The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  “So his Spirit is still somewhere up there? Like all those souls in the Cave of Scrying?”

  “That’s different. Those souls, like Shigemasa-sama, were never properly purified, so they are stuck to this plane until the day they can move on, but an enshrined Spirit becomes one of the kami and watches the world from the Heavenly Plane, answering our prayers - if we are deemed worthy — ”

  “I knew it. I leave you alone for one night and you’ve already started talking about Gods,” Satō interrupted the lecture, coming out of the stables to meet them. “Where are you off to?”

  “Apparently the Abbot wants to see us. All of us,” Bran added.

  The Abbot, a small plump man, surprisingly young for his position, welcomed them in a golden-roofed building off the main path. His guestroom opened on to a huge library filled with old scrolls and newer bamboo-bound books.

  “I believe you’ve been expecting us,” noted Nagomi after they sat down at a low table.

  “Don’t be so surprised, little apprentice,” the Abbot replied, laughing and pouring cha into black cups. “You priests of the Old Gods are not the only ones who can peer beyond the veil.”

  Nagomi gasped.

  “You’re a Scryer?”

  “I dabble in divination,” the Abbot said, nodding humbly. “This temple has a reputation to keep and we can’t afford as many spies and informants as we used to, so we have to resort to other means of keeping up to date.”

  “Thou knowest what we are here for then?” asked Bran, catching Nagomi’s worried glance.

  “Only vaguely; divination is not a precise method, as you well know.” The Abbot smirked at the apprentice. “You are looking for something, tono…”

  “Karasu.” Bran nodded.

  “You have lost something of great value, Karasu-dono. I can help you locate it, but I will need time… and resources. The temple has many needs. The roof of the main hall needs a new coat of gilding, for example.”

  “I understand.” Bran glanced at Nagomi. The apprentice was biting her lips in anxiety and staring back at him with alarm. “Let us consider thy proposition, Reverend One.”

  “It is you who are short of time.” The Abbot shrugged. “You know where to find me.”

  “Thou seemed mightily uneasy, Nagomi-sama,” Bran remarked when they went outside, “what is the reason for thy apprehension?”

  “The Butsu monks are banned from using divination,” the apprentice explained.

  “I thought they’re just priests like you.”

  Nagomi shook her head vigorously.

  “They brought their God from Qin, a long time ago. Their rituals and beliefs are different. They have neither healers nor Scryers — at least they shouldn’t. There’s something very disturbing going on here.”

  “Didn’t the High Priestess say this place is where we should come for help?”

  “You heard what the monks said. The old Abbot is dead. This one doesn’t seem like somebody Kazuko-hime would trust.”

  “He already knows too much,” Satō joined in, ‘so the less we tell him, the better.”

  “There is something menacing about this place,” Bran agreed. “I would be loath to share too many secrets with this man. We should leave as soon as possible.” Bran turned to the wizardess. “How long is it before that friend of thine arrives here?”

  “I have not heard back from him yet, so not before dinner, if today at all.”

  “Is he to be trusted?”

  “I’m not sure of anything now, but he was one of my father’s closest associates in Kumamoto — and he despises the Taikun. He certainly seems more trustworthy than some fat monk.”

  “I came as soon as I could. I’m so sorry for your loss, Takashima-sama…”

  Just as Satō had remembered, the most striking feature in the man’s long narrow face were his large flaring nostrils. They gave him the appearance of being constantly agitated. The lips did not help — they were always slightly apart, and quivered as he spoke. The eyes under thin eyebrows were, however, serene.

  Satō wore her black and vermillion attire of a Rangakusha for her meeting with the scholar. Master Yokoi was one of those old-fashioned scholars who only knew her as a boy.

  “Thank you, Yokoi-dono,” she said, bowing before the guest, “but my father is still alive.”

  “What? But we’ve heard the news — an experiment gone wrong…”

  “It’s a lie. My father was abducted. I saw it happen.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted the official channels. Tell me, tell me all!”

  The samurai listened to the girl’s tale, breathing noisily. Absentmindedly, he straightened creases on his vest, embroidered with the triple dragonscale crest of the Hōjō clan. When she finished, he banged his fist on the floor mat.

  “This is exactly the kind of thing that shows how weak the government has become. They allow one of the greatest scholars of our era to simply disappear and do nothing about it! I assure you, I will do what I can to help you find out what’s happened to your father — and believe me, I can do plenty.”

  “You have my eternal gratitude, Yokoi-dono.”

  “What are you doing here in Kumamoto?” he asked, picking up a tofu skewer from a square plate. “In this temple, of all places?”

  “We had to flee Kiyō. The magistrate outlawed my entire family. This temple was recommended to us by the High Priestess of Suwa.”

  “Outlawed? Preposterous!” He spat out bits of tofu. “You must come with me to the daimyo’s castle, you’ll be safe there.”

  “I… I’m sorry, Yokoi-dono, but we have to keep moving south.”

  Satō glanced at Bran nervously.

  “You’re not telling me everything, child,” guessed the scholar, also looking at the boy with interest.

  “No, Yokoi-dono,” the wizardess admitted.

  “You’re just as secretive as Shūhan,” the samurai said, laughing and slapping his thigh. “We never knew what new spell or device he would come up with! Be that as it may,” he turned serious, “I will not prod further. I know you have your father’s brains, so I trust your judgement.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “My humble means are at your disposal, if you need anything for the journey. I still think you should stay at the castle, though. This place — ” he looked around, “it sends shivers down my spine, especially when the mist comes down like tonight. People say these hills are haunted.”

  “That’s why a priestess is with us,” said a smiling Satō.

  “Thought of everything, eh?” The samurai laughed again. “Are you leaving soon, then?”

  “At dawn, if we can’t reason with the Abbot.”

  “I see. Do try to keep in touch, child. I will find out what happened to dear old Shūhan, of that you can be certain.”

  “I will try.”

  “Give my regards to the cook; this is some fine dengaku. I have to go now. Darkness is coming and I don’t fancy going down these hills by night.”

  “Of course. You understand that all that we’ve talked about must remain a secret… Even the fact that I’m staying here.”

  “My boy, I have been conspiring since before you were born!” He put his hand on Satō’s shoulder and looked her seriously in the eyes. “As far as I’m concerned - we’ve never met.”

  “Maybe we should have gone with him after all,” said Bran as they watched old man’s palanquin clamber down the hill path.

  “We wouldn’t be any safer there,” replied Satō, “imagine how hard it would be to keep any secrets in a castle.”

  “The mist descends from the hills,” noted Nagomi, wrapping herself up tightly. “Let’s go back inside.”

  Satō entered the guest stables, almost bumping into the groom.

  “What ye doin’ ‘ere?” the boy asked in a rude manner.

  “I am...” Satō started politely, but quickly corrected herself, “What d’ye think? I’m off ta sleep.”

  “Spendin’
night in the temple? Are ye daft?”

  “Why, what’s wrong wi’dat?”

  The groom gave her a look one gave to village idiots.

  “The mist is a-comin’! I ain’t stayin’ ‘ere wi’ the mist comin’ down! You’d be’r come wi’ me if ye have any brains left!”

  “No, I—I’ll stay’ere...”

  “As ye wish,” he said with a shrug, and passed her by, heading for the temple gate in a great hurry.

  There was only one horse in the stables, used to send quick messages to the city below. Satō gave it a wide berth. Horse riding, along with archery, was one of the few samurai arts she had never managed to learn. Her father did not keep horses; there was no point in a crowded city. Large animals frightened her. She suddenly felt ashamed of her fear; Bran’s dragon must have been far larger and more threatening than this horse, and yet the Westerner was not afraid to ride it — to fly it.

  An owl hooted in the distance. Satō shivered. It’s cold here in the evenings, she told herself, trying to explain the goosebumps that covered her skin. She stepped outside and looked towards the gloomy hillside, from which the mist descended upon the compound. Suddenly a dot of light flickered in the darkness then another. Soon there were dozens of them, a line of dancing flames zigzagging like a fiery serpent down the hill, and they kept coming closer.

  Ghosts, thought the wizardess, will-o’-the-wisps? She felt around and her fingers found a large heavy stick. It would have to do, as her sword was still with Bran. Perhaps she should warn the others — the lights were ever nearer. Would she make it to the guesthouse? What kind of danger would she have to face? She gripped the stick harder...

  A lonely, grey-robed monk emerged from the mist, glanced at her with slight surprise and proceeded to light another of the stone lanterns lining the temple’s main thoroughfare. Satō breathed out and shook her head.

  Fool! Scared of the lanterns! she scolded herself. I’ve been pretending to be a servant for so long I’m turning into one!

  She waved the wooden stick. It was roughly the size and weight of a bokken. It had been a while since she had practised with one. She assumed a stance and performed a few basic exercises. The stick swished through the air with a satisfying whistle. It felt good. She had not lost any of her skill.

  The temple precinct was shrouded in gloomy darkness, pierced only by the flickering lanterns. Deep into the night, the wizardess didn’t feel sleepy at all. She was also no longer wary of the mist. Nothing out of ordinary had happened since the coming of dusk. Satō continued her practise with the stick, adding a little magic to the sword exercises. The horse looked at her curiously with big brown eyes and yawned.

  She noticed a movement near one of the buildings — the Abbot’s house. She sneaked closer. Everyone should have already been asleep at this time of night...

  A thin bald man wearing loose black robes knocked on the wall quietly with a staff topped with jingling bells. A panel in the wall slid open, and the Abbot appeared in the opening, lighting his way with a large paper lantern. The bald man grunted something. The Abbot nodded, looked around and, not noticing Satō hidden in the shadows, headed towards the path leading up the hill with the bald man.

  The wizardess hesitated. She was intrigued to see what the Abbot was up to, but she was more curious about what she managed to glimpse inside the building, in the light of the lantern, before the little monk slid the secret door shut.

  Books — hundreds of books.

  The night was thick, dense and humid, the fog seeping through the cracks in the thin wooden walls. Nagomi stood by the window of her room, looking out into the pitch black darkness of the garden, covered in the mist descended from the hills.

  She was alone in a room much bigger than she required; she didn’t like being alone. Back home, she could always feel her parents and Ine beyond the thin paper walls. At the Shrine she had shared her dormitory with a dozen other apprentices. Here, she could sense no other souls in any of the rooms adjacent to hers. It was an overwhelming sensation.

  She raised the clay beaker to her lips and blew. The orange spirit appeared in an instant, flickering merrily. She hummed a made-up melody and it jumped and danced. Heaviness rose from her heart. The mist seemed to float away from the light, revealing a little of the garden. Only now could Nagomi notice the sleeping hydrangeas and a slender sakaki tree near her window. She sensed the tree’s young spirit. It was grateful for the orange light which released it briefly from the hold of the dark fog.

  There were other spirits in the garden, floating past from the graveyards around the temple and from the forest, not paying her much heed. She felt them all, and she no longer felt so lonely.

  There was a rustle in the hydrangea bush and a black pony-tail bobbed up and down underneath her window.

  “Nagomi? Is that you?”

  Bran dozed in half-sleep. He tossed from side to side, too tired to wake, too restless to dream. He tried to clear his mind of racing thoughts. He could sense Shigemasa, deep inside his soul, louder than usual, babbling like a mountain brook in the distance.

  “Please, just be quiet!” he shouted at his thoughts. In frustration, he punched the thick beam in the wall. The pain seemed to quieten the general, who continued his brooding in insulted silence.

  Moments later, Bran felt the ring on his finger heat up and a new vision overwhelmed him. It had been a while since he had made contact with Emrys. It was as if his mind could only cope with either Shigemasa’s or the dragon’s presence at any one time. Once the general retreated from his immediate consciousness, the Farlink connection re-emerged.

  This time the dragon was calm, sleepy, sedated. There wasn’t much detail to the vision, mostly a smell — a faint, sickly sweet smell, oddly familiar. The dragon could not stretch its wings, confined in some tight space.

  A man stood before the dragon, a lanky thin man, observing Emrys with great curiosity through horn-rimmed glasses. A crest of a crossed circle decorated his shoulders.

  “We can’t keep this up much longer,” the man said to somebody out of sight. “If we don’t find a better method of keeping it sedate, I’m afraid we’ll have to — “

  The vision was suddenly broken by the sound of rapid knocking at the door.

  “Bran-sama!”

  It was Nagomi, sounding urgent.

  “Please, wake up.”

  He slid the door open and peered carefully into the darkness of the corridor.

  “What is it?”

  “Sacchan asked us to come outside. Are you alright?” She looked at him with concern. “You seem shaken.”

  “It’s nothing. A bad dream.”

  Satō was waiting for them under the long eaves of the stables. The boy explained briefly what he had seen and what he wanted them to do.

  “You would have us sneak like thieves?” Nagomi asked.

  “I know it’s not honourable, but I must see what’s inside that room,” the boy said. “That fat Abbot seemed very knowledgeable, so his archives must be a treasure trove of information.”

  They crept along the wall of the Abbot’s residence. Thick fog concealed their movements and dampened the sound of their feet.

  “It’s here.” Satō slid open a wooden panel slowly and quietly. “The servants sleep on the other side of the house, so we should be safe, let’s just try not to make too much noise.”

  “What if the Abbot comes back?” Bran asked.

  “We’ll run,” Satō said with a shrug, “he’ll never catch us on those short fat legs.”

  They tiptoed into the hall. Bran sneezed into his sleeve. Satō lit a small iron lantern and raised it up to illuminate the room. The bookshelves were covered with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The new Abbot did not seem concerned much with the state of the temple’s archives.

  They found a pair of copper candlesticks in the corner and lit those as well. Now Bran could fully appreciate the number of volumes gathered by consecutive Abbots.

  “What are we looking
for here, precisely?” he asked, opening one of the volumes and reading by the light of a flamespark.

  “Anything that could guide us to the crimson robed man,” Satō decided. “It’s a long shot, I know, but it’s worth a try. This library is huge,” he said, admiring the long stretches of cabinets, stacked with silk-stitched volumes and bamboo-bound scrolls, “there must be something here.”

  “Yes, but how will we find it?”

  “Some of the cabinets are marked,” Nagomi said, dusting off markings on the shelves, “‘Financial records’ — I think we can omit these.”

  “There must be a main chronicle somewhere…”

  Satō browsed through scrolls.

  “Tale of Heike…?” Bran picked up a hefty, silk-bound tome. “The bells of the Gion Temple…” he started reading aloud.

  “No, not this one, leave it.”

  They searched for a long time, opening book after book, browsing through a few, opening pages and putting them back again if they turned out to be accountancy registers or well-known tales of days past. A few volumes were set aside for further reading.

  “Ach-a-fi!” Bran exclaimed in Prydain.

  “What is it?”

  Satō ran up to him.

  “Oh, it’s… n-nothing,” he stuttered.

  It was a collection of erotic stories and drawings, the illustrations so explicit that he felt his face immediately turn scarlet with embarrassment. He put the book away on the shelf — but then, when he was sure nobody saw him do it, he took it again and hid it under his sash.

  Several hours of fruitless searching later he was all but ready to give up, when Nagomi called him and Satō over.

  “Look, I think I’ve found something.”

  She was holding a large folding scroll, long and densely written with ancient script.

  “It’s some kind of lexicon of monsters and magical creatures,” the apprentice said, “look at this page.”

  “In a cave at the back of the Unganzenji Temple in northern Higo dwelled the Abomination known as the Immortal Swordsman,” read Bran. “so called because no living man could remember how long he had lived there, never growing old or sick. The people of… Kawachi village describe the Immortal Swordsman as looking almost like any other man, except his eyes were like nuggets of gold, his skin pale, and his teeth blackened like a woman’s and sharp like those of a wolf.”