“You are sure he is part of this?” he queried.
“Yes. He is important and….”
“And?”
“Nothing. Talk to him Brother,” she whispered.
“I know little of his words, you understand much more than I, but if you think it important I will try. It seems unlikely that he will be of any help though. I do not think he is the altruistic type.”
“You doubt my ability still Brother?”
“No, but I wonder if you have not been influenced by a handsome face,” Hayato smiled and squeezed his sister’s hand playfully. “I will try if that is what you wish, but I remember little of what our father’s friend taught us.”
The door at the far end of the prison opened and the guard shouted for Mizuki to leave. She lifted the shawl over her head once more and kissed her brother’s hand.
“I will try and return. Take your medicine and rest to regain your strength,” she urged and moved away. Opposite the foreigner she stopped and she pushed her spirit towards him.
Thom felt the girl enter his mind and body. The sensation made him shudder with both pleasure and fear. He had never experienced such before. It was as though her very soul had joined with his and it both soothed and excited him; a contradiction he tried to tell himself was impossible, yet as he gazed into her black, liquid eyes he felt himself melting within them. He held a hand out to her willing her to take it.
“Are you real Angel?” he asked out loud.
In response he beheld a blink of her eyelids briefly covering those chocolate irids that blazed into his heart and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if a cool hand drifted down his spine.
She took his hand and whispered some words in that strange language he had no hope of understanding and yet somehow he knew exactly what she had said and her words gave him both strength and courage.
Then she was gone, hurrying away towards the waiting guard and out of sight.
“She sister,” Hayato said and Thom started, surprised at hearing his own language, the spell of the faerie broken once more.
“She is Gifted,” he said stupidly.
“Gift-ed? I not understand.” Hayato admitted, struggling to comprehend the man’s accent.
“She has the power. The ability to speak inside my head. Telepathy, do you know what I speak of?”
Hayato stared frustratedly. The words of the stranger meant nothing to him.
“She Sen…,” he stopped himself from finishing, after all he did not know this man or whether he could be trusted. “She think you good.”
“Good? Me? Hardly. Your Lord wants me dead. I have no doubt that he will execute me and take my ship.” Thom paused and sighed. “You do not understand me my friend do you? Yet you know a little of my language. Your sister is very beautiful. I wish I could know her better. I am Thom Devlin. And your name is?”
“Oyama Hayato, son of Lord Oyama Naoki,” Hayato replied catching only the last of the stranger’s words. He spoke with a hint of defiant pride in his voice.
Thom studied his fellow prisoner carefully and finally realised this was the man he had seen in the horse drawn cage. This was the man that Kurohoshi had defeated and that made the lovely girl he had just shared a mind with the warlord’s reluctant bride.
“Dear Lord Abyssi,” Thom gasped. “You poor sod! Well, Hayato tis a pleasure to be acquainted with you. I only regret that we are both destined for execution otherwise I think we may have been friends.”
Hayato, still had little knowledge of what the foreigner said. He grasped only snippets from the conversation, but the word friends he remembered.
“Friends, yes. I friend Mr Devlin,” he smiled and, for the first time since his defeat on the battlefield, felt that the tide might yet turn though he knew of no reason for such a conviction.
“Kapitan Devlin, Sir. I am a Kapitan,” Thom grinned back.
Hayato nodded his understanding. “Why Kurohoshi want ship?” he continued after searching his memory for the words.
“Ha, he wants the gold he thinks is aboard her,” Thom answered and then repeated it more simply, “For gold.”
“Gold on ship?”
“Oh yes. I have plenty of gold on that yon Brig,” the Kapitan laughed. They fell silent for some moments. Hayato because he was trying to remember the words of a language his father had thought it useful to know and which he had rebelled, quite successfully, against learning. He wished now that he had paid more attention as Karasu and Mizuki had done. Thom because he was mulling over the threat that Kurohoshi had made and the fate of his hard won spoils. He sighed loudly and pressed his head against the bars.
“He will spare my life if I give him the gold,” he said as much to himself as to his cellmate.
“Wise to do so,” Hayato replied the beginnings of an idea forming in his brain. “You belong ship?” he added.
“What? Yes, the Rose is mine and the two years of plunder within her hold,” the pirate confirmed wistfully.
“Gold no good if dead. Tell of ship. Is she, how you say, stem ship?”
“A what? Steam ship do you mean?”
Hayato laughed at his mistake and nodded rapidly a habit that Thom had seen many of the Ashiman do and it always amused him. He smiled despite his increasing depression.
“No she’s not a steam ship. She’s a sailing Brig. Quite lovely and fast for her size. You would never get a steamer out here. Nowhere to pick up coal you see. Srelencha is the last place I saw any steamers. Probably why you get little trade with Imperial merchants. Most have turned to steam now.” He stopped and seeing the confused expression on Hayato’s face realised the man had not understood a word of what he had just said. He laughed.
“Sorry Hayato. I ramble on. The Rose is a sailing ship. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes. No steam,” Hayato laughed back. He studied the foreigner carefully. They were of an age he could tell, but the Kapitan was taller than he and his skin was tanned dark from his life at sea, his dark brown hair showing lighter streaks where the sun had bleached it. He had it fastened into a pony tail though one or two strands had escaped now. Hayato thought him a handsome man in a foreign way and hoped briefly that Mizuki’s reasons for wanting to help the Kapitan were solely as she had expressed.
“You are right. The gold is no good if I am dead. But hell, it riles, knowing tis lost.” Thom’s muttered frustratedly.
Hayato continued to study his fellow prisoner. He had not asked where the gold came from and supposed it may not be from honest toil. The Kapitan did not have the look of the merchant sailors he had met when visiting the port at Kyo-To-Shi with his father. He was too young for a start. But something in his manner appealed, along with the humour in his dark eyes, evident despite his predicament and the obvious frustration at being incarcerated. The foreigner had not lost his sense of humour.
“I like you Kapitan Devlin. I help,” he offered.
Thom looked his way and smirked. How could this battered and beaten man help him? He may be the son of a powerful man, but he was defeated and a prisoner also. Yet he felt flattered by the offer and gracious enough to admit it.
“Thank you Sir, but you too are a prisoner. I cannot see how you can help. It may have escaped your notice, but your position appears many times worse than mine.”
“You help me. I get gold,” Hayato continued not grasping what his cellmate had just said.
Thom stared at him. He could not see a way in which either of them could help each other. “Why? Why would you help me?” he asked at length.
Hayato struggled to find a reply and when he did he knew the words were inadequate and likely to be misunderstood, but they were the best he could come up with.
“Sister think you good,” he said.
Thom grinned broadly.
“I think she’s alright as well,” he returned with a knowing expression and a wink and Hayato knew he had not understood his meaning but was at a loss to explain otherwise.
FOURTEE
N
Karasu climbed warily upon the bay horse that Jun insisted he ride. The General had argued that the distance to Hana-Shi-Ku was too far to walk. Reluctantly Karasu agreed and he nervously hoisted himself into the saddle of the skittish animal. It had been a long time since had sat astride a horse, not since he was a boy, and he had never been comfortable in a saddle.
The animal wheeled and tugged at its bit totally aware that the man upon his back was afraid, a novice and therefore fair game. Karasu gathered up the reins and pulled hard on the horse’s mouth, but the beast was having none of it and with a piercing squeal it kicked its back legs upwards and out, unseated the rider and threw him to the floor. The Samurai laughed and the animal snorted and tossed its head with satisfaction. Karasu pulled himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his clothes. He scowled at the horse and made a lunge for the reigns, but it was too quick for him and set off down the lane at a spirited canter. The young ronin threw his arms out in a display of frustration as the laughter burst out around him once more.
“We will find you a better tempered ride Karasu-san,” Jun chuckled and sent one of his men after the runaway bay.
“Good. Something old with no spirit would suit. I never was a good horseman and it has been six years since I sat in the saddle. Please, have pity on me General,” Karasu begged with good humour.
Five minutes later and he sat upon a mule, its baggage transferred to the bay which was now in the care of a much worthier master. Though it appeared ridiculous that a priest and a Lord Presidor’s son ride a pack mule, it suited the young man better than the highly strung gelding and the warriors finally set off to seek vengeance.
They travelled for half a day reaching the main trading road through the mountains just after noon and as the first storm clouds began to gather with the promise of rain. The air had reached its familiar sweltering humidity that high summer brought and men and beast alike were feeling the heat. They stopped at a village and bought rice and green tea from a farm. The owner thought it strange to see so many men riding together and though they were dressed as farmers and traders he thought they had the look of soldiers. However, he was a careful man and it would not be he who asked the questions that might just see his head roll. He supplied them with the rice they asked for, watched them load the sacks onto their animals, was paid and then returned to his hay cutting before the rain set in. The two hundred men and horses left his village and he was glad of it.
After a meal break and another two hours riding through torrential rain the column of men split into two where the road forked and the larger group headed south towards Kiki Province. The smaller, a band of only ten, headed north. They were bound for Hana-Shi-Ku.
The ten reached the walls of the First City of Ubu Province at dusk on the third day. They were hot, sweaty and fatigued, but as the sun dipped behind the great volcano, casting its eternal cloud of steaming gases in pinkish hue, they were filled with a sense of uneasy anticipation. From the shelter of a stand of trees, where they were hidden from the wall guards, Jun stared back at the volcano and muttered a prayer to himself.
“Nervous my friend?” Karasu asked his face lightened by a half smile.
Jun grunted recognising the mocking tone. “You should be also Shukke. This is not a venture to be taken lightly. The mountain Kami are angry. I like not the signs here,” he uttered lowly.
Karasu gazed at the domineering mountain also, his mind contemplative. He nodded his understanding of Furuki’s discomfort. There was a shadow here, an oppression that had little to do with the volcano so near to the city, but at the same time had everything to do with the Kami within it. He suppressed a shudder and then smiled at his companion.
“We should split up here and find lodgings. It would look odd for ten men to be travelling together. We should meet up some place to talk tomorrow. Do you know the city?” he asked.
“A little. It is a long time since I was here. But you are right. We will disperse. There are a number of eating houses and inns near to the harbour. We should find somewhere there to meet up, but we must be careful. Kurohoshi will have ears everywhere,” Jun replied.
“Agreed. Well then, I think groups of three or four are unremarkable enough to not rouse suspicion,” Karasu proposed.
“Yes. Taku and I will stay with you. The others will split up until tomorrow.”
Karasu opened his mouth to object that he did not need the protection of the two warriors, in fact, he had hoped to enter the city alone, but a hard stare from the First Samurai cut off his protest. Instead he listened quietly while Furuki gave orders to his men, telling them to make their way to the harbour at noon and look for Taku who would be standing outside their meeting place. In two groups the men disbanded and headed at intervals into the city. Jun, Taku and Karasu did not speak to each other but waited and watched until the last of the disguised Samurai had disappeared through the city gates. Then they waited until darkness had truly descended before urging their mounts forwards.
It became evident that it was not unusual for numbers of people to enter Hana-Shi-Ku at all times of day as the travellers were barely given a second glance by the guards on the gates. In fact another group of horsemen followed themselves under the walls. A busy city and port always held many strangers amidst its natives.
Karasu allowed his mule to drop behind his companions and follow from the back where he could take in the lay of the city and use his extraordinary senses to gauge the mood and atmosphere of the place. What he perceived surprised him. He had expected to find the inhabitants of Hana-Shi-Ku proud of their victorious leader and his army. To be basking in his reflected glory and enjoying the increased affluence that should by rights have fallen upon them. But instead, he sensed fear and subjugation and he saw extreme poverty all around him. By stark contrast to his father’s rule, it seemed that Kurohoshi governed through oppression and intimidation. No doubt the riches lay with a few powerful men and the army. The people were little more than surfs.
“It shocks you this place?” Taku asked lowly as he fell back to ride next to the ronin.
“A little, yes. I had expected more affluence and happiness. After all this is a conquering Province. Yet I sense more fear here than I have ever perceived.”
Taku smiled grimly and nodded. “You have not seen much of the world Oyama-san. Your father was a rare breed. A fair man. It is unusual in someone with power. This is nearer the norm and yet it is worse. I have heard that the citizens of Hana-Shi-Ku live in constant terror of displeasing their Presidor. He is rumoured to kill for the fun of it, to execute a man and his entire family for non-payment of taxes. And as I look around me Oyama-san, I see only poverty and wonder at how such people afford the levies he imposes. It makes my blood boil.”
Karasu said nothing in reply, but understood fully the warrior’s sentiment. They carried on in silence through narrow winding streets lined with crude wooden hovels until the road opened into a wide square at the far end of which lay the harbour. They halted and scanned the scene. The Samurai looking for a suitable inn, Karasu gazing at a ship moored at the far end of the southern mole.
“Over there. That looks good enough. Karasu?” Jun nodded towards a long low inn, the only one actually at the harbour front.
“Uhh? Sorry. Yes, it will do if they have space,” he replied and returned to staring at the shadow of the foreign vessel through the faint glow of torchlight. It was exactly as Mizuki had described to him and though he was amazed to have actually found it; the sight filled him with optimism. He smiled and patted Taku on the back. “Come, let us get food and rest,” he urged his mule forwards and after sharing a smile at his sudden exuberance the others followed.
The next day Karasu watched with interest the activities around the foreign Brig. He had reached out for his sister during the night, but to his concern there had been nothing in return, yet he sensed her presence. The lack of response worried him and in the morning he rose early and forsaking breakfast took a stroll around
the harbour and its environs. He exchanged pleasantries with a few workers all of whom recognised his garb as an outcast priest and treated him with civil reverence and not a little curious awe.
From these people he learned when the vessel had arrived and a little of the crew who the townsfolk described as noisy, rough and having too much of a liking for drink and women. One man told of how he had forbidden his daughter from walking anywhere near the harbour until the foreigners were gone for fear of her honour. It became evident that the poor citizens of Hana-Shi-Ku feared the uncouth visitors just as they did their masters and Karasu wondered how much of that additional anxiety was truly warranted. A part of him doubted his sister’s judgement, the part that always rebelled against her superior power. So he set himself against the sea wall, as near to the Brig as he dare be without raising suspicion and watched, for hours.
By two after noon he had witnessed the return to the ship of several bleary eyed and unshaven men, some holding onto each other as if afraid they may fall without support. He saw a group of soldiers arrive along with a richly dressed, tallish man to whom they deferred and took orders from and a short, timid looking man with thinning hair and a deferential stance. Karasu witnessed an exchange of conversation between the latter and a black skinned sailor upon the ship. Shortly afterwards a large, sandy haired, young man arrived on deck and shouted down at them. The ronin could not catch the words that were shouted, they drifted out to sea on the offshore breeze, but he gathered from the posturing that the exchange was heated.
The big sailor stormed down onto the quayside and gesticulated wildly turning redder in the face and the little man, who was evidently a translator, hung his head as if ashamed as he spoke for his master. After ten minutes or so, the foreign sailor seemed to slump and he nodded his head. The Ashiman contingency bowed and turned away. As they passed Karasu he noted how the richly dressed leader smiled with satisfaction and how the translator wore a miserable, shamefaced expression. His myopic eyes locked with those of the ronin’s momentarily and he bowed his head reverently before scurrying on to keep up with the others. Behind them on the quayside the sandy haired foreigner watched them disappear before returning to the ship.
Raven's Quest Page 9
