The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  “Ah, excellent eye, tono,” the vendor bowed, “I had it delivered only last week. That’s ten silver monme.”

  “Eeh! That’s less than half of what it’s worth in Kiyō,” Satō shook her head in astonishment. “And so easily available!”

  She moved to another stall. This one was full of books and scrolls, mostly samurai adventures.

  “I loved these when I was little,” she said, flipping through the pages. “Look, this one’s about the warrior monks of Mii-dera.”

  “One of my favourites as well, young swordsman,” Master Kawakami spoke behind them, giving the girls a fright.

  “Ah! Gensai-sama! Have you found what you’ve been looking for?”

  “Somewhat,” he grimaced, “all they care about here is shōchū. I have pressed the landlord long enough and it turns out he had a whole batch of the Fukushima’s finest.”

  A few drops of rain fell on the books and the vendor began to hastily cover them up.

  “We should go back,” Nagomi said.

  “Oh, can’t we stay a while yet?” said Satō, “I wanted to go and see the workshops across the river. I’ve heard so much about them...”

  “Karasu-sama will be worried,” the priestess gave her a telling look. “Maybe some other time.”

  Master Kawakami looked to the dark clouds. “It will pass soon. But as you wish.”

  The crowds split into two currents. One flow headed for the inns clustered on the southern edge of the town, the other — for the shrine, where some of the pilgrims were yet hoping to find some accommodation. Satō, Nagomi and Master Kawakami joined the former, moving slowly forwards as the rain changed from a spitting drizzle to a drenching torrent. His servant strove to keep them all under one bamboo umbrella, pummelled by the sudden onset of wind.

  Just before the bridge to the shrine the samurai stopped abruptly, causing the entire crowd behind them to also stop and wait in the downpour.

  “What is it?” Satō asked.

  “For a moment there I thought I felt — a presence…” his hand released the hilt of his long sword. “Nothing. Never mind me. Let’s press on!”

  Satō looked at the colourful multitude around them but saw nothing. She felt Nagomi grasp her by the hand and pull her closer.

  “We must not get separated in this crowd,” the priestess whispered. “And let’s stick close to Gensai-sama, just in case.”

  “In case of what? What did you see?”

  “Nothing, but… somehow I don’t feel safe here.”

  Only when they were back beyond the shrine’s great red torii and behind the closed door of her room, did the priestess sigh with relief.

  “What happened there?” asked Satō.

  “Didn’t you feel it?”

  The wizardess shook her head.

  “I think something is out there, waiting for us.”

  “The Crimson Robe?”

  Nagomi shrugged. “It could be anything. That evil presence from Honmyōji, whatever it was… or something we stirred in the forest... We must tell Bran.”

  “He will be angry at us for leaving the shrine. But I guess we have no choice. Where is he, anyway?”

  “He must have gone on his nightly scouting mission already.”

  There was a knock on the door. Satō reached for her sword.

  “I bring a gift from Kawakami Gensai-dono,” a servant’s voice announced.

  She was wearing a different kimono this night, of plain black, glistening silk with crescent moon and stars embroidered in silver. The dark robe enhanced the lightness and smoothness of her skin and neck and made her seem even more mature and regal. She smelled of rosewood.

  “Come with me, my secret prince,” she said with a slight giggle and led him by the hand, beyond the lily pond and her lodgings, into the outer precinct. By the faint light of the paper lantern they passed along an ancient clay wall, covered with thick moss and mould. The grass was wet with fresh rain.

  “This is where the priests live — and your red-haired friend,” Atsuko explained.

  Manoeuvring between some sheds, pavilions and huts of unknown purpose, they reached a massive storehouse in the middle of the storage area, a rectangular building supported on tall pillars of cedar. The thick stone walls had no windows.

  “I think it’s here. It’s the only place in the shrine I’m not allowed in,” she whispered, “and I’ve seen Heishichi-sama coming in and out of it every few hours.”

  They were huddled in azaleas behind a low wall. There were two guards stationed outside the storehouse, whom he recognised as Hosokawa’s retainers. Bran could feel his heart beat faster than ever. Atsuko was so close he could now smell not only the rosewood on her clothes, but also the faint, chalky aroma of her make-up. He felt the warmth of her skin, heard her quiet breath.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

  I think you’re wonderful. I think I want to stay here forever.

  Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the storehouse. He cast True Sight and the sheer amount of energy surrounding the structure almost blinded him. Magic currents surged through and around the building, powerful fields and multiple knotted spell threads interconnected with each other. In the middle of it all the silhouette of Emrys shone with a familiar bright green light. Bran’s head began to hurt.

  “Yes, this is the place. Why are Kumamoto soldiers guarding it instead of your father’s men?”

  He didn’t like them being here. The eight-circle crest of the Hosokawas on their clothes brought back memories of the fight in the forest.

  “They are from my escort. Kumamoto is famous for its warriors, and has more of them to spare. Lord Nariakira agreed to this to strengthen the alliance between the two domains.”

  “And you’re not afraid of betrayal? What if something happened to… to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “They wouldn’t dare. It would bring shame upon the entire clan. But if they did… My Father would proudly accept my sacrifice.”

  “You’re a bait?”

  “I am just one stone of many on the igo board,” she said. He did not know what game she was referring to, but he understood the metaphor well.

  “Let us return to the garden. Will you know how to get here on your own?”

  “I think so.” He looked around to get his bearings. “There’s the Jimmu shrine, and beyond it — the main offertory and worship hall, right?”

  She nodded and turned to leave.

  “Wait, I want to try something.”

  He closed his eyes and focused on the Farlink connection. There was a resistance at first, and not only because of the magic barriers around the cage. Emrys was fighting him back. Bran pressed on, forcefully at first, then, when this only made the dragon resist more, gently, soothingly, caressing the beast with his mind. At last the dragon yielded, recognising its master. It stirred in its cage uneasily, snorted and grunted. Even the guards outside heard the noise and stepped away from the warehouse with a start.

  A slim man wearing Rangakusha clothes appeared on the garden path, pacing quickly towards the building. Bran recognised the lanky face and horn-rimmed glasses from the visions he had shared with Emrys. The wizard entered the warehouse and shortly Bran could feel the dragon fall asleep again, the mind link between the beast and its rider weakened. Whatever the wizard did, it had worked — for now. Bran was satisfied with the results of his experiment, though more than a little perturbed by the initial resistance.

  “Who was that?”

  “That was the Daisen, Heishichi-sama. You need to watch out for him. Now come, before we’re found out,” she said and pulled him back towards the lily pond.

  They sat down on the stone bench in silence. Stars frolicked on the surface of the pond, rippled by the wind. Bran noticed she did not let go of his hand.

  “I… I brought something for you,” he said and presented her with the obidame buckle.

  It had taken him all day to come up with a gift fit for a princess b
efore remembering his grandfather’s black box.

  “Oh — it’s beautiful!”

  The intertwined golden dragons glistened in the light of the lantern as if alive.

  “I’m afraid it’s missing a stone…” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “It doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen such craftsmanship outside my father’s treasure chest. Thank you.”

  “It belonged to the woman my grandfather met in Kiyō.”

  “But it’s such an important thing! Are you sure you want me to have it?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Moon danced for a moment in her eyes, but then her gaze dimmed back again and she turned her face to the lily pond; still she did not let go of his hand.

  “I wish I could wear it to the shrine dance,” she said.

  It took him a while to realise what she was telling him.

  “I see.”

  “I asked them if I could yet stay a day more, but they won’t let me. Gensai-sama insists I must leave tomorrow.”

  “Can they take you away just like that? Aren’t you a noble woman?”

  “Oh, my prince!” she said, laughing bitterly, “I may be a noble woman, but I’m still a woman, and my words mean nothing in this world of men.”

  “The wizardess, Satō… she once told me that in Yamato, only men can be truly happy.”

  “I should very much like to meet that girl in samurai clothes one day. But tell me, oh stranger from far away land.” There was no mockery in how she addressed him, only wistfulness. “Surely the women of your people are also slaves to the men? They are also bound to a life of misery and imprisonment in their golden cages?”

  “I... don’t think it happens that often anymore,” he said, “not among mages, at least.”

  “Then they must become lonely spinsters, mocked by their families, free to be taken by any man strong and willing enough?”

  “No!” Bran cried out with genuine surprise. “They just — live their own lives, I suppose, have lovers, husbands… I’m sure my mother always loved my father, and that’s why they’re married. Maybe the royals or high nobles arrange families to keep blood purity... but those are rare occurrences these days.”

  He fell silent. All this talk of mother and father made him remember his little home, with walls of slate, by the beach, on a green hill, far beyond the three oceans. He suppressed tears welling in his throat.

  “Oh, my secret prince! What wondrous tales you tell me, how heavenly is your land!” Atsuko cried and suddenly started sobbing discreetly. Awkwardly, unsure, he pulled her to his chest and embraced tightly, letting her tears wet his kimono.

  She raised her head. Tears destroyed her make-up, tracing lines of dark mascara on her cheeks, but her beauty was undiminished.

  “Thank you, prince. I will always remember you and your tales. They will give me hope in the dark, dull life that awaits me, even if they sound like fairy stories.”

  She brought her face close to his until their lips met for one fleeting moment, a heartbeat. She pressed something in his hand and then stood up and disappeared into the darkness of the garden; only the paper lantern yet flickered for a moment, like a trapped firefly.

  He opened his hand. It was a small carved wooden container, of the sort the samurai attached to their sashes when they needed to store small items, with a bead of carnelian stone as a fastener. With trembling hands he opened it and unrolled a piece of paper hidden inside. It smelled of rosewood.

  Edo is a great and faraway place

  But the world is even greater

  If East and West met once

  They may yet meet again.

  My secret prince,

  Tomorrow I leave for Edo; maybe I will see you in the crowd, but not recognize you. It is as it should be; our meeting was just a bright spark, a candle in the darkness that envelops my life. If it lasted any longer, it would burn a hole in my heart too big to heal. As chance had it, it only burned out a memory.

  I hope all goes well with your plans. I will pray for you and your friends. If you ever find yourself in Kagoshima and are in need of help, remember this: my father’s name is Shimazu Nariakira, and our family code word is “Shōhei” — “Tranquillity”.

  And now, the spark dies down, the black curtain falls. The lily pond grows over with weed.

  Atsuko

  Bran gazed at the surface of the pool, rippled by the soft night breeze. A sad, lonely owl hooted in the distance.

  Since dawn there had been preparations all around the wooden stage. Guests at the nearby lodging house had been woken by hammering, sawing and polishing of decorations, cries of carpenters and builders, mixed with the stomping and shouting of dancers rehearsing before the big day.

  In the morning, on the hour of the Snake, a double cordon of samurai formed a corridor from the northern compound to the gate at the end of the main courtyard, separating the crowds of pilgrims from the stone path.

  With heavy feet and heavy heart Bran moved through the crowds to a raised platform near the talisman shops from where he could observe Atsuko’s entourage leaving the shrine. She was carried slowly in the black and golden palanquin. Hosokawa’s retainers surrounded the vehicle, with Captain Kiyomasa leading the convoy at the head of his soldiers.

  The princess did not wear her straw hat this time, and had the blinds of her vehicle open so that everyone around could witness her mysterious beauty. The commoners prostrated themselves in the presence of a great lady and only Bran and a few nobles remained upright, bending over in a polite bow as she passed them.

  She was looking around, as if trying to find somebody. Bran’s heart sunk when he realized she had no way of recognizing him. She had not seen his Yamato face under the mask. To her, he was now just another samurai in a crowd of onlookers. He tried to catch her eye, hoping to somehow convey all his feelings in a single look, but her gaze just slid over him without noticing, and she passed by, leaving only the scent of rosewood behind.

  Behind the palanquin, marched Master Kawakami. He did notice Bran and bowed slightly, his lips twitching up and down in his imitation of a smile.

  “She’s so pretty,” said Satō with a sigh. Bran spotted her only now, standing beside him on the platform. She had a pained look in her eyes.

  “Oh, to have her looks and her position... If any woman could find happiness in life it would have to be her.”

  “Sometimes beauty and wealth are not enough,” he replied, his eyes still fixed on the procession now leaving the shrine through the main gate.

  “Aren’t you philosophic today,” she said but then turned serious. “Is something wrong? You look as if you’re sick.”

  There I go, showing my feelings to everyone, like the Barbarian that I am.

  He tried to force his face into a cheerful mask, as he had seen the wizardess do so often.

  “I’m fine, just… a little tired, that’s all.”

  Satō stepped off the platform and winced.

  “You don’t seem so good yourself. Does your wrist still hurt?”

  “No, it’s healed. It’s just a headache. I’ve had it since morning,” she said and laughed. “Look at us. You’d think we’ve already been through a battle, not just preparing for one.”

  He nodded with a smile. The shrine gong rang out the hour.

  “The dances start soon,” said Satō and took him by the arm. “We should find Nagomi before the crowd grows.”

  CHAPTER XII

  The instructor put another painted board onto the stand. All riders craned their necks trying to see the drawing. The shape of the creature drawn in ink and water colours on the board was roughly humanoid, but its face was bright red and its body was covered in thick blue hair.

  “This one is a Sheng-Sheng,” the instructor said. “Don’t be fooled by their appearance — these are more than just some mountain apes. They are cunning, fast and stronger than five of you together. Avoid getting in the melee range — let your dragon deal with them. Luckily
, they are most likely to fight in tight groups, separate from the humans.”

  “Will lightning to the head stop them?” one of the soldiers asked, waving a thunder pistol. He was of the fresh draft, same age as Wulfhere, and kept asking the same question about every magical creature the instructor described.

  “Once again, Eadweard, the answer is yes. If you manage to hit it from dragonback. Their heads don’t make the best targets, as you can see.”

  “Is it smaller than an apple, sir?”

  The instructor sighed “No, it is not smaller than an apple. And if you try to bore us again with your tale of shooting apples off your cousin’s head, I’ll have to assign you to first aid duty.”

  Laughter rippled through the regiment and Eadweard sat down, his cheeks red.

  Wulfhere ignored the exchange, focusing on his notes. “Big, red, strong. Dragon flame and pistols, no melee,” he noted. This time, he was going to be extra careful with his choice of enemy. He had lost Eolhsand, his old mount, on patrol north of Fan Yu. Recklessly, he had charged a camp of the rebel scouts without waiting for backup. The rebel war machines proved more than a match to the dragon. He managed to fly away from the battle, but the beast was too heavily wounded and had to be put down.

  His father’s name had prevented him from being stripped of rank but, not being an officer, he had not been given a spare mount. Instead, he had been assigned as co-rider to the Flight Leader.

  Hywel ap Cadell. It had taken him weeks to swallow the insult. He, a Warwick, serving under a peasant from some backwater beyond the Dyke! He still shuddered with anger thinking about it. How long would he have to suffer this humiliation?

  There was a rumour of a transport of spares coming from the south. A battle was at hand, and there were always casualties in battle — dragons more likely to fall than the riders. A regiment of light dragoons could afford one mountless rider, especially one as unpopular as Wulfhere was among his comrades, but further losses had to be replaced if the troop was to remain operative.

  All he had to do was survive.

  It started with a single white flare, shooting up into the grey clouds. Then the line of ships standing at anchor at the river mouth erupted in bright flashes. A second later a prolonged thunder rolled through the river, the smoke trails of rockets covered the sky and suddenly, the opposite shore turned into one great explosion, spanning half a mile. The ground shook first, before the sound of the barrage reached the soldiers gathered in the barges on the northern side.