must reach and pass through the Gates of the Otherworld. Somehow, her salvation and the answer to all the riddles lies there, in the cold North. But in our world, Satō is in Enoshima. I know that’s where the Serpent took her, and that is where I must go with Yokoi-dono and Emrys. I don’t claim to understand what any of it means. All I know is that we don’t have any more time. To hope to reach both our targets on time, we have to go our separate ways. At least, for now.
I know you’ve always worried that you weren’t more helpful in a physical fight. And you’re right. But you have powers beyond either mine or Satō’s comprehension. You’ve shown them on Ganryū’s island. To fight the Darkness, to fight the Shadows, will take more than just strength of arms or elemental magic. This is where your Light will shine. If I’m right, Enoshima will be a battle of spells and weapons. There, you will be of no use. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh.
The first part of the letter ended there. Then the writing started from a new line, in pencil this time, the characters even more rapid and smudged.
I’m sorry, Bran repeated. I just realized I’m imposing your destiny on you. I have no right to do this. I gave you my reasons, but the decision must be yours. I’m putting two stones in this envelope. Give one of these to Gwen. The black one means following me to Enoshima. She will know how to find me. The grey one is the North.
Should you choose going to the North, it will take you several days to reach the Gate, even on Nodwydd. The journey itself may be dangerous — you will fly right over Aizu lands, although Gwen knows how to keep stealthy. She has the map, so try not to get separa- The rest of the sentence was crossed out. Keep close to Gwen, it continued.
I will try to contact you as soon as I can, the way we did in Naniwa. Although … it may not be safe anymore. Either way, we’ll see each other soon, I promise. In a week or two, all this will be over, and we’ll all be together again, the three of us, you, me and Satō.
Bran
Nagomi folded the piece of paper and put it carefully back into the envelope, closed it, stood up and then kicked the tree trunk several times with all her strength. She then took a deep breath, wiped the angry tears from her eyes and sat back. She took the two stones in her hand and gazed at them.
She could have just consulted her visions, but that would have been cheating. Ever since she had decided no longer to be like the leaf blown in the wind, she’d insisted on making decisions informed by reason. She already knew well what the Spirits expected her to do, anyway: the vision of the Gates in her mind was loud and clear enough.
The choice of the stones had been deliberate. Bran picked an ugly, nasty, sharp stone to represent the decision he did not want her to take. It was so obvious, but at least it showed he cared. Where did he manage to get the grey pebble from? How long had he planned it …?
She was letting her mind wander, unwilling to face the decision Bran had forced upon her. She looked to the Western woman: she was sitting on her silver dragon, side-saddle, as if in a chair, biting into a ball of dough. She was staring straight at the priestess. If there was an expression on her face, again, Nagomi was not able to read it.
She picked up the grey pebble. Several days with her? She imagined it: flying in complete silence, just like today, then setting up the camp, going to sleep and waking up without saying a word to each other, other than miming and grunting. She sighed.
She didn’t know how well Bran knew this Western woman, but he knew Nagomi, and he trusted they would manage this journey together despite the difficulties. Perhaps he was right after all.
Why do I even worry about the journey?
She rolled the stones between her fingers. Again, she let herself stray from making the choice.
It’s the destination that matters.
The Gate … She wasn’t even sure if it really was there, on the northern edge of Yamato, as the legends would have it. The visions had not been clear on the details of its location. Would Gwen be able to find it? She doubted the map Bran mentioned in the letter had that much detail.
No. She clenched the stones. The sharp edges pricked her skin. That’s still not what I should worry about. It’s what’s at the Gates that I need to fear.
Whatever it was, this time she had to face it alone. The grey pebble meant they would all be alone and separated from each other: Bran at Enoshima, she at the Gate, and Satō ...
I would become the only character in my story. The hero.
She scoffed. A hero? A sidekick to Sacchan’s antics, at best.
It doesn’t matter which stone I choose.
On Enoshima, she would only be getting in Bran’s way. At the Gate, she would be powerless against the coming Darkness.
I’m not ready for any of this. I never was.
She glanced again at the Western woman. Gwen had finished eating whatever it was she was eating, brushed crumbs off her hands and reached for a metal container hanging from the saddle. She unscrewed a cap at the top and drank a few gulps. Noticing Nagomi’s attention, she offered a sip from the flask. Nagomi licked her parched lips and nodded.
She stood up, clutching the two stones in her left hand, and returned to the woman and her dragon. She took a long sip. She was surprised when what she expected to be saké or some other liquor proved to be just soft, cold, delicious water. She drank a third of the flask eagerly before returning the container.
Gwen screwed the cap back on with slow movements of her fingers, looking at Nagomi with expectation. At this moment, the priestess knew. She reached out a closed hand. “This is my choice,” she said out loud, more to Fate and the Spirits around her than to the woman who didn’t understand her.
“I, Itō Nagomi, make it, because I know it’s the right choice, not because the Spirits told me or visions guided me.”
She opened her hand to pick one of the two stones and present it to Gwen, but there was only one left: the smooth grey pebble. She must have dropped the black shard somewhere along the way, in the undergrowth. She bit her lip.
Though the choice was hers, Fate still had the last laugh.
CHAPTER XX
As soon as the island appeared in sight — a speck of raised ground, joined to the mainland with an umbilical cord of a narrow causeway — the Black Wing materialized in the sky before Bran.
If that’s that damn Frigga again, we’re done for.
Emrys had no strength left in him to fight, and Bran, too, felt tired and spent. The black mount flew slowly past his left flank, its rider not dropping the hood. Bran raised his hand in greeting. The Gorllewin turned to make another pass, this time to his right.
“You’re far from the frontline,” the rider shouted. “Why are you here?”
Bran didn’t recognize the voice — but it was a male one, and older sounding. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“A diplomatic mission,” he shouted back and gestured at Yokoi.
“You’re going to Edo, then?”
“Enoshima!” Bran pointed in direction of the island. The rider tugged on the reins and did a barrel roll over their heads, taking a closer look at Bran and the samurai sitting behind him.
“I know him,” Grey Hood said. “He was a prisoner at Shimoda. For that matter, so were you.”
“Indeed. Will you try to stop us?”
The rider chuckled. “If I did, it would only be out of concern for your own safety, boy. Go, fly to Enoshima. I couldn’t care less.”
“Safety? Why is that?”
“You’ll see.” He pulled away. “I will stop you if you try to fly anywhere further, though. Truce or no truce. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Maybe I should arrest you. For your own good.”
“Don�
��t worry, we know what we’re doing.”
“No.” The Grey Hood gave Bran a grim stare. “You really don’t.”
He leaned forward in the saddle and both he and the black dragon vanished into the glamour’s illusion.
“Well, that was cheerful,” said Bran.
He drew the spyglass from the saddlebag. The island grew from a speck into a dark, stony hill, hirsute with pines gnarled in the sea breeze and ancient, broad-canopied maples. It resembled a sea turtle, washed out on the beach and tilted to one side.
The western shore, facing the mainland, was soft and gentle, shielded from the elements. A small fishing hamlet settled around the causeway entrance. A furious ocean lashed against the limestone cliffs on the opposite edge. The narrow “head” end was almost cut off from the rest of the land by a deep vertical canyon that the waves had dug over long, patient millennia. A sprawling shrine of many halls squatted over the island’s main hump, overlooking the raging sea.
Bran scratched the scar on his cheek.
“I’m thinking we should land in these hills and try to sneak our way onto the island from there,” Bran said. “What do you say to that, Yokoi-dono?”
The samurai stared at the island stony-eyed. “You can’t sneak onto Enoshima. There’s only one way to reach it on foot, and it’s enclosed by iron gates on both sides. And there will be watchtowers all along the shore.”
That sounds like Dejima. “Why all the security?”
“Haven’t you listened to my tale? It was a coastal fortress in the old days.”
“And you think the gates and towers are still manned? I thought it was just a shrine these days.”
“I don’t know,” replied Yokoi. “The smugglers and pirates are no longer a problem in these waters. The island should be open to all pilgrims. But I doubt the Serpent wants strangers wandering around the island while they perform their foul rituals.”
“Then shall we just land on the top, make a flashy entrance?” Bran swerved over the bay. He guided the dragon along the air currents, imitating a prowling bird of prey. A curious black kite climbed the winds almost to their altitude, glanced at Emrys, let out an impressed caw and flew back to its comrades circling the beach in confusion. Bran hoped that whoever watched them from the surface would not be able to tell them apart from the birds.
The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) Page 23