The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  “Ah, Commodore Dí Lán!” the Bohan welcomed him with a grin and open arms. “Come, join us. We are planning our next stratagem. What do you think of moving on Chansu?”

  “Another siege?” Dylan asked. He dismissed a servant who offered him a cup of tea.

  “I know you Dracalish like moving swiftly, but this is how this war will have to be fought for now, until we push those vermin beyond the walls of our cities.”

  Vermin.

  “Perhaps it would be easier to capture the cities if the defenders were given a chance to survive.”

  The Bohan looked him in the eyes and smiled.

  “You don’t approve of our methods, Commodore.”

  “No, I can’t say I do. I will write a report to Fan Yu of all that’s happened here.”

  Bohan’s smile vanished. He stood straight, letting go of the map; it rolled up with a rustle.

  “These… rats dared to stand against the Mandate of Heaven. They got what they deserved. Besides, they had plenty of time to surrender without bloodshed.”

  “Plenty of time? The siege lasted less than a week — thanks to our guns and our dragons.”

  “That was a week too long.”

  “Her Majesty will not take kindly to having her troops associated with this massacre.”

  The Bohan smirked and stroke his beard.

  “Do not presume to deceive me, Commodore. I know your orders as well as you do. You are to provide us with any assistance we require in defence of your country’s trade interests — and provide us you shall. Speaking of which, I will need half a dozen of your dragons to-”

  “Enough!” Dylan slapped his hands on the table. The outburst surprised him. The Bohan raised a sharp eyebrow.

  “My men are not butchers! You can capture your cities yourself. Huating is safe, and that’s all that matters for our trade interests.”

  The Bohan blinked, and then laughed.

  “You want to teach me about butchery? You, a Westerner? I know you. You’ve destroyed entire nations and you’d destroy Qin if you thought this was in your… interests. Oh, but you’re too shrewd for that - you prefer to kill slowly.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Dylan.

  “You don’t know? How many of my people died because of your accursed trade? How many died of famine in Bangla because you took their fields to plant more Weed? Don’t you lecture me about butchery, Commodore Dí Lán; unless you want me to get better at it. Play war like the nice soldier you are, and we’ll all be free to go home in no time. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Dylan gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn’t give the Qin official the satisfaction of another outburst. He inhaled and exhaled slowly.

  “Tell your soldiers to stay out of my way,” he said, forcing himself to sound calm. “I’m going back to the main camp.”

  “I will send my requests to your tent, Commodore,” the Bohan replied.

  “You will have a prompt reply.”

  Dylan nodded sharply, turned on his heels and stomped outside.

  Makino Tadamasa returned to his apartment at the guesthouse, put his two swords on the rack and the padded raincoat on the chest, and paid homage to the household spirits at the tiny shrine above the entrance. He then slid away the paper panels forming the western wall of the room and sat down on a narrow veranda overlooking a small garden.

  As one of the inner circle of hereditary fudai daimyo, Tadamasa could easily afford a private residence of his own, but he preferred to live in one of the lavish, extravagant guesthouses in the middle of Edo, near the walled pleasure district. He had his wife and son neatly cooped up in a mansion just outside the city; near enough for them to fall under the rules of alternate attendance which required the daimyo’s family to live under Edo’s surveillance as glorified hostages — and yet too far to interfere in Tadamasa’s everyday duties and entertainments. These days the visitors would arrive mostly from the nearby pleasure district, but sometimes they were his feudal clients or representatives of other, lesser daimyo, basking in the light of his influential position.

  He had just spent half a day negotiating an important contract for the delivery of cannon barrels and compressed air to the Taikun’s new harbour fortress at Daiba and all he wanted to do was to soak in a relaxing bath and watch the moon reflecting in the pond in the small garden. He was understandably annoyed when a servant knocked on the door of his apartment and announced a guest.

  “I told you I’m not seeing anyone today!”

  “I beg your apologies, kakka, but it is the esteemed Councillor Hotta-dono who wants to see you.”

  “Keep it brief, Naosuke, I have a bath waiting,” barked Tadamasa, sitting at the low table.

  “I will, Councillor-dono. I come to you with a proposition. As you well know, I need one more vote behind my motion for the next month’s meeting. The Matsudairas are beyond my reach for now; young Kuze is — well, I have not found any leverage on him yet. So, only you remain, Tadamasa-dono. Now, before I tell you what my offer is, I wonder if there is anything that could sway you to my side?”

  “Nothing,” the old man said and grunted. “I don’t know what makes you think I would do such a thing. I have made up my mind.”

  “Money? Prestige? Women? Men? How about a little blackmail, no?” Naosuke pressed.

  “Listen, Naosuke. I am an old, rich, powerful man. You may think to threaten me or bully me or bribe me or whatever it is you have done to your opponents to get as high as you have, but none of this will help you with me.”

  Naosuke nodded sadly.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  He clapped his hands and, out of the shadows, came a burly rōnin pushing before him a young boy who was bound and gagged. Tears streamed from under the blindfold. Tadamasa recognized his nine-year old grandson.

  “Tadakuni! How dare you...” He raised an accusing hand at Naosuke. “My family is under the Taikun’s personal care!”

  “That may well be,” Naosuke said with a self-confident shrug. “But it makes you wonder, eh — if I can get my hands on the Taikun’s hostages, what more am I capable of?”

  Tadamasa’s shoulders slumped in defeat. If he was younger, he would find more strength to fight; but he was old. Next year he was planning to retire from the Council altogether…

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I only need one vote. That is all. And your immediate retirement after that, of course. I already have a more... pliable… replacement prepared to take over your position.”

  “You have it. Now give me back my grandson.”

  “After the vote, dear Makino-dono. After the vote,” said Naosuke, smiling.

  Hanpeita crouched at the roof of the guesthouse, observing the entrance. He first saw the burly rōnin, carrying a large rolled futon on his shoulders. Councillor Hotta followed, deliberately turning in the direction opposite from the rōnin.

  Hanpeita waved a lantern. From a roof across the street another lantern waved; one of his men — he didn’t know which one, it was safer this way — confirmed he was going to follow the rōnin, letting Hanpeita and his group follow the Councillor.

  They moved softly from roof to roof, using the skills Hanpeita had learned in Tosa, his home province, before coming to Edo.

  When is Gensai-sama going to arrive? He wondered briefly, leaping noiselessly across a narrow cul-de-sac. No action could start without the master swordsman joining the group. But it was a long way from Kumamoto and the spring storms kept delaying the journey.

  Hotta stopped in the middle of a brightly-lit alley running towards the southern gate of the city. Hanpeita and his men lay flat on the roof; the Councillor looked around slowly, his hand reaching for the short kodachi sword. His eyes glinted gold in the light of the lanterns.

  It is him, Hanpeita thought, clutching the hilt of his katana in a sweaty hand. He felt as if the Councillor was looking straight through him, even though he couldn’t possibly see any of them hidd
en in the shadows.

  The contact was right. He is no longer human.

  Hotta smiled and his grip on the hilt relaxed; he continued on his way. Hanpeita bade his men stop.

  “It’s too dangerous tonight,” he whispered. “He’ll spot us. We’ll have to try again some other time.”

  A clay beaker rested on Nagomi’s chest, with the spirit light burning bright orange. She couldn’t remember where she got it from — it wasn’t the Suwa light, that one she had lost on the road from Hitoyoshi…Something inside her body hurt. She heard the whining sound of a bamboo flute that soon grew louder and louder and then the whinging of a hichiriki oboe joined in. A waft of a breeze brought with it the scent of cherry blossom.

  It’s too late for cherry blossom, she thought.

  She sat up carefully and the pain inside made her wince. She touched her chest and looked around. In the flickering orange light, she saw Bran and Satō sleeping on the cave floor, entwined in an embrace. She turned her eyes away, towards the shimmering waterfall and a babbling stream flowing from it into the forest.

  A cloud of gold and green fireflies, the tiny flickers darting to and fro, hovered over the brook. The heady scent of cherry blossom made Nagomi dizzy. She took a deep breath and felt warmth spread all over her body. The pain subsided.

  A cloud of white mist appeared on the other side the stream, and from it emerged a wispy shape of a woman in a long flowing robe the pink colour of cherry blossom. Her face was lime-white, her thick eyebrows were painted with charcoal in the ancient fashion. The fireflies surrounded her, drawn to the soft light emanating from her body. A white fox purred and rubbed against her like a cat. The woman beckoned the priestess with a slender hand.

  Nagomi stood up and staggered towards the figure across the stone cave floor and grass moist and cold with dew of the coming morning. The white fox perked up, its ears twitching. The figure reached out her arms across the stream. Her face beamed white light, too strong for Nagomi to bear; she lowered her gaze and raised the beaker up.

  The woman’s hands touched hers; they felt like warm, soft leaves. The beaker’s flame burst bright; Nagomi closed her eyes and shivered, as strong, cold wind blew against her naked skin. The sound of the flute and oboe grew faint, until it was barely audible.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was standing on the peak of an imposing steep mountain, shooting high above the layer of dense white fog. The wind whirled and parted the mists and she could see all of the Chinzei Island and further, all the way towards Heian, the Imperial Capital. Somewhere beyond the curving horizon lay Edo and the Northern provinces.

  The dawn rose threatening and ominous, blood red over the eastern seas. Black clouds were gathering over the northern horizon where the Taikun’s castle lay, in Edo, and more dark billows were coming on the Westerly winds over the sea from the direction of Qin. Nagomi saw that the clouds were giant flocks of carrion crows and ravens, circling the skies in hungry anticipation.

  The beaker in her hands burned brighter again, the cold wind blew once more, and she found herself back in the forest. The woman in the cherry blossom robe was smiling sadly. Nagomi felt an overwhelming desire to join her on the other side of the stream, feel the warm, motherly embrace of her willowy arms, to never again feel the pain and sadness... She stepped forward into the water. But the woman shook her head and floated back towards the white mist behind her.

  The fireflies buzzed over the stream towards the priestess, and gathered around her. One by one, they landed on Nagomi’s body, extinguishing their flame and dying. As they touched her, she sensed their tiny, burning spirits; they seemed familiar, as if she had met them before somewhere.

  It’s the old Mushi from Shofukuji Temple, she realized. And the homeless woman from Shinbashi. And the porter from Omura. All my strays…

  She felt the pain inside slowly disappear, the fatigue give way to vigour. The spirit light in her beaker was vibrant and dancing.

  The music intensified again, the unseen zither and drums joining the flute in quick, mad rhythm. The woman waved her hand, showing Nagomi the cave behind her. The white mist enveloped her and she disappeared. Gone were the fireflies, but the white fox remained, staring at Nagomi with cunning, glowing eyes. The priestess turned and walked towards the cave. On its threshold she looked back; the fox was still there, twitching its whiskers anxiously.

  The music grew to a frenzy and then stopped. Nagomi lay down on the cave floor, wrapped herself back in the tattered clothes and cloaks and put the spirit light on her chest. The white fox barked once and vanished into the forest, its bright white tail visible among the trees for a second more.

  She smiled and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 2

  Bran’s first thought was that he did not wish to wake up. The world outside was cold, and he was warm and snug here, nestled as if in his mother’s embrace.

  Five minutes more…

  Someone sighed. He opened his eyes.

  He shuddered as the freezing wind blew against his back. Satō must have felt it too, for she huddled up closer. Her black hair tickled his nose. He caressed her head. She stirred and frowned, but she did not waken.

  Through the haze of exhaustion, he was remembering the battle in the Shrine, the dragon, his transformation, the Crimson Robe, and the flight into the tunnels. His side was sore from lying on the rocky floor of the cave. The makeshift campfire burned out. Dawn peered through the trees, faintly illuminating the cave with greyish gold.

  He unwrapped himself carefully from Satō’s embrace, threw a few more pieces of wood and summoned a little spark; barely enough to light the fire back again.

  This was the last of my dragon magic left.

  He squatted by Nagomi’s side and brushed hair from her forehead; she was running a slight fever, but her breath was calm and stable. He adjusted the cloaks around her — she must have been stirring in her sleep — and then went to the stream to wash in the icy cold water. This helped him clear his mind a little. He scratched his cheek where the shinobi’s sickle blade had drawn deep blood. The scar was still fresh and painful.

  What now?

  Getting help for Nagomi was the priority, as was finding some food. He could only hope they were safe enough from any pursuit in the cave. He patted the sword at his side reassuringly.

  At least I still have the blade.

  He felt a stir at the back of his mind, a nudging presence. At first he thought it was the Farlink returning and a jolt of joy came through him, but his delight was short-lived.

  “What do you want?” he asked, annoyed.

  “I will overlook your impertinence considering the circumstances, boy,” said Shigemasa graciously. “I have something very important to tell you.”

  “Do you know a way out of here, Taishō?”

  “That I do not…”

  “Then whatever it is will have to wait until we’re safe.”

  By the time Bran returned to the cave, Satō was awake and leaning over the unconscious friend.

  “She is still feverish,” he said.

  “And the wound is swollen again,” Satō said and sat down; her face crumpled.

  “This is hopeless.”

  “She will all be alright,” he said. He sounded unconvincing even to himself.

  “I’ll go look for help. There must be some village nearby where those people came from,” he added, pointing at the remnants of the hunting gear strewn on the cave floor.

  He stepped outside and heard loud voices and the sound of several people trudging noisily through the forest somewhere downhill.

  “Somebody’s coming,” he said and frowned.

  “The hunters! They will help us!” Satō stood up, excited.

  “Shh! We don’t know if they’re friendly. Let’s hide and see what they’re up to, first.”

  He extinguished the campfire and helped Satō move Nagomi into the bushes, from where they observed the men arriving at the cave.

  There were three of them
, all in crude hunting gear — deerskin trousers and fur hats, bows and long knives in tree bark scabbards. A large yellow hound accompanied them, its nose to the ground. They were loud, not caring for stealth. Two of the hunters carried their game hung over a bamboo pole.

  “Look!” Satō whispered with horror, pointing at the pole. Tied to it by the wrists and ankles was a tall man, naked and hairy. The third hunter prodded him with a stick and baited him with the tip of his knife. The man’s body was cut and slashed in many places and full of bruises.

  “What are they? Slave traders? Cannibals?”

  The hunters came into the cave’s entrance and threw their prey roughly at the cold rock.

  “That’s ‘nuff. Throw t’trinket back on it,” said the third hunter, and one of the other two took a string of jade jewels. Bran could not see what he did with it from his hiding place.

  “Make sure it’s tied up well,” the chief hunter warned.

  “Wait! Somebody’s been ‘ere,” said the man holding the necklace. Immediately the hunters fell silent, pulling out their long hunting knives and eyeing the forest around them suspiciously. Bran and Satō dropped to the ground.

  The birds chirped and the wind rustled the bamboo leaves.

  “Do you have any power left?” whispered Satō.

  “No dragon magic. I can do simple illusions, but-”

  Before he could finish, the hound stood rigid, sniffing towards them.

  “Look at the dog!” the chief hunter cried. “Over there, in the bushes!”

  The other two aimed their bows at the hideout.

  “Come out of there!” the chief hunter ordered.

  Bran waved his fingers. A growl and a roar rang out at the back of the cave.

  “What the…”

  The hunters turned back in fright. The dog started to bark madly.

  “Was that you?” asked Satō. He shook his head and focused on the illusion.

  “Ystlumod,” he spoke.

  At that moment, a dark, large flock of bats flew out of the cave over the heads of the bowmen, who released their arrows, aimless, into the air, shouting in surprise.