“What’s this?” cried Shōin. “A child? Give me that torch!”
He beckoned a servant. Satō took the light and peered inside. Cowering in the corner of the dank, tiny room, was a creature the size of a child, dark-skinned and bald, with features hidden by a layer of dirt and grime. It — or he — was naked and trembling; its only accessory was a leather cord tied around its neck, upon which hung a jagged piece of blue-coloured, translucent stone.
“That stone — !” cried Satō. She tried to reach for it, but the creature hissed and scratched at her hand.
“Careful,” the governor said, approaching. He slapped the poor creature on the face. It hid its head in its lanky arms. “It’s vicious.”
“What is this… thing?” asked Shōin.
“My men found it sneaking through the forest about a month ago. It was trying to reach the northern border.”
“Can it speak?”
“Yes, but it’s difficult to understand. It lost most of its teeth when my men… handled it.”
Satō leaned over the creature. She was trying to remember something… she shook her head to get the remnants of saké out of her head.
Little people in the cave… exactly like him. I have seen this.
She knelt down to have her face on the same level as the little dark man.
“Are you… an Ancient?”
His eyes glinted.
“How…?” he croaked through bloodied lips. His voice surprised her; she expected it to be high-pitched and child-like, but it was mature and hoarse.
“I have a — friend, who told me about your people. He is of the Kumaso.”
“Kumaso…” He nodded sagely. “So there are still Sons of Bear in the south.”
The accent was hard; she could tell Yamato was a foreign language for him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Going north. To my land.”
She stood up and turned to the governor.
“What were you planning to do with him?” she asked.
The governor shrugged. “He’s been trespassing without a permit. I can do with him whatever I want.”
“He should have been sent to Chōfu, and you know it.”
“I don’t even know if it’s human,” the governor scoffed.
“We have to take him back with us,” she said to Shōin.
“Now listen here — ” the governor straightened himself, his hands and jowls shaking. “I don’t know who you think you are, woman, but — ”
Satō felt something snap inside. She grabbed the governor by the collar and, even though the man was stout and towering above her by a good foot, she pinned him to the cold stone wall. The world around her was shrouded in the rusty red hue again.
“Mori-dono must be informed of anyone caught crossing the border,” she seethed. Her voice sounded like a snake’s hissing in her ears. “You know the law. Shall I inform him of what happened here? Shall I tell him it was your negligence that caused the rebellion?”
Frost crackled around her fist. A blade of ice grew in her other hand, pointing at the governor’s head.
“N-no… I didn’t think… rebellion?” He flustered. “What does any of this have to do with the rebellion?”
Shōin grasped her hand.
“That’s enough, Satō.”
The ice blade dissipated. The normal colours of the world returned. She breathed deep and, reluctantly, she let go.
The governor gasped for air and staggered towards the door, a broken man, shaken to the core. “Well, I never…” he murmured to himself. “I never…”
“What’s so important about that man-child?” Shōin asked. “Is he really involved in the revolt?”
“I’m certain of it. That stone… it would take too long to explain here,” she said, pointing at the governor with her eyes. I’ll tell you when we’re alone.
Shōin hesitated, before nodding. “Very well, I’ll arrange for his transfer to the capital right away.”
Satō turned to the little man again.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“The man I was with called me Koro.”
“We are going to get you out of here, Koro.”
“Chōfu… the wrong way,” he croaked.
“It’s better than this dungeon.”
The little man’s eyes dropped in resignation. “I hope.”
Satō woke up from a shallow sleep; she had dreamt of the tattooed man. It was dawning outside, and the thin paper walls of the room were tinted a sickly purple-grey. The birds in the garden burst into a cacophony of screeches and whistles.
She rolled from side to side; the grit in the mattress beneath her ground noisily. She reached for the red orb hidden in the bundle of her clothes. As always, it lit up faintly under her touch. She used to think the glow was cold and evil, but now she was beginning to grow accustomed to it, even fond of it.
It must be worth as much as a village, she thought. A jewel of this size… How old can it be? Seven, eight centuries? That was the last time anyone in Yamato needed a dragon weapon… and here I am, using it as a night lamp.
The orb vibrated in her hand and hummed softly.
“You can’t sleep either?” asked Shōin quietly.
They were sleeping in the same room, to keep up the pretence of a married couple, but on separate beddings, at least a foot apart.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. She didn’t want to discuss her own problems right now.
Shōin was silent for so long that she thought he’d fallen asleep again.
“I’m scared, sensei,” he replied, his voice breaking.
He hadn’t called her sensei since the first few days after their wedding, when he still kept slipping into his old manner.
“Scared? Of what?”
Another long pause, punctuated by a rhythmical screeching made by some irritated bird outside.
“I blew that man apart with just one spell.”
“I know, I’ve been there.”
“I don’t know how it happened. I should not have such power.”
“Well, isn’t it great, though? You are growing up to be a mighty wizard.”
“But it drains me so… when you were with the priests – healing — I was recovering from that single spell for the whole night. I felt like dying.”
“That’s only natural.”
She heard him shuffle. Judging by the faint silhouette carved by the light of the orb, he supported himself on his elbow.
“Is it? I don’t remember you teaching us about things like that. But I do remember learning about something else.”
He laid back and sighed.
“I am a Vriesmatic, aren’t I?”
“A Prismatic,” she corrected him instinctively, and then added quickly, “but that’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“The morfisch veld of Yamato… the potentials…” She ran through the complex Rangaku theory in her head. Her father had always tried to teach her as much of the system as he could and she liked to think she had a fairly good grasp of it.
“It’s far too early,” she said. “It would take generations to accumulate enough potential for a Prismatic to be born.”
“Then how do you explain what I did? You saw that spell… I don’t even know what to call it. And I still can’t find my affinity, no matter how I try.”
“Don’t worry, Shōin. You’re still young. You’ll grow out of it.”
The screeching bird outside flew away, and instead of its song, Satō could now hear the ringing of morning bells in a nearby temple. She put the orb back, got up and slid open the wall panel.
From the room’s veranda she could see down the hill upon which stood the governor’s residence, all the way to the silver flowing river and the five-span bridge.
“Look, there’s a ship down in the harbour. With red and white sail.”
“That’s a Mori ship!” Shōin sprang up. “News from Chōfu!”
By the time Shōin and Satō a
rrived at the pier, the porters were carrying down the last of the crates. The ship listed on the side, half-buried in the mud as the Nishiki River receded with the tide. It looked like a typical single-sail cargo barge, except for the ornate, gold-plated superstructure in the middle, which made it seem as if the ship carried a huge festival shrine on its deck.
“What’s in these?” Shōin asked Takasugi, who was looking through the registry letters.
“Two hundred uniforms and two hundred spear heads,” Takasugi announced, beaming. “That’s a lot more than we asked for.”
“So Mori-dono approved of our plan,” said Shōin, trying to sound cheerful. He alone knew that the crates were daimyo’s promised, belated reward for his help in “capturing” the dorako and the rider.
“It seems so. I haven’t actually seen any letter from Chōfu yet, it’s just been these crates so far.”
As he spoke those words, an unexpected whinny came from the deck of the ship, along with the tingled clopping of silver-clad hooves.
“Eeeh! Is that…the Imperial Messenger?” gasped Satō.
The courier, riding a resplendent, snow-white horse, approached the gangway and descended down it majestically, straight and proud in the gem-encrusted saddle. Shōin had never seen one like this before. The messenger from Heian, sent by the Mikado himself. He would only appear during major festivals to send ritualized holiday message from Yamato’s spiritual leader.
What is he doing here?
“Which one of you is a Mori retainer by the name of Yoshida?” asked the courier.
“That would be me.” Shōin stepped forward.
The courier reached into the folds of his white silk kimono and drew a letter stamped with a sixteen-petal chrysanthemum flower embedded in gold foil.
Shōin dropped to his knees in the mud, as did Satō and everyone else. It was the Mikado’s personal seal, an object as sacred as the Mikado himself. They were receiving a letter from a God — the Mikado, descended from the Sun Goddess Amaterasu herself… What business did a God have with one as lowly as Shōin?
He raised the golden seal to his lips and kissed it before carefully breaking it open. The missive was written in elegant, flowing, slightly archaic letters, in silver ink which made it difficult to decipher.
My loyal and devoted subjects, the missive started, like many of you, We have become aware of strange and ominous tidings coming from all around our Sacred Land. The Barbarians are within our borders; the monsters are invading our frontiers; laws are flaunted and ancient customs are abandoned; the morals have become loose.
The Taikun, in whose care We have entrusted this Sacred Land, and his Council, are doing nothing to prevent any of this from happening. Therefore, there remains nothing else for Us than to call on you, my subjects, to defend the islands of Yamato and Our Holy Person.
The Barbarian menace must be dealt with swiftly and without mercy. The Sacred Land must be defended at all cost. The Imperial Capital must stand forever in the heart of our nation, united in face of this danger.
Worship the Mikado!
Vanquish the Barbarians!
Jōi!
Blood rushed to Shōin’s head. He folded the letter gingerly with shaking hands. What was happening was unthinkable. He didn’t know much about politics, but he knew this much — the Mikado could never contradict the Taikun so openly. What was going on? And more importantly, what did any of this have to do with him?
“Your lord daimyo requested that I give you this letter also,” the Imperial Courier said, handing Shōin another missive. “Now move aside, I must speak with the governor.”
Shōin stepped out of the way of the white horse and, as the messenger rode away, he unfolded the letter. He read through it several times to make sure he understood it completely.
“What is it?” Satō looked over his shoulder.
“It’s a new order for the Kiheitai,” said Shin, folding the letter before she could read it. He stood up.
“Takasugi, gather the men. We are ordered to sail to Heian.”
“Heian? The capital? Are you sure?”
Shōin nodded.
“Mori-dono has tasked the Kiheitai with guarding the Mikado from the barbarians… and whoever may be allied with them. We are to go to Heian immediately and join the Chōfu forces already gathered there.”
He hid the missive into the folds of his gi jacket. There was another message added on to the letter, in Lord Mori’s personal code; a message he chose not to read out loud in front of Satō. He hoped she would realize herself what the Mikado’s edict meant for her friend.
Bran ap Dylan had finally been sentenced. By the time the letter had arrived in Iwakuni, he was probably already dead.
CHAPTER XVIII
“You should be there,” said Stirling, looking outside. “This was your victory.”
Edern stood beside him; beyond the shot-through windows of the fortalice, the flames of the battle were ebbing. The Imperial troops were securing the perimeter around the ruined city, making sure no rebel marauders interrupted the prepared entry of the Qin victory parade.
Edern shrugged. “You’re right. But the army staff decided they don’t want us to show our presence in the war too much. I think they’re plotting again.”
“I still think it’s unfair.”
Edern turned and gave him a tired look. He really didn’t need this conversation now.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Stirling scowled. “I know I’m only human, but I try my best!”
He popped a pellet of Cursed Weed in his mouth, and chewed slowly.
Stirling had been the aide-de-camp of the fallen Admiral, but since Reynolds’ death, he had not received a new appointment, remaining as a non-commissioned officer within the corps. Instead, he tried to do the work of a staff Reeve for Edern — be for him what Gwen was for Dylan back when he had been the Commodore.
But Stirling was right — he was just a human, and Edern was slowly growing bored of him; his mind not quick enough, his stamina not up to what a Faer lover required. It was supposed to be just a random fling back at Huating, but the man remained with him through all the weeks, clinging needlessly; Edern was hoping he would eventually get an assignment somewhere else, but it wasn’t forthcoming.
Before he could reply, he heard the unmistakable sizzling and slithering sound of a Qin dragon in flight. The beast landed before the fortalice, and a boy in clothes of a Qin Imperial Messenger leapt from its back. Having asked the guard for the way, he ran up the stairs; a few moments later, Edern heard him knock on the door of his bedroom.
“Out,” Edern ordered Stirling. The officer nodded and promptly made himself scarce.
“Come in!”
The messenger entered shyly; he was rather handsome, if a bit too young for Edern’s liking. He handed over a tightly wrapped scroll of thick mulberry paper.
“We — uh — have this – ” the boy started, in a stuttered, broken Seaxe.
“It’s alright,” said Edern, “you can speak Qin. Just keep it slow and simple — I’ve only been learning for a few weeks.”
The boy’s face brightened with relief. “This message came to the Bohan’s headquarters. It has your name on it, but we can’t read it.”
“My name?”
Edern unrolled the scroll and tensed.
“When did you get it?”
“Last night.”
How…?
“Was there anything else?”
The boy shook his head. “Only this.”
“Are you able to send a message back?”
“Yes.”
“Then go down and wait for my answer.”
With the boy gone, Edern reached into the drawer in his desk and took out the Cipher Disk granted every senior officer in the Marine Corps. The message, calligraphed in the broad strokes of a Qin brush, was written in Dracalish, in a complex, polyalphabetic code. Edern pressed the disk to the paper and drew an activation rune on its surface. The disk glowed green then t
urned and moved about the page, changing the black ink letters into a legible message before Edern’s incredulous eyes.
Follow the White Eagle. Bring two green colts in a wagon to 31,127 Airy. Fly due NEbE to 33, 130 Airy, until landfall. Ignore the sky. Will meet there. Stay on course, dancer.
“Follow the White Eagle.” The message was from Dylan. Coordinates and directions. Two young, rider-less mounts on a dragon carrier, and then some two hundred miles by air... Edern’s nostrils flared with excitement. At last, a chance to leave this wretched place and re-join Dylan and Gwen; things were going to be as they should always have been.
But… he grew instantly suspicious. What did he have to do with Dylan’s mission? He was no secret agent, no spy. Never before had Dylan involved him so directly in any of his clandestine endeavours. Besides, Edern was a Commodore now; Dylan was no longer his superior officer. He was now taking orders straight from the High Command — and if they knew anything about Dylan’s whereabouts, they weren’t telling anyone.
And those coordinates… Edern looked to the wall, where a map of the local seas hung forgotten among battle plans and sketches of enemy fortifications.
It’s been so long since I’ve been to sea, he thought briefly.
The directions were baffling. There was nothing out there, between thirty first and thirty third meridian. Just an empty swathe of ocean, and… and a rough white spot, dashed along the edges, marked “Rough seas, possibly around Yamato”.
Yamato? Was this where Dylan wanted him to go? By whose authority? Edern’s doubts grew. Was this really a secret mission… or had he gone off on some errand of his own? Why was he using a Qin messenger? Had he deserted? And was he asking Edern to desert too?
“What’s going on?” Edern said out loud.
Stay on course, dancer.
He knew what it meant. Dylan had only ever called Edern “dancer” to remind him of his Tylwyth blood: that of the Faer Folk of Brycheinniog. Edern was not of human race, and not a subject of the Dragon Throne.
In theory, he could leave the Lloegr Navy at any time. Unlike Dylan, he thought. Taking a few dragons with him was a different matter, but in the chaos of a war, who would count them…? The only question remaining was…
The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5) Page 28
