The Year of the Dragon Omnibus

by James Calbraith

  “You embarrass me, Shimazu-sama.” A familiar voice spoke from behind the fake wall. It slid open and a looming figure in a purple cloak emerged from the hidden alcove.

  “Let us hope we’ll never find out whether you were right.”

  “You!” Bran jumped up, reaching automatically for his sword, before remembering he had to leave it with the servant outside.

  “The same,” the Swordsman said with a slight bow. “And let me congratulate you on impeccable timing, Karasu-sama — or should I call you Bran? I have only arrived in Kagoshima last night. Are the others alright?”

  “Eh... yes. They are resting at the guesthouse.”

  “That’s splendid news. I’m glad you came out of this alive.”

  Lord Nariakira waved his hand dismissively.

  “It’s time for you to leave,” the Swordsman added, noticing the gesture. “Shimazu-dono and I still have a lot to discuss.”

  A servant slid open the door to the study and waited to accompany Bran outside.

  “Kakka.” The boy bowed.

  “Dōraku-sama will notify you of my decision,” said the daimyo, and with a voice used to giving orders that could not be refused, added, “and you shall accept it, whatever it may be.”

  CHAPTER 8

  At Lord Nariakira’s invitation, Dōraku sat down to the shōgi board.

  “That was a performance worthy of Ginza, kakka,” he said, taking out his pipe and stuffing it with tobacco.

  “I needed to know if the boy was telling the truth. Or what he thought was the truth.”

  “And what do you make of it all?”

  “Combined with what Heishichi and Atsuko have told me? All very disturbing news. That Crimson Robe is one of yours — do you know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whom do you think he serves?”

  “No one. I have never seen him do anyone’s bidding — other than the Eight-headed Serpent, back in the days.”

  “Not even the Kumamoto?”

  “He did mention not wanting to irritate Hosokawa. So there may be an alliance of convenience. But working fora mortal… no, if anything, it would be the other way around.”

  “I see. Either way, between this and the rumours of my brother Hisamitsu conspiring against me, it looks like Hosokawa Narimori-dono is no longer a useful ally. Now, where were we…”

  The daimyo moved the Foot Soldier piece, reinforcing his defensive position. Dōraku chuckled.

  “How very much like you, to worry more about your alliances than about a dragon let loose,” he said, picking up a Lance and moving it two places forward in a casual scouting movement.

  “The dragon, according to my spies, is rampaging in the north, far beyond the borders of Satsuma. Before the boy came, I thought it was no longer my concern.”

  “One dorako may be enough to tip the balance to one side in the conflict.”

  Nariakira moved another Foot Soldier one field forward.

  “A valuable asset lost, certainly, but nothing worth losing my sleep over.”

  “And you are not at all worried about the Taikun learning you had a dragon — and then lost it?”

  “The Taikun has plenty enough to worry about for the moment.”

  “Oh?” Dōraku reached for a captured Angle Mover, to put it back onto his side of the board.

  “There was some disaster at Uraga Bay. Complete lack of communication from Edo since.”

  The Swordsman’s hand hovered over the board.

  “That is new.”

  “Of course, no word of it was supposed to get out to the outer provinces.”

  “I take it the town criers of Kagoshima will have an interesting tale to tell tomorrow.”

  The daimyo smiled. Dōraku finally put the Angle Mover down in an offensive position.

  “Uraga Bay is the gate to Edo. A gate to all of Yamato.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You don’t think it’s an attack?”

  “Anything is possible. But they wouldn’t keep a tsunami or a typhoon in such secrecy, would they?”

  “I heard the soothsayers are anxious. All they can see is Darkness.”

  “Unnh,” Nariakira grunted in agreement. “All the more reason to secure one’s position against whatever may happen.” He slid his Flying Chariot to the left to fill up an empty slot in the wall of his castle.

  “I am surrounded by enemies on all sides.”

  “You said you will consider the boy’s situation, kakka, but something tells me you’ve already made a decision,” said Dōraku. He moved a Lance forward, capturing Nariakira’s flying chariot. The daimyo frowned.

  “I will not let another asset out of my hands. The rider stays in Kagoshima until I decide what to do with him.” The daimyo moved another piece back towards his Great General, strengthening his castle. This was his usual tactics, building up a strong position on one side of the board, from which he would send out massed attacks against the enemy’s flank. Loss of one piece was insignificant in the long run.

  “An asset,” said Dōraku. “You mean like Anjin-sama, all those centuries ago.”

  Nariakira looked up. “That Seaxe in the first Taikun’s employ? You remember him?”

  “I met him once. Most curious fellow. Old Ieyasu was very fond of him. But in the end, he wasn’t of much use to anyone.”

  The daimyo shrugged.

  “We all know the story. When he arrived to Yamato, there wasn’t anyone like him, and Ieyasu needed him to play the Vasconians. But we’re in another age now. I have my wizards, I have my Bataavians… the boy is not as unique and precious as he likes to think.”

  “And what about the wizard girl? Wasn’t Takashima-sama one of your allies in Kiyō?”

  “Oh, Shūhan is safe,” the daimyo said with a wave of his hand. “I have it on good authority. Keep this a secret, though, I may yet use this knowledge as leverage.”

  “Hmm.” Dōraku puffed on his pipe.

  “You disagree.”

  “You have plenty of wizards and scholars at your disposal. What good is another one?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “A dragon rider without a dorako is just a minor magic user.”

  One of the Swordsman’s lances charged the castle head-on.

  “Better to have this than nothing at all. If I let him go, he’ll only get himself killed or captured by my enemies — that Crimson Robe, whoever he is, or Hosokawa. And if he succeeds, it’s even worse: he will fly away to Qin.” The daimyo moved another Foot Soldier into sacrifice position to defend the Generals. “No dorako, no rider.”

  “He could be… coerced to help us.” Dōraku duly gobbled up the sacrificed pawn.

  “I hope so! That’s why I need him here. As an advisor, not a fighter. I don’t have many scholars of dragon lore in my court.”

  “And you would give up on the dorako?”

  “There will be more where that one came from. If one got through, others will follow. For now I’m glad to leave the dorako where it is. Maybe it will fly to Kumamoto and deal with Hosokawa before I get my hands on him,” the daimyo chuckled gleefully. He moved the first of his Lances, building up to a massed assault on Dōraku’s right flank. In a few moves he was going to smash through Swordsman’s defences and gain total dominance of the field.

  “I’m afraid that, as usual, you underestimate the power of an individual’s actions, kakka.”

  Dōraku took the captured Flying Chariot from the wooden stand and placed it one field away from the promotion zone. The daimyo’s eyes widened as he reasserted the situation on the board.

  “Impossible.”

  “Do you see now? The Flying Chariot on its own is just a pawn, useful only for a sacrifice. But transform it into a Dragon King...”

  A skilled player like Nariakira could clearly see there was only one possible outcome. The Dragon King was one of the most powerful figures in shōgi, and in the position where Dōraku had put his piece it posed a danger to the entire meticulously prepare
d castle. It was not enough on its own to threaten the King General, but it would require the daimyo to reconstruct his whole strategy.

  “Hmpf,” was all Nariakira had to say for a long time as he leaned over the board. “Hmpf,” he repeated.

  “Yoshi, you’ve made your point, Fanged,” the daimyo spoke at last, straightening his back. “But what guarantee can you give me that your plan will work?”

  “Only that of my honour, kakka.”

  The daimyo nodded and grunted approvingly.

  “Unnh. Well said.”

  He stood up, indicating the audience was over.

  Bran found Nagomi sitting at the doorstep of his room, in the darkness, wearing her sheer night yukata.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He sat down beside her, drowsy and tired.

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Too many dreams. I saw you with Dōraku-sama. He looks fine.”

  Bran nodded.

  “I just met him. He’s coming here tomorrow to bring us news from the daimyo of Satsuma.”

  “You’ve had a busy night.”

  “And you don’t seem at all surprised.”

  “We need to tell Sacchan,” she said, ignoring his remark. “She will be mad we’ve kept it from her.”

  “I didn’t think it mattered. I hoped we wouldn’t see him anymore.”

  “Is he going to join us again?”

  “I don’t know. He seems to be mingling with more important men now.”

  He saw the silhouette of her head nod in silence.

  “You saw something else,” he guessed.

  “Your dorako.”

  He lit a faint flamespark and looked at her. The light danced on her hair, making it seem like a roaring flame.

  “Emrys? Was it alive?” he asked.

  “Yes, just… asleep. I don’t know… it was dark and cold. A metal box. Underground, I think...”

  “Then it’s captured already…”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s happened yet. But it will, soon.”

  “Have you…always been able to see the future?”

  Nagomi nodded.

  “When I was little, I had… intuitions. Vague premonitions. If I had visions, I did not understand them without hindsight. One summer, when I was ten, I sensed a great misfortune approaching, but I didn’t know what it was and whom to warn.”

  “And what was it?”

  “A typhoon. It would have been disastrous to the city, luckily the priests of Suwa foresaw it too and there was enough time to prepare.”

  “So you went to Suwa to train your talent?”

  “Kazuko-hime requested it. And with her help my skills grew… I used to need to get into a trance, inhale the sacred fumes to see the visions, but since…”

  She stopped and bit her lips.

  Since the High Priestess died, Bran guessed. She can’t bring herself to say it.

  “You mean since you’ve become a priestess,” he helped. She nodded again.

  “It’s as if a window had been opened into the future. I’ve been having more of these dreams, even on ordinary nights like tonight.”

  “You do seem more tired than the rest of us,” he said. He hadn’t noticed it before, but there were deep blue bags under her eyes. He felt sorry for her.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

  “Un-n, it’s fine.” She shook her head and yawned discreetly, standing up. “I’d better go. Maybe I can still catch some sleep tonight. Don’t worry about Sacchan, I’ll explain to her somehow.”

  “Thank you.”

  Bran stood up as well and for a moment they were standing against each other, face to face. Suddenly, Nagomi stood on her toes, threw her arms around him and pressed her lips firmly against his — then ran off down the corridor, without looking back.

  “Is it true? Are you really the Immortal Swordsman?”

  “Hush!” The samurai put a hand to his lips with an amused smile. “This is supposed to be a secret.”

  It’s a joke, she thought. They’re all playing a joke on me.

  Satō was still reeling from the revelation Nagomi had shared with her the night before, when Master Dōraku entered the Sugi Inn and approached them with arms open, as if welcoming long lost friends. Even though a lot about the samurai suddenly made sense, she still didn’t want to believe it.

  We didn’t see him die, after all.

  Master Dōraku finished greeting everyone else — bowing deeply and rubbing his chest in front of Torishi — and cast a doubtful glance around the inn. “This is not a good place to discuss important matters. Why don’t you come with me?”

  “So... how old are you?” asked Satō, as soon as they sat down to breakfast. The place Master Dōraku had led them to was an opulent teahouse, adjacent to the castle walls. She noticed everyone else in the common room was either an aristocrat or a member of the daimyo’s family. The guests were staring at Torishi far longer than was considered polite, but the staff had welcomed the Swordsman like a frequent guest and led the group to a cozy, secluded alcove, where the cast iron tea-kettle hovered, suspended on a rope over the fireplace.

  “Let’s see... I was born in the twelfth year of Tenshō era, in the Yoshino district of Mimasaka province,” recited Master Dōraku. The wizardess paused, doing quick calculations in her head. The Yamato reckoning of years was needlessly complicated, she had always thought.

  “That’s two hundred and fifty years ago!” Her eyes widened.

  If it’s really all a joke, it’s a very well thought-out one.

  “You’re thinking of the Bunroku era, Tenshō was the one before. So it’s two hundred and seventy.”

  “Eeh! But that would mean… you’d have seen all those wars, all those battles…!”

  Master Dōraku nodded, twirling his moustache.

  “I was a young boy in the rear echelon at Sekigahara, yes. I climbed the walls of Naniwa Castle. I fought the rebels of Shimabara.”

  “This is where you have met the Taishō,” added Bran. “And you’ve made a great impression on him.”

  “I’m honoured to hear that.”

  “Not a good impression,” said the boy. “I can sense he loathes you.”

  The samurai chuckled.

  “When you’ve lived — or sort of lived — as long as the two of us have, some differences of opinion are inevitable.”

  “Wait.” Satō put her hand on the table with a loud smack. “Hold on. How do we know you’re telling the truth? How do we know you and this old Spirit did not make it all up?”

  Before any of them could react, a tantō flashed in his hand and a long, straight gash appeared down his forearm. The stench of blood filled the alcove momentarily, but the wound was dry and dull in colour. As Satō watched, it began to mend rapidly, as if under a priest’s spell. Within seconds, it vanished without a trace, leaving just a patch of smooth skin.

  She sniffed. The smell was unmistakable.

  “Blood magic,” she said.

  The samurai nodded and wiped his dagger before sheathing it.

  “Blood magic, yes. It’s what keeps me alive. We were all born out of a Blood Magic.”

  “We?”

  “Whatever you call our kind,” he said and smiled. “All the Fanged. Abominations. Blood-sucking ghosts.”

  “Demons. But you look so… human. Not like him.”

  He looked straight at her. For a blink of an eye so brief she wasn’t certain if she really saw it, his face turned paper-white, his eyes golden and his teeth long, sharp and black.

  “We can disguise ourselves well. He just chooses not to.”

  Torishi, silent until now, smoothed his beard and spoke in a solemn voice.

  “I’ve heard of you, Swordsman. Or at least someone like you. Stories about an immortal man visiting the Kumaso villages, in the days of my grandmother and her mother.”

  Dōraku smiled. “I’m surprised your people remembered me.
I was just a passing traveller.”

  “You can certainly make an impression,” remarked Satō.

  She had not touched her food since the Swordsman’s demonstration. All she could think of was the “curse”.

  Blood magic can make you immortal.

  The energy drawn from the tiny needle in her glove was enough to make her spells fantastically powerful. What would it be like to use more blood? For example, all blood drawn from some animal? Or… a human?

  “The addiction,” she blurted. The others looked at her blankly, except Master Dōraku.

  “You have truly a scholar’s mind,” he said. “Inquisitive from the start. Yes, the blood is addictive. But there are ways to deal with it. If you try hard enough — ”

  “Why are you here, Dōraku-sama?” interrupted Nagomi. She positioned herself opposite the samurai, as far away as was possible, in the small alcove, and kept her eyes fixed on him all the time. Bran was sitting close beside her, their knees almost touching. For some unfathomable reason this annoyed Satō.

  The samurai turned serious. “I bring word from Shimazu Nariakira-dono.”

  “The daimyo?” Satō reeled back. “What does he want with us?”

  Master Dōraku turned a meaningful glance at Bran.

  “I… I asked him for help,” the boy said.

  “Eeh? What exactly is going on here?”

  Questions rushed through Satō’s head. How did he get to meet a daimyo? Why nobody ever tells me anything? Why is he sitting so close to Nagomi?

  “I figured he would be the best-informed person on the matter.”

  “And you’ve made the right choice,” said the Swordsman, filling his pipe. “The Lord of Kagoshima Castle has agreed to your request. You are all invited to his summer palace tomorrow morning,” the samurai said with a mysterious smile.

  “Another day’s delay?” Bran slumped. “I was hoping we would move out as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sure you will not be disappointed with what His Excellency will show you tomorrow. Ah, the cha is ready,” said Dōraku, reaching for the iron kettle.

  “Let’s eat. I’m eager to hear of your adventures since we parted company.”