The Dragon's Flower

  "If I deem it worth my time to heal your child, what will you give to me?"

  The man shook his head. "I do not know what the price of such a thing would be."

  "I do." The woman said. "The price of a life is always a life."

  The blood drained out of the man's face, but he pulled himself together and bowed deeply, his forehead pressing into the tatami mats. "Then I will offer myself."

  The woman dismissed this with a wave of her fan. "No. What use would your life be to me? I already have plenty of servants." The fan waved back and forth slowly, like the twitching of a cat's tail as it readied to pounce. "If you have no other life to give me, you had better leave here before I grow tired of you."

  "Wait!" The man cried. "If you will heal my daughter, I will give her to you!"

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “You would give her to me? Do you think such an action will have no consequences, peasant?”

  The man bowed down again deeply. "As long as she lives, Great Lady. It is the only way to save her."

  The woman smiled. "It is done. She will be well, but you will never see her again. You understand this?"

  The man nodded.

  The woman snapped her fan shut. "Good. Now go, and be hasty. I do not like my time to be wasted."

  ----

  Almost everyone loved Princess Tomoko, the Third Wife of Shogun Tsuneo of Masaki.

  There were only a few who didn’t—her fellow wives, Naomi and Yasu, were two. Yasu despised Tomoko, for she resented the attention and honor heaped upon her.

  Naomi, however, hated her because of her happiness. That Tomoko dared to find happiness in their miserable life made Naomi’s chest burn with a raging fire.

  But everyone else loved her, and none more so than her sons. Isao and Shichiro, her pride and joy, and a source of endless comfort. She had born Isao when she was only fifteen and had been a bride for less than a year, and words could never express what she felt holding him for the first time. Her precious baby, her strong firstborn son. As he had grown, she had watched him, and knew that he had greatness ahead of him. He was smart and brave and loving, and so very sneaky—he would be a great tribute to his clan.

  And Shichiro—ahh, but he was special. She loved both her sons wholly equally, but both she and her firstborn son knew Shichiro was special.

  She had known it, as if a gong was struck in her heart, calling out This one. This one. He is destined for glorious things.

  And then, that night, as she cradled her baby in her arms as little Isao watched in wide-eyed wonder, she had received eight visitors. She hadn’t noticed them at all until Isao tugged on her sleeve with a happy giggle, and she had looked up to see them.

  And she knew who they were immediately—four women and four men, who seemed to gleam faintly in the gloom. The Eight Celestial Guardians, who the Heavenly Emperor had sent to the mortal realms to aid and protect the Seven Kingdoms.

  She stared at them in surprise, before bowing as well as she could and speaking boldly, surprising even herself, “What do you wish here, my lords and ladies? What can I do to help you?”

  The tallest one—he who wore a kimono decorated with a dragon—said, “We came to see your son.”

  Tomoko stared at him solemnly, before asking, “You are Tamotsu Eiji the Dragon, aren’t you?”

  Tamotsu Eiji bowed slightly. “I am indeed.”

  Tomoko considered him for a moment, before holding out her precious Shichiro. “Here, take him, but be gentle.”

  There was a soft sound, that Tomoko guessed might be laughter, from among the other Celestials. Apparently she was rather amusing in her presumption to command the Celestial Dragon.

  The Dragon in question, Tamotsu Eiji of the Emperors, cradled Shichiro in his arms and stared down at him impassively, with only the faintest hint of a smile lingering about his mouth. “I see,” he said, “This one has a great heart, he will do very well indeed.” He turned to Tomoko and said, “The Heavenly Emperor has great need of your son in the future.”

  Tomoko bowed. “Whatever I can do to aid the Heavenly Emperor’s designs, I will do gladly.”

  A gentle hand touched her head, and a woman’s voice spoke with soft kindness. “Your faith and dedication is a testament to you, and does you great credit. Pass it on to both your sons. Shichiro has a special purpose before him, but Isao’s destiny is nearly as great. Do not let them follow in the way of their father, or much that is precious might be lost.”

  “I swear I will do so, in the name of the Heavenly Emperor.” Tomoko said, and looked up to see a tall woman with ethereal beauty in a silver-grey kimono decorated with white feathers and wise, wise brown eyes. Tomoko knew who she was instinctively—Momoe Chiyo, the Immortal Goose.

  “Good,” Tamotsu Eiji said, “For they will have great need of it in time. A great path lies before them, and many things hang in the balance. Isao will do well enough on his own, but Shichiro faces the greatest difficulty, so I now shall give him a gift, to help him along his way.” And the Celestial Dragon bent his head and kissed Shichiro’s brow, and Momoe Chiyo and their children all laid their hands upon the baby. Then the Celestial Dragon said, “I give him the gift of the way of the sword, and instincts and skills and reflexes beyond those gifted to Mortal Men, so that he will be able to stand and fight, and protect what shall be given unto him to guard.”

  Then Shichiro was placed back safely into his mother’s arms, and the Guardian spirits were gone, as if they had never been there. But Tomoko remembered, and she told her son when he was old enough to understand and remember and believe.

  *****

  CHAPTER ONE--THE DRAGONS AND THE PAGODA

  Ever since Hanako could remember, her world had been full of dragons. Ink paintings of dragons hung on the walls, gilded forms of dragons embossed the scarlet pillars, and the screens in her rooms were covered in delicate paintings of dragons and waterfalls and trees. Even all her kimonos were embroidered with dragons of all colors. She sometimes wondered why she had been named Hanako instead of Tatsuko or Kaida or Ryoko, so she had asked her mother.

  Her mother had smiled with painted lips and patted Hanako’s cheek with her pale white hand. “Why, my little dragon, you were named Hanako because of how you came to me!”

  “How I came to you?” Hanako asked.

  “Yes,” Mother said though her painted, smiling lips. “Six years ago now, on the day of the spring equinox, I wandered in my garden admiring the blooming cherry trees. As I reached the greatest, oldest tree of them all, I heard a sudden cry, and I saw you, a tiny child, lying there at its foot. I picked you up and saw you were very sick indeed. I took you inside and fed you the tea of the Emperor’s Pearl flower, which is very rare and can heal all sorts of ills. And when I awoke the next morning and saw you whole and hale, I took you as my own, and named you Hanako, little flower, to honor the Heavenly Emperor who saw fit to enable me to heal you.” The soft white fingers stroked gently through Hanako’s long black hair, but their touch was cold. “And to thank Him that He gave me to you, my sweet daughter. My precious little dragon.”

  Mother smiled with scarlet lips, her lips curving upward in pleasure, and her words as they slipped through were sweet as honey. But Hanako thought that the blood-red painted smile was only the first of the lies that came from Mother’s mouth that day. She did not know why she thought this, but she knew it as sure as the sun set in the west and the cherry trees bloomed in the spring.

  It was many years before she was proved right, but when she went and laid down to sleep that night she curled up into a ball, feeling more alone than she ever had before. She slipped into an uneasy, restless sleep, filled with dreams of empty hallways and echoing rooms.

  When she let out a fa
int, shivering whimper in her sleep, a shimmer of green and blue and gold slipped its way through the shoji, accompanied by a scarlet flash. The scarlet shape curled up into a fluffy ball next to the child, and the long, sinuous form that gleamed gold, green and blue in the dimness wrapped itself securely around both, radiating warmth.

  The child relaxed and slept easily, wandering away from the dark, lonely visions, and when she awoke, all she would remember would be dreams of light.

  *****

  It was raining.

  Hanako liked the sound of the rain, pattering against the clay tiles of her pagoda. It was soft and soothing, and the sound made her want to dance. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to do that. A lady of high standing didn’t dance, that was something only peasants and entertainers did.

  So instead Hanako sat by the window and stared out at the rain, and wondered what it would feel like to walk in it. But thinking things like that were pointless, so she would finally turn away and get back to spinning.

  It was all she ever did.

  She watched the smooth strands of silk twist into a stronger thread, and wondered if she could spin a rope of silk and use it to climb out the window. If she could just feel the earth and grass beneath her feet—but if she did that, she would disobey Mother. Mother would be disappointed.

  A good daughter never disappointed her parents, Hanako knew that. So for now, she would sit in her room at the top of the pagoda and stare out at the rain, and she would do her best to be happy.

  It was getting dark, and the mists were beginning to rise, sheathing the mountain in their foggy arms. Her pagoda stood tall in a shallow cove near the mountain’s summit, and the fog was not quite high enough to read Hanako’s windows (balcony??). But the entire world was shrouded in grey dreariness, and Hanako felt the dreariness seep into her, like spilled ink seeping into the paper.

  A quiet knock sounded at her door, and she immediately rose, knowing it was her lunch that had arrived. It came every day at the same time, but Hanako did not know who delivered it. All the other denizens of the pagoda (and they were few in number indeed) had been forbidden from interacting with Hanako unless it was absolutely necessary, like helping her get dressed. Mother said this was for Hanako’s own protection.

  That may be, but it did not change her loneliness.

  Silently, Hanako laid down her spinning (did they use distaffs? Look up) and made her way to the door to grab the tray left for her. She picked it up and carried it over to the table, then carefully knelt on her pillow (scarlet, embroidered with golden dragons), before folding her hands and carefully thanking the Heavenly Emperor for the food. Then she picked up her ivory chopsticks (decorated by gilded dragons curling up their length) and set about eating. First she ate the (research Japanese traditional food), and last of all she ate the rice in her bowl. It was the plainest thing in her entire meal every day, but she liked it for its plainness, and always saved it for last. She shifted on her cushion so she could watch the faint shifting light from the rain outside through the paper of the soji doors. She was halfway through the rice when she suddenly heard a sudden, odd, clanking noise from outside her room.

  Hanako froze, a bite of rice halfway to her mouth. Mother had always warned her that one day this might happen—that enemies would come and take her far, far away from Mother’s love and protection. Hanako shivered—she could only imagine what such enemies might do to her.

  But then again, Hanako knew that Mother lied. But could she really risk her own safety just to decide if this was one of the rare times where the eyes were empty and grey?

  There was a muffled thump. Hanako tensed and slowly laid down her chopsticks. Immortal Dragon help her, she wouldn’t just sit here and let this happen. She picked up her rice bowl (the only thing she had) and cocked it back, waiting for the intruder to appear in her doorway.

  *****

  Shichiro was not having a good day.

  Not, of course, that any of his days had been particularly good since his father had kicked him out of the castle, but this was an exceptionally bad one.

  It had started out with being kicked out of the inn he had been staying at. Apparently the innkeeper didn’t appreciate penniless wandering vagabond swordsmen sneaking into their barn to sleep. After being rather unceremoniously tossed out on his rear in the dust, he had proceeded to stumble into a brawl, one involving truly egregious amounts of sake and much punching. It was hours before he managed disentangle himself from the madness and hastily fled to the edges of town and the forested, reportedly haunted mountain beyond. Then he had promptly gotten lost.

  Shichiro had spent the next several hours wandering about the mountain and morosely coming up with increasingly improbable scenarios on how the day could possibly get worse, generally involving demon bears or a stampede of rabid, man-eating raccoon dogs.

  It was then that the Emperor of Heaven, in his divine mercy and wisdom, decided to teach Shichiro a valuable lesson about overlooking something while expecting something else to happen.

  Shichiro had no right to be surprised when the thunderstorm released its fury down upon his head.

  In minutes the mountain was wreathed in mist and rain, the dark rainclouds above preventing Shichiro from seeing more than ten feet in front of him, except, of course, when the gigantic bolts of lightning flashed across the sky.

  Shichiro determinedly continued to march through the forest, hoped that he wouldn’t lose his (check up Japanese sandals) in the rapidly-forming mud, and considered the possibility that he was cursed, just as they all said.

  It was then he saw the pagoda.

  It sat, nestled in a little dip in the side of the mountain, and at its feet lay a wide, flat pond, dimpled by the falling rain. Mist wrapped around it like a sheer silken scarf, and it rose high, high into the air, until it disappeared into the clouds.

  Shichiro shivered. Something about the pagoda seemed… strange. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but it did.

  But strange or not, it was infinitely better than the rain soaked, forested mass of mud behind him, so Shichiro went on anyway.

  The pagoda was old, and the scarlet paint was chipped in some places, and ivy crept relentlessly up the pillars and hung from the arched roofs.

  Perfect, Shichiro thought. He had spent enough time climbing ivy as a child to make this easy, so he grabbed onto the ivy and began to hoist himself up into the air. He scrambled onto the roof and then onto the engawa (is this right in a pagoda?) of the second level, and started to search for a door.

  There wasn’t one.

  Shichiro stared at the walls in confusion. Who in their right mind built a pagoda with no doors?

  Right. On to the next level.

  And the next.

  And the next.

  It was still raining, many levels and at least two hours later, when Shichiro hauled himself onto the jade-blue tile of the third-to-last level in the ridiculously high pagoda. His arms trembled from exhaustion, his breath panted in puffs in the chilly air, and he was feeling like an idiot.

  Why didn’t he just huddle on the first engawa he came to? Sure, it was open and the rain could still blow in, but at least it was partially sheltered! But noooo, Shichiro just had to go on a wild goose chase up this crazy pagoda in search of doors that just didn’t… exist…

  Immortal Dragon, was that a door?

  Unless his eyes were playing a cruel trick, which, by this point, was something Shichiro didn’t dare rule out. But he scrabbled up the tile, climbed over the railing, and reached out and touched the door, which felt refreshingly and reassuringly real.

  Excellent, Shichiro thought as his slid the soji door open. Shichiro, your luck is finally turning around.

  Which was right about when the bowl of rice slammed into his face.

  CHAPTER TWO--THE PRINCESS AND THE RONIN

  The cracking noise was simultaneous with the sudden blinding pain. Immortal dragon, please, please don’t let that be my face. He stumbled backwards, banged into the
wooden railing surrounding the engawa, and tipped backwards. Frantically he reached out and grabbed the railing as he fell but not before he banged his head on the rain-slick tile. He was left in an extremely awkward position, with his legs hooked over the railing and holding onto said railing for dear life with both hands. Shichiro blinked what he guessed was grains of rice away from his face and looked up into the sky. A big raindrop landed on his nose and proceeded to trickle down into his eye.

  Wonderful, he thought. Just wonderful.

  He heard the careful footsteps first, and with much maneuvering and impressive skill, he managed to angle himself so he could see his attacker.

  And then he promptly almost let go.

  She was the most beautiful lady he had seen in his entire life, and she loomed over him with wide, scared eyes and a pair of chopsticks held high and menacingly, ready to strike.

  “Well, miss, I’m afraid I’m at a bit of disadvantage here.” Shichiro said, and smiled.

  Hanako stopped and blinked. She’d never seen anyone smile like that. The servants never smiled when she was around, and Mother’s smiles… Mother’s smiles seemed to be as real as the blood red paint on her lips—devoid of warmth and substance, a pretty flower on a leafless limb.

  This smile was big and showed off his teeth—how strange. There was nothing painted or pretty about it, but it felt sure and grounded, like a tree with deep roots. Slowly, she lowered the chopsticks.

  Shichiro let out a sigh of relief. “I’m very sorry to have trespassed on your land without even knowing your name, but I had no idea this pagoda was inhabited. Truth is, I was just hoping for a spot to hide out from the rain. Would you be so kind as to lend me your hospitality, miss?”

  Hanako looked at him. He did look very pitiful indeed, his pants covered in mud and his hair hanging in wet clumps from his head. Perhaps… Hanako bit her lip. Finally she nodded. His smile widened instantly, and with a sudden flex of his body, he was sitting on top of the rail. He wrung out his soaked, limp ponytail, grinned happily, and hopped down onto the engawa, prostrating himself before Hanako.