The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5)

by James Calbraith

  Nagomi knelt down beside Bran. Satō looked over her shoulder.

  Lying unconscious, in the sand, she thought briefly, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.

  His face was white, wet curls of black hair stuck to his forehead. Dark blood and pus were seeping through the tatters of the uniform trousers on his left leg. The entire thigh was covered in torn blisters and ripe burn scars.

  “What happened to him?” asked Nagomi, pressing on the wound gingerly. Her fingers glowed with the blue light of healing. “Was it his dorako’s fire?”

  Satō looked the dragon over. “No, look — ” Satō touched the scales on Emrys’ neck. They were singed and cracked in two places where, she guessed, a rider would sit. “It’s hurt as well.”

  Another dragon…? she thought. Is that what you’ve come to tell us about?

  “Can you heal him?” she asked the priestess.

  Nagomi cast her a panicked look.

  “The wound is too old,” she said, shaking her head. “He needs a proper healer.”

  Satō frowned.

  What do you mean, proper healer…?

  “We have to hurry, then. I’ll take him by the arms, and — ”

  She felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to Torishi.

  “Trouble,” the bear-man said, pointing with a thumb behind him.

  Mori retainers had finally caught up with them. They stood along the edge of the scorched glade, their spears and swords aimed at those gathered around the dorako.

  “Dōraku-sa – ” she started, and stopped. The Swordsman was nowhere to be seen. She realized she had not seen him since she’d used the Tide Jewel. She turned to Torishi, instead.

  “Torishi-sama, help me carry Bran away.”

  “Yoshida-sensei!” Kunishi, the commander of the Mori retainers shouted. “Get away from that barbarian. All of you. He’s under arrest!”

  The dragon grunted in its stupor. The samurai leapt back and shook his sword furiously.

  “I can carry him myself. But where do you want to take him?” asked the bear-man, throwing the boy over his shoulder. The boy moaned and opened his eyes, but was too weak to speak. His gaze slid from Satō to Nagomi.

  “Out of here, first,” the wizardess ordered, “then back to Meirinkan, if we can.”

  “What about them?” he nodded at the retainers.

  The samurai now barred all the exits from the scorched glade, in two rows, spear points aimed straight at Satō and Torishi. Worse than that — more warriors poured from among the trees; archers and arquebusiers, ready to shoot.

  “Put. Him. Down.” The commander stepped forward.

  Satō reached to her waist, but stopped short of drawing the sword.

  Damn it, Dōraku-sama, where are you? Now is when we could really use your help…

  Shōin patted her on the shoulder. She turned towards him: his face was gravely serious.

  “Sen… Satō — can I really trust you on this?”

  “Yes, Shōin.”

  “And this foreigner… is he really that important?”

  This made her pause again.

  Is he important at all?

  Her eyes fell on Nagomi. The priestess was pale, biting her fingernails, her eyes wide open and darting about, she looked like a trapped rabbit. Satō did not remember ever seeing her friend so worried before.

  “He may be the most important person in Yamato,” she said with conviction.

  Shōin nodded and then turned to his wizards. He raised a hand.

  A barrage of ice and fire missiles struck the samurai. The earth wobbled beneath their feet. Wind carried the released arrows and bullets harmlessly through the air, shattering treetops and rocks around the glade.

  “Now, go!” cried Shōin and pushed Satō forward. “We’ll hold them.”

  “What about you?”

  The boy smiled weakly. Satō noticed only now how tired he seemed.

  “Don’t worry. I swore before the Gods that we would always be together. I’ll meet you at the Meirinkan.”

  Satō and Torishi barged their way through the chaos, pushing the few still-standing, confused samurai out of their way. Running headlong down the slope, leaving the noise of the battle behind, she almost bumped bumped into Master Dōraku. He dragged her to the small, flat glen; a bowl of sand dug by a narrow mountain stream. In the middle of it, drawn in red in the sand was a complex six-pointed pattern. He beckoned them to hurry.

  “Lay him here, in the middle,” he ordered.

  “Is that a — ” Satō began.

  “A transportation hex, yes. I did go through Ganryū’s library, remember? Now step back, this can only take two of us.”

  “But you don’t know — ”

  “Meirinkan, right? I’ll be waiting there — if you can make it.”

  He looked up — the samurai were pushing through the undergrowth towards them. He knelt down and pressed the tips of his fingers to two opposite points of the pattern. The spell whirled and blasted Satō with wind and light. When she could see again, both the Swordsman and the dragon rider were gone.

  The compound that formed the Meirinkan School had once been part of the outer bailey of the Chōfu Castle. As such, it was a well-fortified place, with a tough oaken gate and a dry moat encompassing the six foot wall. It may not have been enough to withstand a full-on siege, but served just fine to stop Kunishi’s samurai from charging in.

  The students patrolled the perimeter in twos, ready to stop any intrusion; no attack was forthcoming. The troops of the domain gathered around the school in force, but the commanders were unsure what to make of the situation. No orders had come from the daimyo’s castle, no condemnation of the rebellious wizards, no demand to hand over the foreigner. The soldiers marched back and forth along the walls, waving spears and shouting abuse, and could do nothing to the men inside. As long as Lord Mori remained silent, it was stalemate.

  Satō and Shōin sat on a bench in front of the school dormitory. Behind them, inside the building, the students of the Western Medicine faculty were doing their best to save Bran’s rotting leg. Satō wished desperately to take her mind off what would happen if they failed.

  “So, have you found your attunement yet, Shōin?” she asked. “I saw you cast all sorts of spells back there in the forest.”

  The boy looked at her in surprise, and then shook his head. He spoke slowly. “Not yet. I can’t figure it out. No kind of magic comes any harder to me than any other… or any easier, for that matter.”

  His face was not even pale anymore — it was a rainbow of colours, all of them sickly: his cheeks were sunken, almost green, his eyes rounded in deep purple.

  “You should rest,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine,” he replied, and bent over in a sudden coughing fit. She leaned to support him.

  “It’s always like this after I use too much power…” he added when he finished coughing. “I just need to be careful, that’s all. I don’t often have to fight half of Chōfu’s garrison,” he smiled.

  “I was surprised,” she said, “by the loyalty of your students. The Satsuma wizards would never go against Shimazu’s men like that.”

  “You saw how the Chōfu nobles can treat those beneath them. Most of these boys come from common families, like mine. To tell you the truth, they were itching to bloody the noses of a few samurai for a long time.”

  “I can imagine.” She forced a smile.

  An agonizing howl came from the building. Satō winced, recognizing Bran’s voice.

  “What now? We are all going to be condemned as rebels,” she said. “The school is finished.”

  Shōin shook his head.

  “If that was the daimyo’s wish, he would have ordered the attack already.”

  “Then what’s he playing at?”

  “I don’t know — but I’m going to find out.” He stood up abruptly, but then he swayed as blood rushed from his head. Satō allowed him to lean on her shoulder.

  That’s right, she though
t, we are a married couple now. I keep forgetting it’s no longer improper for him to touch me.

  “I’m…I’m sorry. As soon as the foreigner wakes, I am going to go to the castle,” Shōin decided, “to parley with the daimyo. He trusts me more than his samurai advisors.”

  “They will arrest you the moment you step out of that gate.”

  “I am still a Mori retainer, equal in rank with all those samurai outside.”

  “You’ve learned to play the role of a nobleman quickly,” said Satō. She was finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile the memories of a boy scribbling clumsy notes on the floor of a Takashima Mansion with this… man, almost a leader of other men.

  I thought we had grown over the recent months… but he’s grown far more.

  “I had a great teacher in Mori-dono,” Shōin said. “Chōfu is rife with politics, always has been. We’re a frontier domain — stuck half-way between those loyal to the Taikun on Hondo, and the rebellious daimyo on Chinzei. I thought, as a son of a cloth merchant, I could have avoided all this… all I wanted was to learn some Rangaku… You know, the original reason why my father sent me to Kiyō was simply so I could make some contacts among the Bataavian traders, to see if we could sell them our silk.”

  “I’m sorry you got involved in all our trouble.”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head. “Had I stayed in Kiyō, I wouldn’t have all this,” he waved at the courtyard. Then he looked her in the eyes. “And I wouldn’t have — ”

  Cries and commotion coming from the direction of the wall interrupted him. The main gate swung open, and the wizards guarding it dropped to their knees.

  Satō stood up.

  “What are they doing?”

  A young man entered the gate with purposeful steps, sweeping the courtyard with a lordly look. Satō did not recognize his face, but his stature was enough: the only other man she knew who bore himself like that was Shimazu Nariakira. This must have been Mori Takachika, the daimyo of Chōfu.

  He nodded at somebody beyond the gate and it shut, leaving him alone inside.

  “Kakka…!” Shōin gasped, and prostrated as the daimyo approached them. Satō knelt down.

  “Where is he?” Lord Mori asked curtly.

  “In the infirmary,” replied Shōin from the dirt. Another howling cry confirmed his words.

  “Take me to him.”

  All dropped to their knees when Lord Mori entered the infirmary room. Satō and Shōin followed him closely. She eyed the room quickly. Three medicine students were kneeling at the head of Bran’s bed with morose faces. Nagomi was down by his leg, still touching it with faintly blue-lit fingers. The wound was a thin maze of healed scars among the black and purple mass of dying flesh.

  “What’s wrong with him?” the daimyo asked.

  “His…his leg is burned,” said one of the students, stuttering, “and not with normal fire, either. The damage looks magical in origin.”

  Lord Mori frowned.

  “Can he be moved to the castle prison?”

  “The rot is too deep, kakka,” the student replied. “We have to cut here and now, or he dies.”

  The other two nodded in agreement.

  “No!” protested Nagomi, rising from her knees. “It can be saved, kakka. We only need more power. Another priest that can – ”

  “Silence, girl!” the daimyo thundered. Everyone turned pale. The priestess beat the floor with her forehead.

  “Yoshida-sama,” Lord Mori turned to Shōin, “I have been very lenient to your school so far. But I did not expect it to become a nest of fugitives and traitors.”

  “I understand, kakka…” the boy replied, downcast, pale. “But the situation with this Gaikokujin …”

  “I don’t mean the barbarian,” snapped the daimyo, “I mean her!”

  He raised an accusing fan-holding hand at Nagomi.

  “Me…?” the priestess gasped, “why…?”

  Lord Mori stood over her. “Don’t talk back to me, mongrel.”

  She pressed her forehead to the floor.

  “Kakka…”

  “I know you killed an Aizu retainer. You’re wanted from Kiyō to Tsugaru. And that half-ape companion of yours — I saw him in the courtyard.”

  “Nagomi…?” Satō stared at her friend.

  “I… I was going to tell you,” Nagomi whispered. “I am sorry…”

  “I told you to stay quiet!” Lord Mori slapped her over the head with his fan. “Yoshida-sama, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you all thrown into a dungeon, and that barbarian cast to the dogs?”

  Satō felt somebody push her gently aside from the door.

  “Will this help?” Master Dōraku said, holding up a bundle of papers.

  “You.” The daimyo spared the Fanged only the coldest of glances. “I thought I told you never to set foot in Chōfu again.”

  “The fate of Yamato hangs in the balance,” Dōraku replied grimly. “I’m afraid I had to stop pretending to listen to orders from mortals.”

  “You insolent…” The daimyo raised his fan to a slap, but his eyes caught the papers. “Give me those.”

  He grabbed them from the Fanged’s hands and perused them briefly. Looking over his shoulder, Satō noticed hastily written Seaxe runes. She thought she could understand some words, but she didn’t dare speak out of turn.

  “I can’t read these,” the daimyo said.

  “None of us can,” said Dōraku. “Only the boy. These were found on him, and are likely the reason why he’s here. He wanted to bring these to our attention, kakka.”

  Lord Mori’s lips were a thin line. He studied one of the pages: a fairly detailed map of southern provinces drawn on it in elegant ink, and he frowned.

  “The boy speaks Yamato,” Fanged pressed.

  “And why should I care about any of this?”

  “That wound on his leg,” Dōraku said, pointing, “that’s dorako fire.”

  Lord Mori put a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “It can’t be! A dorako, you say? Where on Earth could the boy — ?”

  “Another dragon’s fire,” Dōraku interrupted.

  The daimyo’s eyes narrowed. He pondered for a moment.

  “Where is his beast now?” he asked.

  As if in answer, an ear-piercing shriek came from outside, followed by a roar and a fiery hiss. Satō caught Lord Mori’s eyes and he nodded, suddenly pale.

  She ran out, Shōin behind her. She sheltered her eyes from the dust raised by the wind. The dragon hovered over the courtyard, roaring and spitting balls of flame. A few wizards tried to fight back with missiles of ice and lightning, but the elements bounced off the jade-green scales with a shower of shards and fizzle.

  “Satō, do it,” she heard Shōin whisper.

  She drew the red orb from her sleeve, burning now with renewed energy. In an instant the dragon dived at her. She focused her energy into the jewel, just as she had done in the forest. At once it turned into a beating heart. The surge of power was even greater than before. The dragon was right above her. She squeezed the heart tight. The beast hung in the air, flapping its wings desperately.

  Down!

  One more squeeze and the beast dropped to the ground. It smashed into the sand of the courtyard a feet away from Satō and lay there, not moving a muscle.

  Did I — did I kill it?

  Carefully she moved closer and gently touched the scales. They were warm, and she felt something ripple beneath, blood vessels or maybe relaxing tendons… The beast was alive, but barely.

  “Impressive,” she heard daimyo’s voice right behind her. She bowed down without turning back.

  “So this is a dorako…” Lord Mori laid a hand on the dragon’s head beside hers. He seemed unaffected by dragon fear. “How long can you keep it that way?” he asked.

  “I… I don’t know, kakka.”

  “Can anybody else do it?”

  Nobody else tried.

  “No, kakka.”

  “Very well.
I order you to focus on this task for now,” the daimyo said. “And only this. As for the rest of you…”

  He turned to Shōin and others, who waited in the door of the infirmary.

  “You are all under house arrest for now. Forbidden to leave the school until I think of further punishment.”

  He thrust the papers into Shōin’s hands. “Bring the barbarian to me as soon as he wakes,” he ordered. “Leg or no leg.”

  He drilled the tip of the fan into the Fanged’s chest. “And I want you out of here.”

  He gave them all one last tired, mocking look, rolled his eyes and marched off towards the gate in a huff.

  As soon as the daimyo disappeared, Satō turned back towards the infirmary.

  “But — the dorako — ” Shōin tried to stop her. “The daimyo — ”

  She gave him a scornful look and brushed him aside.

  “Sensei, please! What if — ”

  She didn’t hear the rest. Inside the infirmary, the three students were preparing their instruments. One of them already had the hacksaw in his hand and was busy choosing the best place to cut. The others were preparing tourniquets and bottles of distilled alcohol.

  “All out,” she said.

  She knelt down beside Bran’s bed. He was awake, his green eyes clouded with fever.

  “Do you understand what’s going on?” she asked.

  Bran reached out and grabbed her hand, weakly.

  He opened his parched lips. She leaned down to hear him whisper:

  “The Black Wings… are coming…”

  She frowned.

  Black Wings? What’s he on about?

  “Don’t worry about it now. Bran, listen to me, this is important. We may have to cut your leg off.”

  “How… much… ”

  She examined his thigh. “Almost all of it. There will barely be a stump left. Will you be able to ride again…?”

  He turned his head to the wall. That was all the answer she needed.

  This was tough. She didn’t know why he had returned, or how he knew where to find them, but she was sure that, whatever his plans were, they would all come to naught if he couldn’t fly Emrys anymore.