The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  A ring of stones surrounded the glade, and in its centre was a mysterious, mound-like construction, walls of flat boulders covered with a thick cap of dirt, moss and grass, with a single narrow entrance leading inside.

  There was a man sitting inside with his back to her. She could not see much detail in the darkness of the barrow, only that it was a samurai in elaborate, old-fashioned clothes. The man slowly turned his head. His face was an oval of blackness.

  The vision ended. All three masks closed their eyes and rotated back to their positions under the eaves. The shrine around her emerged from the darkness and the young priest ran up to support her as she swayed backwards.

  “You seem very distressed… Was it a bad vision?”

  “I — I cannot tell you,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “Of course, I understand.” The boy’s voice betrayed his disappointment. “Shall I take you to the inn? You can barely walk.”

  “No, thank you, I can manage,” she said. She pushed him away and ran out of the shrine.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Ozun raised himself up on one elbow and gazed admiringly at Azumi’s young athletic body. His fingers traced the outline of a kirin’s horned head tattooed in red, green and blue ink on her arm. The rigid muscles rippled under the smooth taut skin, the magical beast’s scales flickering in the light of an oil lamp.

  The girl opened her eyes and bashfully covered herself with a straw blanket.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, smiling innocently.

  Ozun laughed and bit her gently on the shoulder.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “It’s almost dawn.”

  “I know.”

  He reached his arm around her, but she writhed herself from under it.

  “Stop it! We need to prepare ourselves.”

  Ozun sighed and sat up with his arms around his knees. Those fleeting moments where they only had each other were much too brief for his liking.

  The bright crimson light of the sunrise peered through a small square window.

  “It almost looks like the house is on fire,” he remarked.

  Azumi shuddered, pursing her full lips.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget.”

  He reached out to her, but she rolled away, swift like lightning, then jumped up, flipping backwards and landing on her feet behind him without making a single sound. Her hand was on his throat, ready to punch in his windpipe.

  “Show-off.” Ozun laughed, awed by her supple nakedness.

  “Don’t be fooled by a woman’s tears, hermit,” she said, giggling. “I’ve forgotten all about Koga. I have a new life now, by your side and the Master’s.”

  “I’m also not a mountain hermit anymore,” he replied.

  “That means you’re no longer celibate.” She leaned down and kissed the mark of a renegade tattooed onto his bald scalp. “And this makes me the happiest girl in Yamato.” She straightened herself abruptly and glanced towards the door. “He’s coming.”

  “Are you sure? I can’t hear anything.”

  “What if he’s going to punish you for the failure at Honmyōji?”

  He gnashed his teeth. Those damned pious monks. And I could not even take their spirits.

  “I’m not one of his monsters or sellswords. He can’t just — ”

  The paper panel slid open suddenly and their master appeared in the doorway, his crimson robe seeming almost purple in the shadow. He looked at the two naked lovers indifferently.

  “I have a task for you, kunoichi,” he said to Azumi. His voice carried no emotion.

  “Just me, Master?”

  “Yes. Hopefully you will fare better than your hermit.”

  Ozun tensed feeling the cold stare of the golden eyes.

  “Be careful,” he whispered to the girl as she grabbed her clothes and followed the Master. A faint nod was her only response.

  A small, white-furred wolf trotted up and down the side of the causeway, snout close to the wet ground, sniffing. It paused and nudged a piece of dirt with its nose.

  “What have you got there?”

  Azumi crouched and investigated. She picked up a single long black hair. She tasted it and spat.

  “Dyed.”

  She opened a gourd and poured some saké over the hair. The black dye dissolved, revealing bright red, glistening like pure copper.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered with a hint of jealousy. Her own hair was thin, drab, cut neatly at neck-length. “Well done, Inuki.”

  She scratched the wolf behind the ears. The beast rolled its eyes in bliss. Azumi stood up and blew softly into a bamboo whistle strapped to her sash. The wolf vanished into the mist. A small strip of paper with the character “wolf” written on it floated to the ground.

  The kunoichi picked up the paper carefully, rolled it up and inserted into one of the many containers at her sash. She then drew the bamboo hat over her face, grasped the iron-ringed staff that completed her mendicant monk disguise and moved on down the road.

  She set up her tent on an island of grass in the middle of the marsh, far away from the main road and the prying eyes of passers-by. She much preferred it this way. An assassin needed to be wary of other assassins, and being enclosed within four walls and a roof always made her uneasy. Only when she was with Ozun could she sleep inside a building without waking up in the middle of the night, sweating, remembering the terrible night when the Taikun’s father had decided to destroy the Koga assassins — shinobi and kunoichi - once and for all.

  A small bat fluttered in the shadows. Azumi reached out her hand and the creature swooped onto her palm. It chirped quietly, and the kunoichi listened, nodding.

  “A boat, I understand. Thank you.”

  She smoothed the tiny hairs on the bat’s head and gave it a single cherry. The animal sunk its teeth into the plump flesh of the fruit gratefully.

  The bat, like the wolf, Inuki, was a gift from her beloved hermit. She herself had no powers other than her kunoichi training, but she had discovered an affinity to communicate with Ozun’s Spirits. It was this successful partnership that compelled their Master to endure Ozun’s insolence. “Once a rebel, always a rebel”, was the hermit’s motto.

  This time, however, Azumi feared he may have gone too far. He had let the prize get away, and had returned from Honmyōji with nothing. The Master tolerated disobedience in his most trusted servants, but only as long as it was proving effective. A failure put too much strain on his patience. It was now up to her to make up for her lover’s shortcoming.

  The earth beneath her feet shuddered gently, the tent swayed. The tiny bat was startled and, with the cherry still in its mouth, flew away into the night.

  She sighed.

  Bran passed hesitantly under the green cloth hanging across the doorway leading into the open air bath.

  He knew what hot springs were, but was reluctant to use them. The girls had often reminisced about their favourite bathing places along the journey. He was not yet ready for bathing together with the girls — certainly not with Satō.

  He put his clothes in a straw basket and began to wash himself. He examined his feet; three days of rest on a boat helped to heal the blisters a little. Criss-crossing purple lines, however, still marked where the straps of the straw sandals, much too small for his size, cut deep into skin. Tomorrow we walk again, he thought with a sigh. How much farther, I wonder?

  There was only one little old lady in the spring, submerged up to her neck in the steaming water, her eyes closed. With great care Bran stepped into the bath, a large rectangular pit surrounded by cold flat stones — and suppressed a yelp. It was as if he had descended into a cauldron of hellfire. The splash awoke the old woman and she was startled for a moment, but then just smiled and moved aside to make place for the boy. He nodded in silence.

  After a while he got used to the heat and started enjoying the soak. His arm and leg muscles relaxe
d, his sinuses cleared. He could feel the cold perish from his body. He started falling asleep.

  “Where are you from, boy?” a squeaky voice asked.

  The sudden question stirred him from slumber. It was the old lady, looking at him with interest. She was munching on a thin curly cucumber she had produced from somewhere.

  “Mikawa.”

  “Oh! All the way from Mikawa to our little spring! How curious!”

  “I’m on a pilgrimage,” he explained.

  “Ah, of course. The shrines of Satsuma seem quite popular these days.”

  “How so?”

  “There were two girls here earlier who are also on their way to the Southern Shrines, and a troop of samurai passed through the city yesterday, going in the same direction.”

  “Samurai?”

  “Yes, about thirty of them, all well-armed and very haughty looking. Their commander stopped to take a soak in this spring and I chatted with him for a while, a very dashing gentleman.”

  “Do you live in this spring?”

  Bran chuckled and the old lady giggled.

  “At my age there are few diversions to be had, young man. If you’re on a pilgrimage, you should visit our shrine, Aoi,” she added a moment later. “Aoi Shrine gate, best in all of Kuma!” she sang, and giggled again at the screechy sound of her own voice. “It’s very ancient and revered. Not as much as Kirishima, of course. You are going by way of Kirishima, I assume?”

  “I suppose,” Bran replied vaguely, though the name stirred something in his mind, as if he had already heard it before.

  “It’s the greatest shrine in all of Satsuma! You must visit it! That’s where those samurai were going, by the way.”

  A troop of samurai going to Kirishima... Bran tried to ponder the news, but the relaxing heat of the pool and the faint smell of rotting eggs disturbed his thoughts. The more he looked at the old lady, the more he noticed there was something odd about her. Casually, trying his best not to show he was doing anything unusual, he cast True Sight and stared at the woman.

  In her place he saw a green, reptilian, tortoise-like creature, covered with scales, with a long snout filled with sharp teeth, and webbed feet and hands. It looked at him with the same curious eyes, still snacking on a cucumber, unaware of his penetrating gaze.

  “W-what are you?”

  The creature realised its true form had been revealed and dived into the water, either out of embarrassment or fear. Bran jumped out of the spring, trying to peer at the creature through the mists and vapours.

  “Pleasse, don’t kill me!” the creature gurgled from under the water, hissing like a snake. “I am bound by the priestss of Aoi to never harm anyone!”

  “I have no intention of hurting you, but — what manner of being are you?”

  “Don’t you know a kappa when you ssee one?” The creature’s head, covered with seaweed-like dark hair, emerged onto the surface. “A great onmyōji like yoursself surely would recognise a water ssprite.”

  “How did you survive the…” He struggled to remember. “Yōkai War?”

  “The good priestss of Aoi provided a refuge to a few of the magical creaturess. The war passed uss by.”

  “Us? How many more of you are there?”

  “I’m the lasst of my kind. There could still be ssome goblinss and white foxess hiding in the highesst reaches of the foresst. Pleasse don’t let anyone know you’ve seen me! You must promisse!” The creature swam up to Bran’s feet and stared at him eagerly. “Promisse!” it repeated.

  “I promise, but you must tell me one thing. Did those samurai say why they were going to Kirishima?”

  “They mentioned something about escorting a princessss.”

  “And they did not say anything about… other magic creatures?”

  “No, but — ”

  “Yes?”

  “Ssomething arrived in the mountainss a few days ago, ssomething new and powerful. The foresst iss frightened, there’s never been anything like thiss before. Iss that what you sseek?”

  Whilst dressing, Bran discovered something round and heavy in the folds of his travelling kimono. It was a golden coin. He smiled to himself, thinking how fairy creatures the world over seemed to have the same idea of rewarding kind strangers.

  Just before the inn he saw Nagomi, running from the shrine down the steep bridge spanning a lotus pond. She was pale, trembling.

  “Are you all right?”

  He reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder, as he had done on the boat. Nagomi shook her head.

  “I’m fine, just tired,” she said, but then she wrapped her arms around him and broke down in tears, her whole body shaking with sobs.

  He awkwardly patted her on the back then just hugged her tightly. He didn’t ask, and she wasn’t saying anything. She stopped after a short while, swallowed and wiped the tears from her face.

  “Thank you,” she said very quietly.

  “It’s... fine.” He rubbed her shoulder, trying to think of a way to comfort her. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Yes.”

  They entered the inn. Satō was holding a stone flask in an unsteady hand, pouring clear liquid into the cups of some newly found companions, her clothes dangerously dishevelled. A couple of village entertainers were performing a shockingly bawdy song about a housewife and dried eel, with the locals — and Satō — joining in at the rudest parts of the chorus. There was only one other traveller among the revellers. A samurai in a garish purple and yellow kimono was sitting in the corner, quaffing liquor straight from a flask and smoking a long bamboo pipe, grinning broadly.

  “Ah, you’ve come at last!” the wizardess shouted at Bran and Nagomi over the din. “Come on, join in the fun! Try the famous Kuma Shōchu!”

  Nagomi drank a little cold cha and excused herself with a headache. Bran glanced at her worriedly, but said nothing. Satō grunted something unintelligible and burst into a song about unfaithful samurai wives and the virile men of Kuma.

  The apprentice rolled out the futon, changed into her sleeping clothes and lay down on her back. She sniffed. There was a very faint smell of sulphur lingering above the floor. Did the fumes from Aoi Aso seep through even here?

  Sleep found her quickly, thick, heavy, like a cotton-padded blanket, merciful. She dreamt she was at Suwa again. Her room was empty, just as she had left it. Dust had settled on the straw mat floor. Somebody should clean this up, she thought.

  The door slid open and Lady Kazuko entered the room. Nagomi gasped with delight and ran up to her, embracing the woman.

  “I thought you were dead! I had this vision...”

  The High Priestess caressed the girl’s copper hair silently. At last Nagomi stepped away.

  “Kazuko-hime? Why do you not say anything?”

  Only now did Nagomi notice a thin red scar running around Lady Kazuko’s neck. She understood.

  “You are dead...”

  “Do not distress yourself, child. I will soon be joining my ancestors,” the priestess said quietly and softly. She seemed completely at peace with herself. “I have been ready to meet death for a very long time, since before you were born.”

  “But... What about the shrine? What about me...?”

  “The shrine will endure and so will you. I came only to tell you this — you must continue with your mission.”

  “I... I don’t think that we — that I have the strength...”

  “You have to,” the priestess pressed, “it is even more vital now, since I cannot be there to help you.”

  “I’m just an apprentice.”

  “Not anymore. I ordained you before my death.”

  “But I’m too young! I have not performed the rites!”

  “The dying words of a High Priestess mean more than any rites. You are now a priestess of Suwa. Everyone in Yamato will recognise your new position.”

  “Oh, Kazuko-hime.” Nagomi wept, the reality of what happened finally reaching her. “Is the Gaikokujin really worth all this suffe
ring? First Satō’s father, now you — how much more will we need to sacrifice to help him?”

  “Somebody else asked me the same question recently…” the priestess said, smiling. “It’s not about the boy. It’s about the future of all of us, the fate of Yamato — I can see it clearly now...”

  “Fate? I can’t...”

  “You can’t do it alone, I know. That’s why you have each other. Do not distress yourself with my doom. Death is just a transformation. In a way, I’m happy my life ended like this — at least I managed to do something good in the end.”

  “Everything you did was good.”

  “If only that was true.” The priestess smiled sadly then looked up. “My time has come. I will become one with the kami. Remember me in your prayers, child.”

  “Always.”

  “You have always been my favourite apprentice,” Lady Kazuko said, patting the girl’s head one last time, “and the most beautiful.”

  “You were the only one who ever thought that.”

  Nagomi smiled through her tears.

  “Maybe I was,” the priestess said, nodding, “but it will not always be so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The priestess did not respond. She closed her eyes. A bright, white blinding light filled the room and caused Nagomi to shield her eyes with her hands.

  A faint voice reached her from the light, over the distant hum of the Otherworld.

  “Oh, of course, I can see it clearly now!” The High Priestess spoke one last time with a dire sense of urgency. “Listen, Nagomi, things are not what they seem. The man you will meet — you must…!”

  The vision perished. Bran and Satō stumbled into the room, waking Nagomi abruptly.

  “Sorry,” muttered the boy.

  The wizardess barely managed a mumble.

  The way into the Westerner’s consciousness lay wide open. The jade dragon snored loudly at the crumbled gates.

  Shigemasa did not plan to run this time. He had grown too curious of the Westerner’s fate. He decided to wait and see what came out of all this while he waited for his own destiny to unravel.

  He still had urges that needed fulfilling, though, needs that had lingered dormant for two hundred years. The Spirits had no life other than the timeless existence in the Cave of Scrying, but once he had possessed the boy’s body, the unquenched passions awoke with increased strength.