The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) (13 page)

At least I know she’s alive,
he kept telling himself. After all, what good would her dead body be to the Fanged … But why keep her? To get Information about the
kiheitai’s
hideouts? It didn’t make sense.

It’s a trap,
he realized.
She’s bait for
me
. They know I’m here. Everyone saw me flying over the city. They still want me captured. Maybe hold me as a hostage against Father or get their hands on Emrys.

The realization changed nothing. He still had to save her. If anything, it made his conviction stronger. He just had to be more careful, and plan more wisely, that was all.

If they lay a finger on her …
His fists clenched.

Emrys snorted again — and this time, stirred.
Stirred?
Apart from wafting itself with its tail, the dragon would not move a muscle during their time of rest, conserving its energy. It stirred again, and raised its head, blinking lazily.

Bran sat up and penetrated the forest with True Sight. In the hazy, grey darkness of the dawn, three silhouettes of buzzing light headed towards him from the direction of Sakai. He turned around — two more men crawled from the other side. His pulse quickened. They were yet too far away to make out details — if they carried any weapons, Bran was unable to spot them.

They must know I can see them. Can they see me, too?

He crawled out from under the canopy and through the wet grass, towards the bamboo bordering the glade.

I’m sorry,
he sent a thought to Emrys,
but we’re going to have to break some sweat today, me and you. Just don’t move, yet …

The approaching men made no sound as they moved through the undergrowth. As they got nearer to the glade, Bran spotted threads of elemental magic around their hands.

Rangaku weapons. Of course.
He remembered the thunder guns in Kokura.
They’re too close. They could actually hurt Emrys at this distance.

He wanted to yell at the dragon to fly. But the sluggish, half-asleep beast would not get away fast enough beyond the range of the weapons — and the enemies might have more tricks up their sleeves.

The men halted while Bran reached the bamboo. Their trunks were thick, massive, grey with age. He touched the smooth bark and focused on infusing it with dragon flame.

“
Rhew.”

The moisture within steamed up. He did the same to two more bamboo canes nearby, then quickly crawled aside. The attackers were kneeling in the tall grass, no doubt aiming their guns at Emrys, now perfectly visible as its scales reflected the rising sun.

With a deafening burst of gunshot the first bamboo exploded from inside with the power of condensed steam. Bran jumped up, Lance buzzing in his hand.

The second tree erupted, the blast followed by thunder: one of the guns discharged towards the burning bamboo. Bran leapt over the ferns, reached the nearest assailant, and slashed him through.

Two more exploding trees added to the confusion. A second gunshot in Bran’s direction, this time from a gunpowder rifle. The bullets missed him by inches.

“Now, fly!” Bran thought, and ran towards the second attacker.

Emrys launched heavily, flapping its wings with effort. It picked up speed fast, but not fast enough. The dragon roared in pain when a thunder discharge reached its flank. It swerved, crashing into the cedar trees, bouncing from trunk to trunk.

“
Fly
!” Bran urged again, and that was all the attention he could spare the mount. He reached the second enemy. The man, wearing the tight grey uniform, was ready for him. A point-blank shot enveloped Bran’s
tarian
in black smoke and shrapnel. His ears ringing, Bran slashed the Lance, but the weapon cut through bamboo over the ducking enemy’s head. The assassin threw his gun away and drew two short swords.

Acute pain exploded in Bran’s head. He shot a cone of flame from his fingers, forcing the assassin to shield away, and focused on the source of pain.

Emrys!

He looked up. The dragon hobbled over the treetops, bobbing up and down in the air and waving its wings in a frenzy. Below its stomach, hanging onto the reins, was one of the assassins. He kept jabbing at the scales with his short sword, looking for an opening; each prod was a sharp needle in Bran’s mind.

Two enemies neared towards him from the sides, each holding a freshly recharged gun, buzzing and crackling with energy. His
tarian
would not last another point-blank shot.

Without it, he stood no chance. His Lance vanished and he reached both of his hands out and spread a wall of fire between himself and the enemies. He turned, and fled.

He needed to get out in the open — and so did Emrys. Splitting his attention in two, he struggled to run through the dense undergrowth and guide the dragon at the same time. Each second they wasted fighting the assassins was a second the man hanging on to Emrys could find the chink in the young beast’s armour of scales.

Tripping over roots, his face bleeding from a dozen scratches, his clothes torn on the briars, Bran reached the irrigation canal that formed the border of the forest. He leapt over it, landing ankle-deep in the mud on the opposite shore. Seconds later, Emrys appeared over the trees — and at the same moment, the assassins emerged from among the bamboo, their blades glistening in the sun.

Slipping on all fours, Bran clambered out of the ditch. He took one quick glance at the dragon and closed his eyes. The complex curve of the enhanced leap materialized in his mind.

No mistakes now.

He leapt in a backwards somersault. His feet slammed into the smooth tree trunk. He opened his eyes and bounced off towards Emrys.

“Up!” he shouted at the dragon. The beast flapped its wings and climbed in a straight vertical line, the assassin dangling desperately at the reins. Right on time, Bran felt a strong jolt as the wind elementals whirled around his arms and carried him higher still into the air. A lightning bolt crackled beneath his feet.

Perfect aim,
Bran noted,
if I were falling.

The energy of the enhanced leap fizzled out when he reached towards Emrys and grabbed the saddle belt.
Up, up!
he urged, and swerved to avoid the assassin’s blade. The blade slashed the air inches from his face. The enemy was fast and skilled, but Bran had the rider’s training on his side. Gripping the saddle belt, he kicked with both feet, knocking the sword out of the assassin’s hand. The man swirled around on the leather strap he was holding. His kick reached Bran’s side, making him almost lose his grip. Bran shot a tongue of flame at the strap. The leather finally snapped, and the enemy hurtled to his death.

The fight was not over yet. Two thunder gun discharges electrified the air around Bran, weakening his fading
tarian.
He dropped the shield, and scrambled up to the top of the saddle.
Up!
Getting out of range of those guns was the only thing that mattered. The dreaded sound of thunder roared below and his left leg burst in pain. The blood magic runes on his leg lit up blue, and the pain disappeared.

What? What was that?

Emrys sped up, at last free from the extra burden, though still sluggish. The rice paddies zoomed below, pink and grey in the dawn haze. Bran looked over his shoulder — the assassins turned to dots, then blurred away into the distance.

His breath and heartbeat slowed down. With the battle rush receding, he was beginning to feel the pain of the fight. Piercing in his side, where the enemy had kicked him.
A cracked rib?
A warm liquid flowing down the outside of his right thigh — a shallow sword cut; he didn’t even know when he got it. And there was more, pain coming from beyond his own body, the pain of scorched scales and blade wounds.

How did they find me? Have they found the others, too …?
All their plans needed to be recalculated. The assault on the castle had to happen now, in broad daylight. He needed to find Takasugi, gather the rest of the
Kiheitai …
Let Nagomi know she needs to—

Nagomi!

The red light of dawn bounced off the golden sparks of a sleeping carp. Nagomi watched a small, white, thin spider march along the railing of the bridge. It reached a point not far from her hands, then began a slow descent on a silvery thread, towards the water. A single rooster crowed. There were several of them perching on a willow tree overlooking the pond, but only one yet awake. Soon, the acolytes would come to feed the sacred birds and the sacred carps. The water would foam up in a frenzy, and the willow tree would become a storm of feathers. But for now, all was quiet.

She heard soft footsteps, and squeezed the railing in anticipation.

Is it now?

A glint of the light of dawn on an assassin’s blade.

She was exposed here, on the top of the rainbow bridge — it would be an ideal moment to strike …

She breathed out. It was just the High Priestess. The hem of her golden and white robe shuffled along the gravel path. The girl stood away from the railing and bowed.

“High Priestess.”

The woman’s lips curved. It was less a smile, more an acknowledgement of a small success. “My acolytes told me I’d find you here.”

“You were looking for me?”

It was rare to see the High Priestess up so early in the morning. She was as different from Lady Kazuko as two women could be. She was young — in her late thirties, at most — tall, and conscious of her rarefied, aristocratic beauty. She always wore the finest robes of Qin silk, and Nagomi had never seen her without elaborate make-up: thick black eyebrows and crimson lips. She bore her long, black hair in an ancient manner, with twin strands falling down the front of her shoulders. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a painting from the Age of Dragons.

“I thought we might have a little chat. I hardly know you, and you’ve lived here for so long already.”

This was true — they had rarely talked before. Being the High Priestess of the largest shrine in Naniwa was a job requiring full attention — but that was not the only reason.

“Are you sure it’s … prudent?” asked Nagomi.

When she’d been brought to the shrine, the deal was simple: nobody would ask any questions, and she would not speak to anyone about who she was, or where she’d come from. The red-headed girl living in an overgrown, unused pavilion in the back gardens was supposed to be invisible. As far as the priests and acolytes were concerned, this state of affairs was to last only a day or two, while the
kiheitai
prepared to flee back to Chōfu.

But the promised ships had not arrived. The days turned into weeks, and Nagomi sensed she was no longer welcome at the shrine.

Is this what she wants to talk to me about?

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t ask you anything personal. A promise is a promise. Come, let us stroll in the gardens. The lotus flowers are about to open.”

Nagomi forced a smile and nodded. Her fingers didn’t leave the jade necklace.

Together they climbed down the majestic arch of the bridge. The path wound among the sculpted hydrangea bushes. Full of colour not so long ago, now past their bloom, only the browned, limp heads remained on the stalks. In this dry, hot season, nothing but water plants could afford to sprout flowers. There was a lotus pond behind the second hall of the shrine. Nagomi had only managed to catch glimpses of it so far — it was too near the public for her to risk going any closer.

“How do you like our shrine?” the High Priestess asked.

“It is magnificent,
hime.
”

“It is very prominent, you know. One of the three oldest in all of Yamato. This shrine was even an embassy to the foreign envoys, before the Tokugawas sealed us off.”

Why is she bragging to me about it? Every priest knows about Sumiyoshi.

“I am well aware of that,
hime,
” Nagomi replied, concealing her irritation. “I studied its history to keep myself busy during my stay here.”

They climbed another arched bridge, overlooking the lotus pond. The flowers were half in bloom, little clenched fists of white and pink. From the top of the bridge, Nagomi saw clearly the thatched, straight-lined rooftops of the three main halls.

“Those finials at the ends,” remarked the High Priestess, “crossed beams, in the ancient style. Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

“No,
hime.
”

A faint, this time, genuine smile appeared on the woman’s face. “You haven’t been to Ise or Izumo, then.”

“No,
hime.
I am not well travelled.”

“And yet you’ve made your way all the way to Naniwa, from — wherever it is you’ve come from.”

Nagomi bit her lip, but did not take the bait.

What is the point of this? She can tell from my accent I’m from the South. Where does she think I got this …?
She ran her fingers though her red hair.

“I have a question too,
hime
.”

“Of course, dear.”

“How did someone so young become a High Priestess of such a venerated shrine?”

The woman laughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Young,
eh
? Yes, I suppose I am.” She pointed to a flower design on the shoulder of her robe. “See that? That’s a Tsumori crest. My clan. We built this shrine, and we decide who gets to be the High Priest — or a High Priestess, in my case. Neither the
Taikun,
nor the
Mikado
can change it.”

“So the clan elders chose you.”

The High Priestess gazed at the lotus pond and shrugged. “Nobody else wanted the job. The shrine Scryers foretold grave tidings and darkness coming to our land — and it looks like they were right, judging by what happened in Heian.” She looked straight into Nagomi’s eyes. “The High Priest chosen for this era had to be tough, decisive. Not afraid to dirty their hands.”