Bran turned to Heishichi. “I’m guessing the Shimazu were on the losing side.”
“He bribed and cheated his way to victory,” the wizard replied, his face contorted in anger. “He lured the clans with false promises and divided the allies. And the Tokugawas have been doing it ever since.”
“What happened to the child? The five-year old?”
“Forced to suicide some years after the battle,” replied Master Dōraku. “Along with the rest of the family.”
“That’s not strictly true,” said Heishichi, looking strangely at the Swordsman.
“Oh, there are other threads of the story, of course,” Master Dōraku agreed, “but I don’t think there is any need to get into those details now.”
Bran stared at the flowing river, mulling over all the new information, then looked at Satō.
“I thought you said civil wars and revolts like that don’t happen in Yamato.”
She shook her head.
“Not anymore. Not under the Tokugawas. The Taikuns have all the armies, all the money, all the key castles. They hold children of all the major clans as hostages in Edo. And nobody wants to repeat the bloodshed of the Civil War just to replace one tyrant with another.”
“Satsuma seems to think otherwise,” Bran replied, nodding at Heishichi.
“Foolish dreams,” she barked. “They did nothing for two hundred years.”
Heishichi snorted with indignation. “The time was not right,” he said. “One day… soon.”
“The clans will never support you. To them, a Shimazu is no better than a Tokugawa.”
“I don’t know much about these things, of course,” Bran said with a patient nod. “And this is not my war to wage. But I remember what you’ve told me about your Father’s beliefs. Some might say those were foolish dreams as well.”
Satō wanted to scoff with another angry remark, but she held her tongue.
He’s right. My Father believed a change for the better was possible in Yamato.
A sudden thought struck her. She turned to Heishichi and bowed before him. The Daisen raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, my words were rash. If my Honourable Father thought it wise to ally himself with Satsuma, I am bound to honour his commitment. As soon as this is over, I will return with you to Kagoshima.”
A shadow of a smile flickered across the Daisen’s face and he bowed back.
Dōraku’s eyes narrowed as he steered the boat towards the harbour. Bran followed his gaze towards the castle towering on a low hilltop over the fork in the river.
“That’s the Taikun’s hollyhock crest on the ramparts. What’s going on?”
“It seems a friend is a friend no more,” remarked Heishichi. “We should land somewhere else. Look, there are soldiers on the pier.”
Dōraku turned the boat about and headed for another, smaller quay beside a tall garden wall. A vermillion torii gate on the far end of the pier marked the entrance to a shrine.
“I will wait here, with Torishi-sama,” the Swordsman said. “You find out what’s happening in the city.”
“You really can’t step onto a sacred ground, can you?” Bran asked. “Even after all you’ve gone through?”
“There is no redemption for me,” the Swordsman said. “The Spirits are waiting behind that torii to tear my soul to shreds.”
“Would that kill you?”
“I don’t know. It might be the closest thing to death. Now go.”
There’s something he’s not telling me, thought Bran. Dōraku’s face was surprisingly easy to read, as if so near to a shrine his mask had shattered.
Or maybe I’m just getting better at it.
After all, he now knew the Fanged’s deepest secret: his creation. He hadn’t asked Dōraku about his vision from Amakusa yet; he had a feeling the samurai would not be eager to discuss his “birth” so openly. But he often thought about what it meant. While the men he saw in the vision were of Yamato birth, they were all Sun Worshippers; probably rebels from Shimabara, like Shigemasa had said. Did it mean the ritual had come here from the West? From... Rome?
“They were using it to raise fallen soldiers at first, but soon discovered that by using blood magic curses they could imbue the walking dead with great power, and keep them under control.”
Doctor Campion’s words rang in his ears.
Of course — when the Vasconians first came here, the Wizardry Wars were still being fought.
Necromancy. Vanquished and long forgotten in the West — but here, in Yamato…
“Are you coming, Bran?” Satō called him from beyond the torii gate.
“Yes, there is a great deal of disturbance in Kurume,” said the stocky, square-jawed, balding man. He wore an old, stained set of lamellar armour over his high priest robe. “For one, I’m being held under house arrest here.”
It had quickly occurred to Bran that Dōraku had not chosen his mooring place by accident. The high priest of the shrine, introducing himself as Maki Izumi, welcomed them with open arms and led them straight to his study. Heishichi handed him a folded piece of paper marked with the Shimazu crest. Obviously, the man was one of the “friends” the Swordsman had mentioned.
“Edo is in turmoil,” said Izumi. “They sent requests for additional troops to all the daimyos. It’s almost as if they’re preparing for war — or a revolt.”
“Preposterous idea,” said Heishichi.
“Of course.”
“I thought Yorishige-dono could be trusted,” Heishichi continued. As the official representative of Satsuma, he was the only one talking. Bran was soon lost in the exchange, anyway; the names of the lords and domains mentioned in the conversation meant little or nothing to him.
“He is. But he can’t openly defy the Taikun’s orders! Not with Saga and Kokura on our doorstep. We are but a small, poor domain, not like the mighty Satsuma.”
“It’s a test of loyalty,” guessed Heishichi. Izumi nodded.
“That’s why His Excellency keeps me away from the court. He knows my name is not popular in Edo. I’m telling you, Daisen-sama, something’s stirred the pot. Satsuma must make its move soon, or it will be too late.”
“Perhaps it has. Have you read the letter?”
“Ah, the letter, yes. Excuse me for a moment.”
The High Priest unravelled the paper and put on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, similar to the ones Heishichi wore. His face brightened as he neared the bottom of the page. He finished and smacked a fist on the table.
“Good news?” asked Satō.
“The best news! Finally, matters are moving in the right direction. But, Nariakira-dono asks me to provide the bearer of this letter with any help they may require. What is it that you need of me?”
“We need horses,” said Heishichi.
“You mean the Ikezuki breed, or you would have just bought some on the market.”
“That’s right.”
The High Priest frowned.
“That may be difficult. All the horses have been requisitioned into the castle, for the army.”
“If it was easy, we wouldn’t need your help.”
Izumi went over to the window overlooking the shrine garden. In this gesture, and in many small others, he reminded Bran of Lord Nariakira.
“I can help you — but under a condition. You must take me with you.”
“I’m afraid our mission —”
“No, not on the mission. Just into the castle and out of the city. I need to get away from this backwater place, go to where something important is happening.”
“I don’t see how that will be a problem,” said Satō, before Heishichi managed to open his mouth. Bran caught the Daisen give the wizardess an irritated glance.
The High Priest turned around and clapped his hands.
“Splendid. There’s an old tunnel leading from here to the castle grounds. It’s guarded on the other side, but nothing we shouldn’t be able to deal with.”
“We?” Heishichi said doub
tfully. The High Priest smiled and opened a small, narrow cupboard. Inside, on a lacquered stand, rested a splendid sword in a glistening black-and-gold scabbard.
“History was not the only thing we were taught at Mito,” he said with a mischievous grin.
Bran bowed before the main altar in the shrine’s Offertory Hall, rang the bell and clapped twice, as he saw other visitors do.
The Suiten-gu Shrine was dedicated to the spirits of water and some long-forgotten Mikado unfortunate enough to drown in a battle centuries ago. But Bran wasn’t here to pray; he wanted to talk to Shigemasa, and being in the presence of other Spirits while doing this made him feel somehow safer. He dared not yet return to the red dirt plain to meet the General face-to-face.
“Tell me, Taishō,” he said, “You have sworn loyalty to the Taikun, have you not?
There was silence at first, and then the familiar bubbling of Shigemasa’s ever angry thoughts coming to the surface.
“And what do you know about the Taikun, Barbarian? None of this concerns you.”
“I know his officials would arrest me on sight, and then cut my head off.”
Shigemasa snarled.
“They wouldn’t waste a sword on a Barbarian’s head. You’d be hanged, crucified or boiled alive, depending on the judge’s mood.”
Bran could feel the General’s anger burning. There was some deep, personal grievance buried within Shigemasa’s thoughts.
“I swore fealty to the first of the Tokugawas, yes. But he is long dead, like me,” he said at last. “The oaths do not carry into the afterlife.”
“I need to know you are not going to denounce us. You are now in the company of rebels and traitors, after all.”
“It would achieve nothing. It wouldn’t stop the Darkness.”
Ah. The Darkness.
A pilgrim standing patiently behind Bran coughed. The boy stepped aside, letting the man get closer to the altar.
“I heard you talk about it with Torishi.”
“It’s no secret. Even your little priestess knows about it.”
“Nagomi?”
“All soothsayers see it. The Darkness that gathers around Yamato. Not even the Spirits can peer through it.”
“What do you think it means?”
“Nothing good, I reckon. Maybe it’s the limit of our prophecies. The Gift is not like your Barbarian science, with measures and numbers.”
“Yes. Vague and mysterious — unless you need it to be precise.”
A drop of rain fell on the pavement beside Bran. He looked up; the silver clouds lined with navy blue gathered above him.
“You never told me that place of red dust was the Otherworld,” he said, heading for the grey-stone house.
“You never asked.”
“Does it all look like that? Featureless and dark…?”
“That’s only the place the living can access. A forecourt of the Otherworld, as it were. And your place is… a bit different to others.”
“My place — you mean the tower.”
“I’ve seen castles… mansions… The red-headed priestess’ mind is like a fortified temple. But never just a tall stone tower.”
“You can see into other people’s minds?”
“I could never get past all the walls and wards. Only with you I am bonded enough to break through.”
There must be a way to use it, thought Bran.
“Could I reach the place where the Spirits gather?”
“Not without dying first.”
“The Kumaso could.”
“Those… half-animals,” Shigemasa scoffed with resentment. “I don’t know how it works for them. Turn into a bear, for all I know. Why would you want to go there?”
“It’s something Dōraku said… about the Spirits waiting to tear his soul apart.”
“You think you’d find a way to destroy the Crimson Robe.”
“The Crimson Robe… yes, that’s right.”
Shigemasa chuckled.
“Oh, I see! Hedging your bets. You’re growing clever for your age, boy.”
“My father is a diplomat,” said Bran, “it must be in my blood too.” He couldn’t help smiling to himself.
“I like the game you’re playing, boy.”
The narrow, damp tunnel stretched for a good mile. The road was straight and well lit — two of Izumi’s students illuminated the way with paper lanterns — and it didn’t take long for Bran and the others to reach its end.
“So what’s so special about these horses?” he asked Satō.
“Ikezuki was the horse of Yoritomo,” she replied, “a warlord from the Genpei Wars, seven hundred years ago. A foal of a wild mountain mare and a qilin. It was said to be able to swim across the sea and run as fast as a flying ryū. His brother Yoshitsune used another horse of that breed to hunt dragons.”
“And what are they doing here?”
“This shrine is dedicated to those fallen in the Genpei Wars,” said Izumi, overhearing their conversation. “After the war, Yoritomo gave his horse to us as an offering, and we’ve been breeding its kin ever since.”
A rotting ladder reached a trap door. Izumi approached it cautiously and tried out the first rung. It held.
“Ishi, Bashi, turn those lights down,” he ordered his students. The inside of the tunnel turned pitch black.
“The door opens to a small courtyard in the southern corner of the castle grounds,” the priest’s voice rang in the darkness. “There’re usually two or three soldiers immediately by the door, and more in the guardroom further on. But we’d do best not to be noticed by them. Remember, none of your fireworks; we’re trying to be stealthy.”
“Where are the horses?” asked Bran. His hand rested on the guard of his sword. He didn’t like the plan; it was one thing to slay monsters and demons, or even men who were out to get them. But now they were considering killing some innocent soldiers, whose only fault was standing between them and some mounts. Why couldn’t they just buy some horses from the market, like Izumi had suggested?
“The stables are on the right hand side, not far from the Eastern Gate. If your friends outside will do as planned,” he added, meaning Dōraku and Torishi, “we should be out of the castle in no time.”
“Go on, then,” said Heishichi. “Open that door.”
The door screeched and a narrow strip of dim light appeared in the blackness.
CHAPTER 15
Shakushain stood on the shore with his arms crossed, watching the dozen grey-clad men struggle to transport a great iron box from an oxcart platform onto the flat-bottomed ferry.
In the cold breeze, they sweated more than the effort required; the beast inside, though now sound asleep and separated by a sheet of rune-scratched steel, still exerted its terrifying influence on anyone who got close. Even from a distance, he felt the chill reaching into his mind, a palpable, primeval fear telling him to run and hide in some dark cave. He could almost see its dark feelers flowing from inside the box. No bear, wolf or wild boar had ever made him feel this way. He was impressed with the way Ganryū’s men were managing to hold on to their sanity so close to the monster.
The fear was so strong that only Ganryū himself could board the boat. The others boarded another, smaller vessel, to follow the Fanged towards the small island in the middle of the straits.
Before boarding, Shakushain came up to Koro and crouched down, so that their faces were level.
“Do you remember how we used to race across the Ishikari River?” he asked.
Koro smiled at the memory.
“When we get close to the island, I want you to pretend you’ve fallen off the boat, dive and swim to the northern shore. It shouldn’t be more than five chō. Can you make it?”
The little man nodded.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t like the way Ganryū looks at your necklace. He wants it, I can feel it.”
“He does,” Koro agreed. “He wants to have a pair.”
“A pair?” Shakushain
frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The red one puts to sleep; the blue one wakes.”
Shakushain looked sharply towards Ganryū; the Fanged was already on the ferry, pushing the vessel away with the long pole. “Do you think he knows?”
“He’s not certain. The stone’s power is hidden from strangers.”
“Good.” Shakushain nodded. “One day you’ll have to tell me what it is,” he added with a smile. He stood up.
“Hide somewhere for a couple of days. I don’t think I’ll be staying here for too long. And don’t worry — I’ll make sure nobody follows you.”
Satō stepped over the body of the guard, wiping his blood off the blade. She tried not to look at his face; he wasn’t much older than her.
He didn’t even attack her, just threatened her with a brandished spear. The other guards had charged at the High Priest and his students; they died valiantly, in battle, before Satō even managed to climb out of the trap door. But this boy… he was too afraid to strike, and too dutiful to run away.
“Get him!” Master Heishichi had urged her. “Before he alarms the others!”
A sickening thought fluttered through her mind as her sword fell on the guard’s chest.
Is this what civil war is like? Yamato killing Yamato in battle?
She felt herself pushed onwards. The Daisen dragged her out of the small courtyard into the open space. She heard shouting and saw dots of dancing light heading towards them from the direction of the donjon.
Soldiers with lanterns, she guessed.
It was too late for stealth — they had been detected.
“In here,” cried Izumi. The gate to the long, low building of red brick was locked shut, but only for a moment: in one great burst of flame Master Heishichi released his irritation at being unable to use magic earlier. The smouldering remains of the gate swung open.
The horses inside started kicking and wheezing in panic. Satō stopped on the threshold, overcome by the all too familiar fear.
“Which are the ones we’re looking for?” asked Bran. She noticed his sword was still sheathed and it made her feel even more guilty.
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 90
