We must be over Kanagawa, he thought. Is this how the Gods see us?
“Look for a large river and follow it to the sea,” he said. “Then we just need to fly west along the shoreline and then due south.”
We could govern this land so much better if we had these flying beasts…
Soon his administrator’s mind took over the fear.
There’s a canal that needs cleaning. And here, a good road — disappearing into nowhere. Who’s the daimyo here? I need to send him a stern letter…
“Is that the river?” asked Komtur, pointing to a wide blue string running across the plain.
“I think so. That’s the Sagami Bay, anyway,” replied Abe. If his calculations were right, they had covered the distance of ten ri in less than half an hour. A fast courier needed half a day to reach that far.
Naosuke is right. We need these people on our side. No matter the cost.
CHAPTER 14
Satō lowered her head as the boat passed under a water gate in a white-washed wall; beyond it lay a city of red brick storehouses and rich merchant mansions. The hydrangeas were in full bloom, cascading down the walls and bursting in bright blues and purples from under the weeping willows. The water was full of other boats. The oarsmen smiled at them as they passed, waving welcomingly at Master Dōraku, before disappearing into another branch of the criss-crossing network of waterways.
The canals seemed to replace the streets in this strange city. There were inns and teahouses serving the people on the boats; mansions and temples opening onto the water side. Each house had its own little boat. The closer Master Dōraku got them to the town centre, the denser the traffic grew on the main canal, until they had to wait in line before being able to pass under a narrow bridge.
The boat neared another bridge-gate, this time guarded by spearmen and archers. The Swordsman looked up at the Captain of the guards and nodded. The gate screeched open, letting the boat into the Yanagawa Castle.
“You will find lodgings over there,” Master Dōraku said, pointing to a long building of grey stone. “Please follow me, Takashima-sama”
“Just me?”
“I have something to show you.”
The samurai left her waiting in the main donjon’s vast vestibule, and disappeared up the great wooden staircase. A minute or so later a grey-haired, white-bearded man climbed down the stairs, assisted by a young boy. It had taken Satō a while to remember where she had seen this face and that clan crest before.
“Tanaka-sama!”
The old mechanician patted her on the shoulders.
“My child, I’m so glad to see you well. We were so worried about you.”
“We?”
“Many people tracked the progress of your quest. When we heard the dire news from Kirishima... but come, there’s somebody waiting to see you.”
She followed him up the grand staircase. The castle donjon was decorated sparingly, with a few scrolls and flower vases, except for the third floor, where the walls had been daubed with gold and silver paint.
“Did you ever get to use my glove?” the mechanician asked, as they turned into another corridor. There were very few people in the castle; a few hurrying courtsmen and ladies, and a couple of guards on every level. The daimyo of this province, she guessed, must have been spending the year in his Edo residence.
“Yes, Tanaka-sama. It worked perfectly.”
“Bring it to me later; I may be able to do some more adjustments. Here we are.”
He slid open the door to a small room, with cranes and turtles painted on the walls. In its middle, on a western-style chair sat a bent, shrivelled man, wrapped in blankets. He raised his head slowly.
“Father!”
She ran up to him and kneeled by his side, kissing his hand. He looked at her, but said nothing and there was no recognition in his eyes.
“This is your heir, Shūhan-sama,” said Master Tanaka. “Satō is here.”
“Sa-tō…” Shūhan’s lips twitched in a feeble, forced smile.
Satō stood up, kissed her father on the forehead and wiped tears from her eyes. She turned to Master Tanaka.
“Did they torture him?”
“Not physically. The priests found nothing to cure.”
“Then what happened?”
“I’m afraid he spent too long under the effect of blood magic; whoever held him captive, was an adept of the Forbidden Art. To make matters worse, Shūhan-sama used the Art to send us a signal. That’s how we were able to find him, but it cost him dearly. His mind is…how to say it? Blood-addled.”
Satō studied her father with terror.
Blood-addled? Is that how it ends?
She noticed his other hand was clutching a jagged piece of bronze metal. The edges were stained dark red.
“What’s that he’s holding?”
“It’s a shard of a mirror. We found him with it, but he refuses to let go. I think it feeds his addiction.”
“When will he get better?”
Master Tanaka did not reply; his silence told her enough. She held Shūhan’s hand tightly, but dared not look into his crazed eyes again.
“I will avenge you, Father.”
She took a slow wander through the castle grounds, under the weeping willows and wisteria waterfalls; the gardens were empty, save for an old gardener cutting the hedgerow into shape.
This is my world now, she thought. Empty and lonely.
She stumbled upon an old canal, overgrown with reeds and duck-weed. A single dead fish was floating on the surface. She sat down and wept.
She wept for her father and for herself, for the life she had lost and for the future she did not know. She was an orphan, an exile, and an outlaw, with no possessions other than what she carried with her. Her family name was tainted. If she was a man, she would become a rōnin, a masterless sellsword. But as a woman…
She looked at her reflection in the pond. Nagomi was right; even the bandages would not help long. She had been fooling herself, thinking she could play at being a boy forever. Even in Kiyō, her eccentricity was barely tolerated.
Now she was at the whim of other men. If she was lucky, she would be adopted by one of her father’s remaining friends and sold off into an arranged marriage.
Marriage? She scoffed, bitterly.
And who would even want me, without a name and dowry?
She had always loathed the concept, but now even that seemed like an unattainable dream. Being a third or fourth concubine of some bored nobleman amused by her feistiness long enough to fill her belly with a bastard child was the best she could count on — if she was lucky...
The only other alternatives coming to her mind were a monastery or a house of entertainment. She imagined herself at the beck and call of drunken, red-faced lechers and revulsion rose in her throat.
There were no more tears left in her eyes; she stood up, her mind now clear.
None of this, she decided. None of these things will happen to me. I am the heir of the Takashima School. As long as I have my sword and my magic, I will carve my own future. A new future.
She went in search of the grey-stone building where the others were accommodated.
Bran welcomed her with a big grin on his face.
“Look what I got! A messenger arrived with orders from Satsuma…And he brought my ring!”
He showed her the jewel with pride; the blue stone was dim and dark.
“That’s… great, Bran.”
“What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“A ghost?”
She raised up her anguished face to him. He put the ring away and became serious.
“It’s just an expression. You didn’t really see a ghost, did you?”
“Might as well,” she said. “I’ve seen my Father.”
“He’s here? In the castle?”
She nodded. She was finding it hard to speak, with tears welling in her throat she was desperate not to show.
Be strong.
/> “Sit down.” Bran took her by the arm and led into the common room. “I’ll call for something to drink.”
When she finished recounting her meeting with Shūhan, she noticed she had let him hold her hand all through the tale. The waitress brought cha and Satō withdrew her hand to grasp the teacup.
“But that’s… good, isn’t it?” Bran asked. “He’s alive.”
Is he serious?
“It would be better if he was dead. At least he would die like a samurai. What he’s now reduced to, it’s… ten times worse.”
She hid her face in the cup.
“We will get the Crimson Robe… that Ganryū,” said Bran. “And make him pay.”
“Of course we will,” she said.
She woke up with a start. Faint moonlight illuminated the silhouette of a man sitting in the corner of the room.
“Don’t fear, child,” a familiar voice spoke softly, “it’s me.”
Is this another vision?
Satō looked at Nagomi; the priestess slept soundly.
“Are you… are you real?”
“I am real. I snuck out of the castle”
“But… you were out of your mind. Blood-addled.”
“Because I saw you…I was able to fight the Curse.”
The Curse? He can’t mean…
“What is happening to you? Wait, I’ll light the lamp…”
“No! You can’t see me like this. I came to tell you… you have to kill me, child.”
“Father…”
“No, listen! You didn’t think He allowed me to escape? It was a ruse. He’s using me. He already knows you’re here, and the boy… you should kill me before He… forces me to harm you.”
“He… forces you to…?”
His shadow crept a little towards her.
“It now takes all my strength to oppose Him, but I don’t know how much longer I can go on.”
“I… we can’t —” she said, but her hand reached for the dagger she kept under the futon.
“I’m already dead…” his voice turned hoarse. “Please… I can sense Him coming…”
His words were pleading, but his tone was unpleasant, slithering. Suddenly he jumped at her and pinned her to the floor; she dropped the dagger. His breath smelled of stale blood, his fingers clutched her arms like claws, fingernails tearing through the cotton of her night shirt. He brought his face near to hers. In the faint moonlight she saw the face she knew so well now contorted in a grimace of pain and fury, his teeth bared, sharp.
“Where is he,” he said in a hissing voice she didn’t recognize. “Where’s the boy!”
He was too strong; she couldn’t resist his grasp. Her left shoulder — where the Crimson Robe’s bronze dagger had hit her — pulsated with agonizing pain spreading all over her upper body. She wanted to scream for help, but the sound stifled in her throat. She felt herself forced to answer.
“In… the room… upstairs…”
“You will take me to him.”
“Yes…”
He raised her from the floor and pushed her forward, holding her tight. She felt something trickle down her arm where Shūhan’s fingers dug into skin and flesh. Her eyes were full of tears.
The door slid open; a lanky man stood on the corridor, holding a lantern in one hand. His other fist was set on fire.
“Down,” ordered Heishichi. She dropped to her knees, feeling the joints strain in her father’s grip.
“Brand!” The Daisen cried and opened his fist; a tongue of flame burst above Satō’s head, then another. The grip on her arm slackened and she scrambled into the corridor before looking back. When she finally did, the entire upper half of Shūhan’s body was on fire; eerily, he neither flailed nor cried, just stood there, burning down. He reached out a flaming hand towards her; through the flame she could see his mouth move, trying to say something — I’m sorry? I love you? — but no voice came from the disintegrating lips.
Satō heard a scream from inside the room.
“Nagomi’s still there!”
The Daisen threw another ball of flame at the half-burned body, but Shūhan — what was left of him — didn’t fall down. He took a staggering step forward.
She heard heavy steps - Torishi came down the corridor towards them. He burst into the room, pushing Shūhan to the floor, leapt over the flames and, seconds later, emerged with Nagomi in his arms. On the way out, he grabbed Satō by the sleeve.
“We must go,” he said.
“Wait,” she said. “I need to finish this.”
She approached cautiously, watching the remains of her father burn. She stretched out a trembling hand.
“Bevries,” she said. “Bevries. Bevries.”
She kept repeating the spell until Shūhan’s body was covered in a thick icy tomb and all her power was spent.
The world around her turned black and she dropped to the floor, exhausted.
Satō played with the teppō gun she had received along with the adjusted glove from Master Tanaka after her father’s funeral.
“You will need it more than I do,” the teary-eyed old mechanician had said.
She unscrewed and screwed the hidden handle repeatedly, finding solace in the clicking sound. She looked around. Everyone in the boat was silent, grim-faced. The only glimpse of colour was the dull light shining off the blue stone on Bran’s finger.
“Are you going to be wearing it now, then?” she asked.
“It’s the only way to be sure it’s not stolen again.”
Torishi leaned over to study the ring with interest.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The Little People wore shards of such blue stone around their necks,” the bear-man answered.
“The Little People?” asked Bran.
“The Ancients,” said Nagomi. “His people knew them a long time ago. But why did they do that?”
“Not sure,” the bear-man replied with an apologizing shrug, “it may have had something to do with the dragons.”
Bran scratched his nose.
“The drawings in the tomb,” he said. “So they did worship the dragons.”
“Yes. The beasts were their Spirit animals, much like the bears were for us.”
“What happened to those shards?”
“Gone, like the Little People… stolen, sold for food… there were many who dug up their tombs and loot them.”
The bear-man leaned back. Nobody said anything more, only Bran raised his ring finger to the dim sun, letting the cold light play on the jagged facets.
The flat, muddy, reed-covered banks of the Chikugo River passed lazily on both sides. Satō was getting sick of the sight of those reeds, and the weeping willows.
“This is the worst part of our journey,” she murmured. “And I thought being lost in the Takachiho forest was bad.”
“Not long now, wizardess-sama,” said Master Dōraku. He had given the oar to Torishi, who alone seemed to be enjoying himself on this mode of journey.
“We should soon reach Kurume, where we swap to horses.”
Horses?
“I can’t ride a horse,” she said.
“Then you are welcome to join me in the saddle. The Kurume horses are exceptional creatures. Descended from the legendary Ikezuki. We’re lucky the daimyo is a friend.”
Bran moved closer; he and Nagomi were sitting at a bench closer to the bow; Heishichi sat alone in the last one.
“A friend, you say? A friend to whom?”
“Good question, Karasu-sama,” the Swordsman said with a weak smile. “He is a long-time ally to Nariakira-dono’s cause. And since we’re wearing Satsuma colours now…”
“Nariakira-dono seems to have friends everywhere.”
“That’s just because we choose our path wisely. To the East, West and North of here, all daimyos are loyal to the Taikun. Some even belong to his family. The Kurume is the last safe place until Nagato.”
The name reminded Satō of something.
“I had a student
from Nagato,” she said. “I wonder what happened to him. Hadn’t seen him since… since…”
Her voice broke as she remembered the last time she had seen her father alive and well, the morning before she went to Master Tanaka’s lecture. Bran reached his hand to her, but she turned him down.
“I’m all right. What is the cause that you spoke of?” she asked the Swordsman. “My…” she choked and coughed, “my Honourable Father belonged to some conspiracy he never discussed with me. Was it part of the same cause?”
“It’s not up to me to explain His Excellency’s plans,” Master Dōraku replied.
“We will bring the Taikun down. One way or another,” said Heishichi from his lonely post, “and wake this land from its sleep.”
Satō turned around in shock. This was the first time she had heard somebody speak so clearly and without hesitation on the matter.
“Bring the Taikun… that’s insane!”
“The Prophecy …” whispered Nagomi. “The mightiest will fall. It’s all coming true.”
“Why is it insane?” asked Bran. “He is just a man, isn’t he? How did his family come to such power, anyway?”
Satō looked up at Master Dōraku. As the witness of the beginnings of the Taikun’s rule, he seemed the most suitable person to tell the story. But the Swordsman nodded at her with a smile.
“Three hundred years ago, a great Civil War ravaged Yamato,” she started. “Daimyo against daimyo, local warlords, rebel monks, peasant armies and so on… until a mighty warlord defeated everyone else and united the nation under his rule.”
“The first Tokugawa Taikun,” guessed Bran. “Ieyasu, wasn’t it?”
“No, the unifier’s name was Oda. Ieyasu was just one of his lieutenants at the time.”
“Then how…”
“Ieyasu wielded the greatest weapon of all: patience,” said Master Dōraku. “He waited until the great Oda and all his heirs and successors died out or were killed, leaving only a child of five. He then announced himself a regent in the child’s name.”
“There was resistance, of course,” continued Satō. “And an alliance of clans faced him at Sekigahara in the most terrible battle of all. But Ieyasu won against all the odds. After that, there was no one left to oppose him.”
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 89
