Bran waited until Emrys was halfway across the lake, and then focused on “searching” for the Black Wing. He sent out probing thoughts into the Otherworld, hoping to catch the rider’s attention.
The tingling in the back of his head intensified. A shadow of a dragon-trace materialized in his mind, and then vanished. He sensed the rider’s confusion through the mount’s muddled emotions. The Grey Hood must have noticed Emrys by now, but still wasn’t sure whether to follow it or investigate the Otherworld signals. Bran decided to help. He shot a tongue of dragon flame into the dark sky. In response, he heard a distant roar. It reverberated in his mind. He broke off the connection, and started up the hill, into the rows of tea bushes.
You will be shot, from a thunder gun, today.
The Black Wing soon caught up to him. The soaring beast circled above the mountain and then landed a hundred yards uphill from Bran. The rider jumped down and approached slowly, a thunder gun in his hand. It was the same design Bran’d seen in the hands of the Aizu, an old pattern compared to the Dracalish weapons. The Gorllewin must have bought it somewhere for trade with Yamato.
You will be shot …
“Stop,” said Bran, when the enemy got within twenty feet. Any nearer, and the gun salvo would shatter through his tarian. He lit up a ball of bluish flame in his hand to show he meant business. “You don’t need to fight me. I’m no threat to you,” he added, keeping his voice light.
“Where is your dragon?” she asked, her eyes not leaving him. Bran recognized Frigga’s cold voice. Owain’s Sword. Of course, it had to be her …
“I-I let it go. I didn’t want you to hurt it.”
“Good.” She nodded. “I’m glad we meet like this, alone, in the darkness. Nobody will know the truce has been broken. Nobody will know what happened to you.”
“What … truce?”
Frigga snorted. “Oh? They haven’t told you that yet? Even better. I’ll just say you attacked me.” She raised the gun to her chin.
Bran dived sideways into the tea bushes. The lightning flashed along the path and grazed his feet. He broke through on the other side and ignited the greenery before him, forming a line of flames and smoke between him and the Grey Hood.
“You’re just delaying your fate!” Frigga cried over the flames. “I can have my dragon turn this entire mountain to ash, with you on it.”
“You don’t have to do this!” he shouted back, and realized his mistake. His cry helped her aim. She shot again, a blind shot. A lucky one. The thunder struck his tarian straight on. The shield cracked open. The impact threw him back, pushing the air from his lungs. He landed on a springy tea bush, dazed and stunned. He shook his head and stood up on shaky legs. The world spun in total silence. His shirt was singed at the chest.
Frigga leapt through the flames and stepped towards him. Her gun aimed and primed, she waited until the full build-up of the recharge.
This is what Nagomi saw. This is the vision that I can’t change …
His fists set ablaze, he sprang at her. She stepped aside, and he hit the ground hard. He tried to stand. Frigga kicked him in the stomach.
The pain roused his anger. Tears steamed on his face. He saw fear and shock glint in Frigga’s eyes as she raised the thunder gun to a shot.
I won’t let some Spirits dictate me how to die.
The cry in his throat rose into a howl. Scales covered his fists, his fingernails grew into talons. Wings burst through the skin on his back. His jaw lengthened, his teeth hardened into sharp tusks. The world exploded in a rainbow of colours as his senses became attuned to the magic currents more than any True Sight could allow. His clawed feet sank in the dark soil.
The thunder shattered the air again. He felt its strike like a punch and roared. The last thing he saw was Frigga drop her gun and run, stumbling, up the hill.
CHAPTER XVII
“Wake up, Bran. I know you can hear me,” a woman spoke in Prydain.
That voice … Who is that?
“Mother?” He moaned.
The woman laughed. “If only. It’s me, Gwen.”
He opened his eyes and sat up. A star of pain exploded in his head and he fell back down — onto wet sand.
“So you were the rider I sensed before.” He scanned the beach. They were across the lake from Hakone. The slope of the mountain rising above it was patched with brown and black stains, remnants of last night’s flames.
He turned his head slowly, to see Nagomi and Master Yokoi sitting at some distance from him and the Reeve. Nagomi seemed frightened, the samurai — apprehensive. The two dragons lay coiled against each other further along the beach.
“Why are you here? Were you flying to Edo?” he asked, wiping his eyes.
“No. I was looking for you.”
That’s not what I meant.
“And how did you know where to find me?”
“It wasn’t exactly difficult.” Gwen chuckled. “You set off quite the fireworks. What was that all about?”
“It was Frigga — again…” He rose on the elbow. “Did you find her?”
“I only found this, and shreds of the grey coat.” Gwen waved a broken and twisted thunder gun. “Did you say she attacked you?” Gwen frowned. “That’s a violation of the truce. I must inform Dylan.”
“No, it was … a misunderstanding,” he said. Did she escape? Or have I destroyed her …? He looked at his hands. There was black matter under his fingernails — soil or … blood? “No point starting a war over me. What truce are you talking about? Did the Taikun agree to a ceasefire?”
“No such luck. I’ll explain later. Can you stand up now?”
“Yes, I think so.”
She helped Bran up. He stretched his fingers a couple of times. His hands were still steaming. His uniform was gone, smouldered away by the fury of the dragonform. Gwen handed him a cloak.
“Now help me explain to these two who I am,” she said, pointing at Nagomi and Yokoi. “It took me ten minutes of miming to convince them I meant no harm.”
Bran staggered towards the priestess. She rose and held him briefly in her arms.
“You’re all right …”
“Yes, I am.” He said tiredly. “And you know what it means? The future in your visions can be changed.”
“But you were shot at.” She pointed at the bruises and burns on his chest and stomach. “And that’s what I saw. I never said I saw you die from it. That means the rest of the vision—”
“Who is that woman, barbarian?” Yokoi interrupted. “What’s she doing here?”
“She’s a Dracalish officer,” Bran answered. “She’s my father’s … sergeant,” he added to Nagomi. “With news from the rebellion.”
“Can we trust her?” the nobleman asked.
“As much as you can trust me.”
Yokoi scoffed. “Not much, then.” He stood up. “Unless you want to explain all that to the Hakone guardsmen, I suggest we find a safer place to discuss our matters.” He pointed to the far end of the gulf. At least twenty armed men were closing in on them across a sand spit. Gwen’s dragon raised its head and hissed in their direction. The men paused, but then renewed their march, more cautiously.
Bran glanced at Nagomi and Yokoi and rubbed his nose. “Can you get on Gwen’s dragon, please?” he asked the priestess.
“Me …?”
“You’re more used to flying than Yokoi. You won’t mind a different dragon. I’ll take him with me. Don’t worry, the Black Wings are no longer around, now I’m sure.”
“I — I suppose. But Bran, I need to tell you about what I saw at the shrine … Torishi—”
“It won’t take long. We will talk later.” He rushed her back to Gwen. “Take the girl with you. Her name is Nagomi. We’ll meet at the slope of the great volcano.” He pointed towards Fuji. “Fly gently.”
“I know.” Gwen smiled knowingly. “I’ll take care of her for you.”
Bran snapped his fingers over his head. With a snort Emrys landed next to Yokoi.
The nobleman staggered away, but quickly composed himself and mounted the beast.
“You’re faring better than most men taking their first sight of a dragon, Yokoi-dono,” said Bran, as they launched into the air.
“I don’t need your praise, barbarian,” scoffed Yokoi. “What is it about these beasts that puts such fright in men’s hearts? It’s hardly bigger than a cow. A flying cow.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s just a spell they’re imbued with. Without training, you can no more help it than you can help being burned by fire.”
The nobleman’s hands tightened on the reins. Ashen-faced, he looked at the treetops whizzing below. After a long silence, he rolled back the sleeve of his kimono, showing a deep, crimson burn on his arm. Bran recognized the wound instantly.
“Dragon flame,” he said.
“I was burned by fire,” said Yokoi. “But not as bad as my comrades.” He rolled the sleeve down and stared into the great mountain in the distance.
“They came at night,” he said. “Two of the beasts. We stood no chance, not even of escape. They turned the slopes of Mount Tsukuba to glass. The Taikun’s troops marched into the fort later, to finish off the survivors. The cowards …” His knuckles turned white. “They would never get us on their own.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bran. “I saw the same thing happen in Heian. And Chōfu.”
“Chōfu has fallen, too?” Yokoi shook his head. “Then we are already lost.”
“Not necessarily. Gwen — the Western woman — is here for a reason. She mentioned something about a ceasefire. Perhaps my father and the Satsuma rebels achieved some success in the South.”
“The Abominations would never agree to this,” said Yokoi. “Not if they still have the Black Wings on their side.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Bran mused. “Maybe there is some disagreement between them. I bet that’s why they let you go, to find out what the Fanged are doing on Enoshima.”
Yokoi glanced back at Bran. “You’re perceptive, boy. But then, I guess you know better how your own kind thinks.”
“They’re not my kind.” Bran said and fell silent.
“The Yamato can’t know about it, Bran,” Gwen insisted. “No Yamato. Do you understand?”
“How do I explain your arrival to them?”
They stood on a slag heap on the edge of a vast saucer-shaped valley, dug into the mountainside by an ancient landslide. The ground beneath Bran’s feet was sharp rock, clusters of ash glued together with lava, patched with yellow and green lichen. Half a mile lower down the slope was the beginning of a dark forest of densely packed firs and pines.
“Well, think of something. You’re a clever boy.”
“I don’t like this.” Bran shook his head. “I know what game my father’s playing at. He wants the Taikun and the rebels to bleed out fighting, and then pick up the pieces.”
“And did you have a better idea?” Gwen asked. “Would you have preferred the dragons burning Yamato cities down one by one? On both sides? Because that’s what would have happened if your father didn’t play his game. And maybe the Varyagans would have joined with bombing runs, and Qin with their walking machines … At the end, these people would have fought with sticks and fists, instead of swords. Would you have liked that?”
Bran stared at her in surprise. He had never seen Gwen raise her voice before. What’s got into her?
“I’m sorry.” She wiped her hand across her face. “That was uncalled for. Go talk to your friend. I may not understand their language, but I can tell she’s eager to tell you something. I’ll start pitching the camp — I’m guessing we’re staying the night here.”
“Yes — yes, we are. There’s a lot I — we — need to think about tonight. And ... be on your guard.”
She looked down the slope, towards the dark forest and the lake below. “I don’t think we need to fear any Yamato will come up here.”
“It’s not the Yamato I’m worried about. There’s a reason why I chose this place for us to camp.”
Gwen smiled. “You are Dylan’s son, all right. Already with the secrets. Already trying to hold the whole world on your shoulders.” She looked to Nagomi. “And you’ve already found yourself somebody to share the burden with,” she added quietly.
Bran felt himself blush. “It’s nothing like that, she’s just a friend. I … I have to go. I’ll come back in a few minutes to help you with the camp.”
“Take all the time you need. I’m fine on my own.”
It was odd, the way Bran interacted with this Western woman. Nagomi studied his face, burning red after speaking to Gwen, for clues. This wasn’t how a soldier talked to a fellow soldier.
Who is she? His mother? An older sister?
In the corner of her eye she saw Master Yokoi approaching. Bran raised his hand. “I’m sorry, Yokoi-dono, can you give us a minute?”
The nobleman glanced at both of them and retreated.
There weren’t many places on the barren slope to hold a conversation out of earshot. Bran led her behind a four-feet tall, vertical heap of slag. They crouched on the black rocks and whispered.
“Torishi’s dead,” she said as soon as they sat down. His eyes twitched, but he wasn’t as shocked as she’d expected. “You knew?”
“I’ve seen his wounds,” he replied slowly, touching her hair. “There was always hope, of course, but I assumed something was wrong when he didn’t come to Naniwa. I’m guessing you spoke to his … Spirit?”
“In a way … There’s more to it,” she wiped her eyes. “I don’t quite understand myself. He doesn’t seem to understand. Koro was with him. They told me to go north, to the Gates of the Otherworld.”
“You mean the Gates are a real place?”
“It’s not called that way in the South, so I didn’t recognize it at first, but yes, the Gates are real — and it’s just as you saw it in the Waters.”
He supported his chin on his elbow and ran his fingers along the cracks in the slag. “North — how far?”
“The very edge of Yamato. Weeks from here on foot.”
“We have to find Satō first.”
“I know. That’s another thing I saw—”
He took her by the hand. “Wait. Calm down. This is getting confusing. Why not tell me everything in order?”
He listened and shook his head when she finished.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “How can she be in the Otherworld if she’s not dead?”
“I don’t know. It must be something the Serpent did to her …”
“Or something she did to me,” he said, scratching his thigh. “Dōraku did warn there would be consequences.”
He stood up from behind the slag heap. “I don’t know enough of these things. But I do know Satō was here a few days ago, in the flesh. We’ll investigate the valley.”
Dusk was taking a long time to fall on the isolated mountaintop. With each passing hour, the temperature dropped by several degrees. Bran reached for a stack of logs and threw it on the fire. Then he pulled Nagomi closer and felt her shiver.
Gwen had only taken one tent with her — she had offered it to Bran and the priestess to share. She wrapped herself in blankets and nestled in the folds of her dragon’s silvery body. Nodwydd was giving out more heat at night than Emrys, and none of the smell, so as long as it didn’t rain, she’d have been fine — and other than the unmoving cap of white cotton shrouding the peak, there was no cloud in sight. Master Yokoi refused any assistance, and sat cross-legged in front of the massive bonfire at the centre of the camp, staring intensely into the flames.
The bonfire was constructed from several tree trunks, brought from the forest below by Nodwydd at Gwen’s direction, and then set ablaze so that the fuel would last all night, rather than burning up in one go.
As little as Bran knew about camping, it was enough for him to appreciate the skill and experience with which the Reeve had prepared the place. The two dragons lay uphill, shielding them from the
north, while the rim of the bowl-shaped valley protected them from the southern winds below. But not even Gwen could do anything about the frosty dew creeping down from the summit. It covered everything in a thin layer of water beads that Bran knew would turn into ice by morning.
He wiped dew from the rocks and sat back next to Nagomi.
If Satō was here, she’d make something entertaining from ice, to keep our spirits up.
He reached out his hand and conjured the small tongue of flame. He shaped it into a fire shape of Emrys. A long time ago, on another fire mountain … How long ago was it?
“What is it?” asked Nagomi.
Bran flicked his fingers, and the dragon turned into three figures: him, the priestess, and Satō. “A little conjuring trick. I’m not usually skilled enough for it, but this mountain is a magic nexus — the most powerful I have ever encountered.”
He barely needed the True Sight to trace the streams of power converging at its peak from all corners of Yamato. No wonder the Serpent came through here. I bet they have a tower somewhere on the summit. He glanced nervously upwards, but the blood magic trail was very faint. If any Fanged lived on the mountain, they weren’t home.
The figures danced on his hand. “It’s odd,” he said. “I should have more trouble controlling the magic here.”
“How so?”
Satō would know, he thought, impatient. “It’s the nexus. Casting spells here should be like lighting a match in a swamp. I wonder if I have become more attuned to the energies of Yamato.”
Nagomi nodded “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about Rangaku,” she said. “You must wish you could talk about these things with Sacchan instead.” She covered a yawn with her hand.
“You know about spirit magic,” said Bran. “It’s just a different discipline. You can’t expect a farmer to know as much about fishing as a fisherman. They’re both equally needed.”
“And yet, a fisherman enjoys the company of other fishermen, rather than farmers,” spoke Yokoi.
The nobleman had been silent for so long, Bran had almost forgotten about him. He glanced at Yokoi in annoyance.
The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) Page 20
