Dragon Sword and Wind Child Read online

  SORAIRO MAGATAMA

  Copyright © 1988, 1996, 2005 by Noriko OGIWARA

  Original edition published in Japan in 1996 under the title “SORAIRO

  MAGATAMA” by Tokuma Shoten Publishing Co., Ltd.

  Published in arrangement with Tokuma Shoten Publishing Co., Ltd.

  through Japan Uni Agency, Inc.

  Illustrations copyright © 2005 by Miho Satake

  Cover design by Yukiko Whitley

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or

  by any means without written permission from the copyright holders.

  HAIKASORU

  Published by

  VIZ Media, LLC

  295 Bay Street

  San Francisco, CA 94133

  www.haikasoru.com

  ISBN 978-1-4215-4056-6

  Haikasoru eBook edition, November 2010

  Dragon Sword

  and Wind Child

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Water Maiden

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Palace of Light

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chihaya

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Revolt

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shadow

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Earthen Vessel

  Afterword

  Glossary

  About the Author

  chapter

  one

  THE WATER

  MAIDEN

  Like the swift flowing waters

  Parted by a rock in midstream,

  We shall be reunited.

  — The retired emperor Sutoku

  The Water Maiden

  IN HER DREAM, Saya was always six years old. Long fingers of flame rose up against the darkness, lighting the sky above. Fire blazed spiteful and triumphant above what she had once thought most secure—her home, that safe, warm refuge that she was so sure would always be there. The glowing hearth; the single room in which her family lived permeated with the smells of cooking and familiar people; her own wooden bowl; her mother’s soft, plump lap covered in rough-woven cloth—all were consumed by the flames. The child Saya had somehow managed to find her way to the marsh at the edge of the village, but with no one there to lead her by the hand, she could go no farther. Crouched in a clump of dying reeds, she trembled with terror, choking down the hard lump of fear in her throat, unable even to cry.

  The oppressive air of the swamp overwhelmed her with its thick, cloying stench of mud and decay. Water from the sodden ground had begun to well up between her toes, and her bottom was soaked. She was miserably uncomfortable, yet she could not move, for on the other side of the swamp, demons prowled in search of her. Peering through the reeds, she could just make out their shapes by the faint bluish light of their torches. There were five of them, widely disparate in size. Although she remained undetected, at any moment one of them might push aside the reeds, calling out, “I’ve found her!” The thought filled her with such despair that she almost wished they would find her then and there, just to end the agony of the suspense. They seemed to stay forever, peering back and forth, while the blue light from their torches skated across the inky black waters like a lonely water insect.

  The scene changed abruptly. Saya was inside a large building. Great, evenly spaced columns of cypress supported the stately roof, and a polished wood-floored corridor led off into the distance. Torches in iron brackets blazed comfortingly, dispelling the darkness. Somehow she had managed to slip through the demons’ grasp and escape into a large shrine, yet one eerily devoid of any sign of life. She gazed up at the ceiling, then down at her bare feet. Gathering her courage, she began to move deeper into the sanctuary, gazing fixedly ahead.

  The only sounds that accompanied her as she walked past the innumerable columns were the echoes of her own footsteps and the hiss of the torches. The only sign of movement was her own shadow, which leapt ahead as she passed each torch. She came at last to the end of the corridor and saw a room from which shone a brilliant light. A solitary figure clothed in the white robes of a shrine maiden knelt before a wooden altar adorned with offerings of a wand decorated with dazzling white paper streamers and a forest of dark green sakaki branches. Although Saya could not see her face, she knew the maiden must be beautiful. The white skirts of her robes spread out around her, and her slender form seemed to be bathed in light. Her long, glossy black hair gleamed on her head and shoulders, cascading to the floor like a waterfall.

  But there was something wrong. Uneasy, Saya hesitated and glanced back the way she had come. Catching sight of her own shadow stretching behind her, she knew what was wrong. The shrine maiden had no shadow.

  Saya was caught like a snared rabbit. Fleeing the fox, she had plunged straight into a trap. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Fear washed through her.

  Don’t turn around! Please! she pleaded silently.

  She must not look at her face. If she did, something terrible would happen and she would be powerless to stop it. She must not look. Yet she could neither shut nor avert her eyes.

  Please, don’t turn around! The demons will eat me!

  The maiden, who had remained as immobile as a statue, began to turn slowly toward the desperate Saya. Her hair swayed gently about her face. Saya glimpsed her pale cheeks and then her eyes, as her cool gaze fell upon her.

  The demons will eat me!

  SAYA WOKE WITH A START, bathed in sweat, and felt fresh air caressing her face. She must have had the covers pulled over her head. It was dark and a few stars could still be seen in the sky framed by the small west window. Her mother, who lay beside her, turned in her sleep and asked drowsily if she was all right. Her father continued to snore peacefully.

  “I’m fine,” Saya whispered. “I was just dreaming.” Relieved that she had not cried out in her sleep, she drew the covers around her and rested her cheek once more on her pillow.

  “Same old dream?”

  “No,” she answered hastily. When she was younger, Saya had often woken with a scream to find herself crying hysterically. Just the other day she had reassured her mother that she had outgrown that nightmare, but she had lied. In fact, the older she grew, the more vivid and detailed the dream became, exercising an increasingly relentless hold over her.

  This was Saya’s only trouble in an otherwise peaceful life. It was a constant reminder that she was not a native of Hashiba, that the elderly couple she lived with were not her real parents, despite the fact that she did not remember any other home, let alone one beside a marsh, and had long forgotten the faces of her real mother and father. Irritably brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, she bit her lip and fiercely told herself not to cry. It was anger that made her want to cry: anger at herself for continuing to have the same nightmare.

  I turned fifteen this year. I’ve lived most of my life in this village. I can’t even remember any other home, she thought impatiently. Who is that foolish girl still wandering about in that swamp? Well, it isn’t me! It certainly isn’t me. I escaped all by myself and found another father and mother.

  In fact, she had no memory of her escape. She had learned much later that some villagers had chanced upon her, wandering in the mountains, almost dead from starvation. It was as if a great and merciful hand had wiped away all memory of her suffering while she lay stricken with a high fever. Although she knew that she must have been fleeing from the war in the east, the thought meant very little to her. The indigenous people in the east refused to worship the God of Light and continued to resist the army led by his immortal children, Princess Teruhi and Prince Tsukishiro. But this did not matter much to her either. Three generations ago
, the head chieftain of Hashiba had accepted the dominion of the God of Light. A shrine had been built in the forest and in it was placed a burnished copper mirror as an emblem of the god. Since that time, the area had been blessed with peace and plenty, and its people were content.

  Surely the demons can’t enter a place like this that’s protected by the sacred mirror. Why doesn’t that girl come here? thought Saya.

  The terror that the demons in her dream had evoked was vividly revived and she shivered under her covers, thankful that she was now awake. This was the real Saya: the girl who slept in this bed, in this house, in the land of Hashiba. It was here that she would reach womanhood, marry, and care for her parents. She was already fifteen. It would not be long now.

  Deep down, however, Saya knew that as long as the girl in her dream continued to flee from the demons, she would also continue to flee. But what could she do? Would it be better to let the demons destroy her? And what did it mean anyway? She could find no answers to these questions.

  THE MORNING MIST rising from the river cleared to reveal blue sky. Sunbeams played upon ripples of water, creating shimmering patterns of silver and gold. The sun’s rays warmed the stones in the riverbed, glancing off quartz crystals with sudden and dazzling brilliance. The village women, gathering at the river to wash clothes, exchanged greetings and remarked on the warm weather. Although they still wore their winter clothing of indigo and ocher, the cliff top on the opposite bank was already robed in the fresh green of budding leaves and the vivid red of wild azaleas. Summer was fast approaching and soon it would be the Day of Changing, when winter garments were put away in favor of summer clothes of white linen.

  “Morning.” Climbing down the bank to the water’s edge, Saya found most of her friends already there.

  “Morning, Saya. What’s the matter? Don’t keep your sorrows to yourself.”

  Saya blinked in surprise. In the dazzling light reflected from the water, the village girls seemed like sprightly young minnows darting after bait with which to fuel their banter.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Come on now. You know you can’t hide anything from us. You were walking like a dreamer. Out with it! Tell us the name of the man who’s troubling you.”

  Saya was at a loss for words, in itself enough to make all her friends laugh. “You’ve got it all wrong. It was just a bad dream,” she protested.

  “A dream? Here, let me exorcise you. Togano no shika mo yume no mani mani. Don’t think about it anymore. Thinking about bad things can make them happen, you know.”

  “What did you dream? I’ll tell you what it means.”

  “Oh no you won’t!” Saya hastily emptied her basket and began rinsing the clothes in the water. The dream was something she could not share, even with her friends.

  “Saya keeps her own counsel,” remarked the girl who lived next door. “She’s the only one who hasn’t told us who she wants as her partner at the Kagai.”

  “That’s right. And we’ve all vowed to find out.”

  The Kagai was to be celebrated at the next full moon, and, with the event so close at hand, it was the focus of the village girls’ conversation. On the day of the celebration, people in all the villages of Hashiba would put on brand-new summer garments, and everyone but the children and the elderly would climb Mount Itsuki, the highest peak in the area. A bonfire would be lit in the center of a glade partway up, around which they would dance and sing until morning. The men would take a gift—a comb, a jewel, or a small box—to present to the woman who responded to his song with one of her own. It was a time-honored ritual that everyone looked forward to with eager excitement. But for the young men and women, it had a more important meaning: the exchange of songs at the festival was the first step toward betrothal.

  “You don’t know who I want for a partner? How slow you are!” Saya exclaimed. “Can’t you guess?”

  The girls’ faces lit up with anticipation as they tossed the names of at least ten possible candidates in her direction.

  “Too bad.” Saya laughed, restored to her normal self. The lively exchange with her friends had chased away her gloom. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she whispered confidentially, “Prince Tsukishiro.”

  This remark earned her a flurry of good-natured shoves and blows.

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Saya! You’ll pay for that!”

  “Besides, he won’t even be at the Kagai!”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” replied Saya, restraining a hand tugging at her hair. “They say that the God of Light witnesses our vows at the Kagai. If so, then why shouldn’t his son attend it?”

  “Even if he had a thousand bodies, he couldn’t possibly attend all the Kagai in Toyoashihara.”

  “And besides, he’s at the battlefront right now, leading his troops.”

  “Wearing his silver armor,” added Saya with a look of rapture. “Oh, how I would love to see him just once for myself. He must be more splendid than the full moon. Isn’t it amazing that the Children of the God actually walk the earth?”

  “You sound just like the shrine maiden. Are you going to remain chaste for the God of Light and live the rest of your life alone?”

  “No ordinary village girl like us would ever be chosen for such an honor anyway.”

  “You’re right,” said Saya, laughing. “I’ll have to find a husband. After all, I’m an only child.”

  “That’s more like it. Dreams are just dreams.”

  Yet, although she knew she must face reality, Saya could not take the idea of finding a husband seriously. There were many eligible young men in the village, but not one of them appealed to her in that way. She suddenly felt ashamed of misleading her friends, for none of them suspected her true dilemma. “Well, if I can’t find a husband, maybe the shrine maiden will take me on as a servant.”

  This remark resulted in further teasing. “What’s the matter with you this morning? Has someone broken your heart? I knew it!”

  Their speculations were interrupted by a voice from downstream, where the older women gathered. One of them called loudly, “Don’t just stand there talking all day. Get to work. Look! You’re so careless you’ve let something float away.” She pointed at the water. The girls, turning to look, saw a light green belt in the shallows slithering downstream like a luminous water snake.

  Saya leapt to her feet. “Oh no! My belt!”

  Without a moment’s hesitation she gathered her skirt up to her thighs and, ignoring the shocked expressions on the faces of her elders, set off after the belt, striding through the stream, her white legs flashing. Gazing after her determined figure, her friends burst out laughing.

  “She’ll never be a shrine maiden, that’s for sure!”

  SAYA WAS MISTAKEN in thinking that she would soon catch up with her belt. To her surprise, it slipped through the water without once catching on a rock or weed, leaving her far behind. A colored belt was one of the few luxuries that the village girls owned, and she was not about to lose hers. Although the water was shallow, never reaching above her knees, the stones in the riverbed were loose and one false step could cause a fall. But Saya was quick and agile and she strode fearlessly, never faltering. Her nimble feet danced through the water, sending up a silver spray as she forged her way down the sparkling stream. Something about her suggested a wild creature, unfettered and free. Her waist-length hair tied at the nape of her neck danced upon her back like a lively tail. She was slim for her age, but her slender arms and legs were strong and tireless. Her small oval face with its expressive eyes drew people to her, yet there was something unsettled and impetuous about her. A keen observer would see that beneath this lay an intelligent circumspection, a wisdom born of her early childhood experience. She consciously strove to be polite and modest before her elders, doing her best to escape attention. In fact, some adults believed her to be a modest and thoughtful young girl. But the village boys still talked about her reputation as a leader of mischief.
While both represented part of her character, behind these lay another Saya, an insecure and lonely girl always in search of home—a girl known only to Saya herself.

  The river gurgled as it flowed along, winding around a craggy outcrop in the bank, where it turned and fed into a channel thickly lined with reeds. Saya stopped abruptly as she rounded the bend, surprised by the scene before her. Concentrating on her belt, she had come much farther downstream than she had realized, reaching the stepping-stones of the ford. In the middle of the ford a figure was kneeling on one of the stones, busily fishing her belt from the water. He was small, a boy two or three years younger than herself, but he looked so different from the people of her land that she hesitated to call out to him. He wore faded black clothes, almost too short for him, with fur leg guards, leather sandals, and a hat of braided sedge. Around his neck hung a handsome necklace of red stones that belied the condition of his clothes. Saya had never seen anyone like him.

  Holding the dripping belt in one hand, he stood up and looked straight at her. His face under a thatch of unkempt hair, which looked like it had never been combed, resembled that of a saucy, stubborn puppy. He stared boldly at Saya where she stood in the middle of the river, her skirt still bunched in her hand, as at a rare and interesting sight. Then, with what Saya thought extreme impudence, he laughed and said, “Is this your belt? If you want it, come and get it.” With the belt still in his hand, he sprang across the stepping-stones and clambered up the right-hand bank. Furious, Saya strode through the water, stepped onto the bank, and ran after him.

  “Give it back! What do you think you’re doing?” Saya reached out to grab him by the shoulder, but the boy in black was faster, whirling out of reach to face her. He was not in the least disturbed by her anger and even seemed to think it was funny. Having dealt with many unruly boys in the past, she recognized in him a formidable opponent.