by Carl Purcell
“Come in.” The door opened wide and Griffith started walking again. Roland let go of Griffith's shoulder and took a look around.
Master Yasu's house had been cleared of most of the walls to make one large room. She kept it in immaculate condition. On one side of the room was a shelf stacked with pillows and blankets. In the centre of the room was a low table covered by a tablecloth that hung to the floor on every side. There was a stove built into one of the kitchen benches and a sink beside that, but no sign of an oven, a refrigerator or even a kettle. An open door off the kitchen led to a white, tiled bathroom. The house was devoid of even the simplest luxury items or electronics. A shelf, similar to the one housing the bedding, stood on the other side of the room with mostly empty shelves, except for one which was stacked with notebooks. Roland wondered if they were spell books and imagined what sort of powerful magic Master Yasu had recorded in her years. Whatever else Master Yasu might own she kept locked in in an ancient grey travelling chest by the bookshelf. The chest was covered in fading stamps and stickers in more languages than Roland could name.
Master Yasu was dressed completely in white. She wore a jacket that wrapped around her torso and tucked into a long, pleated skirt that draped over her feet. As she turned from them and moved into the kitchen, her coarse, shoulder-length black hair hid her face, but Roland noticed the skin on her hands was wrinkled and pale. She was even shorter than Griffith and walked with a slight stoop. Upon reaching the kitchen she turned on one of the stove burners and turned back to face Roland and Griffith. Her sunken, black eyes and the innumerable wrinkles across her skin made her look a few years shy of prehistoric. Roland was dumbfounded. This ancient, grumpy Asian woman was not what he had been expecting when he'd first heard of a legendary master sorcerer. He'd been expecting more robes and beards.
“You did well to get to the door,” Master Yasu said to break the silence. “You at least deserve some tea and a chance to tell me why you came. Please sit down.” She gestured to the table in the middle of the room. Griffith was the first to take her offer. He dropped his backpack by the table and sat on the floor. Roland followed his lead without saying a word.
“We don't have much time, so I'll tell you everything I can as quick as I can,” Griffith began.
“Whatever crisis you need help with won't benefit by you rushing. Talk slowly and clearly so I understand you completely.”
“Yes, master. My name is Griffith and this is my friend Roland. We've both come a long way to see you. You see, I was an apprentice to a man named Edan Fawkes.”
“I know Edan Fawkes. He was my apprentice many years ago. There were no yamabushi in his family, but he believed me to be a witch, like many other young boys. Unlike the others, he was not afraid. He came to me to learn.” “Yamabushi?”
“What you call a sorcerer, in Japan we call yamabushi. Well, some of them. The nice ones.”
“I know that you taught master Edan and he always spoke highly of you. He said that one day he would introduce me to you but he never got the chance. He was killed by another of his apprentices.”
“That is a shame. I'm sorry for your loss and I am sorry you came all this way for nothing. I stopped taking apprentices long ago.”
“Please wait, Master Yasu. There is more.”
Griffith went on to tell the tale of his pilgrimage, of his encounters with Lloyd and Pentdragon. He spoke of the disease Lloyd had created, of his death at the hands of Caia and of the poor town of Gravesend and the terrible fate ahead of it. Griffith told her about his suffering and now Roland suffered from the disease, too. He told Master Yasu the sacrifice Caia had made so that he could go on and find Salem. Finally, he said:
“Your power is legendary, Master Yasu. With your knowledge of life and death and healing, you should be able to save Gravesend. If anybody can do it, then it's you.”
While Griffith spoke, Master Yasu boiled water on the stove and poured it from a saucepan into a ceramic, disc-shaped tea pot. When he had finished his plea, she silently brought the pot to the table and poured a pale yellow tea into three shallow, black cups. Then she set the pot down in the centre of the table, lifted her tea cup by the tips of her fingers and slurped down her first sip. She eyed Roland and Griffith until they did the same and then, at last, she spoke.
“I don't know what you expect me to do. None of this concerns me and I don't even know if it's true. How do I know that you are really Edan's apprentice? How do I know that Gravesend is in any danger at all? And why should I help them, if it is?”
“Give her the letter,” Roland said. Griffith nodded and dug it out of his bag and slid it across the table to Master Yasu. She opened the envelope and read it.
When she had finished, she asked: “Do you know what this says?”
“No, I haven't read it.”
“Perhaps you should.” Master Yasu handed it back and Griffith read it aloud.
“To the great and powerful Master Yasu of Salem. You have no doubt been told by his apprentice, Griffith, that your student Edan Fawkes has been murdered. I have known Edan Fawkes for years now, and Griffith since he was apprenticed two years ago. Edan often spoke of bringing Griffith to you when his training was done. Now that Edan has died at the hands of his second apprentice, I am writing you in his stead as an introduction for Griffith.
“We have not met but your name precedes you. Your powers of healing and your mastery of life and death are legendary. I can think of no better apprentice to learn from you and carry on your work than Griffith. In the time I have known him, he has been dedicated to his strong sense of morality. There is no one I know who is kinder or more merciful. His magic is focused on healing almost to the exclusion of any other spells. He is a promising and gifted sorcerer – the likes of which are rarely seen.
“When last I spoke of the matter, however, Edan did not believe Griffith was ready to meet you and I would be at fault if I did not relate those concerns to you. Griffith is single-minded – to his own disadvantage. He is rarely able to see beyond one goal or accept new ideas that challenge his own. He is blindly loyal to his friends and to his master, unable to question even the most absurd or insulting request. He has also shown almost no initiative in creating his own spells or exploring his own magical abilities outside what he has been taught. He does not seem motivated to reach his potential or study independently of a master.
“Edan and myself have never had any doubts that Griffith has near unparalleled potential as a sorcerer. The fact that he was apprenticed so late and chosen by Edan Fawkes is proof enough of that. But he has many basic lessons still to learn and the road will be long for Griffith.
“I leave the choice entirely in your hands, Master Yasu, but know that I give Griffith as much a recommendation as his limitations and the wishes of Edan Fawkes allows. Yours sincerely, Geoffrey Owen Girard.”
Griffith folded the letter and placed it on the table. He said nothing but waited for Master Yasu's judgement.
“I have never heard of Geoffrey Girard and this isn't proof of anything you've told me. In spite of that, I do believe your story. But that doesn't change my mind. You might one day be very good, but I don't take apprentices any more and that includes you.”
“What about Gravesend?” Griffith said, his voice rising with frustration as he went on. “That's what is really important, right now. If you won't teach me, that's fine, but all those people are going to die!”
“That's a different question. The least I can do is agree to go and see if there's anything I can do to help Gravesend. But I'm not promising anything.”
“That's fine.” Griffith got to his feet and edged towards the door. “We'll drive you there right now. Just see if you can help them. If not, we'll figure something else out.”
Master Yasu stood up and waved him away. “I'll join you in a moment. I have to get some things.” She brushed her skirt and moved over to her book shelf. She browsed the books slowly, running a finger over each spine. Griffith watched he
r but, by the fourth book she examined and rejected, his patience ran out.
“I'll go bring the car around!” He shouted, then ran for the door.
Chapter 19
Roland waited in the house for Master Yasu, just to make sure she was coming. He watched as she finally chose two books and then took a key from around her neck and unlocked the travelling chest. Master Yasu took out a heavy brown leather sack and dropped the books into it, followed by an almost random collection of glass jars, incense sticks and small rolls of paper. She fastened the sack and started to close the chest but stopped to look over her shoulder at Roland. He stared back at her, wide eyed and baffled. He could hear the hearse's engine outside, as Griffith revved it periodically. Master Yasu reached back into the travelling chest and, after digging beneath whatever countless, unknown trinkets and artefacts she kept locked inside, pulled out a string of brown and green beads. Then she locked the chest and brought her sack and the necklace to Roland. Without saying a word, she reached up with the beads towards Roland. He stooped to meet her, uncertain what she was doing but driven by curiosity. Yasu looped the beads around his neck and fastened them with an iron clasp no bigger than her fingertips.
“You are mortal,” Yasu said.
“Yes.” Roland nodded.
“You are sick.”
“Yes.”
“These will protect you.”
“From what?” Roland asked.
“Yamabushi. You should never have been shown our world. It's not safe.”
Roland shrugged. “I've managed okay so far.”
“These are Nio prayer beads.” Yasu went on. “They protect those who protect a Yamabushi. With them, you might manage to do okay a little longer.”
“I don't get it.”
“You don't need to. Now, come. Griffith is waiting.”
Griffith had brought the hearse as close as he could to Master Yasu's front yard. Roland and Master Yasu approached the car and stopped at the door. Roland suspected that Master Yasu was having the same thought he was: There were only two seats. Before he could say anything, Master Yasu opened the door, sat down in the passenger seat and closed the door. Roland stared at her, unable to find words for his shock. Not even a thanks or age before beauty crossed her lips. Roland slid into the back of the hearse through the coffin loading door. He wriggled and turned until he was as comfortable as he could get. He squeezed between two metal bars on either side of him, presumably used for locking coffins in place. Roland gripped one and held himself steady as the hearse started moving. He made a mental note to remind Griffith to steal a car with more seats, next time.
The two hours from Salem to Gravesend felt unbearably closer to eternity in the back of the hearse. By the time Griffith announced that they were almost there, every joint in Roland's body had locked in place. He'd rolled and wriggled and shifted as much as he could to spread the discomfort and, as a result, his whole back hurt more or less evenly. He considered that this must be what it felt like when people talked about feeling old. He couldn't be sure. He'd never felt old, just hung over.
The small town of Gravesend remained quiet and seemingly empty but now it had become barren of all signs of life. The trees that lined the roads and shaded the park had dropped every leaf and stood slowly rotting while black ash clumped in piles at their base, withered, gnarled bundles of grey twigs sat where shrubs and rose bushes decorated lawns only a day ago. Nothing had been safe from Lloyd's disease – if it was organic, it was dying. Even the houses with wooden weatherboard walls were crumbling. Soon there would be no Gravesend, just the ashen remnants of something dead, sitting either side of the highway.
Griffith noticed more cars on the streets of Gravesend than when he had come through last time. Some of their engines were still running, some were stopped at strange angles or pressed up against walls. And all of them had people slumped forward, fast asleep.
“Is all this because of Lloyd?” Roland asked.
Griffith shook his head. “Not the people. Lloyd doesn't know any magic that strong. Pentdragon must have cast some kind of sleeping spell on the whole town. It must only affect normal people. I didn't even know magic could distinguish between sorcerers and normal people. But anyone who slowed down as they came through, to get a good look at the dying town, would have been affected by the spell. Anyone who stopped for lunch or came to visit friends would have been hit by it, too. Oh jeez, if the roads keep getting blocked, it'll only get worse. All these people will just sleep until the disease kills them.”
“Yasu, can you do anything?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But, for now, let them sleep. It will be easier for us if they are not awake to see us.”
“If you say so.” Roland fingered the beads on his neck. Hopefully Master Yasu's magic was as strong as everybody said. He didn't fancy taking a nap until they were far clear of Gravesend.
Griffith drove straight for the church. On arrival, Master Yasu left the car without a word and circled both the chapel and its grounds before going inside. Her feet left black, charcoal footprints through the doors. Griffith paused to take in the damage. The church grounds were the worst. They had come to the centre of Gravesend's death. The bodies of Lloyd and Caia had decayed and rotted down to the bone, leaving nothing recognisable of who they once were. Master Yasu came back and put her bag down on the road.
“I have never seen anything like it,” she said.
“Can you stop it?” Griffith asked.
“I can try. I will need time to meditate and understand what is happening and I will need time to prepare the spell.”
“What can we do to help?”
“I need some things.” Master Yasu knelt down and unfastened the bag. Roland and Griffith gathered around her and Yasu handed them four paper scrolls and a tall glass jar. “Take the scrolls and put one at the four compass points of the town. While you're doing that, collect some of the ash and dirt and dead wood from around the town and put them into the jar. Then bring the jar to me.”
“What's all this for?” Roland asked.
“The papers are gofu – talismans - and they will help me see the town. I will need the ash to study before I know what spell I must make.”
“Compass points, gofu, ash, dirt, wood. Got it!” Griffith said. Master Yasu thrust two jars and paper into Griffith's arms, picked up her bag and went back into the chapel.
“Do not disturb me until you are done. I will be waiting in here.” She closed the doors behind her, leaving Roland and Griffith alone on the road. They swapped looks and, without speaking, came to an understanding. Whatever she wanted, she got; no matter how strange. Master Yasu was the best chance they had for stopping Lloyd's complete destruction of Gravesend. There was no knowing what else his legacy would consume as it spread, swallowing the fields and forests like a burning inferno of decay.
Roland and Griffith ran for the main road and turned westward, not stopping until they had passed the last house in Gravesend and stood beneath a white road sign. Roland took one of the gofu from Griffith and unrolled it. Large, black, Japanese characters ran the length of the white paper. He turned it in his hands, unsure of what to do next. He looked to Griffith but the younger man only shrugged. Roland shrugged back at him, turned to face the street sign and slapped the paper against it. The gofu stuck. Roland and Griffith exchanged satisfied nods and turned back towards town.
“Next one,” Griffith said.
Roland agreed by starting back along the main road. The opposite end of Gravesend was visible from the first gofu. They would only take a minute or two to cross the town. Easy. No worries. They'd be done in no time.
They reached the centre of Gravesend before they saw him. Lord Pentdragon stood waiting in the door frame of the Gravesend Hotel. His presence struck them with a defeating combination of awe and acceptance. Deep down Roland and Griffith had known this moment was inevitable and it came, as such moments always did, at the worst time.
They slowed to a walk and t
hen stopped completely. Pentdragon stepped out onto the road and faced them with an expression of desperate fury. They were almost stunned by how plainly he was dressed. Pentdragon had forgone all velvet and capes and crowns for black slacks and a polo shirt. His clothes were pressed, his hair was styled and he was as pristine as always, save for scuffing on the toes of his black leather shoes. But, nevertheless, he was dressed, not as a king, but as an ordinary man.
“Don't stop.” Roland said just loud enough for Griffith to hear.
“You can't.” He could hear panic rising in Griffith's voice.
“Go around him. Go and place the north talisman thing first and circle around to the other side.”
“He's too powerful, Roland. Don't you remember what happened last time?”
“Go.” Roland did remember. He remembered how it felt when he couldn't walk, couldn't move even a little. He wasn't a threat to Pentdragon, just a chore. But back then, in his drunken haze, he had nothing but the thrill of pain and a sick need to show off driving him. Now, like Mal said, he had something to fight for. Was that enough? He'd find out soon. Roland tugged at the beads around his neck. So far they seemed to be doing their job, but he was about to really test their limits.
“I'll be back for you.” Griffith turned north and ran, cutting through a house, into the backyard and breaking through a wooden fence weakened and decayed by the rampant disease spreading the length and breadth of Gravesend. He turned and disappeared from Roland's view. Good. Now it was just him and Pentdragon. Roland turned to face his next challenger.
Pentdragon smiled. He hadn't taken his eyes off Roland for a second, even when Griffith fled.
“I don't mind who dies first,” Pentdragon called. “Come, I've prepared a last meal for you.”
“And you expect me to eat it?” Roland shouted back.
“That's up to you. I don't mind either way, but trust me when I say it isn't poisoned. Your death will be more painful.”
“Then why bother?” Roland already knew the answer. Pentdragon would drag this conflict out as long, and with as much drama, as he could manage.