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

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone now, isn’t he? We have a life to live here, in Yamato. He’s got his own, in Dracaland, or wherever he’s gone to. For him, for us… it was just a short adventure. Real life is what happens between such adventures.”

  “Your wedding sounds like quite an adventure,” said Nagomi, smiling.

  “It’s all a sham. I have divorce papers in my room, signed by Shōin. But,” she sighed, “for now, I don’t have much choice.”

  “Will you have to wear these clothes?” Nagomi pointed at the rich, flowing kimono.

  “Only when I’m outside the school gates. I don’t plan on doing it often. After the wedding I can move back to the school, to Shōin’s rooms. Now,” Satō said, reaching for the flask; she noticed it was empty and called for another. “Tell me more about your journey.”

  A lone crow cawed, trying its best to sound louder than the cicadas crawling up the old pine tree, and the waves of the Dan-no-ura Strait nibbling at the beach beneath the Akama Shrine, where the wedding ceremony of Satō Takashima and Shōin Yoshida was taking place.

  The procession marched down the vermillion-pillared cloister in the slow rhythm of the priest’s chime. Nagomi and Torishi followed in the third row, just behind the parents of the groom. There weren’t many guests at the wedding; some students of the Meirinkan, a few friends of the Yoshida family, and a burly samurai sent by lord Mori to see if everything was proceeding as it should be. He had spent most of the day so far giving Nagomi a suspicious glance.

  The final guest to arrive at the ceremony was Master Dōraku. The Swordsman had come at the last moment, in great hurry, and Nagomi didn’t even have the time to talk to him yet beyond a nod of greeting. He waited outside, just beyond the red torii gate.

  The young couple — Shōin, in a splendid, simple black kimono embroidered with the Mori family crest, and Satō, almost lost in layers of flowing crimson, tripping constantly over the hem of her crane-embroidered gown, her head hidden inside the broad white hood — turned left, leaving the cloister, up a few steps, and onto the great ceremonial platform of the Akama Shrine. The jagged, wooded slope of the Hinoyama Mountain rising beyond the shrine formed a dark, ominous backdrop to the ritual. The celebrant, in tall black cap, and the two shrine maidens, waited until all the guests sat down at their positions, before beginning the first stage of the ritual.

  At the celebrant’s behest, everyone stood up and bowed. The priest took a great paper wand from beside the altar and shook it in four directions, blessing all four corners of the platform — and the world. He then returned to the altar and spoke a long, mumbling prayer, announcing the marriage to the gathered Gods, after which came the part that Nagomi alone of the gathered was looking forward to: the shrine maidens’ dance.

  Nagomi remembered herself performing similar duties in Suwa; she knew the ceremony by heart. The dance was always her favourite — a chance for a hitherto anonymous maiden to show off in front of a captive crowd – and her heart went out to the two girls trying their best to keep the guests from dozing off, shaking their holy sakaki branches and jingling the bells at their hands and feet in perfectly — almost perfectly, Nagomi couldn’t help noticing — timed intervals.

  The dance over, the priest approached the young couple with three cups of saké. First Shōin, then Satō, sipped from each cup three times — once for Heaven, once for Earth, and once for all of Mankind.

  It was now time for Shōin to speak the vows and ask the Gods to bless their union; from that moment, he and Satō would become lawfully wedded and Nagomi could no longer hold the tears welling in her eyes.

  If only her father were here to see it…

  Shōin unrolled a piece of snow-white paper, cleared his throat and, with a voice that was quiet and trembling at first, but soon grew proud and booming, read out the prepared formula.

  Today is an auspicious day

  And so we come before you, the Gods,

  To perform this wedding ceremony

  We vow to live together in peace and harmony

  To share our joy and sorrow

  To prepare a life of fortune and happiness for our descendants

  This, we humbly vow

  And beseech thee, protect our union

  And bless all that results from it.

  When he finished, the shrine maidens stepped forth, each holding a holy branch. Shōin and Satō took each in a hand and moved towards the altar, to finish their vows.

  A sudden noise came from the direction of the sea, whooshing and whistling like a rising storm, an autumn typhoon in the middle of the summer. Nagomi, the acolytes, and all the visitors in the shrine courtyard cried in great alarm. A priest barged onto the platform, his face white with fear, waving frantically towards the Dan-no-ura Strait.

  “A mo — ” he stuttered, “a monster is coming!”

  Some of the guests started running away, others – mostly the wizards from Satō’s school — stood on tiptoes, trying to see what was going on over the roof of the shrine gate. Nagomi rushed towards Satō.

  The wizardess stood still, frozen, morbid in her pale makeup, looking at a point in the sky; she alone saw what the others couldn’t yet spot, and Nagomi followed her gaze.

  A jade-green missile, blurry in its speed, came lightning-fast and bounced off the peaked gable of the shrine gate, showering the panicking crowd with shattered tiles, then shattered through the roof of the Offertory Hall, and flew straight on, madly, blindly; just as it seemed that it would crash into the face of the Hinoyama Mountain, it leapt up again and disappeared into the thick forest beyond its jagged crest. Nagomi was the first to break the silence.

  “Wasn’t that…”

  “Bran,” Satō said quietly, and then added: “Shit.”

  She tore the wedding hat off her head, lifted the hem of her wedding gown and, cursing the uncomfortable sandals, ran down the platform stairs.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Satō asked Master Dōraku, struggling with the stubbornly clingy wedding kimono. “You knew Bran was coming. I did wonder why you suddenly appeared.”

  “I could not miss your wedding, Takashima-sama,” the Swordsman answered with a smirk and mocking bow.

  “Bollocks. I didn’t even send you an invitation.”

  With a heave and a pull she finally managed to free herself of the many folds of the kimono and under-kimono and started putting on her Rangaku clothes in a hurry.

  “Is that true?” asked Nagomi, staring at the Swordsman intently. “You knew he was still in Yamato and you didn’t tell us?”

  Dōraku scratched the back of his head. “Well… I suspected, but wasn’t certain…”

  Satō threw the wedding obi sash at him. “You always know. Why is he here? Why didn’t he fly away?”

  “I really don’t know. You’ll have to ask him about it. Perhaps, he missed you?”

  Satō gave him a murderous stare, and then looked out the window onto the school courtyard, where the Mori samurai among the students formed a separate group and prepared themselves to march out.

  “What’s going on there?” she asked.

  “Takasugi-sama!” Shōin called out. He had already managed to change from his wedding clothes into combat gear.

  “Takasugi…?” whispered Nagomi.

  Takasugi Hiro was a broad-lipped man in his early twenties, recently returned from Edo. He was perhaps the closest to Shōin of all students, a relationship Satō didn’t really understand. Takasugi was a proper samurai, of good family, trained in the art of war — he and the frail and scholarly Shōin made an odd couple.

  He now barged into the room, his face flushed with exertion, and stopped abruptly at the sight of Nagomi.

  “Priestess-sama! You made it safe!” he exclaimed with a bright smile. He bowed and Nagomi bowed in response.

  “I am glad you are well, Takasugi-sama.”

  “It could only be thanks to your prayers,” he said happily.

  Satō stared at the two of them. “You �
�� when – how — ?”

  “We met… on the way here,” Nagomi answered, embarrassed.

  “What’s this commotion all about?” Shōin asked from the window.

  “Mori-dono ordered that the monster on the mountain be captured, and announced that the first group to find it will receive a great reward.”

  Everyone had seen the creature fly over Chōfu, but few managed to take a good look at it. Rumours and tall tales spread like wildfire, fuelled by the strange, disturbing news coming from the north; of foreign invasion and beasts landing at the gates of Edo.

  “Group?” Satō fumed. “They are no group!”

  She tied her jacket tight, thrust the sword into her sash and stormed outside, ignoring Shōin’s attempts to stop her. She stood in front of the leader of the samurai group with her hands on her hips.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she barked at the surprised nobleman. “You’re students of the Meirinkan! We’re supposed to search the mountain together!”

  The samurai laughed at her. “Oh no, the sensei is scolding me!” His men joined in the mocking laughter.

  “Step aside, girl.” He turned serious. “It’s time for adults to act. For men.”

  “She’s right, Kunishi-sama,” Takasugi said, standing in the door of the hall. “If you wish to study here, you must — ”

  The samurai sneered and tore off the white sash marking his allegiance to the school. “I’ve had quite enough of this!” he snarled and pushed Satō aside — she almost fell.

  “Filthy barbarian magic,” he said, “is not fit for a samurai, no matter what Mori-dono says. We’ll prove to him we can capture the monster with just our sharp swords and pure hearts! Jōi!” he cried, shaking his sword in the air triumphantly.

  His men did the same, and they marched out the main gate, in tight formation, toward the Hinoyama Mountain.

  CHAPTER XII

  The mountain was small compared to the peaks of Chinzei, and the forest was sparse, broad, leafy, criss-crossed by narrow paths trodden by lumberjacks and hunters. Still, it was large enough to get lost in if one wasn’t careful, and Satō, reluctantly, had to give leadership of the chase to Shōin and his wizards; the local boys. Even so, they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

  “You’d think it would be easy to find a dragon in this place,” she mumbled, panting. She wafted herself with a paper fan. Deep in the woods, the air was thick and sticky with moisture.

  They stopped to catch a breath on some crossroads, but they couldn’t afford to rest long. Somewhere in the forest the samurai search party was on its way, and they could not be allowed to reach their quarry first.

  This reminds me of something… but what?

  Shōin finally gathered the courage to put the question he’d been wanting to ask since they had left the Akama Shrine. Things had been happening so fast since the incident at the wedding that they hadn’t really had time to discuss what was really going on.

  “It seems to me, sensei… Satō… that you know about this — monster.”

  She looked at Shōin in surprise before realizing he had no way of knowing what was going on; she had never told him about anything that had happened since the Takashima School disbanded.

  “Not the monster. The rider,” she answered.

  It was an odd feeling. She had come to regard her adventure with Bran as just another part of her life — important, crucial even, but something that could have happened to anyone… but no, the confused look on Shōin’s face told her otherwise.

  “The rider? You mean — we’re looking for a man, as well as the monster?” Shōin said, wide-eyed.

  “A foreigner.”

  “A foreigner?”

  Nagomi came closer.

  “You’re talking about Bran,” she said.

  Satō nodded. She studied the priestess’s face; despite the long climb up the mountain, her cheeks were rosy and her breath was calm.

  Where did she get that stamina from?

  “I can — I think I can feel him,” said Nagomi carefully. “I thought I heard him call me before… on the ship, and yesterday – but I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t imagining things.”

  “And now you are sure?” Satō asked.

  “No. But it won’t hurt to try.”

  “We’ll follow you, then.”

  Mogi, she remembered at last. That’s where we chased Bran before. I was the one tracking him through the forest then… She couldn’t help feeling bitter that it was Nagomi who sensed Bran’s presence; priestess or not.

  Shōin looked as if he wanted to ask a hundred questions, but couldn’t decide which one he should pose first.

  “Trust me on this, Shōin,” she told him, “I’ll explain everything later. We have to get to that dorako before the samurai. We must keep the rider safe.”

  “But — if he’s a foreigner, he must be brought before the daimyo!” protested Shōin.

  She shook her head with disapproval. “Haven’t you learned anything in Kiyō?”

  She heard the dragon’s roar before she saw it. Her stomach filled with cold and her breath quickened. She pressed forward with sheer willpower, her body suddenly very heavy. The others slowed down as well; some froze in the spot.

  Dragon fear.

  They emerged out of the forest onto a scorched glade, right in front of the snarling dragon. The beast roared and spat out a whirling cone of flames and smoke. It stood on spread legs, with its tail to the steep rocky cliff, snarling and fuming at them. A tight ring of fire surrounded it on three sides.

  Satō looked to her companions. Dōraku returned her gaze, scratching his thin beard. Torishi stood in front of Nagomi. But Shōin and his wizards were transfixed, staring at the beast. She pitied and envied them at the same time. She, at least, had seen Emrys in the flesh, even so, it was still a stunning sight.

  The sensation of dread slowly left her body.

  “I can’t see Bran,” Nagomi said, her voice trembling.

  Satō remembered why they were there and tore her eyes from the magnificent creature to search for the rider.

  “Over there,” she pointed, “under the front legs.”

  “Is he — is he alive?”

  “You tell me! I don’t think the dorako would still be here if he wasn’t. He must be wounded.”

  “We have to get him out of there,” the priestess said and lurched forward. Satō grabbed her by the hand and held it strongly.

  “Wait! It’s dangerous.”

  “But — Bran!”

  For Nagomi, that was argument enough. But Satō hesitated.

  Why am I doing this? Why should I risk anything for him? He wouldn’t care. He ran away as soon as we got him the stupid dragon back.

  “Sacchan,” the priestess pleaded, “we must help him!”

  Satō swore through her teeth and stepped forward. She drew her sword and pointed its tip at the beast.

  “Ijsschild!” she cried. A thick shield of ice rose between her and the dragon. She made a slow step forward.

  “It’s me, Satō,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. “You may not remember me, but you should remember Nagomi?” she pointed to the priestess. “We’re Bran’s friends,” she said, making another step. “We’re here to help…”

  The dragon spat fire at the ice shield; it shattered into shards. She leapt back at the last moment, clutching a singed arm.

  Now what?

  “Whatever you do, do it fast,” said Dōraku. “Those samurai are right behind us.”

  “Why won’t you go?” she snapped. The tension of the situation was getting to her.

  She tightened her fist, ready to go into the flame again, when she heard Shōin call.

  “Hot!”

  He struggled with his sleeve and dropped something bright and red to the ground.

  My orb.

  “I took it from the laboratory… I thought it might be useful,” said Shōin.

  “Good job, boy,” Dōraku said with a grin.
/>   Satō reached to pick it up from the grass. It was quickly cooling off in her grasp. There were a few long strips of paper glued to it, marked with Qin characters. She gave Shōin a questioning look.

  “Something our onmyōji had left…” he said. “Research ofuda.”

  She tore the papers off. The orb vibrated in her hand. She felt her hand pulled towards the raging dragon.

  It’s now or never, she thought.

  Unsure what to do, she stared at the orb and poured her energy into the stone, the way she would have done with a sword in the Takashima School style. She’d done it countless times before with the jewel, with no discernible effect.

  But this time it felt different. The world around her slowed down. Everything turned white-grey. The people around her became wisps of smoke and light, shapeless clouds of white flame. Only the dragon before her remained solid, fierce and even greater than before.

  She had never felt so much power surging through her. The jewel became a part of her — no, it was she who had become a part of it. It was all-encompassing. A series of images flashed before her eyes, lightning quick: a miner’s pick, carving the twin crystals out of a rock; a gathering of small, dark people in the cave around a gleaming white orb; a flock of wild, rider-less Yamato dragons dancing in the sky…

  Ancient history.

  The orb in her hand turned warm and strangely soft. She looked at it — it was no longer a crystal, but a heart, beating regularly, spurting blood down her arm. She squeezed it, and its beat slowed.

  Emrys roared, recognizing the threat; she knew that, somehow. She knew what the beast felt, and what it felt was fear, anger and terrible pain. It opened its jaw to spew once again, but the fire died in its throat. She squeezed harder. The dragon swayed from side to side, like a drunkard.

  Can I really make it fall…? She sent one more blast of power into the heart. The dorako staggered forward, snorted and hit the dirt with a great thud, rising a cloud of dust. She swayed too. She dropped the Tide Jewel to the ground and supported herself on the sword, exhausted.

  The world returned to normal. Nagomi could wait no longer. Hiding her face in her arms, she jumped through the wall of fire with Torishi in tow. Satō wiped the sweat form her face with her sleeve and followed them both, shielding herself from the flames with a layer of ice.