The Shattering Waves (The Year of the Dragon, Book 7) (16 page)

“It would seem so,” replied the
kiheitai
commander
.
He walked up to one of the walls and scrubbed the soot and blood from it, revealing a painting of a long, zig-zagging spit of golden sand, covered in pines.

“This is Amanohashidate, Heavenly Bridge,” he said. “Due north from Naniwa. I bet there’s a painting of the Koya Mountain on the southern wall, then Hyōgo or Okayama to the west, and so on.”

“What’s to the east, then?” asked Tokojiro. “Edo?”

Takasugi and Koyata scrubed off the layers of grime and dirt from the north-eastern wall. They only needed to reveal a few inches of the painting before everyone in the room realized what it showed.

“Mount Fuji,” said Bran.

“It’s just a direction,” said Takasugi. “There are many other cities and castles—”

“No,” Bran replied with conviction. “That is where they’re taking her.”

CHAPTER X

Takasugi put a hand on the
dorako
’s neck. He was angry with himself at how much his hand trembled. He knew the beast was on his side, and he had studied it before, but his fear was no lesser for it.

“You don’t have to do it, Bran-
sama,
” he said. “You’re both wounded, and tired. We’ll manage.”

“No.” The foreigner shook his head. “I asked you for help, and I will pay it back. We’ll meet you at the Sakai harbour.”

“Take care, Takasugi-
dono,
” said the priestess with a warm smile.

The
dorako
flapped its wings and launched off the roof. It soon became just a dark dot in the morning sky.

“Yeah, we better move too,” said Koyata. “Let the men know we’re coming.”

Takasugi shot a red flare into the air, and the three of them ran back inside the keep. Koyata was the first to reach their target — the only room on the fourth floor untouched by fire: the thick walls, lined with iron and gold, indicated that this had once been a safe room, intended for just such an occasion. He reached a mahogany chest of drawers standing by the wall and pulled on the middle bottom drawer, marked with the crest of six coins. This released the secret lever, and the chest slid away, revealing a hidden staircase.

They had never planned to reach the castle and save Bran and Nagomi. Not even when one of their
bakuto
guides showed them the secret passage leading from the Tennoji outer gardens to the keep. It was just a historical curiosity — legend had it, that it was this passage that Lady Yodo, the wife of Taiko, the last lord of Naniwa, had used when the first Tokugawa besieged the castle. It was Tokojiro who’d insisted on going. He believed it to be an omen, a sign from the Gods.

“We cannot simply ignore this being here,” he’d said. Reluctantly, the other two agreed.

Takasugi was the last to enter the hidden staircase. He glanced into the corridor one last time and heard the cries and steps of the guards climbing up the stairs from the floor below.

Too slow. What held you?
He pulled the lever at the back of the chest of drawers and retreated into the darkening passage.

The tunnel under the city was spacious and well ventilated. The layers of lichen, dust, and cobwebs told a lonely story of the passage not being used for decades, if not longer — but it
had
been in use in recent days. The rust on the torch holders had flaked away, and the dust on the floor had been freshly swept to cover footprints.

The distance to Tennoji was almost a full
ri,
a quarter of an hour of a steady run before they reached the other end. The exit of the tunnel was disguised as a well, marked with the same six-coin crest as the drawer in the castle.

Takasugi climbed out first. Above the well he saw the relieved, nervous face of the
kiheitai
private they had tasked with guarding the passage.

“Oh thank the
kami
!” he said, helping Takasugi out. “I thought I would be left all alone here.”

He’s just a boy,
Takasugi noticed.
Younger even than Shōin …

“What about the others?” he asked.

“M-most have already left for the harbour, as soon as we saw the flare,
tono
” the boy stuttered. “There are only a few of us left, defending this part of the gardens.”

“And the Aizu?” asked Koyata, clambering out of the well. His face and kimono were smeared with blood, dust, and soot. He resembled a goblin.

I must look the same. No wonder the boy’s terrified.

“Left for the castle as soon as they realized our attack was just a ruse.”

“We’d have met them head-on if we had moved on the surface,” remarked Tokojiro.

A nearby explosion shook the ground beneath Takasugi’s feet. The clash of blades grew nearer. The boy turned pale and glanced in the direction of the fighting. Takasugi reached for the gourd at the boy’s belt. He drank its entire contents in a few quick gulps, snorted, sniffed, and shook his head. “Right.” He slapped the boy on the back, and handed him one of the thunder pistols they had taken from the castle. “Take this. Here’s the trigger. Get everyone around, we’re breaking out of this place.”

“Y-yes, commander!”

The boy vanished into the hedge. Takasugi plopped down on the grass and supported his head on his elbow. He looked at Koyata and Tokojiro, both breathing heavily, leaning on their sword sheaths.

“Is it just me,” he asked, “or is this shaping up to be a very tiresome day?”

They reached the Sakai market at noon. The place was empty. There would be little business done at this time even on a normal day, but the news of fighting near the city cleared everyone away to safety. Garbage shifted in the lazy breeze. The stench of unsold fish, rotting in the sun, drilled deep into Takasugi’s nostrils. He knew it would linger for hours.

Behind him, a hundred pairs of feet kicked up the dust of the market street. The column grew with every step they took closer to the harbour. At first these were just the men Takasugi had brought with him from Tennoji, but soon they were joined by the ragged bands breaking through from the countryside. The news of the final stand of the
kiheitai
had spread quickly. There was neither a way nor a need to conceal their march anymore.

Takasugi shielded his eyes and looked up. His chief concern of the day was not to repeat the disaster at Heian. No marching in blindly into the lion’s den, no falling for another obvious ruse. That meant having eyes both on the ground and in the air. He found the bird-like shape circling in the sky. Only a few people in the city knew what it really was — and he hoped they were all on their side.

In a way, the slaughter at the
Mikado’s
palace had made his job easier. Most of Kunishi’s haughty samurai either perished or were captured. Those who remained, accepted their defeat — and Takasugi’s command. The rest of the
kiheitai
had been trained in the new, modern way of fighting: the way of the commoner. They were prepared for tricks, feints, if necessary — dishonourable tactics. It was the last hope they had to prevail against the enemy; a faint hope though it was.

Near the bottom end of the market street rose a low barrow-mound, a younger, smaller sibling of the ancient burial mounds that dotted this part of Sakai like giant molehills. In his earlier plans, he had expected to have to fight for the hill. It was an important vantage point, from which one had a clear view of the wharves, piers, and warehouses of the harbour.

The only “soldiers” he found at the top were local kids playing at war. They wore armour made of bundles of packing straw and helmets out of old pots, and they whacked each other over the heads with sticks. They stopped midway through a fight and stared, wide-eyed, at Takasugi and his officers climbing the summit.

“Ho! What battle is this?” Takasugi asked. He crouched down, his eyes level with those of the kids. The boys exchanged glances. The tallest of them stepped forward.

“Sekiga — sekigahara,
tono
.”

“And I expect you’re the
Taikun.
” The tall boy’s side had clearly been winning the brawl, despite lower numbers.

“N-no,
tono.
We, um, got things a little mixed up. I’m Mori Terumoto, Commander of the Western Armies.”

Takasugi’s mouth fell open. Then he started laughing. He gestured at the interpreter. “Tokojiro-
sama
! Here’s another of your omens!”

He reached to his belt and took out a dagger in a black polished scabbard. He handed it to the tall boy. “Here. Take this as a reward for your great victory.”

The boy studied the scabbard. His eyes fell on the dagger’s pommel, and grew even wider. “That — that’s a Mori crest!”

“I was given this by Mori Takachika, fourteenth lord of Chōfu. May it bring you more luck than it did to me.” Takasugi stood up. “Now scram, all of you! Go to your homes. It’s time for the grown-ups to fight.”

He looked over his comrades. They were all tired from the fighting and marching, weary from the days of anxiety and lack of sleep. But they had never seemed so eager.

Only one face remained sullen and dejected. A samurai, representing the remnant of Kunishi’s noblemen. To him, the coming battle was a chance to erase the memory of an ignoble retreat, the ultimate dishonour. To everyone else, it meant a return home to Chōfu; a chance to regroup and prepare for further fight.

If only they knew what Bran-
sama
told me about the city …

Takasugi looked to the harbour, where their prize awaited: dozens of narrow, sleek single-masted ships tied to the long pier. These were the vessels of the tea traders of Sakai, smaller and faster than the flat-bottomed barges of other merchant harbours.

He pointed at the burning wharves at the opposite ends of the waterfront.

“Judging by the smoke and fire, Katsura and Yamagata have almost done their job,” he spoke. “Remember the plan — they are the horns, but we are the head of the ox. Ours is the final thrust.”

He turned back to his men. “Most of you have been with us since Iwakuni,” he spoke. “And you will notice we are fewer, wearier, and worse equipped than we were when we started this expedition — while the enemy is stronger and better prepared.”

“What’s the bad news?” asked one of the officers. Laughter rippled through the group.

Takasugi smiled. “But it’s all right,” he continued. “This is not a battle we have to win. We don’t have to crush the opposing force, or gain a strategic position. We only need to break through to the ships, and get out of this city. I’m sure you’re all as tired of it as I am.”

“Even if we manage that, who will man the boats?” asked the sullen samurai. “The sailors must have fled long ago.”

“We’ll figure that out when we get there. I’m sure a few of you know how to hold an oar.” Takasugi drew his sword and pointed at the forest of masts. “We
are
the
kiheitai
! We will prevail!”

The cheers of his men still rang in his ears when they reached the first wharf.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right here?” Bran asked.

Nagomi nodded. “Just don’t forget where you left me,” she said with a weak smile.

“I don’t think that will be possible.”

He had never seen anything quite like the great barrow-mound on which they had landed. There were ancient barrows back in Gwynedd, but the largest of them were barely taller than a standing man. This one was a true man-made mountain, hundreds of yards in length and a hundred feet tall, surrounded by a deep, wide moat. It was a construction from another age — the Age of Dragons, as only from dragonback could one appreciate the precise keyhole shape of the mound and the perfect arc of the surrounding moat.

“This place sends shivers down my spine,” he said. Judging by the age of the trees growing over the mound’s vast dome, the tomb had been abandoned for centuries. The city of Sakai had grown all around this and similar, smaller mounds, yet none of the merchant landlords dared to encroach on these great swathes of empty land.

“It is filled with great power — not all of it good,” Nagomi agreed. “But it will help me regenerate my strength. I’m no use to anyone like this,” she added, looking at her pale, trembling hands.

We could all use some rest.

The sun was almost at its zenith. The forest around them was silent. The birds may have been just resting, taking respite from the heat in the shaded canopies … but somehow, it felt as if there had never
been any birds here.

Bran wiped his face. His hand smelled of dried blood. He needed a bath, to wash the filth of the fight from his body and clothes … He wanted to add something, but couldn’t find words. Nagomi noticed his worried gaze.

“What is it?”

“Will
you
be all right?”

“I told you, I’m safe here—”

“That’s not what I mean,” he interrupted, exasperated.

“Then what do you mean?”

“Did you really kill that man in the castle?”

Nagomi reached inadvertently to her waist. The sheath was empty. She’d dropped the dagger — dagger given to her by Satō — at some point in the chaos of the fighting.