The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5)

by James Calbraith

  “I understand — I think.”

  “I hope it was worth it, Satō.”

  “I… don’t know.”

  “What will you do next? What will you do when it’s somebody’s life that needs saving, not just a limb?”

  “I will be stronger next time.”

  Even without seeing him, she knew he shook his head.

  “This wasn’t just about the boy, was it?”

  “You condemn me… and yet you studied blood magic yourself. As did Tanaka-sama. You two gave me the glove in the first place! Did you really expect me to ignore it all?”

  “I was hoping you’d be wiser than us.”

  “I am. I’m not doing it alone.”

  He clicked his lips. She knew that sound well, a sound of harsh disapproval.

  “You trust one of their kind? Do you not remember what they did to me?”

  I do, father, she thought, but I also remember what others did to me.

  “The Fanged are no worse than humans. They just have more time.”

  “More time to develop their cruelty.”

  “And skill with magic.”

  “That’s not how I wanted to raise you.”

  “Didn’t you always want me to be the strongest wizard in Kiyō, Father?”

  “No!” protested Shūhan. “I only wanted you to be safe.”

  “Then why did you not name me your heir, Father? What were you waiting for?”

  She almost turned around to shout at him, but he stopped her again.

  “I’m sorry, Satō,” he said, his voice fading into the distance. “My time here is coming to an end.”

  “Don’t be like that again! We never had time to talk – ”

  “Satō, you must step through that door now. If you tarry, they will come back.”

  “Father! I — ”

  But he was gone; she felt nothing but the cold emptiness behind her — and the wraiths, gathering slowly again in the distance.

  “ — I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  The ceiling was unfamiliar.

  She squeezed her left hand — it didn’t hurt, but was neatly bandaged.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “This is our room,” she heard Shōin answer. “The one we are supposed to share now that we’re married.”

  Of course — she remembered. I got married this morning!

  She turned to him.

  “Why do you look so worried?” she asked.

  “You died,” Shōin replied.

  “I — what?”

  “Your heart stopped beating,” he explained. “The Fanged told us to wait. So we waited.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Over an hour,” said Shōin. “It’s almost dark outside.”

  “How is Bran?”

  “The foreigner? His leg is like new… and he’s conscious — but still too weak to move.”

  A soft roar rumbled through the air.

  “The dorako!” Satō sat up, groggily, and searched for the Tide Jewel.

  “It’s fine,” said Shōin softly. “Ever since the Westerner woke up, the dorako has been sitting in the courtyard, making noises.”

  “Thank the Gods… that thing was really draining all my strength.”

  She felt dizzy and had to lean against Shōin’s thin shoulder.

  “Did he say anything?” she asked.

  A barely discernible shadow swept across Shōin’s face.

  “Shōin? Did Bran say anything?”

  “He… he called your name.”

  She struggled to stand up. “I must go see him.”

  “You’re also tired,” Shōin said, holding her by the hand. “It was a long day. Surely it can wait till tomorrow…”

  She released herself. “It might be too late tomorrow. The daimyo will want him at the castle.”

  She staggered outside, propping herself up against the passing walls and pillars.

  Dōraku and Nagomi waited for her in front of the house.

  Satō opened her arms to accept Nagomi’s embrace. The priestess pressed her face to her shoulder, not speaking for a long time.

  “There, there,” Satō said, patting her on the head, “see, I’m not dead after all.”

  “I was so worried!”

  “It’s all over now. Really, I’m fine. And Bran is fine too. In the end, there was nothing to worry about.”

  She pushed her gently away and turned towards Dōraku. “I have to see him.”

  “They’ve doubled the guards,” he said. “I can get you through one last time, but you’ll have to make it brief.”

  “Why must we sneak around like that? Those guards are no match for either of us.”

  “Where will you go if you lose favour with Mori-dono?”

  She had no answer.

  They walked briskly towards the infirmary. She felt the dorako’s angry stare as she passed it, but the beast remained silent, watchful. Several students examined the beast at a distance. They noticed her and bowed. She bowed in response.

  The Mori samurai stood rigid at the door, not noticing either of them. The Mori samurai stood rigid at the door. Dōraku hesitated.

  “I can only take one of you past them…”

  “I’ll… I’ll wait here,” said Nagomi. “I already saw him.”

  Dōraku nodded. He pressed his fingers together and whispered a quick incantation, then gestured at Satō to follow him quietly. She walked between the entranced samurai, as if invisible, entered the infirmary and closed the door behind her, leaving the Swordsman on guard.

  Bran was asleep, lying on his back. She sat down by the side of his bed and sighed.

  “Why did you fly away, Bran?” she said quietly, careful not to wake him up. “And what have you returned for?”

  She reached out to touch his hair. “Was it just to warn us about something? That dragon that got you, or…?”

  His breath was ragged, breaking. She looked around. In the light of a single candle she saw that the walls were clean, bearing no mark of the blood ritual. Yet somehow, she could still sense the soft pulsing of the invisible runes.

  “There’s so much I have to tell you…” she continued, her pent-up emotions spilling out as if a dam in her heart had suddenly broken open. “So much has happened. But what was I supposed to do? I didn’t have a dragon to jump on and flee Yamato. I had to stay and live here… Should I have waited your return, like a good Dejima Wife?”

  His silence made her irrationally angry.

  “I was destitute, orphaned, banished, I had no clan and no money, and all of it thanks to you!” she cried.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He opened his eyes — there was anguish in them that cut right through her.

  Satō put a hand to her mouth. “I…I didn’t mean to…!”

  He sat up slowly, and leaned against the wall.

  “You’re right,” he said. He spoke so quietly she could barely hear him, weighing each word, pausing. “Everywhere I go, I bring nothing but trouble.”

  “That’s not true.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

  Why am I crying?

  “My Father…he warned me against stagnation. You brought us change. Things started moving, when once they were stuck in a rut.”

  He forced a smile.

  “Things seem to have been moving around even more while I wasn’t here.”

  “How much… how much do you know already?” she asked with bated breath.

  “Dōraku told me what happened to you in Satsuma… and what you did for me today,” Bran said. “You shouldn’t have done it. It’s just a leg.”

  He doesn’t know about Shōin, she realized, half relieved, half anxious.

  “I thought you couldn’t fly without it,” she said.

  “So what? I would still be alive.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it? Show me.”

  He unravelled the yukata, baring his left leg. It was whole, the skin had healed perfectly, pale and bald where the scars had mende
d. All over his thigh and knee ran a long, winding, black pattern of the Blood Runes, carved deep into the skin, like a tattoo. She gasped at the sight.

  “I know,” Bran said, chuckling. “It’s an odd souvenir.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shrugged. “A small price to pay. What matters is that you are unharmed.”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I am forever in your debt.”

  “I am… I am really glad it worked.” she said. Her voice now as quiet as his.

  He leaned closer. “If there is anything I can do to thank you…”

  She felt his hot breath on her face. Her heart raced. Their eyes met — and, a moment later, their lips. Their tongues danced, their breath quickened. Bran ran his fingers through Satō’s short hair, down her face. One of his hands caressed her back, the other moved down from her face to her neck, and then lower, to where her kimono parted…

  She pushed him away.

  “What’s wrong…?”

  “I can’t — ” she searched for words, but her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings, racing and breaking. “I’m — I’m not…”

  She bit her lips. How do I tell him?

  The door slammed opened. She stood up, adjusting her kimono swiftly.

  “We have to go,” Dōraku said.

  “Wait — ” Bran wouldn’t let go of her hand. “Go where? Why can’t you stay here? What’s going on behind that door?”

  The Fanged scowled, impatient. “The guards will wake at any moment.”

  “I’m sorry, Bran,” she slipped her hand out of his grasp. “I know it must be confusing.” She walked to the door and turned around for a moment. “There are things…I will try to visit you…. I may be — ”

  She ran out of the room mid-sentence.

  The door slid shut, and Bran was left alone and baffled in the twilit room. He sighed, closed his eyes and linked with Emrys.

  He studied the surroundings through the dragon’s senses. It was a broad, sandy courtyard, surrounded by low, long buildings on all sides, and a tall stone wall beyond — some kind of military compound, Bran guessed. He counted a dozen samurai, in pairs, guarding entrances to the main buildings. He did not recognize the markings on their clothes, or on the flags on the walls: three circles under a straight line.

  There were other men, too. Some walking about the place purposefully, avoiding the dragon in the middle of the compound, others opposite, trying to get close to Emrys with lanterns and devices of copper and glass which reminded Bran of the measuring apparatus he had seen the Satsuma wizard use on the mistfire boat.

  A school of wizardry, he thought. A tiny one. Through the dragon’s attuned senses he could see the magic energies of the place, and of the men around him.

  Of course — where else would Satō end up… but why isn’t she in Satsuma?

  He bade Emrys fly up, the wind from his wings scattering the scientific devices, and their owners, aside. The samurai guards cowered behind pillars; the wizards shouted in excitement. He ignored them all.

  Where am I?

  There wasn’t much that he could see in the quickly falling night. A castle keep on a hill, and a small city sprawling beneath, down to the sea… a narrow strait, a dark shadow of a hill on the other side… a small, ship-shaped island to the south…

  I know this place.

  The dragon refused to fly nearer to the island. It, too, recognized the location — but even more so, it felt the faint remnant of the sinister presence.

  Ganryūjima. I’m back where I started.

  He grew tired. He bade the dragon return, once again scaring away the wizards from the courtyard. He noticed Satō, standing firm in front of Emrys, unflinching. A fleeting emotion ran through the dragon’s beastly mind. Anger.

  Why?

  Bran searched through the dragon’s memories. It wasn’t easy, but he caught a glimpse of a red orb in Satō’s hand.

  The Tide Jewel.

  “It’s all right, Emrys,” he sent a soothing thought. “I gave it to her. She’s a… a friend. Just a friend.”

  Another wizard emerged from the shadow, standing right behind Satō, a young boy — younger than Bran, short and timid-looking. He put a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder and said something. She turned to him and they disappeared together inside a small house.

  Just a friend.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Two black palanquins waited in front of the infirmary, surrounded by a throng of Chōfu samurai. Lord Mori was taking no chances. The path leading from the building to the gate was cut off by a row of armed men.

  Satō watched as the guards escorted Bran outside. He squinted and shaded his eyes from the sun. He looked sad and comical in a too-big yukata he’d borrowed from one of the medical students.

  She marched straight at the line of the samurai. One of them tried to stop her.

  “You can’t come — ”

  She pressed her hand to his chest. His breastplate crackled with frost.

  “Let me through or the next thing to freeze will be your heart.”

  The samurai looked back at his commander. Kunishi rolled his eyes and waved at him to let the wizardess pass.

  “Satō!” Bran beamed at her. “Are you coming with us to see the daimyo?”

  She got close to him, so that nobody else could hear them.

  “You don’t have to do this, Bran,” she whispered.

  “Do what?” he stared at her. “This is just an audience, isn’t it? I spoke to daimyos before.”

  “This isn’t Satsuma. Mori-dono is not as keen on foreigners as Nariakira.”

  “You worry too much. What can they do to me now that I have Emrys back?” he smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

  He reached out a hand to her face, but she swerved to avoid his touch.

  “Just… be careful,” she said and quickly turned back to hide her embarrassment.

  Another domain capital, another daimyo’s palace… Bran felt like a monkey in a travelling menagerie, carried from town to town to perform. At least he was spared the humiliation of being shown on the main streets of the city. He journeyed, once again, incognito, in an enclosed, stuffy palanquin.

  In the middle of Yamato summer, the inside of the vehicle was even worse to bear, hot like the inside of a furnace, and filled with the smell of sweat condensing on the thick black cotton curtains. By the time the cavalcade arrived at its destination, his cotton yukata was soaked through.

  “I can’t see the daimyo like this,” he said, after emerging from the palanquin. “I need a bath.”

  “There’s no time,” said the boy leaving the other palanquin. He was the boy whom Bran had seen the other night with Satō.

  Shōin-something.

  “Besides, to us, you foreigners smell no matter how much you bathe.”

  He smiled, but Bran knew it wasn’t exactly a joke. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve, but it was a futile gesture. The garden around them, overgrown with densely canopied maple and ash trees, was almost as hot and humid as the inside of the palanquin.

  A haughty-looking samurai came out to greet them. His bow was the slightest of nods, his face frozen in a badly concealed scoff.

  “It is great honour to host the daimyo in my house,” the samurai said to nobody in particular. The meaning was clear: “my position in the domain is high, and don’t you forget it”. Bran guessed this was aimed at the boy beside him, rather than himself.

  As they walked through the garden, he recalled Satō’s words before his departure. He was keen to dismiss them as needless worry. This whole Lord Mori could not have been all that bad: like Nariakira, he funded a school of Rangaku, he tolerated Satō and others’ presence in his capital — even Dōraku’s. At the very least, that meant he was not an ally to the Taikun or the Eight-headed Serpent. How dangerous could a man like him be?

  And yet Nariakira wanted to kill Satō, he remembered, and his blood ran cold.

  After they entere
d the vestibule, the nobleman turned around and stared, unashamedly, at Bran. He seemed taken aback by the fact that the dragon rider remembered to take off his sandals before stepping onto the straw floor; he looked like somebody who’d had the punch-line of a joke taken away.

  He led them down the corridor. The door at the end opened, and for a moment, Bran thought they were facing yet another retainer, before he realized the truth. The young man sitting on a dais in the middle of the room, barely in his twenties, was Lord Mori himself.

  The councillors surrounding him were all old, hoary-headed, wrinkle-faced men — Bran guessed they’d been inherited from the previous lord’s entourage. The tension in the room was tangible, even before Bran and Shōin crossed the threshold and prostrated themselves before the daimyo.

  “Rise,” said Lord Mori in a tired, gruff voice.

  He studied Bran in silence for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Can you really speak our language?” he asked.

  “Yes, kakka.”

  “Is that one of your Rangaku powers?”

  “No, kakka. That talent was bestowed upon me by the Spirits of the Suwa Shrine, in Kiyō, when I first arrived in Yamato.”

  “Ah, I see,” the daimyo replied, and turned to one of his councillors. “You were right, Murata. Our Yamato magic is still good for something.”

  The plum-faced councillor bowed with a faint, forced smile.

  “Ah, but what a poor host I am! You must both be thirsty after all this talk.”

  He clapped twice, and the servants brought in bottles of saké, pots of cha, and plates of small salty biscuits.

  “So you’ve been to Yamato before?” Lord Mori asked, reaching for a cracker.

  “Two months ago I was shipwrecked in Kiyō. I left a month later.”

  “And now you’ve returned. Do you not know what the laws of this land say about foreigners?”

  “I am aware, kakka, but I had no choice. I had to warn my friends of the danger they’re facing.”

  The daimyo pointed to Shōin. “Is Yoshida-sama one of your friends?”

  “No. I mean, I haven’t known him before. I came to see Takashima-sama.”

  “Ah, of course. She’s from Kiyō, too. That makes sense. Each to his own, I suppose…” He scratched his chin. “This warning. I assume it’s something that concerns more than just the fate of your… friend.”