He pointed at the still standing warrior and spoke Binding Words. He put little power into the spell, but it was enough to halt the man’s movements completely. He then spread out his palm and tried the same with onmyōji, but the mage only smirked and shrugged the spell off.
The dragon rider cursed and drew his sword. A row of runes lit up along the blade. He was not a keen swordsman and the weapon in his hand felt unfamiliar, unwieldy.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” a voice called in Bran’s head.
“Leave me be.” The boy struggled to push the general’s spirit away. “I have everything under control.”
“He doesn’t look that tough. I could cut him down if you”d only let me.”
“You’ve chosen a bad time to try your tricks. I need to focus, so be quiet!” the boy cried in his mind with great energy.
The general fell silent, watchful.
The onmyōji swung his mace sideways at Bran. The boy leapt up and forwards, quickly calculating the curve of his enhanced jump above the mage’s head. He landed hard and turned around, cutting backwards, but the jump had carried him too far and his blade swished through the air futilely. He lost his balance and struggled not to fall face-forwards into the dirt. The Enchanted Acrobatics had failed him once again.
The mage spun around. Bran opened his left hand and summoned dragon flame, spewing a spiralling tongue of fire from between his spread fingers. At last the onmyōji stopped smirking as the air filled with the stench of burning skin and hair.
The mage grunted, annoyed. He clearly had not expected to get hurt. He smashed his mace into the ground with full force and the earth around him shook violently.
Bran staggered, dropping to one knee. He attacked with dragon flame again, but this time the mage bit his teeth and endured the pain as the blaze enveloped him. He threw his mace high up into the air then clapped his hands together and murmured a quick mantra before catching the weapon as it fell.
A five-pointed star appeared glowing on the ground around Bran. The dragon rider tried to jump away, but he bounced off an invisible wall — he was trapped within the borders of the pentacle.
The mage towered over Bran with a stern face. His shirt burned to tatters, the five-pointed star tattoo on his chest was fully visible, dancing on rippling muscles. The skin on his torso was covered in fast reddening blisters, but the mage seemed to pay no attention to what must have been a terrible agony.
With lightning speed he swung his iron mace high above his head to bring it down upon the boy, but Bran was just as quick. He dropped his sword and summoned the Soul Lance between his stretched out arms. Blue lightning crackled as the mace clanged against the lance’s shaft of solidified life energy. Bran moaned, his shoulders nearly breaking, but the lance held where the sword’s blade would have no doubt shattered.
The mage laughed and pushed further against the lance, confident in his pure physical strength. Bran resisted valiantly, but his weapon flickered under the strain and suddenly vanished. The onmyōji lost his balance momentarily. The iron mace missed Bran’s head by an inch and fell with great force upon the boy’s left shoulder, smashing through the collar bone with a loud, nauseating crack.
“Gwrthyrru!”
Ignoring the excruciating pain, Bran hit the mage’s chest with a Strike of Repel. The enemy launched a few feet into the air with a surprised expression on his face and fell on his back, splashing the mud around.
The road, the forest and the grey sky revolved around Bran, shock quickly overcoming his consciousness. He saw Satō running to his help and then there was nothing but the red darkness.
The fight was too easy. The bandits may have been skilled swordsmen, but they were no match for her magic. She had already frozen two of her opponents to the ground; the third one was struggling to set himself free from Bran’s spell.
Satō would have preferred to fight the onmyōji. She was curious how her Takashima School training would aid her in a fight against what many wizards perceived as a natural foil to the Rangakusha — a native mage, skilled in channelling the destructive aspects of the kami power — but the bandit chief focused his efforts on Bran, leaving her to deal with his meagre minions.
She raised her sword to strike the nearest of the swordsmen, when his eyes lit up with red glow and his face twisted and transformed into a blazing demonic mask. He shrugged Bran’s enchantment off. The other two men underwent the same metamorphosis and the ice shackles holding them shattered with a loud crackle.
“Shikigami!” Satō scowled.
The demonic familiars in human guise! Now the fight became serious. She leapt back as her enemies jumped at her from three sides. She put her left hand to her lips and whispered a quick incantation. Three ice lances shot from her fingers. The demons let out otherworldly howls, but kept on approaching, ignoring their wounds.
This was no good, she realized. She put more energy into her next shot and launched one powerful javelin-shaped missile against the nearest of the assailants. It tore right through him, leaving a gaping hole in his torso. Still the shikigami moved forwards as if nothing happened. She parried one blow of his sword, then another, but there seemed to be no stopping the demonic swordsmen. Suddenly she heard Nagomi cry out.
“Sacchan, look out — Bran…!”
Glancing beyond the three demons, the wizardess saw Bran slip and fall down under the pummelling of the onmyōji’s mace. She noticed the five-pointed star glowing in the sand and cursed loudly.
Fighting the familiars was taking too long and her reserves were draining fast. And now she had to do something to help Bran out of the mage’s trap. Desperate, she reached into the sleeve of her vermillion kimono and took out the glove given to her by Master Tanaka. She slid it hastily on her right hand and pressed on the spring. A thick needle popped out, piercing her palm. Blood spurted in a thick stream. The glass dial twitched and lit up brightly as Satō’s life energy poured into the enchantment.
“Bevries!” the wizardess cried at the top of her lungs.
The nearest bandit immediately turned into an ice statue, frozen solid from head to toe. Satō was as surprised with the result as the other two.
“Bevries, weder!” She cast another spell, and another demonic swordsman was stopped in his tracks, his limbs encased in ice. “Blood magic...” she whispered, fascinated by the amount of power she was able to generate.
But that was almost the limit of what the device was capable off. The grip of her sword was slippery with blood and the energy gauge was running low. Worst of all, the wound in her shoulder once more began to throb with pain.
She hissed through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the ache.
Satō dodged a blow from the last swordsman’s blade. She pierced the shikigami with her sword, but the demon pushed on. Slashing sideways, she sliced the enemy across the stomach. The swordsman glanced at his innards pouring out of the gash, confused. He made a clumsy step forwards and his legs wobbled. Satō pushed him aside and ran towards Bran and the onmyōji.
The bulky mage picked himself up off the ground and raised his dreadful mace over Bran one more time. She released all her remaining power, hoping to hamper his movements with strong ice chains. She managed to turn his attention on herself for a moment.
The onmyōji swirled his weapon over Satō wildly. She ducked and cut the enemy across the stomach, but her sword bounced off an invisible shield. The mage had his own kekkai! Was there no limit to his powers? She lunged forwards, dodging another blow. While the bandit struggled against her icy shackles, the wizardess reached Bran.
She tried to lift him but the boy’s body slipped from her grasp. She heard and felt the last of her enchantments shatter, the onmyōji breaking free behind her. She turned around and raised her sword feebly, in an attempt to block the final blow from the terrible iron mace as it came crashing down towards her. Parts of the sword covered with frost, but she was too weak to embed the entire blade in ice. Her shoulder was almost paralysed
with the agony spreading from the bronze dagger wound.
She stared straight in the mage’s eyes, ready to face death…
The moment the three rōnin turned into demons, Nagomi hid behind a tree, shivering with terror. She had never experienced such fear in her life, not even when they had to flee from the Honmyōji. She prayed to all her ancestors, but they offered no guidance. She prayed to Lady Kazuko, but the priestess did not appear before her, did not come from the Otherworld at her time of need.
She was on her own and helpless. Again there was nothing she could do but watch her friends struggle, lose and die. Bran was already down, Satō fighting on her own. Still the Gods did not come.
“I must do something,” she whispered in despair, “anything!”
She felt something warm in her sleeve and reached into it. The Spirit light beaker lit up with the merry orange flame, as if trying to comfort Nagomi in her distress.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and threw the beaker at the onmyōji with all her might and little hope.
The hulking bandit’s back made for an easy target. The tiny, fragile clay pot smashed against his burly frame and the Spirit light, set free, immediately engulfed the mage’s body in flames.
The onmyōji howled loudly. He dropped the mace and clasped his hands to his face. Faint pale wisps of bright orange flame whirled around him, penetrating magic defences, scalding his blistered burned skin. The mage reeled to the side of the road.
Satō saw Nagomi standing in the middle of the road with her eyes and mouth wide open, breathing fast, her trembling hands clutching her paper-tasselled wand. Shards of her Spirit fire beaker were scattered on the road. The wisps of shining orange fog spread all over the mage like fiery insects and leapt onto the stumbling shikigami behind him, who began to howl and crawl in the dirt just like its master.
But the icy tombs holding the other two were shattering from inside. There was no time to wonder about the miracle. The wizardess pulled Bran up by his right arm, herself still numb with pain.
“Nagomi!”
The apprentice shook off her astonishment and ran up to help raise the boy from the other side. Bran grunted weakly, his consciousness slowly returning.
“There’s a hidden path behind that big tree,” Nagomi whispered.
The wizardess nodded and the three stumbled into the humid darkness of the misty forest. The undergrowth seemed to part before the girls and, as they carried wounded Bran farther down the narrow muddy path, the woods closed behind their backs defensibly, keeping them safely out of sight.
For all Nagomi knew, they could have been carrying the boy straight into the bandits’ lair, but there was no time to think of a better plan. The path was definitely the one she had seen in the revelation the day before. Every fern, every cypress tree, every moss-covered boulder was the same. She could only hope she had interpreted the vision correctly.
She could hear the enemies in the distance, trying to find their way through the dense forest, then there was only the silence of the deep wood and the sound of rain battering on the leaves. Eventually the path ended before a round open glade, surrounded with a circle of roughly hewn, moss-covered stones. Exactly as she had seen in the bronze mirror, in the middle of the glade was an ancient earthen mound with a stone-lined narrow entrance. Remnants of an old straw rope lay in front of it, and a dilapidated wooden door frame showed the inside was still in use long after the mound had been raised.
Nagomi hesitated, remembering the rest of the vision, but there wasn’t anyone inside and Satō was urging her to move quickly. They were both at the edge of their strength. The girls entered the mound and put Bran on the floor of flat hard limestone. The chamber was surprisingly dry and warm. Satō sneaked outside to cover up their tracks, while Nagomi sat down by the unconscious boy.
There was very little daylight seeping through the entrance. Nagomi wished she still had her Spirit light with her. Its loss was disheartening. She had been carrying the merry orange flame with her ever since she had become inducted as an apprentice. It had kept her company in any darkness, reminding her of the happy times she had at the shrine. Now her loneliness was even more palpable.
She focused on examining Bran’s wounds. The boy’s shoulder was dark purple, quickly turning black, swollen to twice its normal size. When she touched it, she could feel the bits of crushed bone move sickeningly underneath the skin. She felt queasy, but at least now she knew exactly what to do. She started her healing chant, quietly at first, bowing repeatedly, shaking her wooden wand and sprinkling his arm with dew and rainwater gathered from the floor. There was very little effect — the bleeding did not subside, the swelling remained in place, the shattered bones refused to mend.
“Ooh, it’s not working! Why doesn’t it work?” she complained. “You’re not old enough to be so resistant!”
Bran opened his eyes and looked at her. His pupils were as black as night.
“His Ancestors are not with him.”
The guttural roar of the Otherworld coming from deep within the boy’s throat accompanied the words spoken by General Shigemasa.
Nagomi backed away, shielding herself with the wooden wand.
“The boy has great innate resistance,” the old samurai said, “even to thy healing power.”
“What… what do I need to do?” Nagomi whispered.
“I shall endeavour to open the conduit. Thou wilt have little time, so do thy best.”
Bran-Shigemasa closed his eyes. A bright blue light surrounded his body and on that cue Nagomi started her chanting once more. The wound started to heal, contract, the bleeding stopped, the swelling receded. The bones and muscles moved around within the flesh and joined together, mending. Soon all that was left was only a dark bruise, a faint memory of the battle. Nagomi leaned back against the wall, panting, exhausted to the very edge of her strength. She had never felt so weak and tired in her life.
“Thank you, Shigemasa-dono,” she managed a faint whisper.
“The boy is no good to me dead. If he perishes out here in the wilderness, I become a wandering Spirit.”
“You will… not be trying to control him now?”
“Not today. There would be no honour in that.”
“I… I don’t believe you. He warned us about… your tricks.”
The general chuckled.
“He was right, but the Barbarian deserves this little respite. He fought bravely today — almost like a true samurai. I can appreciate that.”
Satō barred the narrow entrance with the remnants of the door and sat down next to her friend. The chamber was shrouded in darkness, light barely seeping through the cracks between the stones. The wizardess, too, was tired and dishevelled, her forearm covered with dried blood, her shoulder hanging loose, limp. She loosened her kimono and undid the breast wrap to catch a deeper breath.
“How is he?”
“He should be fine. Do you need that cut looked after?” Nagomi raised a feeble hand but Satō caught it gently and put back on her lap.
“No, it’s just a scratch. Don’t worry.”
“And the… arm?”
“The Suwa priests already did everything that could be done. What about you? You seem exhausted.”
“I’m… I’ll be all right. I just need to rest.”
Bran stirred, opened his eyes and slowly sat up.
“I’m alive,” he said.
“For now,” said Satō grimly. “They’re still out there somewhere.”
“Odd…” He rubbed a bruised arm. “I thought it would be crushed to bits.”
“It was,” the wizardess told him, “you’re lucky Nagomi’s such a talented healer.”
“A healer...?”
“Any priestess would do the same,” Nagomi protested shyly.
“I don’t understand.”
“Nagomi healed your wound,” repeated Satō slowly as if talking to a child, assuming his mind was still muddled by the shock of the fight.
“But how could she
…?”
“Oh, you — don’t you have healers in the West?”
“No! I’ve never heard of such thing. Do you mean medicine??” he asked.
“No, that’s not it. Your medicine is great when it comes to dealing with diseases and internal ailments,” replied Satō, “but for battle wounds or injuries, we have the Spirit healers.”
“But… is this true? This is a fantastic power! How did you manage to keep it a secret?”
“A secret?” Satō seemed genuinely surprised. “Nobody’s keeping it a secret. I thought everyone knew about Spirit healing.”
“I assure you if the world outside knew... The Bataavians are certainly not letting this information out.” Bran stopped and looked around the dark chamber. “How did we get here? I don’t remember...”
“You passed out with pain and we carried you into the forest.”
“We’ve defeated them?”
“No.” Satō shook her head. “But we did manage to run away, thanks to Nagomi’s sacrifice.”
“How do you mean?”
Despite the darkness inside the tomb, Nagomi could feel Bran’s incredulous eyes fixed upon her. She avoided their gaze and looked at the floor, wringing the end of her obi sash in her hands.
“It wasn’t… I didn’t…”
“She used her Spirit light to distract the mage,” said Satō, patting her gently on the back, “am I right?”
Nagomi nodded.
“Thank you,” whispered Bran, “and thank you for the… healing. I still can’t — such power...!”
“It’s — nothing, really.” She felt her throat closing in.
The boy looked around.
“Are we safe here? What is this place?”
“It’s a tomb of the Ancients,” Nagomi said in a quiet voice, “and a forest shrine, after that.” She could faintly sense the kami of the place still lingering around, but the altar and all the trappings were long gone.
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 45
