The Dragon's Flower

by Wyn Estelle Owens

  All in all, two week’s travel had passed before they finally arrived at the outskirts of the city can’t remember what it’s called. It was a rather miserable week, at least as far as Shichiro was concerned. He was tired of the forced inactivity, not to mention he was absolutely sick of portaging.

  And there was also the fact that whenever he went down to sleep, he was uncomfortable aware how empty his bed roll was, or how much colder it was when he lay down to sleep alone. Shichiro rolled himself tighter in his blanket and shut his eyes forcefull, trying to block out the traitorous grumbling in his subconscious.

  How very strange, Shichiro thought, what one month of wedded bliss could do to a man.

  Chiyono was the capital city of Akiyama, and was built at the top of a mountain. It overlooked a river valley with all the regality of an emperor on his dais, and shining as brightly as a jeweled hairpin in a headdress.

  If there was any place that accurately reflected its people, it was the city of Chiyono. It was bright, opulent, and rich, full of ladies with painted faces and concealing fans, and men with smiling faces and cold eyes. Of all the capitals in all the seven realms, Shichiro liked going to Chiyono the least. Honestly, if Isao ever had business in Chiyono, Shichiro begged his elder brother to send Ichiro instead. Ichiro was, after all, not a particularly important individual, and he was a shinobi, whose entire live was structured on deceit and discreteness and masks. Honestly, Ichiro would feel right at home there.

  Unfortunately, this time, Shichiro was on his own, and without a convenient Ichiro-shaped scapegoat to foist his responsibilities on. Therefore, there was nothing for it---Shichiro would be forced to sneak into the records of the Shogun, find out whatever’s going on,, and then return to Hanako as fast as he can.

  Funny… funny how simple things seem when the are planned, but Shichiro was too well acquainted with his own luck to trust wholly in pre-laid plans.

  Making his way through the city was child’s play. He had exchanged his… rather noticeable headgear for a cheap straw hat, and he had covered the insignia on his blades. He slipped through the crowded loud, colorful mass of the sheets, and slowly made his way back to the back of the Shogun’s palace.

  There he ditched the hat, and Shichiro hid his swords in a bundle of laundry that he may or may not have swiped from poor innocent laundry lady. With that, it was easy for Shichiro to bluff his way into the palace.

  Once inside, it was a tad harder. He snagged a plain yukata form the bundle of laundry and dressed in it, being careful to gather up his old clothes and tie them in a little bundle of their own, buried amongst the other laundry (it was, after all, his only pair of hakama, and he wasn’t about to throw them away). Dressed as a servant, Shichiro began his search.

  He highly doubted that a lady as clever as Princess Katsumi was said to be would put such important information in the regular places for such records, so the wisest place to search would be in her own rooms. Luckily, some time ago Isao had shown Shichiro diagrams of the Royal Palaces of all the different Shoguns and made his little brother memorize them, just in case a situation like this came up (not that Shichiro hoped that it would—this sort of work was better left to ninja). So, casually and unerringly, he made his way to the Princess Fujioka’s rooms, bearing a pile of neatly folded blankets that he had switched out the original bundle of laundry for, with his katana and his old change of clothes hidden (cleverly, in his personal opinion) within the folds.

  He kept his head bowed and listened idly to the creaking singing of the nightingale floor beneath him—there had been similar floors outside the Shogun his father’s quarters, and surrounding and within the royal quarters that Isao and his family dwelt in in Ginshi.

  …man, did he wish he had a ninja. Shichiro could just guess how this was going to turn out, and very few endings were particularly pleasant. He finally reached the Princess’s room, rapped politely on the wooden framework, and listened carefully for any sounds within. He heard nothing, so he slid the door open and stepped inside, closing the shoji after him.

  He set his pile of blankets down to one side, slid his katana and wakizashi from within, and stuck them firmly through the obi of his hakama. It was best to be prepared, and he did not know how much time he had.

  He gave the room one quick sweep, spinning quickly in place—Isao had always told him that the best place to hide something was always the most obvious place, where someone would never look for it. Therefore, he made a beeline straight for the writing desk and shelves behind it. He quickly scanned over the letters on the desk—many of them had to do with internal affairs and the perpetual scheming and wrangling for power within the noble clans of Akiyama, especially the Fujioka. While incredibly interesting, they were almost purely interior related and therefore not much help for either Shichiro or Isao.

  However, several of them mentioned the troop mobilizations or suspicious supply gathering, and several had much to do with Shogun Tsuneo and Masaki, and those he took and tucked safely in large waterproof bamboo case. Isao would definitely owe him after this, Shichiro thought, and he hummed pleasantly. Anything else on the desk proved to be of no interest, so he moved to the rows of shelves. They were covered in many scrolls and aesthetically pleasing objects, and Shichiro supposed he could go through them all first, but that would take far too long, and he highly doubted that the hiding place would be quite that obvious.

  The shelves were square, a foot tall and a foot wide and about the length of a palm deep, and they ran from the ceiling and nearly down to the floor. However, the shelves stopped one squares length from the floor, and the wall appeared to extend to the edge of the shelves. It was not an unusual design, Shichrio had seen many such examples other places, but this… would be remarkably convenient for the purposes in his mind.

  He crouched down and ran his hands along that bottom section, but he could feel no obvious distance. Shichiro rocked back on his heels and ran his hand through his ponytail thoughtfully, scowling at the wall. After a moment, he drew the wakizashi from its sheath and proceeded to tap the hilt against the wall.

  After about three feet, he heard a distinct difference in the sound and smirked. There you are. Immediately, Shichiro lifted the wakizashi and rammed it into the wall. He supposed that he could try and take the time to find the tripper that would open the compartment but… eh. Why do that when his way worked just as well? After all, it wasn’t like it was his wall. Just his very-probably-evil mother-in-law. Shichiro decided he was perfectly justified.

  It took longer than Shichiro would have liked to cut an opening large enough to stick a hand through, but once that was done, he returned the wakizashi to its sheath, for it was a simple matter to merely tear off the rest of the panel.

  Within was contained several documents and one large scroll. With a triumphant smirk, Shichiro quickly grabbed everything. The documents he stuffed into the first bamboo container and shut it, and then he quickly took a look at the scroll. His eyes immediately flew wide a minute later when he realized what exactly he was holding in his hands. This… was the Princess Fujioka Katsumi’s diary.

  Or, if Shichiro’s suspicions were correct, a chronicle of how clever she thought she was, and of her aspirations towards power and control over all the Seven Nations. And, if he did not miss his guess, incredibly useful for both Isao’s and his purposes. He carefully tucked it away in a second watertight bamboo container, made sure to secure them where they would stay secure, and began to stand up.

  There was a sudden quiet thrum in the air, so low and quiet Shichiro barely heard it. But he did, and instinctively he dodged to the left, spinning around and drawing his katana in one smooth movement. The next moment, a kunai thudded into the wall next to Shichiro’s face.

  There was a man crouched in the corner, dressed in dark, non-descript clothing, save for the wrapings about his face, and there was a kunai in both his hands.

  “A ninja? I’m flattered.” Shichiro said, slowly shifting into a ready stance. “
Still, it took you this long to come after me? Not as impressive as some I’ve run into, and Princess Katsumi’s standards have been falling.”

  To his credit, the ninja didn’t even flinch, but said calmly. “I will give you one chance to surrender and face the charge of high treason put against you, and you may be granted mercy. Otherwise, your immediate death will be assured.”

  Shichiro raised an eyebrow and let a dangerous smile slide across his mouth. “Oh really? I hope you don’t mind if I want you to prove that to me? I find that there are very few things in this life that are assured.”

  The shinobi didn’t respond, but in a sudden flash of movement he leapt to the side, and the kunai were flying towards Shichiro. The ronin dodged to the side again, his smile growing wider. This ninja was good—and it had been some time since Shichiro had had a decent fight.

  However, Shichiro regularly sparred with a ninja. Katsumi’s ninja was very good… but he was not Ichiro.

  Another kunai was flung towards the ronin as the the shinobi rushed forward, and Shichiro instinctively batted it away with his katana. At the same moment, the ninja slid forward, and began to slash at Shichiro’s unguarded stomach with another kunai.

  Shichiro, however, expected this, and in one smooth movement sidestepped and brought his own katana down on the ninja’s open back.

  A kunai dropped nervelessly to the floor, followed immediately by the slump of the body of its owner, and only Shichiro was left standing in the room. He eyed the body with distaste and shook his head.

  Yep, definitely not Ichiro. With a sigh, he knelt and wiped off his blade on the back of the shinobi’s haori, before standing and deftly sliding the katana back into its sheath.

  “Well, then,” Shichiro whispered to himself. “I’d better have make myself scarce, then.” He went over to the folded pile of blankets, retrieved his clothes, and set about securing everything. Just as he finished, he heard a sudden noise in the hallway and grimaced—he could mostly likely deal with whatever was thrown at him, but he wasn’t particularly fond of the ‘fight you way out of the Royal Palace’ plan. Well, then, on to plan B.

  He only paused for a moment to check that everything was fastened securely, and then he ran over to the one lone window. He flung it open, looked out upon the two story drop… and flung himself out.

  By the time the guards of the Princess Katsumi bursted into the princess’ quarters, it was empty save for the lone body of the shinobi, fallen in the service of his lady.

  Shichiro slowly dragged himself onto the shore where the forest came down and met the moat, groaning softly. While a fall from a two-story height into water was considerably more forgiving than a similar fall onto a firmer substance, it still wasn’t exactly a comfortably experience. Shichiro could tell he would be sore for at least a couple days, but at least it was better than the alternative.

  With a sigh, he stood up and staggered to the nearest tree and slumped against it, pulling out the bamboo containers to check if their contents were still safe. He had brought them just in case of this very situation, but one couldn’t be too careful.

  He pried the lid open and checked inside, sighing with relief. “Well, at least my effort hasn’t gone to waste.” With that, he shoved to his feet and disappeared further into the forest—it wouldn’t do to hang around for too long.

  Once he was far enough away, he stopped and changed out of the plain, damp yukata into his worn, also damp gi and hakama, and inspected his swords. They had gotten wet, which was a pain, but he had oiled them recently, so he was confident that he would be able to fend off any rust. Still, he decided to keep the sheaths and the blades separate for the time being, until he was confident the sheaths had dried out.

  With that, he set off towards the southeast, heading back towards the river that was his ticket home. He’d wait until he made camp tonight to look through the diary.

  Shichiro made a camp in a shallow cave in the wall of a deep, steep valley at the foot of a mountain, and lit only a small fire. It was unlikely that he was pursued, but if there was one thing Shichiro had learned in all his life as a wandering ronin, was that one could never be too careful.

  By the light of his small fire, he withdrew the container holding the diary and unrolled it, scanning up and down the writing. The first entry seemed to be about twenty years ago, shortly after Princess Katsumi first wed Shogun Whats-his-name. That would be too far back for Shichiro’s purposes, so he kept looking.

  Then, sixteen years ago, he finally found what he was looking for. He stared at the entry for a long, long time, and wondered why he hadn’t keeled over in a faint yet.

  Spring solstice, 2nd year of my reign, Era of the Empty Throne

  Today I received an envoy from the Nakahara clan from Karigane, and he brought with him his daughter—a girl-child, barely a year old, who is very ill indeed. Since I am always interested in new diseases, I consented to investigate the girl, only to discover two very interesting: she is ill with a fatal disease, and that she has the blue eyes and the Dragon’s Mark. I find this very interesting indeed, and am resolved to investigate the Nakahara clan more thoroughly.

  Meanwhile, I must figure out how to heal and get my hands on the girl-child. Perhaps, this is a case important enough to use one of the blossoms of the emperor’s pearl flower? It would be worth it, if I found myself in possession of the Heir of the Imperial throne.

  Shichiro felt his eyes glued to the last words in that entry, but in his mind it was a raging maelstrom. He remembered the strange birthmark on her back, in the shape of a winding, twining dragon—such as Tamotsu Eiji, the Celestial and Guardian Spirit of the long-empty Imperial Throne.

  And her beautiful blue eyes—he had not thought too much of them, after all, Tatsuya, the Shogun of Karigane and his good friend, had blue eyes himself, for it was a trait of the Miyamoto clan. He had forgotten that blue eyes were also said to be a trait of the Miyatatsu, the Imperial clan, for legend says that the first Emperor (check his name later) was the fourth son of the current Daimyo of Karigane and head of the Miyamoto clan.

  Logically, it all made sense—especially why Katsumi kept her adopted daughter locked away in a pagoda on an isolated, purportedly haunted mountain.

  But it did not explain why Shichiro had been chosen to be her husband (though, he did have his own suspicions) , nor did it spell out anything regarding the current plans of Katsumi. He’d just have to be patient to find those, he supposed, and kept searching.

  It wasn’t for some time later that he finally found what he’d been searching for.

  18th of January, 10th year of my reign, Era of the Empty Throne

  During my court training with Hanako today, I discovered that her blood apparently has the ability to heal…. Most likely from ingesting too much of the Emperor’s Pearl flower as a babe.

  This… could be incredibly useful in the upcoming war. Imagine, an immortal army, impervious to lasting wounds or disease, all that the price of a few drops of blood? I’ll have to start making plans soon.

  Shichiro trembled once, his face dark and furious. He wished that Princess Katsumi was right there, because he dearly wanted to punch her in the face. It might not do much in the long run, but he bet it would feel wonderful.

  He dearly wanted to hit something anyway, but he also didn’t want broken fingers and knuckles. Instead he contented himself with imaginary dreams of nailing Princess Katsumi in the face. Alas, that they would be doomed to never come true.

  He didn’t want to imagine what sort of life Hanako would hold if Katsumi had her way… after every battle, being cut over and over again, in order to collect her precious blood. It made his own blood boil and he jumped to his feet, drawing his wakizashi and sliding the blade across his palm. “I swear right here, in this place, by my blood I shall not let Katsumi ever lay a single perfectly painted nail on Hanako again, if I am able to do anything at all to prevent it.”

  There was a silence on the mountain, but his declaration echoed w
ithin the little cave where he had taken shelter, and Shichiro felt the weight of his oath settle down upon his shoulders with a firmness that nearly startled him. It had substance, and somewhere inside him a voice whispered that this oath of his would not be taken lightly. What would come of his oath, he wasn’t sure… but when had something like that ever stopped Shichiro before?

  29th of December, 18th year of my reign, Era of the Empty Throne

  The time is drawing near, so close that I can almost taste it. The alliance with Tsuneo in Masaki is going well, and I have managed to convince him it is worth restoring the name of his wandering, wayward son.

  Now, Hanako will be married, and she will bear children, heirs to the imperial throne. The talented brat of a Nishimura will protect her while she bears his children, and he will keep her safe when she at last sits on the royal throne. That way, I need never fear my pretty little puppet will be damaged. Of course, he may grow problematic at time (if his reputation indicates anything), but he shouldn’t be too hard to deal with. Hanako however, is loyal, and I need not fear that I might lose her.

  Besides, it would be a true pain to be forced to groom another minion as powerful as she, even if her child turns out to be a born emperor (if fact, that would probably make it more difficult).

  Still, there’s no need to borrow trouble for the future. I will simply have to prepare several hands, and I will be ready for any eventuality.

  25th of February, 19th year of my reign, Era of the Empty Throne

  Things are falling into place nicely. The creation of the grand Alliance is even smoother than ever (as I suspected, the marriage between Hanako and the ronin has been extremely helpful). Soon, Hanako will be appointed as the ‘long-promised’ Empress, and all the other realms will be given the option to swear fealty to her, the anointed of the Heavenly Emperor, or we will wage war.