The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  “You intrigue me, Aoki-sama,” the tengu tilted its head from one side to another, “first you keep a kappa’s secret, now you take pity on a goblin?”

  “Didn’t I tell you last time we met, Kabuto-sama,” Dōraku said, grinning. “The Yamato is changing.”

  “So you did, Swordsman. Perhaps there is yet hope for the likes of us in this world.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Torii Heishichi, the Arch Wizard of Satsuma, had no way of knowing whether the spell had worked. He had been designing the pattern ever since he had received Lord Nariakira’s mysterious order, four days ago. Two more days it had taken himself and six of his best students to weave it into place, infusing the bars of the great iron cage with complex magic. He could only hope it was enough to hold the beast down.

  It lay asleep peacefully in its cage, but it could have been a hunger and weariness-induced lethargy, rather than effects of his spellcraft. Heishichi knew enough of the Rangaku scientific method not to put too much trust in a simple correlation of facts. The Court zoologist had found records that seemed to confirm his fears — there were dragon-like creatures living in the rivers of Bharata which could survive for weeks without food in this dormant state... They could only wait and observe.

  An old scholar who had once helped Lord Nariakira’s father with his financial and agricultural reforms was now tasked with calculating how much a beast of this size would need to eat, and how often it should feed. It was all guesswork, based on old legends, ancient chronicles studied by Lord Hosokawa in Kumamoto, and secretly smuggled bits of Western knowledge. Was the dorako’s metabolism more akin to that of an ox, or a wolf? Or maybe a giant snake? In the end, the scholar cautiously estimated that it should be fed a wild boar or a deer at least once every three days just to keep it alive.

  This posed another difficulty. Should they wake the dragon to feed it? If they hadn’t, would it perish of hunger in its sleep? He could only guess the extent of Lord Nariakira’s wrath if the beast died through neglect of its keepers. Getting away with a disembowelment order would be lucky. The dragon’s well-being was his own responsibility — whether the beast perished of hunger or ran away, his blame would be the same.

  Heishichi hated the dragon and the new situation he had found himself in because of it. He held the post of a Daisen, the Arch Wizard, but now he had been turned from an academic to a farmer. As one of the few who had unlimited access to the beast, he had to take care of its needs. His hands reeked of raw meat. And he was running out of time.

  They were scheduled to leave soon for Kirishima, where he hoped to utilise the power of the magic nexus to make the binding spell stronger and reduce the number of wizards needed to sustain it to a more manageable number. But to make it to Kirishima, the dragon had to feed.

  “On a count of four, disrupt the channelling,” Heishichi commanded and winced, seeing hesitation on the faces five of the wizards. Only Sugimoto, the young Earth Wizard, remained composed.

  Four was an unlucky number, foreboding death. He had chosen it deliberately; there was nothing he disliked more than foolish superstition. His students were quick to learn of this particular quirk of his character, but old customs took long to get rid of.

  A heap of untouched carcasses lay before the beast, its nauseating stench permeating the air. Days had passed uneventfully. The dragon did not wake of its own accord, so Heishichi decided to risk it and remove carefully the enchantments binding the beast inside the iron cage.

  “…four!” he shouted.

  The wizards broke their concentration and dispersed their energies, unravelling the enchantment — just by a fraction, to see what would happen. The beast did not move.

  “Should we unravel the second coil?” asked Sugimoto.

  “Yes, prepare to… no, wait.”

  The dragon stirred at last. Its nostrils flared. Picking up the scent of the meat, its eyes started opening slowly, narrow slits at first.

  “Careful now.”

  Fast like a whip, the beast’s head snapped forward. Teeth clenched on a wild boar’s carcass and pulled back before anyone could react. Heishichi had never seen anything so big move so fast. He heard others whisper astonished prayers.

  The dragon swallowed the boar in a few gulps, then reached for another carcass. It was then that it noticed the presence of the humans. Heishichi’s eyes met the beast’s gaze and his skin was covered with a cold sweat and his throat tightened. The Daisen felt for the first time the legendary fear gripping the soul to the core.

  “Enough,” he whispered what was supposed to be a sharp command.

  The six wizards raised their arms and tightened the spell’s pattern. The dragon shook its head from side to side, struggling with dizziness. Heishichi reached into his sleeve and pulled out a pouch of white powder. He blew it into the air around the dragon’s maw. The beast succumbed, lowering its head to the ground and fell back into a heavy sleep.

  The Daisen breathed a sigh of relief. The white powder, a strong concentrate of purest Cursed Weed smuggled from Qin at great expense, was his own invention. As with everything else regarding the dorako, this was also a never tried before experiment.

  “Prepare it for transport,” Heishichi commanded, fixing his horn-rimmed glasses.

  The buzz of a lazy fly added to the monotonous drone of the priest’s prayer. The small cemetery glade was surrounded by tall pine trees, cutting it off from the refreshing sea winds. In the stale air of a warm midday Heishichi struggled with lethargy.

  He knew he had to at least show that he cared. This was, after all, the funeral of one of his students. The wizard’s body lay on the funeral pyre covered with a white shroud so that the gathered would not have to see its terrible state.

  The family would not be told of what had really happened, but they had accepted their fate a long time ago. A wizard’s life in Lord Nariakira’s service was never a long one. Ever pushed to the limits of their knowledge and power, the Rangakusha of Satsuma perished in their prime whenever an experiment went wrong or the forces unleashed proved too strong.

  In his position as the Satsuma’s Daisen, Heishichi had presided over many such funerals — too many to remember. This, however, was the first time he had to say farewell to the victim of a dragon.

  He had been trying to figure out what went wrong all night; why did the dorako wake and lash out on the unfortunate mage like that? Was there an error in the holding spell, or did he mix up the proportions of the sleeping powder? In the end he had to concede he had not enough information. This worried him much more than the loss of a student. Men could be replaced. They only had one dragon.

  Perhaps, perhaps… he lost the train of thought. He had a feeling the solution to the problem was within his grasp. If only he could focus. If only the priest stopped mumbling!

  He became aware of the sudden silence. Everyone was staring at him.

  Did I say that out loud?

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a bow.

  “It’s all right,” the celebrant replied, “it must be difficult for you. You were his teacher, I am told.”

  “I was.”

  “I am finished with my prayers. The ceremony can proceed.”

  “You are aware of our custom, priest?”

  “I have been made aware, yes,” the celebrant replied, the polite smile disappearing momentarily from his lips.

  “Step aside, then.”

  Heishichi and two other fire wizards approached the body of their slain comrade and put their hands on what remained of his chest. The Daisen summoned a white flame which started to devour the flesh from inside. Within seconds the corpse incinerated, leaving nothing but a pile of ash underneath the white shroud.

  At Heishichi’s signal, Sugimoto stepped up to the pyre and whispered a spell word: “Aardse Nor.” Earth parted beneath the pyre, burying it along with the shroud and the ashes.

  “There will be no tombstone necessary,” Heishichi announced.

  “But the Spirit of the deceas
ed must be…”

  “None of my students has ever come back to haunt me. I doubt this one will.”

  “I cannot agree to this.”

  “You are free to argue your point with Nariakira-dono.”

  The priest made no answer, aware of the Daisen’s elevated position at the Satsuma court.

  “Good. You may clean this up. I must return to my duties, I have wasted enough time on these pointless rituals.”

  He turned on his heel and headed back towards the shrine. By the time he had passed the last of the stone grave marks, he had forgotten all about the deceased student of Rangaku.

  Councillor Hotta Naosuke climbed the narrow road leading up the Shiba Hill, past the long row of thousands of little bodhisattvas wearing red bibs that marked the border of the Zojō Temple, along the stone walls of the Okubo Clan residence, through a small pine grove and further on, still upwards.

  Near the top he stopped for a moment, catching his breath, took off the tall black cloth cap that indicated his status as a government official, and wiped his face with it. The sun was merciless. The road here wound westwards along the slope, and the glade where he chose to rest commanded a magnificent view in three directions. Naosuke looked north, back whence he came. From the hill he could see almost all of Edo, all the way to the Taikun’s Castle, rising in its many tiers like a mountain of white, dazzling in the sun. The city of wood, stone and noise sprawled around it in all directions endlessly, except to the East where the reclaimed land encroached on the uneasy ocean.

  Southwards lay the marshlands and the rice fields of the Kantō Plain, the water in the muddy ponds glittering like mica dust. But the eye was quickly drawn away from these vistas to the only view truly worth seeing in all of Yamato: rising in a perfect cone, with its top forever hidden in the clouds, snow-covered slopes dazzling with golden light, at once majestic, beautiful and terrifying; the unparalleled Fujisan.

  If we were to clear the hilltop and build a viewing tower, thousands would flock to this place, he reflected. I should propose it on the next Council meeting. He took one last look at the city and then gazed up, into the azure sky. A large black bird with a long tail and broad wings soared high above the sparse clouds.

  On the northern slope of the hill there was a long deep dell, hidden in the shadows of tall silvery firs and black pine trees. Long before reaching the hollow, Naosuke smelled the heady odour of brimstone filling the forest and heard the strange hissing and gurgling sounds coming from beyond a rocky outcrop. But there were no volcanic fissures or hot springs in this part of Edo.

  The Councillor climbed the sharp boulders, hid among the roots of an old pine tree and looked down. The hissing repeated, even louder now, followed by a screech and a cracking noise, as of tree branches being broken. On a narrow sward of grass nine tall men were sitting by the campfire, wearing hooded cloaks of dark grey cloth. Further down the valley, beyond a circle of white tents, coiled three monstrous creatures, resting. Each as big as a rice ship, their reptilian bodies, massive heads and long, spiked tails were covered with jet-black, glistening scales. The terrible jaws, dripping foul slobber, seemed capable of swallowing a human whole. Leathery, bat-like wings, folded along the sides, heaved up and down as the beasts breathed in and out.

  The hissing was the sound of a plume of steam and smoke, wafting from the monstrous nostrils with every breath. The cracking sound was the bones of a deer — one of several piled in a nook of the dale — that one of the creatures devoured in a few snaps of giant teeth.

  Naosuke observed the monsters with curiosity. He had read the reports and studied the legends, but he was little prepared for the sight of the black-winged monsters. He had not been in Edo when the dragons had arrived. The Council had been called immediately to deal with the threat, but still it had taken him a few days to reach the city from his summer house in the mountains. By the time he had arrived, a semblance of calm returned to the capital, although the city buzzed with rumours and tall tales. The invaders did not yet wish or dare to attack the Taikun’s castle, instead they had set up their camp on the slopes of the Shiba Hill, out of sight, and waited.

  Not even the Taikun’s scouts dared get close to the barbarian encampment. Nobody knew what it was that they wanted or what they were waiting for in the shadowy vale. They had sent no envoys, they had made no threats, although their presence was enough to cast a dark shroud over the entire neighbourhood. Only the monks at Zojō remained steadfast, everyone else had moved out of the vicinity of Shiba. Looking at the resting dragons, Naosuke could not blame them. A primeval terror reaching deep into the soul gripped anyone who got near to the three beasts.

  Three? There should be one more… he gazed upwards once again and realised that what he took for a bird at first was in fact the fourth of the dragons — the largest one. The monster was circling above Edo slowly like a vulture, far beyond the range of muskets and arrows.

  The Councillor decided he had seen enough and started climbing down from his lookout point. A small stone escaped from under his feet, triggering an abrupt avalanche. It would have been too quiet for any human to hear. But one of the grey cloaks stood up in an instant and turned towards Naosuke, searching the precipice for the intruder. The Councillor could not see the eyes under the hood’s shadow, but he sensed their piercing power. One of the black monsters paused between gulping one deer carcass and the next and also looked up.

  There was no point running away. He stood up straight and, with as much dignity as he could muster under the terrifying gaze of the beast’s eyes, spoke loudly:

  “I am Hotta Naosuke, son of Hotta Naonake, representative of the Council of Elders of Yamato. I came to hear you out.”

  The Councillor passed through the imposing Shōin-mon gate, nodding out of respect to the giant chrysanthemum crest made of pure gold, attached to the dark wooden beams.

  The guard bowed deeply.

  “Your weapon please, Hotta-dono.”

  He pulled out his ceremonial wakizashi and lay it on the guard’s outstretched arms. None could enter the inner court with a sword, not even he, one of the five most important men in the country excepting the Taikun.

  He tightened his sash and walked on, passing the paper lanterns marked with the sign of the mallow crest. The guard waited until he thought Naosuke was well out of sight, before speaking to the other.

  “I don’t know why, but I always get the chills when he walks by.”

  “I know what you mean. Makes my hair stand on end. There is something odd about this Councillor.”

  Naosuke chuckled as he walked through the pillared corridor of the Outer Palace of Edo Castle. His hearing was much better than the guards suspected, but he made nothing of their insolence. He had not got to where he was by having petty quarrels with commoners.

  He passed the golden-walled reception chambers, where the daimyo waited for an audience, then the white room, where the Taikun met the imperial messenger on the rare occasion one was sent from the Mikado’s Palace. All this he was leaving behind. Long ago he would have been one of the lords in the inner room, hanging on to Taikun’s every word, bickering among themselves for the master’s attention, quarrelling for every extra koku of rice given or taken on the Master’s whim. Now he had access to the Naka-ōku, the Middle Palace, where the Taikun met with his closest advisers. Beyond it lay only the private rooms of the ruler’s family and concubines.

  He entered the Great Room. The paintings on its gilded panel walls showed the bay of Edo, surrounded by tall, snow-capped mountains, with merchant ships and fishing boats scattered on the waters. This reminded the council of what mattered most in the politics and survival of the island nation: the Sea.

  Naosuke was the first to arrive. He prided himself in diligence and punctuality. Others could be “fashionably late”, but not him. He sat down on a silk cushion, admiring the view to a small stone garden of the inner courtyard. The gleaming white gravel was spread before the verandah like a beautiful shingle beach in fro
nt of the sea painted on the walls. His dark brown eyes glittered and his waxen, pale skin wrinkled in a grin.

  A servant slid open the door to the Great Room. Masahiro Abe peered carefully inside. Somebody was already there, sitting by the garden.

  “Councillor Hotta. First as always.”

  The Councillor turned around to face him and bowed. “Chief Councillor. I wonder how long before others arrive?”

  “I’ve seen old Tadamasa-dono on his way here. Ah, here he is.”

  An old man with a face wrinkled like a pickled ume plum appeared in the corridor. A staunch ally of Abe, he greeted the Chief Councillor with a light nod and sat on a cushion beside him before bowing to Hotta.

  Next came young Kuze Hirochika. He was only a few months older than Abe. As such, he had had a chance to observe the Chief Councillor’s rise to power first-hand. This made him admire Masahiro’s abilities, but despise his conciliatory character. Master Kuze was a man of quick action and a few words, the hot-headed leader of the War Party. Lastly, the two Matsudairas entered the room. They were a confident pair, almost to the point of insolence, certain of their position in the Council as a decision could rarely be made without the consent of them both.

  They had all come from various parts of the Empire, mostly the central provinces, except the Matsudairas, who had come the longest, from Izumi in the south.

  “Please slide the screens behind you, Noriyasu-dono,” Abe addressed the elder of the two cousins. The Councillor pulled the paper screens together, enclosing them all in an octagonal space.

  “I shall be brief, for the matter is pressing. Councillor Hotta here claims he has news about the invaders that require our urgent attention.”

  The Councillors looked at Naosuke with vague interest.

  “I hope you have found a way to drive them out of our sacred land,” said young Hirochika.

  Councillor Hotta smiled and bowed lightly.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What is it then?”

  “I have spoken to the barbarian Commander.”