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

by James Calbraith

  What was that? Bran perked up. How would he know?

  “Yes, kakka,” he said. “I believe it concerns the future of Yamato — especially domains like yours and…” he bit his tongue.

  “You wanted to say Satsuma,” the daimyo stated coldly. “Despite our differences we are both equally despised by Edo. It is Edo you came to warn us about, isn’t it?”

  Bran nodded. “It’s…” He stopped and looked at the councillors. How many of them were spies of the Taikun or agents of the Serpent?

  One way or another, they are involved in everything, he remembered Dōraku’s words.

  The daimyo caught his wandering look and smiled. “Elders,” he said, “will you please leave us alone for a moment.”

  “Kakka!” the eldest-looking councillor’s jowls shook with indignation. “Your safety — !”

  “Yoshida-sama can guarantee our safety. Isn’t that right?”

  “Of — of course,” Shōin stuttered.

  He’s not certain at all, thought Bran. He couldn’t blame the boy. After all, this could all just be a very long ruse on my part to get near the daimyo.

  He hit the floor with his forehead. “Upon my honour as a dragon rider, I vow no harm will come to you in my presence, kakka,” he said.

  The daimyo smiled again. “Surely that is sufficient for you, Murata.”

  “A barbarian’s word is worth less than manure,” the councillor scoffed.

  I’ve heard that before.

  “Now you’re insulting my guest, Murata.”

  The councillor bowed. “I’m sorry, kakka. But it is my duty to express my opinions clearly.”

  “And it is my right to ignore them. Now leave, everyone.”

  He waved the wooden paddle and said no more until the room emptied.

  “It’s not much, and most of it is written in some kind of code,” said Bran, sipping hot cha from a frail terracotta cup; he’d had no idea how much he’d missed the bitter-salty taste. “But it’s enough to gain a basic understanding of the proposed treaty.”

  On the daimyo’s invitation, he and Shōin sat next to the dais and all three were now poring over the papers which Bran had stolen from the Gorllewin Komtur’s desk.

  I was hoping to discuss this with Satō and others first, Bran thought. I still don’t know how much I can trust this man…

  “These two pages are interesting,” he said, presenting the pieces of paper on which were roughly drawn several tables. Each table had two columns: one bearing brief, coded words, the other — simply rows of crosses and ticks.

  “Some of those marks are from a different brush,” noted Lord Mori. “That’s a Yamato hand.”

  “Well spotted, kakka. The Grey Hoods must have been working on it with the Council,” said Bran. “I noticed the crosses and ticks in each table always add up to seven: as many as there are dragons in the squadron.”

  “Seven?” asked the daimyo. “Is that significant?”

  “Seven is an important number for all Sun Priests,” said Bran. “I learned a little of their religion while I was their prisoner. There are seven ranks in their holy order of warriors, seven major festivals in the year, and so on.”

  “What do you think those tables mean, then?” asked Shōin. He was tracing the marks with his finger, as if trying to devise their meaning through touch.

  “I’m guessing that this is the way they plan to relocate the dorako,” answered Bran. “After all, if the Black Wings are to assist the Taikun’s army, they need to be spread out over Yamato, in vulnerable places. Even a dragon needs some time to reach, say, Satsuma or Chōfu from Edo. It also needs to be fed and stabled,” he added.

  “That means infrastructure,” said Shōin.

  “A castle,” Bran added, remembering his daydream of conquering coastal fortresses with Emrys.

  “My castle,” Lord Mori said, clenching the paddle in his fist.

  He remained silent for the longest time, eyes down, tapping the end of the paddle against his chin.

  He is the exact opposite of Nariakira, thought Bran. The lord of Satsuma would have had three different answers ready the moment Bran stopped talking. Lord Mori was taking everything slowly, with deliberation.

  Perhaps he makes better decisions that way… or perhaps he’s just not as fast a thinker.

  “If they come here…” the daimyo said at last, “how can we fight those — Black Wings?”

  Bran wasn’t sure who was supposed to answer the question, so he waited until Shōin spoke.

  “We studied Bran-sama’s dorako through the night,” the boy spoke, “and we are fairly confident we might defeat these creatures, if need be.”

  I’d like to see you try.

  “What do you say to that, Bran-sama?”

  “I’m afraid even the best of your wizards are no match to a fully grown dorako. They are famously resistant to magic.”

  “We already managed to subdue your beast once,” Shōin said, looking at Bran defiantly.

  “Black Wings are far bigger, stronger and more powerful than Emrys. In fact, they are the largest I’ve ever seen.” He tried not to let his irritation show. “I have faced the power of Ganryū’s orb before, if that’s what you mean, and I sincerely doubt it would do much against even one of those monsters. Not to mention seven.”

  “Ah-hm.” Lord Mori fell into another long period of silence. A large mosquito flew in from somewhere and hovered, irritatingly, in the air beside Bran’s ear. The droning noise and the heat were making him drowsy.

  “We seem to be in a rather dire situation here,” the daimyo said. “I can’t risk the well-being of my people in such an unfair combat.”

  “But,” Shōin raised up from his knees by an inch, “I don’t understand. Why are you so worried about all this, kakka? What combat? The Taikun has no obvious reason to attack us, does he? We are a law-abiding province, we pay our taxes on time, we obey the decrees. We are not Satsuma.”

  “You are right, Yoshida-sama. We may be safe, for now. But with that kind of power, the Taikun might soon start making unreasonable demands. What then? What if, for example, they demand we arrest Bran-sama and all his friends and acquaintances, and hand them over?”

  “I’m fully aware my presence here is troublesome, kakka,” Bran said quickly. “At any moment I can do the same as the Black Wings did — ‘disappear’ into some remote location.”

  “I don’t think Edo would fall for the same trick twice,” the daimyo said with the gentlest of smiles. “And too many people know you’re here by now. No, I’m afraid there is only one thing I can do.”

  He clapped thrice this time. All the walls around the room slid open, revealing a troop of samurai, armed too the teeth.

  Bran leapt up, summoning his tarian around him. The Lance flickered in his hand. His head spun and the room swayed.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said the daimyo, still sporting the same gentle smile. “Think of your friends back in the Meirinkan.”

  “They will fight,” said Bran, remembering how Dōraku and Satō forced their way through Ganryū’s army. And Torishi would protect Nagomi with his life.

  The daimyo would not frighten him so easily.

  “Fight? I don’t need to fight them,” Lord Mori replied. “But I can make their life so miserable they’ll wish they were dead. How do you think your wizardess friend, for example, would react to being disowned from her new family and sent into another exile — because of you?”

  That hurt, almost physically so. Bran felt weakened by the daimyo’s words… or was it the cha? Daimyo said something that escaped Bran. The walls wobbled around him. He blinked and focused.

  “I don’t understand…what new family?”

  “Oh — you mean you still don’t know? But I thought you said you were close with Takashima-sensei… or should I say, Yoshida-sensei…?”

  A slow understanding dawned on Bran. He looked at the boy beside him and remembered Satō’s ominous-sounding words.

  “I had to s
tay and live here.”

  “Mori-dono, I must protest…” he heard Shōin say feebly.

  “Must you, Yoshida-sama? Think again. Do your loyalties lie with me, or with your wife’s… friend?”

  You bastard. You’re even worse than Nariakira.

  The Yamato wizard lowered his hand in resignation.

  “I thought so,” scoffed Mori-dono. He rose; the gentleness in his face was gone, replaced by mockery, as he addressed Bran. “You foreigners are too soft. You may dress like a samurai, and talk like a samurai, but no samurai would surrender without a fight. You bring shame to your clan.”

  He’s right, Bran thought in a daze. Father would never have gone down so easily.

  “Take him away,” the warlord spat out the order in disgust.

  His tarian buzzed off. The floor escaped from his feet. As the samurai grabbed Bran and pulled him outside, he heard the daimyo speak to a bewildered Shōin.

  “Now, Yoshida-sama, there is a more important matter for us to discuss...”

  The two black palanquins disappeared beyond the gate. The rest of the Mori samurai followed them out, leaving the school unguarded for the first time in two days.

  Satō entered freely into the infirmary, and saw Nagomi helping to clear Bran’s room up.

  “There you are,” she said. “Why didn’t you come out to say goodbye to Bran?”

  The priestess paused on the way to the mattress cupboard.

  “Goodbye? Why? He’s coming back soon, isn’t he?” she replied, not looking at Satō as she spoke.

  “Have you actually managed to speak to him yet?”

  “I sat by his bed all night.”

  “But did you talk to him? Nagomi.” She grabbed the priestess by the hand as the girl passed her. Nagomi dropped the rolled-up blanket she’d been holding. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble?”

  The priestess smiled sadly. “Aren’t we all?”

  She bent to pick up the blanket.

  “Leave that, for the Gods! You’re not a servant. Come with me outside.” Satō pulled her towards the door. “You have to tell me what happened on the way from Nagoya.”

  Satō felt the disconcerting stare of the dorako on herself. The beast lay in its usual place in the middle of the courtyard, with its head on its front paws, like an old dog, glancing at the wizardess from time to time from underneath a lazy eyebrow. She did her best to ignore it.

  They were sitting under the only large tree on the school grounds; a gnarled, vine-stifled, half-dead camphor, the last remnant of what must have once been a garden sprawling where the Meirinkan now was.

  “What are your plans now?” she asked.

  “Plans?” said the priestess, shaking her head. “I didn’t have time to think of any plans. I just wanted to get here in time for your wedding.”

  “You must have thought of something. I mean, all those visions, prophecies — it’s obvious what you’re part of is greater than any of us.”

  “I never asked to be a part of anything,” said Nagomi.

  A gust of wind picked up a bunch of brown, dry camphor leaves off the ground and scattered them acrossthe sand.

  “Sometimes… sometimes I feel like those dry leaves, just blown here and there in the wind.”

  Satō reached out a hand and caught one of the leaves and crushed it in her hand. A fresh, cool smell spread through the air.

  “Well, looks like the wind is carrying you straight to the Taikun’s prison, unless you act now.”

  Nagomi raised her head. “I’m safe here, aren’t I?”

  “I suppose so, but for how long? Sooner or later the winds will blow again. As long as there’s a Taikun in power, neither of us is safe. And what about your family? They’re in Edo, at the government’s mercy.”

  “You don’t have to remind me,” said Nagomi. “I worry about them every night. But what can I do? What can we do against the Taikun? Many people have tried and failed. Powerful people. Even Kazuko-hime.”

  She swallowed the tears and grit her teeth. She touched the High Priestess’ necklace and raised her head and looked into the dazzling sun.

  “I want to do my bit to help… Not just to help my family — but to fulfil Kazuko-hime’s legacy, to finish the mission she left to me … If only I knew how.”

  Satō smiled. “That’s all I needed to hear, really. I’m sure we’ll find a way. We only need to stick together again.”

  Nagomi nodded and picked up a handful of the leaves from the ground.

  “It smells like Suwa,” she said. “Remember? There was this great camphor tree by the carp pond.”

  “We used to climb it when the priests weren’t looking.” Satō smiled.

  They sat in silence for a while, listening to the rustle of the wind in the branches, and the chirp of starlings in their nest, before Satō spoke again.

  “How did it feel?” she asked. “When you stabbed that man?”

  “It was awful,” replied Nagomi, shivering. “Nauseating. It made me never want to fight again. But…”

  “Yes?”

  The priestess smiled wryly.

  “That whole situation… It felt good to be finally doing something on my own. To be in control, if only for a brief moment.”

  Satō chuckled.

  “Kazuko-hime chose well,” she said. “You’re definitely not just an ordinary leaf.”

  Another gust blew more sand and debris around them, then another, stronger, forceful.

  “That’s no wind,” said Satō, standing up. “It’s Emrys!”

  The dragon beat its wings one more time and launched itself into the air. The buffeting air threw dirt in Satō’s eyes. Through forced tears, she saw the beast turn towards the castle.

  “Something’s wrong with Bran!” said Satō and ran off after the dragon. Nagomi followed close behind.

  Right as Emrys disappeared over the wall, the school gate opened, and in came Shōin. The boy looked up and traced the green dragon’s flight with curiosity, until the beast was no longer visible.

  He turned towards the approaching girls. His face was grey, sullen. He was alone. Nagomi shivered.

  “Where’s Bran?” asked the wizardess. “Did you see that? His dragon just got up and flew away!”

  The boy raised his hands defensively.

  “He… he won’t be coming back.” He swallowed. “There will be an announcement of his arrest later today. No, wait — ” he silenced her protests, “this is only to appease the retainers. In reality, Mori-dono asked him to undertake an urgent secret mission.”

  “That’s strange.” Satō looked at him suspiciously. “He wouldn’t even come for his belongings?”

  “It’s all part of the bluff. Mori-dono will send for them later.” He swayed. “I’m sorry, it was a tiring day — I really have to rest now…”

  “No,” said Nagomi, stepping forward. “This is wrong!”

  “What is?” Satō asked, frowning.

  Nagomi grabbed Shōin by the collar of his kimono and shook him. “Why are you lying?” she cried. “This isn’t how it should be – this is not what I saw!”

  The boy laughed nervously.

  “What do you mean? I’m — I’m telling the truth.”

  He avoided her accusing stare, and looked to Satō for help.

  “Nagomi!” the wizardess grabbed her hands. “Let him go! What’s wrong with you?”

  She stepped back, trembling with a mixture of emotions. Anger, fear and confusion surged through her.

  None of the visions showed this. None of the visions… what’s happening?

  “You saw this?” Satō asked. “What did you see?”

  Satō‘s voice trailed off as the visions flashed before Nagomi’s eyes again.

  Bran standing next to Shōin in Lord Mori’s audience room, confused and angry.

  Guards taking him away on a boat, beating him mercilessly.

  A suicide sword in the sand, stained with blood.

  His dead body on a beach, bloate
d and battered.

  Nagomi shook her head and rubbed her eyes to stop the images from coming.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I should go and rest.”

  “I think you better should,” said Satō, touching Nagomi’s forehead with a worried look. “You’re burning. Drink some water.”

  Once she got back to her room, Nagomi dropped to her knees and shut her eyes tight, unable to stop the barrage of images.

  “Will she be all right?” Shōin asked, leaning heavily on his wife’s shoulder.

  Satō bit her lips in hesitation, looking towards the dormitory. Shōin followed her gaze and noticed Nagomi’s great hairy companion hurrying after the priestess.

  “She’ll be fine,” Satō said, turning away. “It’s just the strain of recent events. She’s not used to it.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Shōin said.

  Satō helped him sit down on a shaded bench and beckoned to one of the students to bring them water.

  “What did you talk about?” she asked. “What secret mission?”

  Shōin grabbed the water gourd and drank from it far longer than he needed to. He used the pause to think of a satisfactory answer. Lord Mori had not given him too much time to invent a story.

  “Those papers he brought,” he started. That, at least, was a safe topic — and true. He told her of the news the foreigner had related before the daimyo, and of the strange markings on the pieces of paper.

  “Mori-dono thinks those mean the castles where each of the dorako is supposed to be relocated,” he added, counting out on his fingers. “Chōfu, Kagoshima, Edo, Heian…”

  “The Mikado’s palace?” Satō gasped. “They wouldn’t dare…”

  “To protect the court? Isn’t that the Taikuns’ duty?”

  “Yes, but — to use foreign armies … to ally with the heretics… it’s unthinkable.”

  “It’s still uncertain…” The right-wrong answer finally jumped into Shōin’s mind. “That’s what the foreigner’s mission is about — to find out what’s really going on.”