The Flood Dragon's Sacrifice Page 5

  “Fool,” said Lord Toshiro dismissively. “You’re in no fit state to go anywhere.” He turned away, still holding the Tide Jewels. Manabu bowed low. “Summon the clan warriors; we must plan our next move with great care.”

  Four years separated Masao and Naoki, but from the moment the young lord was born, the older boy had always been at his side. Masao’s family had protected the Akatobi family for many generations, and as the boys grew up together Masao had always led the way, Naoki tagging alongside his ‘big brother’. It was a tradition in the Red Kites that the clan lord’s sons should be treated no differently from the other children, should be schooled with them in martial arts, riding, reading and writing. Yet when Naoki grew tall enough to stare Masao directly in the eyes, when his shoulders broadened and his voice broke, their relationship had begun to alter. Naoki began to lead the way, challenging Masao with ever more reckless schemes.

  And as Masao heard Lord Toshiro’s brisk footsteps fade into the distance, such a wave of bitter regret and self-reproach welled up inside him that, to his shame, he felt the hot sting of tears leaking from beneath his closed lids.

  “Naoki,” he whispered. I’ll rescue you. Just as soon as I get my strength back.

  ***

  “Is there something you haven’t told Lord Toshiro, Masao? Something I should know?”

  Masao opened his eyes to see the scar-seamed face of Yoriaki hovering above his. Yoriaki was Master of Shadow skills to the Red Kites and although his thinning hair was steel grey he was still as lean and agile as the younger shinobi.

  “What do you mean, Master?” Masao was still drifting between sleep and consciousness; he wondered dazedly if Manabu had slipped a sleeping draught into the bitter medicine he had made him drink.

  “It was a rash, foolish plan,” continued Yoriaki. “Yet you achieved something that no one has managed before; you broke through the Cranes’ defenses. You proved that a shinobi whose feet don’t touch the ground can penetrate to the heart of the temple, avoid the traps, and reach the Tide Jewels. So what went wrong?”

  Masao closed his eyes, forcing himself to relive the last moments of that hectic flight. The muffled din of the great bell ringing the alarm, the shouts of the warrior monks, the painful thudding of his heart as he realized that he had to get Naoki out and fast…

  “There was someone there,” he murmured, “someone who saw through the Kite Shadow. Someone…powerful. The instant he became aware of us, the Shadow began to dissolve. We became visible. That’s why…” Masao faltered, so ashamed to have to admit failure that he could hardly continue, “…why we had to retreat.” He waited, expecting Yoriaki to reprimand him.

  But all Yoriaki said was, “Who could it have been? Surely not Kakumyo. He may be a seasoned warrior, but he has no onmyōdō powers.”

  “Onmyōdō powers?” Masao repeated, not understanding. Had they encountered an onmyōji, a master of elemental magic?

  “No matter.” Yoriaki rose. “Lord Toshiro has called the clan elders together tomorrow to plan our next move. Make sure you’ve regained enough strength to be there.”

  There came a gentle tapping at the door. Two short raps – and then, after a slight pause, a third.

  “Come in,” Yoriaki called. The door partition slid open, revealing a pale-haired figure kneeling on the threshold, with head respectfully lowered. A faint, sweet breath of cloves perfumed the air.

  “Lord Toshiro sent me to attend to you.” The voice was that of a young man, even though his long trailing locks of hair were the color of ash.

  “You’ve been honored, Masao.” Yoriaki beckoned the newcomer closer. “It’s been a long time, Hisui no Yūgiri.”

  The Hisui were a shaman family whose secret skill was to infuse their patients with their own unique healing essence. For generations the Red Kite clan lords had kept these healers for their own private use, occasionally lending them to a valued retainer as a gesture of profound thanks. There were many rumors as to the exact nature of the close relationship between the Hisui and the Akatobi, for Lord Toshiro followed his father’s practice and kept them apart from the rest of the clan once they reached the age of eleven.

  “Yūgiri?” repeated Masao, staring at the shaman. “Is it really you?” He remembered Yūgiri, a slender, quiet boy with ink-black hair, who had excelled in calligraphy and archery… until, one day he had vanished from the daily classes. When Masao had asked after him, he’d been told that he had been removed for ‘special training.’ “But what happened to you? Y - your hair – ”

  “Please lie down so that I can heal you.” Yūgiri moved forward across the mats on his knees, his robes making a silken, swishing sound.

  Masao did as he was told, too surprised to argue. Even though Yūgiri’s voice was soft, there was also an authoritative quality to it that commanded his respect.

  “And, Master Yoriaki, I must ask you to leave. I work alone; I cannot reveal our secrets to anyone but the patient.”

  “I understand.” Yoriaki withdrew, sliding the partition shut behind him.

  As Yūgiri leaned over him, Masao looked up into his face. The eyes that gazed back at him were no longer black, like his own; the irises were pale as white jade, with only the pupils retaining their darkness. It was as if all the living color had leached out of him, leaving a ghostly shadow of the boy Masao had known. But a strikingly beautiful ghost, with translucent ivory skin.

  “Have you been ill?” Masao whispered as Yūgiri laid his hands upon his chest. Yūgiri had closed his eyes, concentrating, but he opened them again, fixing Masao with his unsettlingly colorless stare.

  “This is what becomes of us when we practice our craft. When I send my healing energies into your body, my own vitality is depleted. This…lack of color is an honor in my family. It shows the efficiency of my healing abilities.”

  “But I can’t let you do that – not for me!” Masao struggled to sit up, but Yūgiri pushed him back. For all his frail looks, he was surprisingly strong.

  “Lord Toshiro said it was for Naoki. Does that make you feel any easier?” Even though Yūgiri’s face was expressionless, Masao thought he detected a hint of irony in his words.

  “Very well, then.” When the reason was put so bluntly, Masao could not argue. The clan lord was bestowing a rare privilege upon him. If Yūgiri’s healing could restore the strength he needed to go back to rescue Naoki, then he was prepared to endure whatever the Hisui healing techniques would put him through. Yet he could not help shrinking away a little as Yūgiri untied and opened his robe and slid his hands beneath, palms down, letting them rest on bare and bandaged skin. Masao gritted his teeth, bracing himself for what was to follow.

  And then a strange, soothing sensation washed through him, as though he were floating in the hidden hot springs high up in the mountains. All the raw and tender aches began to seep out of him, as though melting away. He closed his eyes and let himself relax. Was this pulsing, calming light that was flowing into him, around him, emanating from Yūgiri’s slender frame? The shaman’s voice came to him, as if from far away.

  “But why did Lord Naoki do such a reckless thing?”

  “Because…” Masao heard himself answering, “he wanted to prove to his father that he’s no longer a child. And to show the emperor and his court that the Cranes are not worthy of the honor of guarding the Tide Jewels.”

  “I see.” Yūgiri’s voice was so soft now that it was barely audible.

  Masao opened his eyes to see Yūgiri still kneeling beside him, his head drooping. One long lock of ash-silver hair brushed across his chest as Yūgiri slowly raised his head. Masao saw with concern the dark bruising that had appeared beneath the shaman’s eyes, making him look even frailer than before. He sat up and reached out to steady the young shaman.

  “Yūgiri, are you all right?”

  A white mist seemed to have clouded Yūgiri’s eyes; he blinked, shuddering as if he had touched something unclean. “Perhaps carrying the Tide Jewels has left some taint
of magic on your soul.”

  “What do you mean?” Masao did not understand but the word ‘taint’ sounded unpleasant.

  “I thought I sensed… but I must have been mistaken.” Yūgiri shook Masao’s steadying hand away. He looked up at Masao and a small, proud smile appeared on his pale lips. “I’m glad to see that the healing was successful and you have regained your strength, Takanaga no Masao.” He rose – a little unsteadily – bowed, and left without another word before Masao could ask him any further questions.

  ***

  I have to do this. For the clan. Masao gritted his teeth as he tried to tighten the straps of his body armor; the overlapping plates bit into his bandages, rubbing against his wounds which were still tender, in spite of Yūgiri’s ministrations.

  No, not for the clan – for Naoki.

  But was Naoki still alive? He had seen the arrow strike home, seen him slide and fall, even as he desperately reached out to grab his hand.

  Dark eyes staring desperately into his, fingertips clutching in vain at the roof tiles…

  At that moment, just when he needed it most, he had felt the last of his Kite Shadow draining from his body. His uncle was right; his mastery was still far from perfect.

  Can I even summon the skill again? Am I just too weak to be any use?

  ***

  “For seven years,” announced Lord Toshiro, “our clan has endured the humiliation of exile. But from today, that situation is about to change. Look!”

  Masao, kneeling at the back of the hall behind his uncle Okitane and the other high-ranking Red Kite retainers, raised his head to see Lord Toshiro holding aloft the softly shimmering Ebb Jewel. He heard the murmur of amazement that grew like a gathering storm wave as seasoned clan warriors stared at the fabled treasures.

  “It’s one of the Tide Jewels!”

  “It’s white as foam – it must be the Ebb stone.”

  “And this.” Lord Toshiro took out the Flood Jewel, which glowed with the intense and translucent blue of the deep sea on a clear day.

  Am I imagining it…or are the jewels giving off pulses of light? Masao narrowed his eyelids, trying to make out the phenomenon more clearly. Just like on the boat, after the raid… He remembered little of the nightmare journey back to the island. Except that as he lay on the damp boards, barely conscious and nauseated by the small boat’s pitching, he thought that he had sensed faint pulses of energy emanating from the jewels.

  “In snatching this treasure from under the Black Cranes’ noses, Naoki has proved that they are no longer capable of protecting the sacred Tide Jewels. However, thanks to my son’s reckless actions, we are faced with a very grave situation; he is now the Cranes’ prisoner.”

  Masao gazed fixedly at the floor. He felt as if all the other retainers were eyeing him disapprovingly, muttering that he should have given his life rather than let Naoki be captured.

  “If we make a formal request to Abbot Genko to release Naoki, we admit our guilt in breaking into the Tide Dragon temple. And I can’t see the emperor looking kindly on us for that; his ministers will almost certainly impose a heavy punishment. So – reluctantly – I have come to the conclusion that we will have to spirit the boy out of the monastery by other means.”

  Masao’s head jerked up again, aware that Lord Toshiro was gazing at him as he spoke. “M - my lord? Do you mean me?” Was he being given a chance to redeem himself?

  “We’ll create a distraction to draw Kakumyo and his men away from the compound. Then you, Masao, will lead a group of our swiftest shinobi to rescue Naoki.”

  “Is it wise to give Masao so much responsibility?” Masao heard his uncle ask. “His grasp of the Kite Shadow is still weak. If he hadn’t failed to protect Lord Naoki, we wouldn’t be in this predicament now.”

  Masao wished that the tatami mats on which he knelt would open up and swallow him whole. He bitterly resented being shamed in this way before the warriors of the clan.

  “So you would take on Kakumyo, my lord?” Yoriaki, seated on Lord Toshiro’s right, had said nothing until that moment. “Is that wise? Don’t forget that he was one of the Black Cranes’ most formidable warriors before he failed to protect Lord Morimitsu and became a monk.”

  “Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” said Lord Toshiro in a voice as smooth as honed steel. “He’s the reason that we must move swiftly to rescue Naoki. If Kakumyo has the slightest suspicion that he’s my son, then he’ll probably interrogate him night and day to wring the truth from him.”

  Masao flinched; Lord Toshiro had put into words the fear that had been tormenting him ever since he regained consciousness.

  “But what of the Tide Jewels? Surely they’re our prime bargaining tools?” Okitane demanded. “We should send word to the imperial court that – because of the Cranes’ lax security – thieves have stolen the imperial jewels from the monastery.”

  “That should buy us some time,” said Lord Toshiro, slowly stroking his bearded chin. “The emperor will soon be presiding over the Iris Festival. Yoriaki: I want you to make sure that our message is delivered to him in front of the whole court. This won’t be an easy mission; are you prepared to risk your life to carry it out?”

  “I have my pride as a shinobi, my lord,” said Yoriaki quietly. “I won’t let myself be caught.”

  A babble of excited voices arose outside; Lord Toshiro stood, his face dark as a storm cloud, reaching for his katana. “What’s that infernal racket?”

  One of Lord Toshiro’s pages burst into the hall. “My lord – a messenger’s come from the monastery.”

  An elderly monk was ushered in by Akatobi clansmen and unceremoniously bundled past the kneeling warriors toward Lord Toshiro. The Red Kite leader snatched the letter he held out in a palsied hand.

  Masao watched him as he read, a sense of unease stirring in the pit of his stomach. All the Kites fell silent, waiting for their leader’s reaction.

  Lord Toshiro crushed the paper in his hand and threw it to the ground. “Damn Kakumyo; he’s already one step ahead of us. Naoki’s alive – but he’s holding him hostage.”

  “He’s alive,” Masao whispered, daring to breathe again.

  “Holding him hostage?” repeated Okitane. “What are the terms?”

  Masao stared fixedly at the floor, not daring to raise his head. He could sense his uncle’s disapproving gaze directed toward him.

  “A direct exchange: the Tide Jewels for my son. The transfer to take place as soon as possible on neutral ground. He suggests Tenryu Bay.”

  “It’s a trap,” said Okitane.

  “What other options do we have?” Lord Toshiro turned to the elderly monk and said, “Tell Captain Kakumyo that we accept his terms. We’ll meet him at Tenryu Bay in three days’ time.”

  As the monk was escorted out of the hall, Masao heard Lord Toshiro say quietly to Yoriaki, “That will give you plenty of time to alert the emperor about the missing jewels.”

  Yoriaki nodded. “We can still use this incident to our advantage. I’ll set out straight away.”

  Lord Toshiro let out a dry bark of amusement. “Ha! I’d like to hear what excuse the Cranes come up with to explain the absence of the Tide Jewels.”

  “Kakumyo’s terms state that we must go to meet him unarmed. Does he really expect us to comply?” Okitane was still fuming over the hostage exchange. “And why must he set all the conditions?”

  “Unarmed,” said Lord Toshiro. “But not unprepared. Okitane, bring your nephew to the smithy; I have a new task for him.”

  ***

  The blacksmith’s forge had been built at some distance away from the main house; the risk of fire still haunted the Red Kites, and Kinkiyo the Master Armorer worked in isolation with his assistants to ensure that no stray sparks could set thatch or shingle alight.

  As he drew closer, Masao heard the hiss of the bellows and the ring of the armorers’ hammers. The blast of heat as they entered almost took his breath away; by the fierce glow of the fire, he saw Kinkiyo lay down h
is tongs to bow to Lord Toshiro.

  “I want to take the iron dragon on board ship. Is it ready?”

  Kinkiyo wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his vast fist. “Come with me, my lord.” He led them out of the back of the forge and they began to climb a steep, rocky path that had been cleared beside one of the many island streams that ran down to the sea. For all his bulk, the Master Armorer moved with agility through the rough terrain; he must have come this way often, Masao reckoned.

  A while later they stopped at a dilapidated stone hut half-hidden by undergrowth. As they went in, Masao sniffed, detecting an unpleasantly acrid smoky smell that he couldn’t quite identify. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dingy light, he saw Master Kinkiyo pulling back the covers from a wide-bored metal pipe, at least a hand’s span in diameter. Sealed at the lower end, it had been fancifully fashioned into the form of a fire dragon, its jaws wide open, as if about to expel a jet of flame.

  “This is the iron dragon eruptor,” said Lord Toshiro. “Master Kinkiyo has been developing it here in secret. I’ll wager that even the emperor hasn’t a weapon like this in the imperial arsenal.”

  “Did you invent this yourself?” Masao asked, impressed in spite of his misgivings.

  “I’m no inventor, my lord.” The Master Armorer gave a grunt of amusement. “I was sent to Khoryeo to learn my craft – in the reign of the last emperor when Khoryeo and Cipangu were on better terms.”

  “What does it do?” Masao ran his hand lightly over the iron tube, noting the grayish-white staining at the open mouth.

  “It projects a hail of projectiles and lethal fire at the enemy,” the blacksmith said in his deep, smoke-roughened voice. “You pack a combustible substance called fire drug into the tube, add lead shot and shards of sharp metal, then light this long thin piece of string. Next, you stand well back – for there’s a considerable rebound when it goes off.”

  “And a deafeningly loud bang,” added Okitane.

  “We’re taking this with us to Tenryu Bay,” said Lord Toshiro. “If there’s the slightest possibility that the Cranes have tricked us, I want to give them a dose of fire drug that they won’t forget in a hurry.”