Bridge of Swords

by Duncan Lay

  Sendatsu took a deep breath. He dearly wanted to go home, pretend none of this had happened — or slip back to the tombs, return the scroll and forget all about it. But the truth was, he could not forget. It was too mysterious.

  ‘How would you like to see grandmother Noriko?’ He smiled.

  ‘Your mother spoils those children of yours. Nearly as much as you do.’

  ‘I am pleased to see you also, Father,’ Sendatsu said stiffly.

  He had bathed and dressed the children carefully, made sure they were wearing their best clothes, that Cheijun had his tiny wooden sword tucked into his belt and he had Mai’s doll and Cheijun’s toy bear in his pouch before they arrived at his father’s villa. He told himself this was only prudent and it would make it easier on the children. His mother had been happy to see him but far happier to see the children, and had the servants take them through to the garden while Sendatsu stepped into his father’s study. This had always been a place of punishment and terror when he had been a boy and it was hard not to be haunted by the same feelings now.

  ‘What is the purpose of your visit? Surely not to tell me you have woken up and decided to accept your responsibilities.’

  ‘I am not ready to work for you, Father. The children are still so young and they need me …’

  ‘They need to be fed, clothed and disciplined. Nothing more! They lost a father when Kayiko died, not a mother. You might as well wear a robe rather than a hakama, get a job as a nursemaid to some esemono family for all the good you do this family and your clan! You should be my strong right hand, not a burden and a bitter disappointment.’

  Sendatsu felt the usual flare of anger at his father’s words but had many years of practice at hiding it.

  ‘I did not come here to talk about me, Father — but rather a matter of importance to the Council,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level.

  ‘See what I mean?’ Jaken pushed himself back in his chair, which was as hard and unyielding as its owner, Sendatsu thought as he shifted in his own.

  ‘What, Father?’

  ‘A true son of mine would have fought back against my words. But you, you just sit there and accept it. I tried to harden you up as a child but I can see that failed. You have too much of your mother in you. I am very busy — in part because you do not help me — but I could make time to train your boy. Aroaril knows he can’t be learning how to be a man from his own father …’

  ‘You will never touch Cheijun,’ Sendatsu swore, his voice cracking. ‘He does not need your training.’

  ‘It worked on you, did it not? You were useless as a boy but, by the time of the Tests, you were almost as good as I,’ Jaken mused.

  Sendatsu had to bite his tongue to say nothing. Jaken was determined Sendatsu would live up to his reputation. This meant extra training and a beating if Sendatsu failed, which for his father meant not finishing first. He still bore the scars and the thought of his father doing the same to Cheijun … he would rather die first.

  ‘Still, that seems to have you showing a bit of fire at last,’ Jaken continued. ‘Perhaps there is hope for you. Perhaps I just need to find the right lever to move you …’

  Sendatsu stood. ‘I can see coming here was a mistake,’ he said stiffly. ‘I apologise for wasting your time, Father …’

  ‘Sit down!’

  Sendatsu sat before he could even think of refusing, and before the whip-crack echo of his father’s voice had died away.

  ‘What is it you wanted to tell me?’

  Sendatsu pulled his thoughts together and explained about the tombs, taking the scroll home and what he had found inside.

  ‘I know it was written down and I know it claims to be instructions from our forefathers but still I found it hard to believe. The idea that the barrier was put there to protect the humans from us, not the other way around, that the magic is fading …’

  ‘The Magic-weavers have been spouting this sort of nonsense about the fading magic for many years,’ Jaken dismissed. ‘The Council had to forbid them from speaking of it two centuries ago. The idea of elves without magic — the idea is laughable!’

  ‘But Father, what about the passage where it describes how we will lose magic with each passing generation? Two centuries ago the magic was much stronger. Now there are few who use it in their ordinary lives and fewer still who have the power to become Magic-weavers. You cannot argue against that. And if that is correct then it means the barrier is also fading, will soon be gone. What will happen then?’

  ‘It is all nonsense,’ his father still dismissed.

  ‘I did think that,’ Sendatsu lied. ‘After all, there was also a passage about clan Tadayoshi ruling the elves …’

  He held his breath, expecting to have his head taken off with a torrent of derision but, for once, Jaken looked interested in what he had to say.

  ‘Where is this scroll?’ he asked.

  ‘At my home. Safe.’

  ‘You must get it and bring it back here, at once. I shall have a squad of Council Guards meet us here. Once the Council has it under safekeeping, you must never speak of it again.’

  Jaken grabbed a piece of parchment and began furiously scribbling something.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he snapped.

  Sendatsu still sat. ‘It is true, isn’t it?’ he said softly. ‘It is all true and you seek to hide it.’

  Jaken surged to his feet and loomed over Sendatsu.

  ‘Listen to me, boy,’ he snarled.

  Sendatsu gritted his teeth as he prepared for another lecture. That term always infuriated him. One day he might even tell his father that.

  ‘There is so much you do not understand, that you have chosen to ignore. Dokuzen is balanced on a knife-edge. Only the authority of the Council and the habit of people’s obedience are keeping us from falling apart. If it was to get out that the magic was dying within us and that soon there will be elves born with no more magic in them than a gaijin baby — how would the people react? And most of them think all that stands between their children and hordes of ravening gaijin is the magical barrier around Dokuzen. If they knew that was fading, the people would panic. The barrier is the one constant in every elf’s life. Without it, Dokuzen will fall apart. And what would the Magic-weavers do with this knowledge? They have long lusted for power, sought to overthrow the Council and rule themselves. Why do you think every elf must learn the sword and bow? It is not just to protect us from humans. It allows the clan leaders to summon an army of elves, means the Magic-weavers cannot take power by force. But if the people refuse to obey the orders of the clan leaders, there is nothing to stand between the Magic-weavers and absolute power.’ Jaken paused and looked sternly at Sendatsu. ‘But you don’t want to know all that, do you? You don’t want to think about your every action, try and anticipate what your enemies are doing. You don’t want the responsibility for the safety of an entire people. You would rather play with your children and let your brain rot away.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘We don’t have time for this. Go and get me that scroll, then take your children, go home and forget all about this day. At least you had the sense to come and see me first …’

  Sendatsu tried to compose his face but he was horribly aware he had never been good at creating what the elves called a mask of inscrutability, not letting others read your thoughts on your face.

  ‘You have told another,’ Jaken breathed. ‘Please tell me it was not Asami …’

  Sendatsu thought about lying but knew it was pointless.

  ‘I thought it a children’s tale, or similar. I wanted to know if the passages about magic and the barrier were worth bothering you …’

  ‘You mean you wanted to impress her,’ Jaken spat. ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘That the Magic-weavers would believe it true and she wanted to give it to Sumiko …’

  ‘Sweet Aroaril, boy! If brains were fire, you wouldn’t have enough to light tinder! This scroll must never fall into the ha
nds of the Magic-weavers! The Council thought all those things had been destroyed and what were left in the tombs of our forefathers were relics in different languages. I can see I shall have to take care of what is in there myself …’

  ‘But if it is true, then we cannot hide it away,’ Sendatsu argued. ‘It should be brought to the attention of the full Council. The people need to know — you cannot hide something like this forever.’

  ‘Have you not been listening to me, boy? This does not have to be forever, just long enough for me to gain control of the Council and see clan Tadayoshi rule supreme. Until then not a word of it can get out. Too much is at stake. That knowledge could destroy us all. Now go and get that scroll — I shall have the Council Guards meet you there.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘This is not something for you to worry about. Go now! Your children are waiting.’

  Sendatsu reluctantly stood. As ever, he was leaving his father’s study feeling sick to the stomach. This was nearly as bad as the time when Jaken had informed him he would not be allowed to marry Asami.

  ‘Move, boy!’

  Jaken hustled him out of the office and towards the front door.

  ‘I’ll just tell Mai and Cheijun where I am going.’ Sendatsu took a pace back to where he could hear their voices.

  ‘You will be back within a turn of the hourglass. They will not even miss you. Go!’ Jaken propelled him onwards.

  Sendatsu tried to set his feet. The voices were closer, he wanted to wait for a few more moments and he was sure he could see their faces. As ever, after talking to his father, he needed a way to lift the darkness inside him and his children were the only way he knew to do that. But while he trained with sword and bow every day, his father was just as strong — and twice as determined.

  ‘Hurry back.’ Jaken pushed him out of the door.

  Sendatsu, looking back, thought he almost saw his children; he could hear them clearly — then the door shut and they were lost to him.

  Heart still heavy, he turned and hurried back home.

  2

  When we arrived in this land, we found the people warm and welcoming. The north-east, where we landed, was either hilly or covered in forest and few people were living there. They were happy to let us settle. Here we were able to use magic and our knowledge to turn the land to our advantage. We were a curious mix. We still retained some of the building and masonry habits and culture of our Elfaran forefathers, yet our food, farming and fighting techniques came from the Nipponese, the people among whom the Elfarans had first found a home.

  This was a golden time when we exchanged information with the people we found here. Yet already we were splitting. Some of us wanted to live among the people here, while others built a magnificent city for us. It wasn’t clear at the time, but already we had reached a dangerous fork in the road.

  When Sendatsu arrived home, he raced into the main reception room. In most elven villas this was a large, airy room, with a scatter of couches and the place where noble elves would receive guests. Here, it was filled with Mai and Cheijun’s toys, clothes and a scatter of dirty plates the servants had missed beneath the children’s mess. Beside a couch, on a small wooden table, was the scroll, just as he left it.

  Sendatsu lifted it, then hesitated. He had promised to bring it to Asami if his father failed to take it seriously. Perhaps he should do something with this knowledge, show his father that he could not be pushed around. The only time he had stood up to Jaken was over the children. Instead of leaving them with servants, or his mother, to run errands for Jaken and supervise his many landholdings, mines and fishing vessels, he had declared he would look after Mai and Cheijun. But the thought of being at the front of this political battle terrified him. This would tear apart Dokuzen and he would be at the heart of it. That was too much to ask him to do. Not even for Asami. No, he would hurry back to his father’s villa, deliver the scroll, pick up the children and forget all about it. Much safer.

  ‘Is that the scroll?’ Asami asked.

  Sendatsu nearly dropped it in his surprise, as Asami and Sumiko walked into the room. Sumiko, the head of the Magic-weavers, had taught them both magic, years ago. For the son of Jaken, who was hated by the Magic-weavers, it had not been a pleasant experience.

  ‘Just give us the scroll, Sendatsu, and we shall make everything else happen. You need not bother yourself with it any more,’ Sumiko said brightly, stepping forwards.

  ‘I can’t — there are Council Guards on the way here. My father knows about it — if he does not receive it …’

  ‘It is even more important than we thought,’ Sumiko breathed. ‘Council Guards? We don’t have much time. Give us the scroll and we’ll make it look as though your home was robbed and ransacked.’ She glanced around the room. ‘It won’t take much effort.’

  Sendatsu held onto the scroll.

  ‘What will you do with it?’ he demanded.

  ‘Save the elves. Protect Dokuzen. Make a better life for everyone,’ Sumiko said enticingly.

  ‘Everyone? Or just you?’ Sendatsu’s memory of her classes made his voice harsh.

  ‘Don’t be a fool. This is far beyond you. Leave the big decisions to those who are able to make them,’ Sumiko insisted.

  ‘No.’ Sendatsu clutched the scroll to his chest.

  ‘Sendatsu — please?’ Asami asked softly. ‘Do you want to see your father rule Dokuzen as Elder Elf? Who will you be forced to marry then? And what of your children — what control will he have over their lives? Little Mai, the granddaughter of the Elder Elf. He will want to sell her to the highest bidder …’

  Sendatsu tightened his grip. ‘I will never allow that to happen,’ he swore.

  ‘Sendatsu? Where are you?’ another voice called, and the tramp of booted feet on tiles reached into the room.

  ‘The Council Guards — quick, give us the scroll!’ Sumiko snapped.

  But handing it over would forever set him against his father. Sendatsu froze at the thought. Far easier to do nothing and let others solve the problem for him.

  ‘What is going on here? Why are these Magic-weavers here?’ The squad of Council Guards strode in, making even the airy room seem crowded.

  Sendatsu had served with the Border Patrol, who watched the magic barrier around Dokuzen, but he had little to do with the Council Guards — a small group who existed to do the Council’s bidding and exercise its authority. They were the ones to knock on doors in the middle of the night if you failed to pay taxes or obey Council orders or, worse, challenged your place in society. This squad was ten-strong, and they all looked as though they would be happy to use the swords at their belts. All wore leather armour over red hakama and short kimono.

  ‘I am Tadayoshi Chikata Hanto. My clan leader has ordered me to get a scroll from this house,’ their officer declared. ‘All three of you will accompany me to the house of Tadayoshi Moratsune Jaken for questioning.’

  ‘There is no need for that. These guests were just leaving,’ Sendatsu said hurriedly.

  Hanto swivelled to face Sendatsu and unrolled a piece of parchment. ‘They are not going anywhere. My orders,’ and here he flourished the parchment, ‘are clear. All in this house must come with me. One way or another.’

  ‘This is an insult. Do you not know who I am?’ Sumiko swelled indignantly.

  ‘You are a Magic-weaver and must obey my orders. Now.’ Hanto pointed and his squad spread out.

  ‘Lay hands on me and you will regret it,’ Sumiko threatened. ‘I will not be bullied by a Council thug!’

  Hanto drew his sword, followed by his soldiers. ‘This is your last chance,’ he said stolidly.

  ‘Put up your swords! I am Jaken’s son and this is my house! I will not have swords drawn in here — I shall speak to my father …’

  ‘Enough — take those two.’ Hanto waved and his men flooded forwards. ‘I’ll deal with this one.’

  Sumiko drew herself up and Sendatsu felt her reach into the magic. For a moment he though
t she was going to turn this room into a battleground, but then she subsided.

  ‘We shall accompany you, but I shall have words with Jaken when we get there,’ she hissed.

  All had felt her prepare to use the magic, so the nearest guards let her walk past them. But the threat of the magic seemed to have infuriated Hanto.

  ‘Grab hold of the other one!’ Hanto snarled. ‘Quick!’

  The nearest pair shrugged then grabbed and twisted Asami’s arms behind her back.

  ‘Let her go!’ Sendatsu stormed forwards as Asami cried in pain. ‘This is outrageous …’

  ‘Keep out of this!’ Hanto intercepted Sendatsu and swung his free hand in a backhand blow aimed to snap Sendatsu’s head back and stop his progress.

  Only it never landed.

  Reacting instinctively, Sendatsu dropped the scroll and instead blocked Hanto’s blow. His years of training, beaten into him by Jaken, took hold and without thinking he twisted the arm, locking the joint, and then struck with his free hand just above the elbow, breaking Hanto’s arm with a crack that echoed around the room.

  Everyone looked in surprise and horror as Hanto fell to the floor screaming in pain. For a long, long moment nobody did anything, then Hanto rolled to his knees, cradling his misshapen arm, agony etched into his face.

  ‘What are you waiting for? Get them!’ he screamed.

  The nearest guard raced at Sendatsu, sword raised. Again, instinct took over and Sendatsu swooped on Hanto’s fallen sword. The guard swung in the classic thunder-strike, designed to split him in half, but Sendatsu blocked easily and cut back with a reverse side stroke that bit deep into the guard’s neck. The guard’s sword fell from a nerveless hand as blood spurted across the nearest couch and the guard collapsed, choking out his last.

  All watched him fall, then all eyes went to Sendatsu as he stood, perfectly balanced, blood-spattered and bloody sword in hand. Most remembered then he had scored second only to his father in the Test of swords.

  ‘You know what is at stake — we are all dead if we do not return with that scroll!’ Hanto shouted and they rushed forwards, hoping to swamp Sendatsu from all directions.