The High Priestess nodded and Nagomi, as instructed so many times, approached the tripod and inhaled the pale yellow vapours until her head started spinning. She leaned over the bowl, stared into the cold surface and softly chanted the prayer. Lady Kazuko joined her encouragingly. In the stuffy darkness Nagomi recalled the dark dreams she kept having since returning from the excursion to get Satō’s sword. The Spirits in the flood waters, calling her name… A house of red stone by the sea… a black ship that moved without sail… a winged shadow in the night sky. It were these dreams that caused the High Priestess to take her to the Waters today, to peer into the bowl on her own for the first time.
She sang a droning chant and clapped her hands in a slow deliberate rhythm, the tiny brass bells around her wrists ringing in unison. As she became entranced, the mists grew thicker, almost tangible, like wisps of pearly sea foam engulfing her, the tripod and the bowl. A rip in the air opened and a waft of the cold wind blew from the depths of the Otherworld. Nagomi sensed the presence of the Spirits before she saw them, little faces in the smoke, studying her curiously, attracted by the sound and movement. The surface of the water stirred and muddied. One of the faces spoke unexpectedly, startling the apprentice.
“What do you seek from the Waters of Scrying?” enquired the Spirit.
“That which lays ahead,” she answered, as taught.
The Spirit giggled and disappeared, replaced by another.
“Look into the Water,” demanded the new spectre, “if you can see, of course!”
It laughed and swept aside.
“Can she see? She’s so young!” whispered another.
“We know her. Yes, we do,” replied yet another, “we called her and she came.”
Nagomi focused on the bowl and the dark water within, ignoring the giggling, prattling Spirits around her. A red spark suddenly appeared in the bowl then a blue one followed by a green one. Three round jewels in a triangle glistened in the water. They twirled for a moment, and one of the giggly voices whispered in her ear:
Turning, turning, jewels three,
What through blood stone can you see?
The ruby came to the fore of the vision. The other two jewels vanished.
Nagomi peered deeper into the dark mist and saw that the ruby orb was lying upon an altar in some ancient shrine, calm and timeless, shining with soft inner light. A hand appeared over it and grasped it firmly. The hand belonged to a long-haired man wearing a red flowing robe. The apprentice looked up from the jewel, but could only see a black oval where the man’s face should be, a shadow darker than night itself. The man leaned closer as if sensing Nagomi’s presence, and the shadow that was his face grew and grew until it engulfed the entire bowl in the darkness.
The other two gems appeared, and the whispering voice returned.
Turning, turning, jewels three,
What through tide stone can you see?
It was the turn of the blue jewel, the sapphire. This one started growing fast, encompassing the entire surface of the bowl within seconds. The water turned a stormy dark blue, dotted with tiny white streaks. Nagomi realised she was looking at the sea from high above, and the white streaks were billowing waves.
Something was stirring beneath the waves. The water bubbled as if a volcano was waking up at the bottom of the ocean. An enormous dark shadow appeared, rising fast, greater than any beast, a sea monster with broad, black wings. Just as the creature was about to break through the surface of the sea, the vision shattered into a myriad of tiny blue shards of sapphire glass.
The water was calm again, and dark. All three stones came into view one last time.
Turning, turning, jewels three,
One stone left, what can it be?
The third jewel, the jade, shone with a warm, hopeful life-giving glow. Nagomi sighed with relief and joy, her heart warmed by the gem’s radiance, but her sigh broke the spell before the last jewel could fully unveil its vision. The mists scattered, the portal to the Otherworld closed and the water in the bowl turned to its usual, no longer ominous, murkiness. The apprentice swayed and staggered away from the bowl.
“What did you see?” the High Priestess asked.
The vision was only ever given to one soothsayer. Exhausted, with a weak voice, Nagomi described what had been revealed to her in the water. Lady Kazuko’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you sure this is exactly what you have seen?”
“Yes, High Priestess. What did it mean?”
“Come with me, child.”
They trudged down the gravel paths towards the living quarters, past the narrow corridors into Lady Kazuko’s private chambers and library.
“Wait here,” she said.
She walked up to an octagonal rotating bookcase, wherein sacred musty scrolls lay on many shelves and turned it until she found the right compartment and took out an incredibly ancient-looking document. The priestess blew off the thick layer of dust and unrolled the paper.
Nagomi gasped at the beautiful illumination, a detailed image of dragons drawn in black ink, flying over the brightly red rising sun, the colours still vivid after uncountable ages. Below and alongside the dragons were calligraphic letters in the script so old and elaborate that Nagomi barely recognised it as ancient Yamato writing. She squinted, trying to decipher it, but the High Priestess started reading the squiggly words aloud.
“Ruby, the blood of the Dead,
Sapphire, the jewel of Awakening,
Jade, the bringer of Life,
Black, the wings of Despair.
The monsters come from without,
But the foe lurks within.
The Eight-Headed Serpent rises,
But the Storm God’s sword is sheathed.
At the breaking of the world
The Mightiest will fall…”
Here the scroll ended abruptly, the edge torn off and scorched.
“What is it?”
“This is one of the oldest prophecies given to us by the Spirits of the Cave of Scrying,” explained Lady Kazuko, “older than the shrine itself, passed through untold generations of first shamans and later, the priests. That it survived for so long is a miracle in itself — as you can see, part of it was lost in one of the fires. No living person remembers the rest. Most of the divinations in these scrolls have already come to fulfilment,” she continued, carefully rolling up the paper and putting it away onto a shelf. “This is one of the few still remaining unrealised. It is said that when all prophecies of Suwa come to fruition, Yamato will no longer require the Gods and the priests to guide it. I wonder…”
“But what does it mean? Why has it been shown to me? Who else saw it?
“I know of nobody else witnessing the prophecy since it was first recorded, and very few even know of its existence,” the High Priestess said. “The Taikuns were always very keen to keep it secret — as I’m sure you understand.”
“I… I don’t think I do.”
“The Mightiest falls, child. There is only one man in Yamato who fits this description. This is most portentous. I must meditate on the meaning of what has occurred today, and you…” she neared the young apprentice with great seriousness in her eyes, “you must be very careful. Do not tell anyone what you have seen today. Not your family, not even your friends. Can you do that for me, child?”
“Y-yes, High Priestess,” Nagomi stuttered, frightened. The priestess had never before asked of her anything of the sort. A secret of the Taikuns…?
“Good.” Lady Kazuko’s face wrinkled in a relieved smile. “Now you should rest. It must have been a tiring experience.”
Satō wiped the sweat from her brow, grasped firmer the sharkskin-covered hilt of the Matsubara sword and raised the weapon to chest level, aiming straight at the unseen enemy.
“Once again! Ei!”
She made a sudden thrust. Half a dozen boys repeated her movements, their swords glistening in the late summer sun, feet slipping on the gravel.
“From the stomach!”
She pointed at her abdomen. Her own muscles tightened as her concentration grew. “Ei!” — the blade went sideways in a perfectly straight motion.
“Ei!” cried the boys, more or less in unison.
“Good, Shōin,” she praised the only boy who managed to repeat the cut precisely. “Now, gather the energy. Ie!” She raised the blade over her head. A chill went through her arms, her skin was covered with goosebumps. She could feel the sword grow icy cold. “And release — tō!”
Satō struck down powerfully, finishing drawing the rune. Even without pronouncing the spell word, a wave of cold air spread from the tip of the sword. The boys repeated after her, but their movements were imprecise and had no effect.
“Listen to the cicadas,” she explained, “that’s the rhythm we use in this exercise. One, two, three and four!” She accented the fourth prolonged cry. “No pause. Focus on that final strike, put your entire soul into it. Come on. Ei! Ei! Ie — Toooh!”
The boys tried again, and again they fell out of rhythm by the last strike. Satō sighed. She had never imagined teaching others would be so difficult. As a prospective heir to the Takashima Dōjō she had to take over some of the training duties. She was given the youngest pupils, six thirteen year olds, sons of samurai and wealthy merchants at a cusp of puberty, to teach them the very basics of the Takashima method and assess their innate abilities.
“Don’t think of the sword as a weapon,” she explained one more time, “it is just a tool. This,” she said, pointing to her heart, “and this,” to her head, “are your weapons.”
The boys looked at her blankly. To them a sword was both a symbol of prestige and the power of their parents, and a toy they could play with pretending to be grown-up samurai. They had only recently been given real metal blades. Normally boys of their age would still train with wooden ones, but the Takashima method required affinity with steel from an early stage. Satō struggled to keep discipline among her unruly pupils, but as a girl she could hold no authority over them whatsoever.
As they tried the exercise again one of the boys, supposedly by accident, bumped into another and a quarrel quickly turned into a bout. The cheap blunt blades soon broke and Satō’s pupils started punching each other with fists.
“Stop it! Oh, I can’t stand it,” the girl despaired. “Bevries!” she cried and drew an ice-shackle rune with her sword. A simple holding spell froze all six boys in a chain of ice, binding their wrists and ankles together.
“Calm down and think of what I have taught you today. I’ll be back before dusk to release you — maybe…”
She grinned mischievously, enjoying the look of panic in their eyes. She knew the ice would quickly melt in the scorching summer sun. One of the boys cried in protest, but the rest accepted the painful punishment in silence as was proper. The cicadas laughed.
The wizardess walked up the hill near Sōfukuji Temple, and entered the small house of the Itō family, where Nagomi lived with her mother Otakusa, father Keisuke and elder sister Ine. It was empty and quiet, only the wind bells chimed in the breeze.
“Hello, anybody here? Nagomi? Itō-sama?”
She heard light steps on the wooden floor. Nagomi ran out to meet her, tying a red ribbon around her copper-coloured ponytail.
“Sacchan! Finished the class already?”
“I can’t do it anymore today, it’s too hot. Where is everybody?”
“Daddy was called off to Nagoya. There’s an outburst of smallpox there. Mother went to see him off at the harbour. Ine is on a house visit, so I’m left to look after the home.”
“Nagoya? But that’s on Hondo!”
The main island of the Yamato archipelago lay days of journey away from Kiyō, and the city of Nagoya was right in the middle of it. One needed to have a really good reason to embark on such a journey.
“Daddy was born there, actually,” Nagomi explained. “He only came here to study.”
“I always forget your family is not originally from Kiyō.”
“It was so long ago… He was just a herbalist’s apprentice then. Now the lord of the domain himself requested his presence.”
“You must be proud.”
“I am,” Nagomi answered, “but I wish he’d come back soon.”
“Do you want to go to the bathhouse?”
“I was going to prepare some talismans for the shrine shop, but I guess I could do it later…”
Soon they lay naked on the stone bottom of a shallow steaming pool, only their heads bobbing above the surface. The spring water was steaming hot and crystal clear, with only a slight scent of sulphur. It was early in the day, so they had the bath all to themselves.
“Aah,” sighed Satō, “that’s just what I needed. These kids make my head ache. They can’t even hold the sword straight!”
“They are only thirteen.”
“I could cut down a straw pole at their age!” protested Satō, “and shoot an ice lance through a wooden plank one sun thick!” She spread two fingers to show the thickness of the imaginary piece of wood. “But, of course, boys are so useless.” She sighed and lay back onto the stones. “All they care about is fighting. They just can’t focus. No wonder none of them could ever beat me.”
“My parents say Takashima-sama should officially name you his heir already. No one in Kiyō would be better suited to the position — and he’s not getting any younger.”
“That’s very kind of them, but there is no law for a daughter to inherit a dōjō. It wouldn’t be very wise for us to draw attention to ourselves.”
“He’s not planning to marry you off to some snotty-nosed son of a samurai, is he?”
“Gods, I hope not!” Satō laughed briefly. “I doubt if he even thinks about these things. He’s not interested in anything apart from his experiments.”
At least that’s what I must believe, she thought, that he’s just forgetful, or waiting for the right moment. Why else would he wait for so long? Nagomi’s parents were right — she was the best pupil her father could ever dream of having.
“I hear there’s a new resident wizard on Dejima.” Nagomi reached for a face towel to wipe droplets of steam from her brow. “Have you met him yet?”
“I have,” Satō replied with a nod, “he came to talk with my father before leaving for Edo. He’s… different. Small and round, but very clever.”
And frightening.
“Did he bring any gifts?”
“Just another sparkleball,” she scoffed. “As if I was a child.”
“I love sparkleballs! I need to come over and see it! What colour is it?”
“It’s red, yellow and blue, a bit bigger and flashier than the last one. Father and I had really hoped for a new spell scroll or a blueprint, but I guess they’re not allowed that anymore.”
The apprentice lifted herself up and sat on a cypress board lining the edge of the spring, with only her legs still in the water. She ran her hand through her long hair, sparkling fiery red now that her locks were wet. Sometimes they seemed to change their hue according to Nagomi’s mood.
“It’s so hot today,” she complained, “I can’t sit still for more than ten minutes.”
“It’s better to come here in the winter,” Satō agreed.
“I won’t be able to do it as often when the summer ends.”
“Why not?”
“After the Kunchi Festival I’m moving into the shrine permanently. I’m becoming a full-time apprentice.”
“That’s…” Satō hesitated. “That’s great!” she said without conviction.
“Oh, you are always welcome to come up and see me.” Nagomi smiled. “I’ll just have to pay more attention to my duties, that’s all. Besides, I’m sure you will be busy too, with all the training and teaching…”
“I guess so.” Satō nodded solemnly. The lazy, relaxed mood perished. She became keenly aware of the passing of time.
Even in Yamato nothing ever remains unchanged, she thought.
She stood up abruptly. The hot water ri
ppled before splashing onto the cold stone floor.
CHAPTER V
Gwynedd, July, 2606 ab urbe condita
Bran sipped on his ale and winced. It was too warm; everything was too warm this summer. The eldest of the yeomen gathered at the Red Dragon tafarn could barely remember a July as hot as that of Victoria Alexandrina’s Sixteenth Year. The south-easterly wind bringing rain and fog from over the bay was gone. The air was stale and dry.
“I’m telling you, it’s all the damned navy’s fault,” said a tall stout fellow wearing a blue felt cap crooked over one ear. “They’ve taken all our best Weathermen and left us only the shoddy ones, who messed everything up instead of fixing it.”
“My well is running dry,” another yeoman added to the complaints.
“What if there is famine, Huw?” a younger lad said. “I don’t want to have to leave my land and sail to Gorllewin.”
“Gorllewin? Those merchant folk across the sea?”
“That’s what they did in Ériu. My cousin said the entire villages packed and left overnight. Swathes of land left abandoned…”
“They say nobody ever came back from Gorllewin,” the man called Huw said grimly.
“And who would?” scoffed the third of the farmers, stroking his greying beard. “I’ve heard that anyone who sails there gets a piece of their own land the size of a village.”
“A piece of wild forest you have to fell yourself, or a piece of stony grassland you have to till yourself,” said Huw, shaking his head.
“And they’re all Grey Hoods there. Sun worshippers,” added the youngest, spitting, “as devoted as the Romans. You’d have to convert back to the Old Faith.”
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 6
