The Dragon's Flower Read online

  The princess felt a sudden rush of color in her cheeks, and thought, Oh. Of course. The Celestial Guardians are not leaders but servants, in a sense. I should have known better.

  “Hurry up and get on, mortal princess. It would be best to be gone as soon as we can.” The Clever One said, and carefully lowered his bulk to the ground in front of her. Hanako carefully situated herself on his back, burying her hands in the scruff of his neck and holding on tight. When the Fox rose to his feet, her stomach lurched in panic at the sudden rush of movement, and Akashi Keiji chuffed another laugh.

  “I am a Celestial Guardian, little empress, and if there is one thing I know how to do, it is to protect my charges.” He said, his voice oddly gentle. “I will not let you fall.”

  A sudden warmth stirred in Hanako’s heart, and she closed her eyes and said gently, “Thank you, Fox-sama.”

  “Hmfh.” The Fox snorted, his golden eyes glimmering sharply. “Where to, mortal child?”

  She looked over her shoulder, and sent up a prayer to the Heavenly Emperor. Bring him back to me, keep him safe. “The Inn of the Waning Tides, in the city at the mouth of the river.”

  Akashi Keiji, the Clever One, the Fox of Akiyama, leapt into motion, and was gone in a flash of gleaming auburn and snowy white. And as he ran, he carried away the Princess Nishimura Hanako of the Dragons with them, and she was borne away from Shichiro her husband.

  *****

  “The cherry blossoms are very beautiful, aren’t they?” Tomoko said.

  Her two sons looked at the flowering trees, but didn’t answer. Her eldest, Isao, was too busy eating a rice ball, and Shichiro was right at the age where talking about flowers was considered too girly. Tomoko smiled anyway, and reached over and tapped her youngest lightly on the shoulder. “Do you know why cherry blossom season is my very favorite, Shichiro?”

  Shichiro made a big deal of rolling his eyes, but he was grinning when he replied, “Cause when the cherry trees bloom, that means it’s almost my birthday!”

  “Exactly.” Tomoko smiled. “And when your birthday comes, that means it’s almost little Manami’s birthday, and then it will be almost Isao’s birthday.”

  Shichiro grinned and said, “Does that mean my birthday is the best of all?”

  His mother mock-frowned at him. “Silly boy.”

  “Umm, not too silly to have another rice ball, though?” Shichiro suggested hopefully, and Tomoko smiled and handed him one.

  The next moment, Isao stiffened. His mother in the action of handing him another rice ball and frowned. “What is it, Isao?”

  Isao slowly rose to his feet, one hand inching inside his sleeve. “I… heard the sounds of fighting. Of swords.”

  Tomoko’s lips thinned as she tightly pressed them together. “I see. Are you certain?”

  He dipped his head into a nod, his eyes narrowing, his body tensed and wary.

  Tomoko knew what was happening. She had heard the rumors, that her lord husband’s enemies greatly desired his prodigy of a son. Shichiro. Her son. The one who the rumors (quite accurately, but no-one but Isao and her knew it) claimed the Immortal Dragon himself had blessed.

  She saw the glint of metal as Isao pulled a kunai from his sleeve and moved to stand protectively over Shichiro (who was staring at the two of them in uneasy confusion), and she knew her clever eldest understood just as well. She knew that Isao would sell his life to protect his little brother, dearly perhaps, but sold nonetheless.

  And she knew what she had to do.

  “No, Isao.” She said calmly. “Go and run and find help.”

  Her son straightened, spine snapping into place with all the haughtiness of the prince he was. “Mother! I won’t—”

  “Disobey me?” Tomoko asked gently. “I wouldn’t even think it of you. Now go. You are fast and you know what sort of help will come swiftest.”

  His eyes flickered at that and he clenched his jaw. He glanced at her, then at Shichiro behind him, before back at her again. His dark eyes were wide and pleading, and she smiled at them.

  Finally, in a sharp, jerking movement, he bowed and shot off, disappearing around the corner. The next instant she took Shichiro’s hand and tugged him to his feet. “Come along, Shichiro, hurry.”

  She started off into the gardens, tugging a very confused Shichiro along behind her. “Mother? What’s going on?”

  “Hush, child,” Tomoko said, and ran faster. “You need to be quiet and do as I say.”

  She didn’t hear a reply, so she hoped he had taken her admonishment to heart and had merely nodded. She sped up again, clenching her teeth to keep the fear from showing on her face. She was a daughter and granddaughter of daimyo, the wife of a shogun—she could not afford to let her fear show.

  She darted over to a bunch of bushes and pushed Shichiro forward. “Shichiro, go and hide as bet you can. Once you are hidden, do not move. Do not make a sound, not until Isao arrives. Do you promise me?”

  Shichiro nodded dumbly. Tomoko smiled, sighed, and brushed a kiss across his brow. “Good. Stay safe for me, now.” Then she turned, lifted her chin, and marched forward to her fate.

  Shichiro did as his mother asked and frantically scrambled into the bushes, even though it made his pride sting angrily at the thought of hiding. He was good with a sword, after all, all his tutors aid so. But Mother had made him promise to stay, so stay he would.

  He crouched in the dark recesses of a bush and watched carefully as his mother went and stood at the foot of the folly bridge. She folded her hands in front of her and absently stared into the water, seeming the very picture of calm.

  The next moment a man in black ran into sight, brandishing a chokuto and zeroed in on Shichiro’s mother. He ran over to her and grabbed her arm, and Shichiro had to bite down on his initial instinct to burst out and defend his mother. She was the wife of the Shogun of Masaki, how dare they lay a hand on her! But Mother had said to stay still and wait, so stay still and wait he would.

  “Tell me, woman, where is the brat?” He snarled.

  Princess Tomoko looked down at the hand on his arm, her face cool and disdainful. “Release me. I am the Princess Tomoko, Third Wife of the Shogun of Masaki, and I will suffer no man’s hands save those of my husband to touch me.”

  The man laughed, leering unpleasantly. “Now, now, there’s no need for that, lady. Just tell me where your brat is, and I’ll let you go, right enough.”

  Princess Tomoko was silent. Her attacker shook her in a violent burst of rage. “Speak, woman! Where is the prodigy?”

  Shichiro’s heart felt like ice inside his chest. They were looking for him? So, if he went out there, would the bad man leave Shichiro’s mother alone? It seemed likely. He almost stood up and called out to the man, but he had promised. He had to stay, or else he would be an oath-breaker.

  He clenched his hands into fists and glared hatefully out from his bush. That man would pay for touching his mother, he swore it.

  “TELL ME!” The man roared, and slapped Tomoko across the face. One pale white hand came to her reddening check, but her dark eyes looked at him with a spark of cold defiance.

  “Never.” She said.

  The man raised his weapon high in the air, a moment before Isao ran around the corner, his face radiating worry and wrath.

  It was then that three things happened. A shining dagger left Isao’s hand and flew straight at his enemy. The enemy’s weapon plunged down.

  And Princess Tomoko smiled.

  Isao’s kunai thudded into the man’s neck a second after the shining blade slashed across Tomoko’s chest.

  Shichiro popped out of the bushes, all thoughts of his promise forgotten. Isao rushed forward, skidding onto his knees besides the pale form lying on the ground, clad in a cherry-blossom-pink kimono that was rapidly being stained with red. He quickly gathered her in his arms, his eyes wide. “Mother—mother! Don’t worry, I’ll get you to the physicians, and everything will be fine, and…”

  “Isao?” weak ha
nds tugged at the blue fabric of Isao’s haori, streaking it with dark red. “Calm down… everything… will be fine.”

  Shichiro collapsed next to his brother and mother, his eyes wide. There was so much red—why was there so much red?

  “Of course it will, mother, I just said so.” Isao said. His voice shook slightly, but otherwise his body was as stiff as a statue.

  Tomoko smiled, twisting her fingers further into the fabric. “My brave, brave son… your father wastes your potential… you could be so much more…”

  Isao bit his lip. “Hush, mother, you have to save your strength. I went and got help, as you said. They’ll be done taking care of the other intruders soon, and then we’ll get you healed.”

  Tomoko didn’t answer him, instead she slowly turned her head and stretched out one small, bloody hand. “Shichiro, you are all right? No harm came to you?”

  Shichiro nodded, feeling strangely cold and numb, like this was all some sort of horrible, terrible dream. “Yes, mother, I’m all right.”

  She sighed, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Good… I’m glad.”

  Another man ran around the corner, and he rushed over and knelt before Isao. “Young lord, all the intruders have been neutralized.”

  “Excellent.” Isao said. He paused for a moment, as the ninja kept his head bowed and silent. “…tell me, Shinobi-san, do you have much experience with… with wounds?”

  The dark-clad man bowed his head and said quietly, “Forgive me, my lord, but even from a glance I can tell there is nothing to be done.”

  Shichiro’s mind went absolutely blank. “No! No, no, no, that’s--that’s not--”

  “Dragon’s tail!” Isao burst out, his chest swelling with anger and guilt and regret. “It’s all my fault! If i’d just been faster, I wouldn’t have been too late--”

  His mother coughed harshly, and Isao watched in horror as blood splattered on her chin. “My s-son, do not blame yourself. What I did… I did freely. Remember this when I am gone. Do--do you understand?”

  Isao flinched, but he bowed his head. “As you say, Mother.” He said quietly.

  “Mama! Don’t say things like that!” Shichiro grabbed onto the sleeve of her kimono pleadingly, not noticing the red that crept onto his hands.

  His mother coughed again, causing both her sons to flinch. “It’s all right, Shichiro… I don’t mind… Everything will be all right…”

  “Mama, no, please… why?” His voice nearly stuttered, but he held it stubbornly.

  Tomoko smiled at him, her darling, precious boy, her brave little one. “Because… you are needed. You and your brother have so much more to do in this world. And besides… I’m your mother. And a mother… never… lets their children die, not if they can die in their place. That’s my duty, as your mother, and I am glad it is so.”

  Shichiro squeezed his eyes shut to keep from crying.

  “Please, Shichiro… Isao… my sons.” She whispered, her voice growing faint. “Promise me two…. Things.”

  “Whatever you ask, Mother,” Isao said quietly.

  “My brave son... my strong firstborn,” she coughed. “You two--you must promise to stay true--to the Heavenly Emperor. And… Shichiro, child, and Isao, I… I want you to… promise me something more. You must give… me your most solemn vow.

  “Yes, Mother. What? What is it? I’ll do anything!” Shichiro burst out, his voice scared and desperate.

  “I want you to p-promise that… that you’ll always smile, no matter wh-what… may happen. If you do, then when I look down on you I’ll be able to see and know that you are happy, and I… will be … at peace. Do… you two promise me?”

  There was a moment of horrible, horrible silence, before her two sons whispered in quiet tandem, “I promise.”

  “Thank you, my loves…” She whispered. “Now, I can go in peace… and Isao… tell your father I am sorry, to have to leave… so soon…”

  She shuddered, and gasped, and went silent.

  “Goodbye, Mother.” Isao said softly. “I am sorry.”

  “Mama?” Shichiro whispered. She didn’t respond, and his voice nearly rose to a shriek. “Mama?!”

  “Shinobi-san,” Isao’s voice said, his voice tired and blank. “I need to prepare my mother’s body. She is the Shogun’s wife, and is not fit to be seen in such a state. Cover Shichiro’s eyes, he’s too young to see this.”

  The shinobi obidentially grabbed ahold of the youngest prince’s arm, who immediately began struggling.

  “No!” Shichiro yelled, “I’m--I’m not little, you’re only three years older! You--you can’t…”

  Isao reached out and grabbed ahold of Shichiro’s flailing arm, and Shichiro stared in horror at his older brother’s stained hands. “Shichiro.” He said solemnly, and Shichiro stilled obediently. Isao never used his name unless it was deeply serious.

  “You are only three years younger, but it is a different path that i walk,” Isao said quietly, and his eyes were deep and haunted. “Believe me, I have seen far worse, and I would not wish that upon you. Not yet.”

  Shichiro stared into his brother’s eyes, and then squeezed his own shut, turning away. The shinobi slowlly dragged the prince a couple steps away and turned him around, pressing the child’s face into his chest.

  If his haori was later stained wet with warm tears, neither Shichiro nor the ninja spoke of it.

  Sometime passed before the procession left the garden. Shichiro flanked by several shinobi, for he had been the attack’s target, with Isao in the lead, weary and blood-stained. In his arms he cradled a limp bundle, wrapped in his own torn and dirty haori.

  As they passed, the palace of Konohamiya grew silent.

  *****

  Shichiro was not made to wait long. He had slipped through the eaves of the forest as carefully and silently as his long years of wandering had taught him, until he was very near the caravan. It hadn’t taken him long at all to come up with a plan—cut the head of a snake, and the body will die.

  There was one particular snake that Shichiro was very much looking forward to destroying.

  Still, the odds weren’t exactly what one would normally say was in Shichiro’s favor, but Shichiro was not, by any means, one to be considered ‘normal’.

  When he was a child, he had watched the old kenjutsu instructor teach Isao. Isao had not been bad, by any means, but his strength lay in different realms of death-dealing. Still, Isao had been determined, and worked at the forms over and over again, lifting the shinai and stepping forward as he snapped it down with a battle cry.

  Shichiro had sat in the garden and watched his big brother, and had thought it all looked like great fun. So Shichiro had hunted around the edge of the dojo’s garden, found a suitable stick, and proceeded to eye Isao solemnly for several minutes.

  And then, when he decided he had watched enough, Shichiro had mimicked his older brother’s movements. Perfectly.

  It was several minutes before the instructor began to pay attention to the high-pitched, childish battle cries at the edge of the garden, but when he did… he couldn’t stop watching. Isao had wrinkled his nose at his baby brother’s silliness (kenjutsu, the way of the sword, was for big boys like him, after all, not babies like Shichiro), but the instructor had watched solemnly, his eyes examining every movement Shichiro had made.

  And a week later, Shichiro, at the grand age of four, was called before the seat of his father and assigned as an apprentice to a renowned kenjutsu master.

  He had spent his entire youth learning kenjutsu, until the sword became an extension of himself, and the tales of his skill had traveled throughout all the Seven Realms.

  Mother had told him, as he huddled besides her at the kotetsu table in the depth of winter, worn and tired from hours of practice, that Shichiro’s skill was a gift, a Blessing from God, bestowed upon him by the Immortal Celestials themselves for some great purpose. She had told him so, and Shichiro had believed it.

  But Mother had died, and h
e didn’t know what to believe any more.

  After her death, Shichiro spent the next three years driving himself to exhaustion in pursuit of the sword in search of perfection, until his katana became not an extension of his body, but a part of him. Not a tool, but the means by which Shichiro could and would protect others and keep them safe from harm. He no longer trained for the Shogun His Father’s glory or honor, though Shichiro’s conscience twinged guiltily at this lack of filial piety. Shichiro trained so he would be strong enough to save those who could not save themselves, for that was his budo, his way of the warrior (check translation), sworn with the blood of his mother staining his hands.

  Then Isao had left, and Shichiro had followed to protect him, as his budo demanded, and Isao had been safe, and Shichiro had been banished. Still, Shichiro kept up his ideals, wandering the land and doing what good he could.

  And now he stood, ready to fulfill his oath, or die in the doing.

  There was a large commotion ahead of him, and Shichiro crept forward, slowly and carefully, like a hunter stalking their prey.

  There was a palanquin, where Princess Katsumi sat enthroned, blistering with anger, waving her white rose-decorated fan about as she barked directions. As far as he could tell, it was something about ‘finding the brat and her ****** of a husband’.

  Shichiro personally had to disagree with both Katsumi’s descriptions of Hanako and most especially himself, but he had to admit the Princess’ epithets for himself rather impressed him at her grasp of their language.

  Shichiro stepped out into the light and slid smoothly into his stance, eyeing the frantically milling samurai. Twenty. There were probably another twenty scattered about the place; he’d have to make sure to get them too, once he had finished with this lot, and his primary objective.

  “I’m afraid, Princess Katsumi,” he called over her screeching, “That I can’t quite allow you to do that. Unless, of course, you wish to limit your search for me, for, as you can see, here I am.”

  Katsumi stared at him, her eyes narrowed, like a snake before it strikes.

  Shichiro smiled pleasantly back at her.