From the top of the bald hill Bran watched the sea stretching before him in a scattering of tiny islets and small, narrow capes, jutting out like the fingers of a giant. Fishing boats launched into the dawn, and the farmers marched off into the fields; an obedient army of workers, each his own quartermaster.
What sea it was, and what lay beyond it, Bran had no idea. What he thought he remembered from studying the Yamato map had long vanished, leaving only the faint outline of the complex archipelago. Was Satsuma more to the west, or to the south? Where was Kiyō? Or Ganryūjima? The scale of this land evaded him; several times already he had thought he’d seen the peaks of Kirishima, only to discover it was yet another nameless and featureless range, with the same indistinguishable forested gullies and villages in the narrow valleys.
“For all I know, we could be going in circles,” he said.
Emrys belched a ball of flaming methane. Its digestive system was just finishing dealing with another mountain deer. Bran, on the other hand, was still hungry — and thirsty. The summer heat was beginning to take its toll on him.
A small castle rose at the edge of one of the finger-like capes, layers of snow-white walls and curved slate roofs, like a wedding cake. Bran imagined himself storming the castle with Emrys and terrorizing the town below, demanding to bring before him the local healers and all the best food the domain had to offer: fresh fish, white rice, cold noodles, summer fruit… his mouth watered at the thought.
He wondered how long he would manage to leap from one castle to another before Taikun’s wizards came after him, and how long he could fight them before they finally subdued and killed him.
Every time he took to flying it was getting more difficult. Even in a saddle, a rider’s strong legs were his most important asset. Bareback, they were essential. Soon he would be unable to ride at all without some way to alleviate the pain. He shook his head. There was no point going anywhere further like this. He had to try something else.
He knelt down in the tall grass, with his feet straight, as Shigemasa had taught him. The aching in his leg felt a little weaker that way. He put one hand in his lap, and the other on the dragon’s warm neck, breathed in deeply, closed his eyes and, trying his best to ignore the waves of hunger, exhaustion and pain, focused on his own mind.
It seemed to take ages, but eventually, the howling of the wind around him and the cries of the men below ceased. He smelled blood and opened his eyes. It was the plain of the red dirt, and he was looking at it from above, from the top of the red light tower; at last, the only lord and master of his own private domain in this strange land.
He called on Emrys, and the dragon came flying, dazed at finding itself all of a sudden in another world. Bran mounted it deftly.
“Where now?” he asked aloud.
The plain seemed as empty as ever; only the misty peaks of the mountains marking the border of the world of the dead loomed far on the horizon. And yet, Bran knew there were others here, and there was a way to navigate to them…
How did the Grey Hoods manage this?
He tried to first detect the Black Wings, the way he had before. He felt them in the distance, faintly but clearly; seven dots, seven pulsating beacons. If he so wished, he could trace them… but he didn’t have time. He had to find his friends.
He figured he had more chance of finding Nagomi’s presence in the Otherworld, so he tried to visualize her, to remember as much about her as he could: the fiery hair, the white and red clothes, the dark, almond-shaped eyes, the quiet, shy voice…
He remembered her naked in the stream near Kumamoto, where the girls bathed; he remembered her warm, clumsy lips on his, in the dark corridor of the Kagoshima inn; he remembered carrying her dying, on the cold floor of the cave at Kirishima. All those moments burst into his mind, more vivid and forceful than any memory. These were no longer mere recollections, he realized — these were visions. And they were coming to him from one direction.
He opened his eyes. The outside world returned, attacking him with noises and smells; but the clear sense of direction remained.
CHAPTER XI
The view from the walls of the Meirinkan stretched all the way down to the sea; a narrow, crowded strait framed by the hump of the Mekari Mountain on the other side. This was the busiest shipping lane in Yamato — one could almost imagine getting across it just by leaping from one boat to another.
But none of these boats carried the passengers Satō was waiting for.
“Still no news?”
She turned away from the sea. Shōin stood in the shadow of the wall, smiling and nervously crushing the edge of his hakama. Since she’d agreed to marry him, he’d become even more timid and anxious in her presence. It made her angry.
“She will come,” she replied, “she promised.”
“I know. It’s just… Mori-dono is growing impatient. It’s been so long — ”
“I’m not having a wedding without Nagomi,” she interrupted him fiercely. “I’ve known her since we were babies. She’s — ”
Her voice broke. She’s my only family. If something’s happened to her…
“How are the new recruits?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Promising,” he said. His smile was genuine this time. “Once the word came out we have a new teacher from Kiyō, they started arriving from all over the province. Everyone knows that’s where the best Rangaku scholars come from.”
“I’m hardly a scholar.”
“Well — before you came, I was the best they had,” he said, and laughed briefly. He didn’t laugh often — his laughter was high-pitched and wheezing, and he was ashamed of its sound.
“Ah, that reminds me,” she said, leaping off the wall. “There is something I wanted your onmyōji to investigate. Now that we have more students perhaps they can spare some time?”
“Of course — what is it?”
“Meet me at the laboratory — I’ll bring it over.”
She carried the red orb carefully in the fold of her sleeve. It was warm to touch, though not as hot as when she had first received it from Dōraku. The temperature and the brightness of the flickering light inside were the only things she could observe on her own. There was little else she could do to pierce the jewel’s mysteries. Her father had a knack for analysing artefacts, but it was exactly the kind of meticulous and painstaking research she had never found the patience for. In more peaceful times, she would send it to another scholar like Master Tanaka, or Master Zōzan… but that was out of the question now. She could not risk the orb falling into the wrong hands, again.
If it even was some kind of ancient anti-dragon weapon, right now it remained nothing but a curiosity. Even Ganryū must have been keeping it in some dark corner of his treasury, not expecting to ever find a use for it, until Bran came to Yamato… and with the boy gone, so was the only dorako she could test it on.
She reached the doors of the main hall and halted. She took a deep breath, grit her teeth and went inside.
To reach the laboratory wing, at the far side of the building, she first had to pass through all of the classrooms and lecture halls. And that meant walking past all of Meirinkan’s students, who now knew who she was. The rumour of the Headmaster’s engagement spread fast throughout the school, followed by the mind-boggling revelation that Takashima-sensei was a woman.
Boys she could ignore. Many of them, younger and less experienced, still had a shred of respect for the wizardess. It was the older men…
The jeers started from the moment she entered the hall.
“Hey, it’s the sensei’s woman!”
“Are you sure it’s a woman? Doesn’t look like one to me.”
“It’s easy to check — just look under that hakama.”
“I’d rather fondle a boar!”
She bit her lips and tightened her fists. It doesn’t matter, she kept telling herself. You’re better than this.
“What’s that at her belt? Is that a thunder gun?” asked somebody in th
e next room. Her heart skipped a beat. Was there actually somebody interested in Rangaku technology here? She turned to speak to whoever said it, but all around her were the same mocking, lecherous faces.
“I wouldn’t mind her polishing my gun,” was the jeering response.
She cursed inwardly. It was all just a set-up for another joke. She shoved aside a small boy who stumbled in her way by accident and pressed on.
“You’d have to ask the sensei for permission first,” the anonymous clown continued.
“That upstart kid? I’d only need to speak to Mori-dono and he’d have to bring her to my bed tonight,” guffawed the first voice.
“Right, that’s enough!”
She stopped and turned slowly. She raised a hand. Ice crackled around her fingers and started forming into a sharp spear. The men stepped back, the mocking smiles melting from their faces.
“Takashima-sensei, no!”
Shōin grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards him. She stumbled, and the ice spear flew over the heads of the students, shattering into a thousand splinters on the ceiling.
“The — the laboratory is ready,” he stuttered, swallowing hard. “Please, come with me.”
“Why did you stop me?”
Satō still trembled with fury. She had forgotten all about the red orb; all she could think of were the smirks of the men in the lecture hall, and the pleasure with which she’d have wiped them off their faces.
Shōin sighed heavily.
“They are Mori-dono’s direct vassals. Anger them, and this school is no more. Hurt them, and you could be arrested.”
“So they can just do whatever they want?”
“After the we— wedding this should all stop,” he stuttered again, swallowing hard. “You too will be a Mori, just like them.”
She prodded him.
“You’re one, and it doesn’t help you much.”
“Believe me, it does,” he said with a pained smile.
“Why are they even here?”
“I think it’s the daimyo’s orders. He wants some of the high ranking samurai to learn magic too. That makes them even more resentful… and they’re taking it out on us.”
“I don’t care what makes them like that. Tell Mori-dono that either this stops, or I’m leaving. No more teacher from Kiyō for his precious academy.”
Shōin cleared his throat.
“You must understand, my position here — ” He stopped, noticing her murderous look. “I... I will do what I can, of course. But, wasn’t there something you wanted to show me?”
It took her a moment to remember. “Ah, yes.” She reached for the orb. “I thought the onmyōji could take a look at it.”
She handed him the red jewel. The light within grew bright in Shōin’s hands — and so did his face.
“Leave it to me,” he said. “That I can certainly help you with.”
The boat rounded the sharp tip of a craggy cape. Nagomi’s eyes welled up. The land before her was Chinzei, the island she still regarded as her true home; somewhere beyond the hills lay Kiyō, and the Suwa Shrine, and the sunny streets of Sōfukuji district that she knew so well. She wondered if she would ever go back to the city.
I’m a wanted person everywhere now, she reminded herself. There’s no home for me to come back to. I can only hope the news won’t reach Chōfu before the wedding…
As the ship entered the mouth of the narrow strait separating Chinzei from the main island, the wind died down, but the waves rose in fierce billows. Despite the single sail faltering into futile flapping, a strong current drew the vessel away from Chinzei and closer towards the Chōfu castle town, guarding the western side of the passage. Nagomi shivered; the last time she had seen these waters was when she boarded the ferry towards Nagoya, a few days after Ganryū was killed.
She thought she would be able to spot Ganryūjima easily, but from a distance the island melted with other tiny islets and reefs crowding the southern entrance to the straits.
The ship turned left — “to starboard,” Nagomi remembered, though she wasn’t sure when and where she had learned that word – and the crewmen headed to the front of the boat to prepare for docking at Chōfu.
Nagomi turned to take one last glance at Chinzei. Near the end of the arrow-shaped peninsula rose a single hump-backed hill; near its bottom, by the beach, she noticed a tinge of vermillion: a gate of a small shrine.
Part of the vision from Atsuta come back to her: the inside of an ancient temple, and a monk putting the white orb on the altar, turning in terror to face an unknown enemy. Only the enemy was not unknown this time. She saw him clearly: it was the Crimson Robe.
“Come, little priestess, we need to get our things.” Torishi’s voice broke the spell, but not before Nagomi remembered where she had seen the inside of the ancient temple before — in another vision, her first ever glimpse of the Prophecy at Suwa Shrine.
She stopped one of the sailors who walked past with a length of coarse rope in his red hands. “Excuse me,” she asked, pointing to the temple, “what do you call that place?”
“Mekari, priestess-sama,” he answered.
“Mekari…” she repeated. The name meant nothing to her, and yet, she felt as if she’d heard it before...
I’ll ask Sacchan’s husband, she told herself and chuckled at the thought.
Satō’s husband.
Of all the things that had happened to them, this one seemed the most ridiculous.
Nagomi climbed the narrow wooden staircase to the second floor of the guesthouse and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” said a familiar voice. Nagomi took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
Satō was sitting by a teak cupboard, wearing a flowing red kimono. In one hand she was holding a sponge with white powder, in the other — a bronze mirror. She put away both things and stood up to welcome her friend.
Nagomi hesitated for a second, then ran up to the wizardess and embraced her. The wizardess stood rigid, not returning the hug at first. Finally, she raised her hand and patted Nagomi on the back. They stood motionless for a while.
“You look… beautiful,” Nagomi said finally, looking the other girl over. Satō’s hair was bunched up, not quite yet fully coiffured, but not the cropped boyish haircut, either. Half of her face was already daubed with peach-coloured chalk, her lips ruby red, one eye blackened with charcoal. The effect was slightly disturbing, even without accounting for Satō’s distinct lack of skill in applying the makeup.
“I hate it,” Satō replied, pushing the cosmetic utensils off the cupboard with an angry swipe. “I hate having to wear this, and I hate having to have this wedding.”
“Then why did you agree to it? And — why aren’t you in Satsuma?”
Satō grimaced and reached for a wet sponge. “Let me get this off, and we’ll come down to drink some cha. I’ll tell you everything.” She looked at Nagomi curiously. “Have you come all this way alone?”
“Torishi-sama stayed at the inn. Do you want me to send someone for him?”
Satō shook her head. “No, let it be only the two of us for a moment. Just like the old days.”
“…and worst of all, I was running out of money. That’s why he sent me here, to get this job.” Satō finished her tale and gulped a hearty sip of saké. Nagomi poured her another cup. “Look at this place,” Satō added, “it’s all I can afford these days.”
“It’s not that bad,” Nagomi said, but she had to admit that it wasn’t up to the level she had normally expected of Satō.
To think the Takashima family had a walled mansion in the finest district of Kiyō.
“I don’t even have a wedding kimono,” Satō continued to spill her woes, her face flushed with saké, “I had to borrow it from Shōin’s mother.”
Yoshida Shōin.
Satō had spent a long time describing her life in Satsuma, and Lord Nariakira’s treachery, but out of their entire conversation this was what stood out in Nagomi’s mind. Shōin.
The timid, well-behaved son of a cloth merchant. Of all the men, all the boys Nagomi had expected Satō to end up married to — if anyone at all — he was the last.
And yet, now that it was about to happen, somehow, it felt just right. The boy, from what Nagomi remembered, was an eager and talented student of Rangaku. And he had good ear of the daimyo himself. Still, Shōin? That kid?
“Do you remember when you laughed at your students for not being able to hold their swords straight?” Nagomi said and giggled.
Satō scratched her chin in thought. “Did I? It must have been a long time ago…” She laughed. “That must be why Shōin decided to come up with his own style of magic!”
Nagomi joined Satō, though she wasn’t sure what they were laughing about.
“I was hoping,” she said when they turned serious again, “you could have come with us to Nagoya and work at the hospital… But now, I don’t know what will happen to us.”
Satō shook her head and sipped more saké.
“Nagoya? Its daimyo is the Taikun’s cousin! I would be arrested at the first checkpoint. I’m surprised they let you in. Or out.”
“Actually, we did have some — ” Nagomi started, but Satō interrupted her with a sweeping gesture.
“Besides, I’m a wizard, not a doctor. Shōin’s school has potential. With me and him at the head it could soon come to rival the one of that traitor Shimazu, and then...”
“Shhh!” Nagomi covered Satō’s mouth with her hand. “People are listening!”
Satō removed the hand. “They don’t care. Nobody here cares for Satsuma.” The wizardess lowered her voice. “They don’t like anyone who’s in close cahoots with the Westerners. They barely tolerate us wizards.”
“And what about you? What do you think about the Westerners now?”
Satō’s lips set in a straight line. They both knew what Nagomi really meant by that question.
“He did what he had to do,” she said eventually, with a forced shrug. “I would have done the same thing in his place.”
“Would you?”
Satō crossed her arms.
The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5) Page 17
