The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) (31 page)

What’s happening?

“Is he aware there are other Dracalish in Yamato now?”

“We learned of it only a few days ago.”

“And does he know we regard them as enemies of the court?”

The Admiral glanced at Samuel. The doctor shook his head.

“I’m a physician, Your Highness,” he said. “I swore an oath to stay neutral in any conflict. My duty is to bring solace to all who suffer.”

The
Taikun
scoffed. “Very noble indeed. Nonetheless, I did not agree to have one of my enemies at an audience. Take him outside.”

“Your Highness, I must protest!” the Admiral raised his head.

The
Taikun
gave him a severe frown. “You are forgetting yourself, Varyagan.”

The spearmen closed in on Samuel and ushered him out of the audience hall. They ordered him to sit down on an embroidered cushion in the corridor, under the watchful eye of a burly, silent swordsman.

This had been his experience for most of his brief stay in the Yamato capital. Guards and spies kept constant watch over the Varyaga legation. They were held in a fortified guesthouse in the shadow of the castle walls, unable to leave beyond the garden and bathhouse until the day of the audience.

Samuel had grown irritated with the idleness. The only reason he’d agreed to travel to Edo was to investigate what he believed were the healing practices of the Yamato priests. How was he supposed to do it from the confines of a guesthouse? And now he wasn’t even allowed into the audience hall … He couldn’t hear the words spoken by the envoys and the
Taikun,
but he did hear when there was a lull in the conversation, followed by plucking of strings and laughter. Samuel stood up, but the guard’s heavy hand put him down on the cushion.

“Surely I can be invited to the feast, at least?” Samuel said, but the swordsman remained silent.

The hall door opened. Samuel rose from the cushion. The young interpreter came up to him and leaned in to speak.

“What was the ship’s name?” he asked. He pronounced the words well, but his accent was odd, as if he had learned the language from one of the Gorllewin.

“Who wants to know?” asked Samuel.

“Princess Atsu — the
Taikun’s
wife.”

“Mistfire Ship
Ladon,
” he replied.

“And was there … was there a boy named–” He unrolled a crumpled piece of paper. “
Bran apu Dir … Diran
on board?”

Samuel stood up, brushing the swordsman’s hand off his shoulder. “
Bran ap …
How do you know this? Yes, yes, he was there, I thought he perished in the disaster!”

“Thank you, that is all.” The interpreter bowed and turned back for the door.

“Wait!” cried Samuel. “Wait — how do you know Bran’s name?” The swordsman’s hand rested on his chest, stopping him from chasing after the interpreter. “What’s going on here?”

The door to the audience hall closed after the Yamato, leaving Samuel alone in the corridor with his unanswered questions.

The next day the young interpreter appeared at the guesthouse accompanied by several samurai.

“Princess Atsu requests your presence, physician,” he said.

Otterson raised an eyebrow. “
Vad
is going on? You caused quite a stir yesterday. They were more interested in your
skip
than our
submarin
.”

“I’m not sure. They know something about the
Ladon.
About its crew. Perhaps some bodies washed-up on the shores of Yamato. Believe me, no one is more intrigued about this than I am.”

“Be careful,
doktor
” Otterson said. “I don’t trust the bastards.”

“I will remember it. Thank you,
Amiral.
”

The interpreter and his escort took Samuel through the castle gates, then down a different path from the one leading to the audience hall, through a smaller, sand-covered courtyard.

“What do I call you?” asked Samuel when they passed one of the small, ornamental gateways covered in flowering vines.

“Moriyama Einosuke,” replied the interpreter.

“I’m Samuel. Samuel ben Hagin.”

Einosuke bowed. Samuel returned the bow.

“How did you learn Dracalish so well?”

“From a man named Black Raven.”

“Was he from Gorllewin, then?”

“I believe so. He didn’t talk about his past much.”

“I thought so. Your vocabulary and accent are not pure Dracalish.”

“I see. I was not aware. I’m sorry. Here we are,” Einosuke said. They reached a small pavilion with a wide veranda overlooking a pond of water lilies. A white heron waded through the reeds, undisturbed by the armed men marching past it.

Beyond the veranda door sat the princess, flanked by two handmaidens, dressed in a beautiful red robe embroidered with white flowers. She smiled at Samuel and the interpreter and dismissed the rest of the entourage with an elegant nod of her hand.

“Highness.” Samuel bowed. They sat down on the cushions on the veranda and waited for the handmaidens to pour straw-green
cha
into dainty blue-glazed cups. The silence lengthened. The heron splashed in the pond and flew off with a small eel in its long beak.

“You asked about a boy called Bran,” he began.

“Yes.” The princess stared at the pond. He sensed she had a problem in finding the best way to form a question. “You knew him well?”

“We spent six months together on one ship — but he was just one of a hundred crew members under my care. I knew his father better. I’m sorry, princess, but — how is it possible you know of him?”

Her answer stunned the interpreter. Einosuke stared at her, then at Samuel, with his mouth agape. “The princess … she says she
met
the boy.”

“He survived the wreckage!”

“It is so.”

“And where is he now? Is he still in the country?” He knew before the signing of the treaty with the Gorllewin that the Yamato were hostile even to the castaways.
Was he imprisoned? Tortured? Killed?

“I don’t know. The last time I saw him, he was trying to free his
dorako
from my father’s custody. I have not heard from him since. I would know if he was captured, I think ... Perhaps he reached Dejima, and returned to your homelands from there.”

Samuel rubbed a bald patch on the top of his head.
If he still had the dragon, he would’ve tried to fly to Qin … Would that mount of his even make it over the Sea Maze?

He tried not to think of the worst scenario, in which the boy and his dragon both survived the sinking of the
Ladon
only to perish over the open ocean on the way home.

“He gave me this as a gift,” the princess said, presenting a golden buckle adorning her silk sash. “But the greater gifts were his tales of the women in your land. Women who could be warriors, generals, or even Empresses.” The words as spoken by Einosuke sounded bland and neutral, but Samuel heard the sadness and longing in her voice. “It gives me the strength to perform my duties even today.”

He guessed that the structures of power in Yamato were similar to those of Qin, and that the princess had about as much control over her life as the Qin Emperor’s concubines, locked in the Forbidden Palace.

No, the Emperor’s concubine would never meet a foreigner on her own.
This “princess” seemed more influential and independent than any woman at the Qin court. And if she was
that
influential … maybe she was able to help him with his own quest.

“Princess,” he started to speak with some trepidation, “I wonder if I could ask you a little favour.”

“Of course. I will do anything in my power to assist a friend of Bran ap Dylan.”

“I would very much like to visit one of your great shrines.”

A glint appeared in the princess’s eye, as if she had come up with a great idea. “I can’t see any reason why not.”

The Western woman’s silver dragon was almost twice as large as that of Bran’s, and much more threatening. It exuded none of the friendly warmth she sensed from Emrys. It gazed at Nagomi like a bored and irritable nobleman: one of those angry samurai who wandered the streets of Kiyō with their hands always on the hilts of their swords, looking for a fight.

The stirrup was too high for her, and Bran had to raise her by her waist almost over his head. The woman — Gwen — grasped her from there, helping Nagomi settle in the tall saddle. At which point, Bran took her by the ankles and started lashing her legs to the tack.

“What are you doing?”

“We might be attacked by the Black Wings along the way — or the Fanged. Gwen may have to perform quick manoeuvres and Nodwydd is very fast and agile. She knows how to stay in the saddle, you don’t.”

“In that case, make sure you tie it properly.” She was almost certain that death from falling from a
dorako’s
back was not part of her destiny — but it wasn’t a risk she wished to take. Bran flashed a brief smile and disappeared under the dragon’s neck to tighten the straps. When he reappeared again, his face was strangely solemn. He took her hand in his and stroked it twice in silence.

“Bran, you’re scaring me,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He smiled again. “It’s just that …” He stared at the calm green valleys below the fire mountain. “We keep going from one danger to another. We’ve already lost Satō and—”

“We haven’t
lost
her. She’s still alive.”

“I know she is. I didn’t mean that. It’s just — she’s not here, is she? She’s not in a safe place. What if the same thing happens to either of us? What if you or I get
lost
?”

“Then the other one will come and save them,” she replied and leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was an awkward hug, but there was an odd quality to it, a sort of desperation absent from Bran’s embraces before.

He’s really scared this time,
she realized, and his fear reached through to her. Her heart rattled against her chest. “It will be all right.”

“Yes. Yes, it will.” He pretended to rub his nose, thinking Nagomi didn’t notice him wiping his eye. “We have to be off now. Take care.”

He exchanged a few words with Gwen before departing to mount his dragon. The woman waited with the launch until Emrys was high in the air. Nodwydd reached Bran’s altitude in just a few flaps of its silver wings, then slowed down, letting the emerald mount lead the way.

They flew like this for over an hour. Mount Fuji became a distant, majestic molehill. They passed over wild forest valleys and climbed past another mountain range, a single, sharp ridge running almost straight from east to west. Beyond it spread the Kanto Plain, land as flat as an
okonomiyaki
pancake, as far as Nagomi could see. To her right, the plain was bound by a gentle, thin golden crescent of an ocean shore. Ahead and to the left there was nothing but rice paddies, fields and orchards, towns and villages, and linking it all, a network of roads and canals as dense as a spider’s web. Somewhere to the north rose the great city of Edo, but it was yet too far to even glimpse.

So many people …

A brief vision disturbed her admiration of the hustle below: a wall of darkness, like a huge black tsunami wave coming from the sea and engulfing the plain and everyone on it. When it passed, Nagomi glanced towards the eastern horizon and saw a thin dark line running across it, fencing the sea off from the outside world.

Are these the Divine Winds? I’ve never seen them from land before …

Emrys slowed down and the two dragons flew parallel to each other. Bran looked over Nagomi’s head at Gwen — and nodded. She felt the Western woman nod back. Bran tugged on the reins and banked away, down and towards the sea. Gwen also spurred her dragon — and steered it up and onwards.

In a few moments Nodwydd reached a speed unmatched by anything Nagomi had ever experienced. The earth and clouds whizzed past and soon the jade dragon was a mere dot in the sky. Another flap and it vanished altogether.

“What are you doing?” Nagomi asked. “Bran’s going that way! Stop! Turn around!”

Gwen did not answer — of course, she wouldn’t understand Yamato. Nagomi stirred in the saddle, but Bran’s ties were tight and she could barely move. She turned her head around towards Gwen’s face. The Western woman looked back at her with an inscrutable expression, part determination, part regret, part … something else.

She gestured at the straps on the saddle, requesting Nagomi to hold tighter. The dragon swerved left, further away from the coast, towards a distant line of hills. Nagomi protested again. Gwen laid a hand on her shoulder in the same calming manner as Bran would — but it brought the priestess no solace.

What is she doing? Has she betrayed Bran?

At length, she calmed. There was no point in struggling as long as she was tied to the saddle. The priestess did her best to study her surroundings, in case she had to escape, but she was too unfamiliar with this part of Yamato. The broken cone of Fuji remained the only constant point on the horizon, but the dragon turned and swerved so much in search of air currents that Nagomi soon lost all sense of direction. She guessed they were heading in the direction of Edo — or even further north.

They flew for an hour more, before Gwen guided the dragon down, over a bumpy stain of low hills, the only feature on an otherwise dull and empty plain. She circled a high peak looking for a landing place before bringing it to the earth.

The Western woman climbed down first. She reached under the dragon’s belly and pulled on one of the lashes — the knot came undone. Nagomi jumped down hoping to run, but her cramped legs gave out under her and she fell face-first into the moss. Gwen helped her up. She didn’t let go of Nagomi’s hand, holding it in a vice-like grip.

She’s strong! Of course, she’s a soldier. A woman soldier.

The woman pressed something into Nagomi’s hand: an envelope, signed “
Nagomi
” with that elegant, old-fashioned handwriting Bran had learned from General Shigemasa. She tore it open. As well as a piece of paper, two small stones fell out of the envelope: a black, jagged shard of lava and a smooth grey pebble.