Nariakira let out a half-chuckle.
“The question is, can he do it?”
“He studied in the same school as Bran-sama.”
“They knew each other, then? Are you sure?”
“I saw it all in his head. The… animosity is clear.”
Nariakira laughed. “Oh, that is precious! It’s as if the Gods were toying with my plans. Rivals, eh? Splendid, just splendid.”
He turned serious at once.
“We’re not letting this one go.”
“No, kakka. I’ll make sure of that.”
Nariakira reached for the simple cup of white clay. Water; he never drank alcohol when dealing with matters of the province.
He considered the girl before him and remembered her arrival, just a few weeks ago. All she had to her was a single piece of silver… and her gift. The guards at the castle gate had mocked her at first, and pushed her away; that was until she told their Captain all their little secrets. Nobody had since dared to mock her.
Takamori chose him well, thought Nariakira. One of Kiyomasa’s men. Loyal, and a bright one, too.
The guards’ heads hung from the battlements, and the girl was introduced to the daimyo the next day. Seeing her now, it was hard to believe she wasn’t born at the Mikado’s court.
He caressed her hair in a fatherly gesture, and she flinched slightly.
“Yokō, you… you don’t mind doing all of this, do you?”
“My liege!” She sounded almost offended. “I am thy most humble servant.”
She’s made remarkable progress.
He stepped back.
“It’s strange,” he said, more to himself than to the girl, “I don’t mind sending any of my men to their death, or worse, if need be. And they do it, eagerly. But it’s different with you.”
Is it because she reminds me of Atsuko so much? he wondered, swirling water in the cup.
“If only you were of noble birth…”
I might have adopted you, too.
She touched the floor with her forehead. “A month ago I was a kitchen girl at a shrine, kakka. I can never repay what you did for me.”
“Let me know if I ask too much,” he said at last.
She rose slowly and retreated towards the door. She stopped when she reached the exit and turned an unseeing gaze towards the northern wall.
“He’s coming.”
Nariakira raised his head.
“Oh? How long?”
“A few days, maybe a week.”
“He’s already too late, anyway,” Nariakira waved his hand. The girl bowed one last time and disappeared in a golden shimmer.
A line of Yamato porters and Bataavian sailors moved in a slow and orderly fashion up and down the gangways of the Soembing. Dylan and Gwen moved to the side, out of everyone’s way, and watched as the engineers dismantled the engine and the paddle wheels under the Captain’s watchful eye.
Most of the modern equipment on board the ship, including all weapons, had been stripped and taken on land in big metal crates. The decks were full of serious-looking Yamato men, inspecting, checking, and measuring the ship, and ordering about a mass of porters.
“What will happen to all those things?” Gwen asked.
“My orders were to deliver her here intact, that’s all,” Captain Fabius replied, shrugging. He was drained, grey-faced. Dylan almost felt sorry for him. “Those barbarians can turn her into matchsticks for all I care. Hey!” he shouted at one of the Yamato porters, struggling with some heavy device of coils and glass tubes. “Careful with that, it will fry your face off!”
He cursed and ran off to assist with the removal.
“Do you trust this man?” Gwen asked Dylan. “This Nariakira.”
“I don’t,” he replied, “but I have little choice. He controls everything here: Fabius said so, and I believe him. I will need his help if I want to find Bran.”
“So you will keep your part of the bargain? We don’t want to start another war, Dylan.”
“I don’t think he really can do anything with a single, rider-less dragon” He waved his hand. “I’ll worry about it when we get to this Keeyoh and figure out how things are in Qin. Maybe I won’t be able to contact Edern after all. For all we know, he may not even be alive anymore.”
“I’m sure he’s fine. He is much stronger than you.”
He pulled her closer. “You were always fond of him, weren’t you?”
She laughed. “Are you now jealous of Edern?”
He laughed back. “How can I be jealous of someone like him?”
“Some men would be.”
“I’m not some men. And I’ve known him for a long time.”
“Yes, I’ve often wondered about that,” she said, her eyes smiling.
“Now who’s jealous?” He kissed her. “You’re in a good mood today.”
“Oh, Dylan,” she said leaning back into his embrace, “I know this is a bad moment, but I’m just happy we’re here together. I was ready to fight our way through; I was preparing myself for bloodshed. But apart from those guards… everyone here is so unobtrusive and agreeable…”
“It’s all pretend. It always is. It will — ”
“Who cares! It makes a change. Did you like the food they made for us yesterday? I loved it,” she said.
He winced. “It’s all tasteless to me.”
“You’re impossible,” she said and pulled him away from the ship. “Actually, it’s almost lunch-time. Let’s see if we can convince them to cook us something that will change your mind.” She looked at the porters. “This looks like it’s going to take a while…”
Wulfhere watched Commodore ab Ifor and Reeve Gwenllian ferch Harri descend down the gangway, close to each other, almost hand in hand.
Didn’t the Commodore have a wife back in Gwynedd?
He decided he didn’t care about it any more than he had about his bride-to-be. He reached his left hand back and felt Yokō’s gentle, slim fingers touch his. Li was standing next to them, his hands behind his back.
The Commodore approached and looked him over.
“Where’s your uniform, Lieutenant?”
“It’s… stained, Sir” Wulf replied. “I got this from Lord Nariakira, while the uniform’s being washed.”
The Commodore’s finger poked him in the shoulder, where the circle-in-cross was stitched in white thread. “Do you know what that means?”
“It means it’s a gift from Lord Nariakira.”
“It means you’re his vassal, you fool. You shouldn’t be wearing this. Not while you are a subject of Her Majesty.”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Have you packed your things back to the ship?”
Wulfhere took half a step back.
“I’ll be coming with Master Li, later.”
The Commodore looked sharply, first at the Qin interpreter, then at the blind girl behind Wulf.
“Nonsense, you’re coming with us — and that’s an order.”
Wulf took a deep breath and squeezed Yokō’s hand.
“Commodore Dí Lán,” he heard Li speak, “I believe you have forfeited your rank when you decided to come here. This boy only takes orders from Ardian Seton.”
The Commodore’s eyes hardened. “Seton knows you’re here?”
Wulfhere gulped and opened his mouth, but decided saying nothing was a better idea.
“Was that your idea, Li?” the Commodore turned to the interpreter, who bowed his head slightly, his lips curled.
“Lord Nariakira has invited both of us to a hunting trip tomorrow,” Li said, “It would be unwise to refuse.”
“Just the two of you?”
“He knows the ship must sail today.”
The Commodore paused to think. His eyes glinted with sudden understanding.
“So that’s what he is planning,” he murmured. “You’re a damn fool, Warwick. You have no idea what games they’re playing.”
“I’ll be fine, Sir.”
“You shou
ld come with us now.”
“I’ll be fine,” Wulfhere repeated. “I’ll be in Kiyō before long.”
“Not if she has something to say about that,” the Commodore said quietly, looking past him, straight at Yokō. He nodded at the interpreter.
“I’ll be watching you, Li. Tell Nariakira that if you come alone to Kiyō, the bargain is off.”
“He would be most displeased,” said the interpreter, bowing slightly again. “And you’d have gone all this way for nothing.”
The Commodore’s eyes narrowed. “Let me worry about that. And you — ” he added, staring Wulf down, “don’t forget where your loyalties lie, boy.”
He turned on his heels and marched off towards the Bataavian ship, Reeve Gwenllian following, limping slightly.
“What did he mean?” Wulf asked. “What games? We’re only staying for the hunt, aren’t we?”
The interpreter’s mouth raised in a wry smile.
“He’s a good one too, your Commodore,” he said, absentmindedly. “But Lord Nariakira will outplay him, just watch.”
From half-way up the slope, Satō could see all of Hitoyoshi Valley, like an enormous, multi-faceted emerald; bright green embedded in the dark, verdant forests around it. She saw the white lightning that was the foamy Kuma River, sparkling in the summer sun, and the town itself, the vermillion of the Aoi Aso Shrine a distant, but bright dot peeking through the haze of steam beaming from the hot spring pools and narrow chimneys of the shōchu distilleries.
This is where we stayed, she remembered. The day before we fought the bandits. And met Master Dōraku.
It was only a month ago — but seemed like a different age; a different life. That last time she really laughed and enjoyed herself. Before she killed her first man, before everything that followed…
How long did it take us to get through that forest…?
The scientific expedition had left Kagoshima a mere week earlier and now they were just a few hours from reaching the summit of Mount Ichifusa. The pace was a lightning one now, despite the heat.
Apart from her, two other students, some armed guards and a few porters, carrying all the necessary equipment up the mountain made up the remainder of the expedition, led by the Snow Beard. The mountain they were climbing was one of the few places in all of Satsuma where snow fell in winter. That meant that, somewhere in the crevices, fissures, and narrow caves of its summit, the Frost Elementals could survive even until the height of the hot Chinzei summer.
Satō knew how precious these were, but she still could not understand the purpose of the expedition. Why not wait until winter, when the Elementals were so much easier to extract and capture? Were the needs of the Kagoshima wizards so dire and urgent? Surely all available magic-users should have been at the harbour, studying the ship and its contents?
And the dragon — am I not the best dragon expert they have? Why send me out?
“Stop brooding, Takashima,” Yukihige prodded her. “We need to get to the top before dusk.”
They broke camp around an old, dilapidated shrine on the summit of the mountain. Some pilgrims were still coming here — Satō noticed an offering of stale rice cakes and withered wild flowers at the altar; but they hadn’t passed anyone along the road, and both the altar and the offerings were covered in dust and cobwebs.
“Our lode starts from this outcrop,” Yukihige guided his students to a jumble of cracked and weathered boulders the size of a tea house and the shape of a crooked hood. A narrow prospecting shaft, protected by timber scaffolding, had already been dug into it, and something silver at the bottom gleamed. “It reaches at least a hundred feet into the rock, maybe more. It should provide a good haul.”
“But,” he added, raising a licked finger, “it’s a nice, warm day, even so high up, so we’ll need to be careful. We don’t want our precious elementals to evaporate as soon as we get them up on the surface, now, do we? You two, start building the ice dome.”
“Yes, sensei.” The two young men stood on the opposite sides of the shaft and started weaving long, thin strands of ice.
“Let me know if you need any help,” said Yukihige. “I know it’s your first time.”
“Yes, sensei.”
The teacher dispatched the porters to various jobs around the camp, and sat down on a large, flat stone, looking down into the valley.
“What about me?” asked Satō, who alone had not been given any task.
“Save your strength, Takashima,” he replied. “You’ll be the first one going into the mine.” He leaned back against the rock and stretched his arms.
“That golden dragon sure was something, eh?”
The night was cold and filled with snoring.
Everyone was already sound asleep, even the guards; there was no need for them to stay awake here, at the top of the mountain. An unwatched campfire was sizzling down in the dew, its expiring glow dancing blue on the walls of the unfinished ice dome. Far below the mountain, a few dots of light twinkled through the haze: the great bonfires on the grounds of the Aoi Aso Shrine.
Satō was wide awake. Not for the first time; rare were the nights when she could simply fall asleep before midnight. Sometimes she asked the Daisen for one of his herbal essences, but she didn’t like how her mind was always blurred the next day. Most of the time she just struggled on.
Tonight her mind wandered from one thought to another, none of them happy. She had a lot to worry about in the darkness. The machinations of the Taikun and the Eight-headed Serpent. The fate of Yamato. The well-being of her friends in far-away Nagoya. But most worrying of all was her own future.
She counted the coins on her waist; her fortune had dwindled to a few pieces of gold. What would happen when there was no gold left? Not even she could live and study for free at the Academy forever.
Adoption or marriage? The only two options left. She had counted on Shimazu-dono’s help in either, but the daimyo had been ignoring her pleas so far.
Maybe it’s for the better. I don’t want to owe anything to anyone.
And then, unwittingly, she remembered Bran, and the last time she had seen him, or rather, his dorako, the green cross-shape in the clouds. She didn’t like that memory, but somehow, in the end, it always haunted her.
She liked to think that she understood why he had to do it, that she got over it — over him. But understanding did not mean forgiveness.
“You could have at least said goodbye,” she whispered into the night. “What am I supposed to do with myself now?”
The dome was ready, and the shaft had been cleaned and prepared for her to climb down.
“Be careful, Takashima,” said Yukihige. “This may be routine for us, but it’s still slippery and dangerous.”
“Yes, yes.”
She rolled up her sleeves and put on a miner’s headband with a burning candle tied to it.
How primitive, she thought. Bran could summon a flamespark with a snap of his fingers. We still have so much to learn.
She grabbed the rope ladder and began her descent. The walls of the shaft were covered with a thin layer of frozen water, turning plain limestone into precious, polished onyx. In the cold of the mine, she turned into a living mistfire machine, producing puffs of white steam with every breath.
She reached the bottom, some twenty feet below ground; from here the shaft went deeper into the mountain at a slight angle. She took the candle off her head and stuck it in some wax on the wall. The layer of frost ended after a few feet; there was nothing else here but dry rock.
“Something’s not right,” she shouted up. “I can’t see any vein here!”
High above her head, the ice dome formed a reflector, casting strange rays of light and shadow on the mine floor. Yukihige’s head showed in the narrow opening.
He said something, but she didn’t hear him clearly.
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m really sorry about this!” he repeated. “But those are Shimazu-dono’s orders.”
/> “What orders?”
The teacher’s head disappeared for a moment.
“What’s — ”
She looked up just in time to notice the rope ladder tumbling towards her, followed by rain of shattered bamboo.
A shadow of Yukihige’s hands danced on the floor, weaving threads of ice into a dense lattice. At first she couldn’t grasp what she was seeing, but then, with sudden, terrible clarity, she knew.
“No!”
Threads of frost, like tiny waterfalls, trickled down the shaft’s wall. The dome above her head was closing up.
“A most unfortunate accident,” said Yukihige. “A young life cut in its prime… I will leave you a window to look at the stars,” he added. “I know how you like the stars. I’m sorry,” he said one last time.
He finished his task by casting a transparent sheet of ice over the opening. It looked like glass, but she knew it was as firm and unbreakable as diamond.
“Why?” she cried, but there was no answer.
CHAPTER III
Lord Nariakira shut the window and dusted his clothes of soot.
The night sky over Kagoshima was dark, moonless. Clouds, rare at this time of year, hid all but the brightest stars. The air was thick, heavy and steamy, muffling the distant lights and noises of the entertainment district.
The mountain was acting up again, and the thin dust was getting everywhere. The daimyo switched on the wind machine, and revelled for a while in its rhythmical clacking. The air and fire elementals inside purred, and their inexplicable interactions caused the hot wind to blow through a long brass funnel. By the time this wind blew out into the room, it was cooled by a thin layer of True Frost.
Ice was a rare and expensive element in this part of Yamato, and without it, the wind machine would only be a glorified fireplace; only a few aristocratic houses had the machines installed, each painstakingly crafted in the workshops and laboratories of Satsuma’s wizard school. A few more could afford it, Nariakira knew, but were afraid to flaunt their wealth too much in case it attracted too many tax collectors and lost relatives in search of inheritance.
A candle on the desk flickered and went out. The daimyo turned the wind machine off. The air was cool enough without it. Nariakira winced.
The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5) Page 4