“Marry him! But you cannot,” Hayato heaved himself up onto his left arm wincing at the pain in his ribs and head, fearful of what he had heard. Mizuki’s hands arrested him instantly, preventing him from struggling further. She pursed her lips and hushed him into quietness.
“Shhh, not so loud. He is not far away. I have spoken with Karasu. All may not be lost, but we must survive Brother. We must stay together.”
Hayato narrowed his almond eyes as he struggled to make the connection. He had never fully understood this bond his siblings shared, though he was often envious of it. As children Mizuki and Karasu had always seemed so much closer to each other than to him. Partly because they were twins, partly because of their Sennjo spirit. He knew they communicated with each other without voice. It had led to mischief many a time when they were young. But always he felt left out, alienated in some way, although their affection for him was as deep as his for them. The fact that he could not share in this unworldly discourse both troubled and frightened him. He often had thought his brother and sister were not human children at all, but the faeries he had feared as a small child. And though five years older than they he had often feared they might cast a spell and transport him to the world where the Kami dwelt, robbing him of his earthly life.
Now he was a man such superstitions no longer haunted him, but still he experienced a jealous tweak at his heart when Mizuki mentioned contacting her twin.
“What do you think he can do Mizuki? He is a trainee priest. He takes his pledge in three weeks time. A promise to a life of abstinence and peace. His world knows no violence and war has no place in it. Have you asked him to break his vows to come and do what? Join his brother in a dungeon? Meet his own death?” Hayato chided.
“No Brother. I cannot explain for I do not understand it myself, but it is meant to be. Karasu is meant to look for us. I know this. There is something happening here in our homeland. Something that is not divine and we are part of it,” Mizuki whispered mysteriously.
If it had been anyone else saying these words Hayato would have thrown his head back and laughed, but his sister’s feelings had often been worth heeding; her predictions more than an active imagination.
“You think there is some Kami at work here?” he asked at length.
Mizuki shrugged. “I think there are several Kami at work and not all are benign. It feels heavy, like the air before a typhoon. We have a part to play.”
“And this tyrant, Kurohoshi? What is his role? You cannot really intend to bend to his will and marry him. I cannot let you. It is not just the thought of him with you, but what if he found out that you are Sennjo. He would surely kill you.”
Mizuki smiled. “There is time yet and I am well practised at hiding my ability. He is a strange man. He wants me yet he sees the need for the ritual of marriage. I feared he would…,” she lowered her eyes suddenly embarrassed. “But it is not so. He is oddly pious and superstitious about offending the Kami. I think if I was any other woman he would have defiled me and cast me aside, but because he wishes me to be his bride, I have to remain pure and untouched. He thinks that by marrying me the Lords of the Southern Provinces are less likely to oppose him. He may be correct.
“Anyhow, he will take us to Hana-shi-ku and there I will be placed in isolation for the prenuptial period. The rites will be said and I will be bound to him, but we still have four weeks before the marriage can take place. I think it will be long enough.”
“But the isolation. Even if Karasu can find you, how will he get to you? The women’s rooms are well guarded after the rites are said. He would be killed trying. And what use would I be? I can hardly stand on this leg. It is broken I fear, as are some ribs. You think Kurohoshi will allow you to treat me and spare me the humiliation of public execution? He may do so, but I have no doubt I will remain a prisoner to my dying day. Oh Sister, I fear you have sold yourself for nothing,” Hayato lamented despondently unable to appreciate the optimism she so evidently felt. He thought he should trust her insight, but it seemed so impossible.
She bent forward and kissed his face. “Trust me,” she smiled and helping him to sit she began to clean and dress his wounds.
SIX
Karasu sat alone in his cell for two days trying to piece together the meaning behind his sister’s message. That she and his brother were in danger he had no doubt. But what he was to do now he had no idea. Though he too was Sennjo, his powers were not as profound as hers. He could converse with her without effort. He understood her emotions without being near her. Could tell if she was happy, sad or fearful and he had experienced immediately the terror she experienced, followed by cautious relief. He shared with her the grief for their departed father and concern for their brother, but the other things he did not understand. He had never known prophetic visions. He could not see what the future held, but he could read people. If not exactly what they thought, at least their moods and he had a sense of important occurrences. Not exactly a premonition, just a distant nagging at his soul.
Sitting cross-legged on his tatami mat Karasu had spent much of the last forty-eight hours in silent conversation with his twin. Not that they actually spoke, it was more a sharing of minds, an opening into each other’s world, so that he perceived exactly what she did and vice versa.
At the end of his self imposed confinement, Karasu knew he must leave his safe harbour, must seek his siblings and save them from the catastrophe that loomed like a dark shadow in the recess of Mizuki’s mind. Quite what that catastrophe was he had no comprehension, for as yet neither did his sister, but through her he understood that it would affect not only his family, but all of Ashima.
Karasu shuddered at the dawning significance of what he must do. He was afraid of leaving the Sento Temple he had called his home for the last six years, but there could be no other way. He must trade priest for ronin and he must do it now.
He jumped to his feet and left the cell, making his way through the whitewashed corridors of the monks’ living quarters, towards the main shrine where he knew the brethren would now be at prayer. He would join them and then speak with the Saishu immediately afterwards. He could leave tomorrow all being well. There was little time to lose.
Out in the bright sunlight Karasu was struck by the sudden warmth of the summer’s day. It had been refreshingly cool inside the temple buildings and he had forgotten how sultry the air outside became at this time of year. He glanced at the surrounding mountains noting the storm clouds gathering to the south; another summer squall. Every day was the same through the rainy season. The sun would shine through the morning, but by mid-day the humidity levels had grown and dark clouds would build all around. By two after noon the heavens would pour forth their daily deluge, often accompanied by thunder and lightning. Sometimes the rain would last for hours.
He ran across the courtyard and bowed deeply and reverently at the twin statues of Inari, before removing his slippers and sliding into the sanctity of the main shrine. Before the gaudy altar the fifty or so monks of his order knelt, hands together and eyes closed, each chanting prayers to the Kami that looked over this place.
A breeze picked up and swirled the incense smoke that until then had coiled lazily from its burner, chimes tinkled and the rustling of Acer leaves cast new music into the red and gold shrine, blending in harmonic sympathy with the low chanting. Karasu felt the tranquillity of the shrine wash over him and with it an immense sadness knowing that he must leave. He took his place beside his mentor, Yoshino, and joined in the prayers. He asked whatever Kami were listening to watch over his sister and brother and to give him the strength to do what he must. He asked for forgiveness for leaving his brethren and turning his back upon the way of pacific servitude and sacrifice. He would become impure once more, tainted by death and the vices of all mortal beings. The recognition of what he must become half terrified him. The knowledge that he may have to kill another being he found abhorrent, yet this was his destiny and who was he to question the will of the Kami?
As he prayed tears fell onto the wooden floor beneath him. He cried for a lost life, for a lost father and through fear of the unknown. And as Karasu wept, Yoshino glanced sideways at his pupil and interpreting the emotions he saw as merely grief reached out a comforting arm and rubbed the young man’s shoulders. Poor child, the teacher thought, to lose one’s family was a dreadful thing and to be far away when it happened always led to feelings of guilt and doubled the sense of loss.
A bell tolled, the brethren stood with a final flurry of bowing to the brilliant gold and red altar and began to disseminate, moving through the open pillars into the courtyard and to their various tasks. Yoshino made to speak to his apprentice, but the lad dashed away from him towards the Saishu, leaving the older priest shocked at his rudeness and perturbed.
“Saishu-san! Saishu, please wait,” Karasu called as he ran to the head priest, his tone desperate. The Saishu turned and lingered long enough for the boy to reach him. He noticed that the apprentice had not replaced his slippers and frowned at the lack of etiquette. It was out of character and worried him, but he had known this day would come. As Karasu drew level the head priest turned and commenced his walk.
“You have forgotten your slippers Karasu. Your desire for an interview must indeed be great,” he said quietly and smiled as the apprentice priest faltered, glanced rapidly at his bare feet and, with a shake of his head, trotted to catch up to his master.
“Come, we will walk through the gardens,” the Saishu added and clasped his hands behind his back as the young man matched his stride.
They ambled in silence through neatly clipped topiary of pine and box and entered the splendid dappled shade of the surrounding Acer woods, following a cobbled path.
“Well Karasu, what is it you wish to say to me? It is to do with your family? I am correct am I not?”
Karasu sucked in a deep breath and took a long look at his holy companion before he spoke. He tried to read the old man’s emotions, but the mind was closed to him. He sighed and stopped walking, leaning one hand upon the knarled trunk of an ancient tree.
“I must leave here Saishu-san. My sister and brother need me. They are prisoners of Lord Kurohoshi and I fear for them,” he said at length.
The Saishu studied his pupil for a moment. He took a seat on a mossy boulder next to where Karasu stood staring at the temple below. They had walked up the hillside track that eventually led out from their sanctuary and into the surrounding mountains.
“You cannot see the future Karasu. None of us can even though we are Sennjo. How do you know that your destiny lay away from here? Has your sister asked you to help her?” the Saishu responded.
“Yes. I know I cannot see her fate, but she sees so much more than I and besides it is what is happening now that causes me to fear for her safety. Lord Kurohoshi is taking her to Hana-Shi-Ku. He plans to marry her. Thankfully he has not touched her yet. He does not wish to anger any Kami and is following the marriage rites. My brother is held a prisoner, although, I think, not for long. I must help them. I must help Hayato regain what is rightfully his.”
“You talk of war. Remember it was war that destroyed our ancestors and the great civilisations that lived not only upon our small islands, but throughout the world. They ravaged the Earth so utterly that she still bears the scars to this day and whole regions are but wastelands. Think of this before you speak of vengeance and restoring what went before.
“It is a tragedy what has befallen your family and your home, but to seek retribution is welcoming evil into your heart. What comes next?
“You are a priest Karasu. You will sully yourself if you turn away from the faith now. You will be outcast from here. You understand that you can never return; that you will become impure? As tragic as the fate of your family is, and I do feel your grief, you must ask yourself, is this what they would want for you? Think of what you lose if you go. Think of what you become,” the Saishu rationalised though he knew he had already lost his disciple.
Karasu looked to the ground and the dust covering his bare feet. He was already sullied. In the heavens above a low, long rumble of thunder echoed around the looming mountains. The first of the day’s rain was fast approaching. A large, black bird rose from the temple roof, crying loudly. Slowly it circled into the air and flew away. A sign.
“It is my destiny Saishu-san. I must leave. There is more to this than pride. My desires are secondary. To turn my back on my family and my people would be unforgivable. I am Lord Oyama’s son. It is my place to restore what is lost. As for being impure, I am already. I have not taken my vows yet,” he argued softly.
“You are ready now to do so Karasu. If you leave you will become ronin. You know that. What is worse, you would be a ronin priest. It is not worthy my son,” Saishu sighed, resigned that he had lost.
“All I ask is your blessing Saishu-san,” the young man replied as his dark eyes fell upon his master. The light that had been Karasu the priest was gone from them. In his place stood a different man, one who though fearful held a steely determination to succeed in his self-imposed task.
“Very well. If I cannot persuade you otherwise then I will give you my blessing.” The head priest rose and with an incanted prayer placed his hand upon the young man’s head as the latter knelt at his feet. He felt immeasurably sad, but at the same time he understood Karasu’s desire. That the apprentice felt there was some other agenda behind his quest, the Saishu had no doubt, yet he still lamented the loss of a pure soul to the vitiated world outside.
“When will you go Karasu?” he asked finally.
“By the close of the week.”
The Saishu nodded solemnly. “You are ronin now,” he said and then turned and headed back to the temple leaving Karasu staring after him.
SEVEN
The Rose had survived the storm but she was a mess. She limped into the bay at Hana-Shi-Ku with rigging hanging in a tangled mass of crisscrossed rope and splintered wood. Her gaff gone, sails torn and lost to the sea, she struggled to make way and was nigh on impossible to control. The helmsman had all on to steer her. Only her rudder and the tide assisted her passage and as such her crew were at the mercy of the sea God Abyssi. It was his will that had let them live, but also it was his will that now sent them to the Ashima archipelago. To a land green and lush from the many rains it endured and as hot and sultry as any more southern clime.
Thom could not believe their luck. Abyssi had certainly been with them. Yet the sailor whose legs had been nearly severed when the gaff gave way had died in the night and the crew, though relieved to be alive, were subdued and exhausted. No one had the energy to man the bilge pumps and as such the Rose lay low in the water, listing heavily to port.
The young Kapitan held onto the poop rail and stared at the mountainous and forested country in front of the drifting ship. Away to the starboard, some five grosmetriles or so distant, lay a city, spreading lowly along the coast line and venturing tentatively into the rolling foothills. A massive, conical volcano soared from amidst the forests dominating the bay and the city below it. A coil of steam vented harmlessly and silently from its summit; a reminder that this was merely a sleeping dragon and not one whose fire had died. Thom stared at the looming mountain, noting that its lower slopes were heavily vegetated with jungle. The sight put his mind at ease. It had been a long time since Terra, the earth God, had sent fire from the belly of this beast.
“Do you think they are friendly Kap’n?” a black skinned man asked as he took his place next to his commander.
“I hope so Josef. But I have never been to this land before. I have heard that they are a civilised people who welcome trade, but few come here from the Westlands. The steamers run out of coal and the sailing ships? Well, look what has happened to us. However, we have little choice. Let us see if we can sail this wreck nearer to yonder city. We need to effect repairs and I have no doubt that the natives will welcome gold in exchange for timber and canvass,” Thom instructed and with a nod Josef
moved to pass the order to the helmsman.
Drifting with the tide the Rose gently and inexorably gained on the city, but it was a painstakingly slow process and Thom watched the sea throughout, waiting for slack water. When it came he knew he would have to drop anchor and sit it out until the tide was with them once more. He doubted they would make harbour on this flood and the brooding clouds to the south worried him. The Brig could not withstand another pounding. He gave the order to steer nearer to the shore, gauging the water deep enough and that the ship would not go aground. He wanted some protection from the shore; to be in its lee when the next storm hit.
As the sun passed its zenith and began to sink towards the mountains the tide reached full flood and the Rose dropped anchor. The crew and her Kapitan sat under the cover of an awning made from a sail with too many holes to afford good shelter. They rested and waited. There seemed little else to do. Thom thought to task some men to the pumps but on second thoughts he let them sleep. The Brig was not shipping water and had not sunk lower. The bilges could wait a few more hours.
Sometime later Mr. Aledd shook his Kapitan from deep slumber. Thom gazed up at him with bleary eyes.
“What? What is it?” he asked thickly.
“Company,” Aledd replied.
Devlin jumped to his feet rubbing his neck and stretching his back as he did so. He joined several other men at the starboard rails and followed their gaze down to the water. Below them bobbed a small fishing boat, its crew of five staring up at the Brig gesticulating and talking rapidly in what Thom could only describe as gibberish.
“What they sayin’ Kap’n?” a scrawny sailor with a long scar across his chin and no teeth asked.
“How the hell should I know Smit? I’m no bloody linguist,” Devlin countered, his tone irritated.
“Sounds like their pissed off though. Shoutin’ a lot ain’t they,” the sailor carried on undeterred and chuckled at the wild arm waving coming from the men in the boat.
Raven's Quest Page 3
