The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) (28 page)

“I know.” Gwen smiled knowingly. “I’ll take care of her for you.”

Bran snapped his fingers over his head. With a snort Emrys landed next to Yokoi. The nobleman staggered away, but quickly composed himself and mounted the beast.

“You’re faring better than most men taking their first sight of a dragon, Yokoi-
dono
,” said Bran, as they launched into the air.

“I don’t need your praise, barbarian,” scoffed Yokoi. “What is it about these beasts that puts such fright in men’s hearts? It’s hardly bigger than a cow. A flying cow.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s just a spell they’re imbued with. Without training, you can no more help it than you can help being burned by fire.”

The nobleman’s hands tightened on the reins. Ashen-faced, he looked at the treetops whizzing below. After a long silence, he rolled back the sleeve of his kimono, showing a deep, crimson burn on his arm. Bran recognized the wound instantly.

“Dragon flame,” he said.

“I
was
burned by fire,” said Yokoi. “But not as bad as my comrades.” He rolled the sleeve down and stared into the great mountain in the distance.

“They came at night,” he said. “Two of the beasts. We stood no chance, not even of escape. They turned the slopes of Mount Tsukuba to glass. The
Taikun’s
troops marched into the fort later, to finish off the survivors. The cowards …” His knuckles turned white. “They would never get us on their own.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bran. “I saw the same thing happen in Heian. And Chōfu.”

“Chōfu has fallen, too?” Yokoi shook his head. “Then we are already lost.”

“Not necessarily. Gwen — the Western woman — is here for a reason. She mentioned something about a ceasefire. Perhaps my father and the Satsuma rebels achieved some success in the South.”

“The Abominations would never agree to this,” said Yokoi. “Not if they still have the Black Wings on their side.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Bran mused. “Maybe there is some disagreement between them. I bet that’s why they let you go, to find out what the Fanged are doing on Enoshima.”

Yokoi glanced back at Bran. “You’re perceptive, boy. But then, I guess you know better how your own kind thinks.”

“They’re
not
my kind.” Bran said and fell silent.

“The Yamato can’t know about it, Bran,” Gwen insisted. “
No
Yamato. Do you understand?”

“How do I explain your arrival to them?”

They stood on a slag heap on the edge of a vast saucer-shaped valley, dug into the mountainside by an ancient landslide. The ground beneath Bran’s feet was sharp rock, clusters of ash glued together with lava, patched with yellow and green lichen. Half a mile lower down the slope was the beginning of a dark forest of densely packed firs and pines.

“Well, think of something. You’re a clever boy.”

“I don’t like this.” Bran shook his head. “I know what game my father’s playing at. He wants the
Taikun
and the rebels to bleed out fighting, and then pick up the pieces.”

“And did you have a better idea?” Gwen asked. “Would you have preferred the dragons burning Yamato cities down one by one? On both sides? Because that’s what would have happened if your father didn’t
play
his
game
. And maybe the Varyagans would have joined with bombing runs, and Qin with their walking machines … At the end, these people would have fought with sticks and fists, instead of swords. Would you have liked
that
?”

Bran stared at her in surprise. He had never seen Gwen raise her voice before.
What’s got into her?

“I’m sorry.” She wiped her hand across her face. “That was uncalled for. Go talk to your friend. I may not understand their language, but I can tell she’s eager to tell you something. I’ll start pitching the camp — I’m guessing we’re staying the night here.”

“Yes — yes, we are. There’s a lot I — we — need to think about tonight. And ... be on your guard.”

She looked down the slope, towards the dark forest and the lake below. “I don’t think we need to fear any Yamato will come up here.”

“It’s not the Yamato I’m worried about. There’s a reason why I chose this place for us to camp.”

Gwen smiled. “You
are
Dylan’s son, all right. Already with the secrets. Already trying to hold the whole world on your shoulders.” She looked to Nagomi. “And you’ve already found yourself somebody to share the burden with,” she added quietly.

Bran felt himself blush. “It’s nothing like that, she’s just a friend. I … I have to go. I’ll come back in a few minutes to help you with the camp.”

“Take all the time you need. I’m fine on my own.”

It was odd, the way Bran interacted with this Western woman. Nagomi studied his face, burning red after speaking to Gwen, for clues.
This wasn’t how a soldier talked to a fellow soldier.

Who is she? His mother? An older sister?

In the corner of her eye she saw Master Yokoi approaching. Bran raised his hand. “I’m sorry, Yokoi-
dono
, can you give us a minute?”

The nobleman glanced at both of them and retreated.

There weren’t many places on the barren slope to hold a conversation out of earshot. Bran led her behind a four-feet tall, vertical heap of slag. They crouched on the black rocks and whispered.

“Torishi’s dead,” she said as soon as they sat down. His eyes twitched, but he wasn’t as shocked as she’d expected. “You knew?”

“I’ve seen his wounds,” he replied slowly, touching her hair. “There was always hope, of course, but I assumed something was wrong when he didn’t come to Naniwa. I’m guessing you spoke to his … Spirit?”

“In a way … There’s more to it,” she wiped her eyes. “I don’t quite understand myself.
He
doesn’t seem to understand. Koro was with him. They told me to go north, to the Gates of the Otherworld.”

“You mean the Gates are a real place?”

“It’s not called that way in the South, so I didn’t recognize it at first, but yes, the Gates are real — and it’s just as you saw it in the Waters.”

He supported his chin on his elbow and ran his fingers along the cracks in the slag. “North — how far?”

“The very edge of Yamato. Weeks from here on foot.”

“We have to find Satō first.”

“I know. That’s another thing I saw—”

He took her by the hand. “Wait. Calm down. This is getting confusing. Why not tell me everything in order?”

He listened and shook his head when she finished.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “How can she be in the Otherworld if she’s not dead?”

“I don’t know. It must be something the Serpent did to her …”

“Or something
she
did to
me,
” he said, scratching his thigh. “Dōraku did warn there would be consequences.”

He stood up from behind the slag heap. “I don’t know enough of these things. But I do know Satō was here a few days ago, in the flesh. We’ll investigate the valley.”

Dusk was taking a long time to fall on the isolated mountaintop. With each passing hour, the temperature dropped by several degrees. Bran reached for a stack of logs and threw it on the fire. Then he pulled Nagomi closer and felt her shiver.

Gwen had only taken one tent with her — she had offered it to Bran and the priestess to share. She wrapped herself in blankets and nestled in the folds of her dragon’s silvery body. Nodwydd was giving out more heat at night than Emrys, and none of the smell, so as long as it didn’t rain, she’d have been fine — and other than the unmoving cap of white cotton shrouding the peak, there was no cloud in sight. Master Yokoi refused any assistance, and sat cross-legged in front of the massive bonfire at the centre of the camp, staring intensely into the flames.

The bonfire was constructed from several tree trunks, brought from the forest below by Nodwydd at Gwen’s direction, and then set ablaze so that the fuel would last all night, rather than burning up in one go.

As little as Bran knew about camping, it was enough for him to appreciate the skill and experience with which the Reeve had prepared the place. The two dragons lay uphill, shielding them from the north, while the rim of the bowl-shaped valley protected them from the southern winds below. But not even Gwen could do anything about the frosty dew creeping down from the summit. It covered everything in a thin layer of water beads that Bran knew would turn into ice by morning.

He wiped dew from the rocks and sat back next to Nagomi.

If Satō was here, she’d make something entertaining from ice, to keep our spirits up.

He reached out his hand and conjured the small tongue of flame. He shaped it into a fire shape of Emrys. A long time ago, on another fire mountain …
How long ago was it?

“What is it?” asked Nagomi.

Bran flicked his fingers, and the dragon turned into three figures: him, the priestess, and Satō. “A little conjuring trick. I’m not usually skilled enough for it, but this mountain is a magic nexus — the most powerful I have ever encountered.”

He barely needed the True Sight to trace the streams of power converging at its peak from all corners of Yamato.
No wonder the Serpent came through here. I bet they have a tower somewhere on the summit.
He glanced nervously upwards, but the blood magic trail was very faint. If any Fanged lived on the mountain, they weren’t home.

The figures danced on his hand. “It’s odd,” he said. “I should have more trouble controlling the magic here.”

“How so?”

Satō would know,
he thought, impatient. “It’s the nexus. Casting spells here should be like lighting a match in a swamp.
I wonder if I have become more attuned to the energies of Yamato.”

Nagomi nodded “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about
Rangaku,
” she said. “You must wish you could talk about these things with Sacchan instead.” She covered a yawn with her hand.

“You know about spirit magic,” said Bran. “It’s just a different discipline. You can’t expect a farmer to know as much about fishing as a fisherman. They’re both equally needed.”

“And yet, a fisherman enjoys the company of other fishermen, rather than farmers,” spoke Yokoi.

The nobleman had been silent for so long, Bran had almost forgotten about him. He glanced at Yokoi in annoyance.

“I can’t help it if I overhear you over the flames,” the samurai said. “Get back into your tent if you want privacy.”

Bran snorted. He shaped the fire in his hand into Yokoi’s caricature. Nagomi giggled.

“He’s right, though,” Bran said. “I think we should go to sleep.”

“Not yet.” Nagomi squeezed his arm. “It’s a nice night.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s colder in the tent.” She reached out her hands and spread them against the flames. “Yokoi-
dono
?”

“Yes, Itō-
sama
?”

“Why do you have three dragon scales in your crest? You mentioned this place called Enoshima.”

The nobleman’s lips bent into a letter ‘V’ rather than curled, and the effect was disconcerting, but the smile was sincere.

“It happened near the end of the Genpei Wars,” he began. The flames danced in his eyes. “How well do you know your history, priestess-
sama
?”

“It was the war when the
ryū
were destroyed, wasn’t it? At the battle of Dan-no-ura.”

Bran wiggled his fingers, manipulating the flame into the shape of a
ryū
, Yamato dragon, as he remembered it from the lacquer figurine. Nagomi lay her head on his shoulder.

“Yes, but do you remember why
the war started? Who fought in it, and for what?”

“I’m sorry. We weren’t taught much history in Suwa beyond that of the
Taikun
’s family.”

Master Yokoi waved his hand. “I’m not surprised. The Tokugawas don’t want people to remember there were other
Taikun
s before them.” He picked up a stick with a scorched end and drew something in the ash only he could see. “The Hōjō fought on the side of the Minamoto clan in the war. Against the Taira and the young
Mikado,
Antoku.”

“I remember him,” said Nagomi. “He drowned at Dan-no-ura, along with the Sacred Sword.”

Yokoi glanced at her. “The Sword was soon recovered, priestess. But yes, the boy perished and the Taira lost. This story happened a few years earlier, though. The Minamoto had suffered defeat after defeat. They couldn’t stand against the Taira dragons, and were on the brink of destruction. They retreated to their fortress, beyond the circle of mountains — and the Hōjō with them. It was on this coast.” He pointed the stick down the slope. “Enoshima was part of the ring of defences then, a minor watch point. The Hōjō were to man it, and keep a look out for any dragons coming from the sea.”

“Why didn’t the Minamoto have any
ryū
of their own?” asked Bran. The story intrigued him, as it involved Yamato dragons — a topic he had always longed to learn more about.

“They hated the beasts,” said Yokoi. “Nobody now remembers the reason. It was one of the main bones of contention between them and the Taira. Their commander, Yoshitsune, was the greatest dragon-slayer Yamato had ever known.”

“The horses …” remembered Bran. “Satō mentioned a dragon-slayer who rode the white horses we used at Ganryūjima.”

“The Ikezuki?” Yokoi nodded. “Yes, those were his mounts. But it wasn’t enough. Just like now the might of our arms alone is not enough against the Black Wings.”

“What happened on Enoshima?” prodded Nagomi.

The nobleman thrust the tip of his stick into the bonfire and watched it burn. “One day, the Hōjō commander was on patrol and discovered a cave that could only be accessed at very low tide. He ventured inside … Its walls were covered with ancient paintings, showing dragons and little dark people who worshipped them.”

“The Ancients …” whispered Nagomi. Master Yokoi did not hear her.

“At the end of the cave was a great chamber. Inside lay a female dragon, curled around her eggs. She knew the commander was a Minamoto vassal, and she knew they would slay her if they found her. She pleaded with the samurai to spare her life and that of her offspring, and in exchange, she would grant him immeasurable power and wealth.”