Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

“Hey! You men! Get over here! We’ve got a man overboard!”

Immediately, the four sailors unloading the swollen nets on the starboard side dropped their work and rushed to the port side where another three sailors were busy hauling in another swollen net. The unpleasant weather had proven to be beneficial to their cause that day, having unloaded more salmon in a single day of fishing than they normally took in four.

One man joined in hauling in the net while the other two grabbed a hold of the unconscious sailor’s arms and legs and drug him out of the midst of the hundreds of floundering, gasping fish. They drug him twenty feet away from the nets, away from the avalanche of unloaded salmon, and propped him against a short flight of stairs. One man, very short of stature and balding, began checking the sea-drenched young sailor’s vitals.  “Still has a pulse,” he said, drawing his hand away from the lad’s neck and placing a palm close to his mouth.  “Not breathing.”

 Next to him, the twenty-something year-old rookie’s eyes went big with panic. “What do we do?” he asked frantically, glancing from the half-dead sailor at his feet, to his crouching superior at an utter loss.

“You go fetch the captain,” the older sailor commanded. When the younger man continued to stare desperately at the man dying before him, the superior barked, “Now!” The rookie tore his eyes from the scene and fled across deck through the mountains of floundering fish, and down into the hull. The balding gentlemen turned back to the unconscious man and pulled him by the arm from his propped-up position on the stairs, to where he was lying prostrate on his back. Tearing the hood of his slicker away from his face, he let the gentle rain wash over him. Using his fingers to find the spot just below the man’s sternum through his rain coat, the sailor began to press repeatedly, as per the terms of his CPR training. He pressed five times, and then crouched, pinched the man’s nose, tilted his chin upward, and blew a breath into his starved lungs.

The result was instantaneous. Much to the balding sailor’s relief, the young man choked and gasped, spitting up sea water onto the deck. The older man laughed with relief as the young man propped himself up on his elbows, still gasping for air, wide-eyed with panic. “Where am I?” he choked, glancing around at the unfamiliar faces, rain-soaked deck, and mounds of dead fish.

Before the older man could give a reply, a flourish of rushed footsteps came from behind him, and the captain appeared at his side. The sailor who had administered CPR jolted upright in respect for his superior. The captain wordlessly waved him away. The captain crouched down next to the gasping sailor and pulled an arm around his shoulders, propping the man upright. “You there,” he barked at the young rookie. “Take his other arm and help me get this man below deck. The rest of you,” he ordered to the half-dozen men standing idle and staring as nearly-dead salmon flopped around their feet, some making desperate attempts to throw themselves back into the sea. “Back to work!”

The two sailors half-carried, half-drug the exhausted victim across deck and down the stairs into the hull. The captain kicked open one of two doors at the bottom of the stairs, revealing a small barracks with eight bunk-beds. “There,” the captain said to the rookie, gesturing towards the nearest bed. The two men carefully deposited the young man on the bottom bunk. “We need blankets, a first aid kit, and something warm from the kitchen. Tea, soup, whatever Cook has on the stove.” The young man nodded and disappeared across the barracks through another door at the opposite end.

Once the young sailor was gone, the captain turned back to the drenched, sea-tossed man before him. “Are you injured?” the captain asked slowly. “Do you feel any pain anywhere?”

The man gave himself a quick once-over, patting his chest, then his legs, before responding, “I don’t think so.” He paused for a minute, grimacing. “But my throat is killing me.”

“Sea salt will do that,” the captain chuckled. “You probably had a lot of water in your lungs. Don’t expect your sinuses to be feeling much better, either.”

The sailor closed his eyes, still breathing heavily. “Where am I?” he asked quietly.

“You’re aboard the Yokohama Duchess. We fish for salmon, squid, tuna, whatever falls into our nets and will catch a profit. I’m the captain, Yamagata Hiroi.” The sailor made no immediate response, but continued to breath slowly and heavily, his eyes closed. “Now, can you remember where you came from? What’s your name?”

“Yuta,” he responded. “Odashima.” He took several long moments, staring concertedly at the bunk above him. “I was a sailor on a whaler that made port in Chiba.” Yuta recalled the name on the hull of the whaler, “Chiba Sunrise.”

“Was?” Hiroi asked tentatively, his eyes becoming narrow with suspicion. Whaling wasn’t outlawed just yet, but in Hiroi’s opinion it ought to be. It drew a great deal on negative political attention and wasn’t helping to lower the taxes placed on honest fishermen like himself as Japan continued to fight lawsuit after lawsuit and silence harsh publicity.

“It shipwrecked.” Yuta said quietly. “Capsized in the storm. We had taken hold of a sperm whale maybe the full length of our vessel. Then the weather turned ugly and we decided to turn back. We were trying to cut her loose and make our way back to the shallows when the storm blew up a swell from the east that tipped the boat.”

They both sat in silence for a long moment. Yuta didn’t meet the captain’s eyes, unsure of how well this man could spot the truth from an outright lie. Thankfully, Hiroi laid a consoling hand on Yuta’s shoulder and said only, “You’re very lucky, young man. There’s no telling how far the storm carried you before my men pulled you aboard, and there are some right dangerous beasts in these waters. Not five hours ago, we pulled in a net of nothing but jellies, big as soccer balls.”

This man had no need to tell Yuta of the terrors of the deep. He himself was one of them. Two hours ago, he had watched a band of his comrades set upon a group of no less than thirty men, most having abandoned ship, bobbing helplessly like ducks in the waves. The others, those barricaded below deck, massacred with the rest of them. Three Dragons had torn the stern clear from the body of the ship. The men were either drowned or were torn in half by the Dragons lurking below the waves. Yuta didn’t stay to watch. His shame was too great, but he knew that Jormun would keep his word and not allow a single man to live.

Hiroi waited a long moment before tentatively asking, “Survivors?”

Yuta slowly turned his head and for the first time, looked him square in the eye. He felt like screaming, like weeping, like dying, but he tried his hardest not to let any of this show on his face as he responded simply, “No…I don’t know.”

Hiroi gave him a sympathetic, half-smile and patted him on the shoulder once more before rising. “Rest for now,” he instructed. “I’ll send out a warning for the surrounding area to be on the lookout for shipwreck survivors. A search party will be out within the hour.”

“Thank you,” Yuta said quietly, almost a whisper.

“We should arrive in Yokohama in a couple hours. Until then, rest, and try not to worry. Be thankful you’re alive.” He smiled weakly and then turned to leave out the door he had come. Once alone, Yuta turned his head towards the wall and tried to stop thinking. It all kept replaying over and over in his head, how he had let them go, let Jormun kill all of those men. What else could he have done? He was alone, completely alone, and even if he had tried to interfere, it would have done no good. Jormun and his posse would have easily beaten him, and either killed, him, or turned him in to Kazi anyway. What good would have come of it? All of those men still would have died, only he would then be without the upper hand when he reached Fuji, and he needed at least that if he was going to have any hope of achieving a peaceful resolution.

What made matters worse was that he knew it was all his fault. He had been daydreaming, completely careless, and allowed himself to be spotted. From that moment, their fates were sealed. Of course Jormun would have known the moment it happened. Knowing him, his Messenger, or one of his comrades’ had been tailing him since he reached open sea. He could imagine the look of pure satisfaction and surprised delight on Jormun’s face the moment Yuta had made his fatal error. He had given him the perfect excuse to unleash his dogs on the humans. Since the various Alphas had released a universal mandate forbidding open acts of aggression on human ships a couple hundred years ago, Jormun’s opportunities for sport had been greatly diminished. It was too risky. Only evidence that proof of Dragon existence had been discovered justified any form of interaction with them, and even then, the Dragon responsible faced serious consequences. In this case, the responsible Dragon was Yuta, and Jormun would be the hero, having quickly and effectively concealed his error. It made Yuta sick to think that Jormun would receive praise for his merciless, unnecessary hostility. But what could he say? Nothing Yuta could bring against Jormun in a hearing would be taken with much seriousness. All the council would see is that Yuta had compromised their secret, Jormun had corrected it, and that Yuta was also currently a fugitive for crimes so serious that Kazi had offered a bounty.

Yuta heard a door open on the far side of the barracks, and looked up to see the young sailor had returned with blankets and a first aid box tucked under one arm, and a tea tray in his other hand.  Yuta sat up, and took the tray, laden with a heavy pot and tin cup. While the man set the blankets and first-aid box on the bed beside him. “You alright?” the man asked, pushing his wet, shaggy hair away from eyes. He had shed his heavy rain slicker and wore only a long-sleeve shirt, knee-high rain boots, and goulashes held up by thick black suspenders. Picking up the blanket again, and holding it out to Yuta, he said, “I’m Yoshino Suzuki. I helped pull you aboard.”

Taking the blanket and dabbing his wet, salty face, Yuta replied, “Thank you. I appreciate your help. I probably wouldn’t be alive if not for you and those other men.”  Yoshino Suzuki smiled proudly and tucked his thumbs into his suspender straps. Little did Suzuki know, Yuta had climbed into that net on-purpose, having noticed the name on the side of the hull and where it docked. Someone needed to know what had happened to the whaler, or at least that something had happened to it, before he headed to Fuji. So, he had done something terrible. As he was fleeing the massacre, he spotted a crewman, either dead or unconscious, and hastily taken his slicker and goulashes. Then, when the Yokohama Duchess had appeared, he transformed, quickly donned the sailor’s garb, and climbed in with the school of salmon as it was being reeled in, taking a mouthful of sea-water with him for dramatic effect. It had been difficult remaining still and seemingly-unconscious as the older sailor had performed CPR on him, but he needed them all to believe he was a shipwreck victim. It was an easy way to ensure that not too many difficult questions were asked of him before he could get to shore and sneak away.

“Any injuries?” Suzuki asked, turning to a cupboard near the door. “Feel sick?” Yuta shook his head and wrapped the thick wool blanket around his shoulders. One by one, Suzuki withdrew various garments from the cupboard, handing each to Yuta as he did so. “You’ll want to change out of those wet slickers,” he advised. “Hypothermia is a nasty business.”

Yuta nodded and said, “Thanks.”

“That’s miso soup there,” he said, pointing to the teapot. “Be careful. It’s still pretty hot. I saw Cook take it right off the stove.”

Yuta smiled weakly. With nothing more to do or say, the man nodded, and then turned to leave the same way the captain had.

The pain in his throat having unfortunately not been a piece of fiction, Yuta poured himself a cup of the warm soup and took two long drafts, draining the cup. Then, he stood and began changing into the clothes Suzuki had given him, trousers, thermal underwear, a thin long-sleeved undershirt and a thicker, wool sweater. As he was pulling on a pair of mid-calf length socks, his thoughts again drifted back to the massacre at open sea. Though he knew it was hopeless, he hoped that at least some had escaped the terror. It was such a waste, so pointless. Centuries ago, it was different. There was war. Dragons and humans were openly hostile, each aware of the other’s existence and potential. Jormun was a powerful figure in creating terror and illusion that their numbers were greater than what they actually were. He was a hero, a legend in his own right. Half of the ancient myths and legends about Dragons that existed were about Jormun, just with different names. Jormun just happened to be the one he favored most. Then, he would at least leave survivors. That was the point. Create terror, not chaos and bloodlust. Now, the game had changed. With the advancement of technology, the Dragons were poorly matched. They had to disappear, become more elusive, and fade into the pages of history until their existence was doubted to have ever been factual. Yuta wondered if Jormun preferred this world. Yuta used to think that Jormun was tactful and took more pleasure in building up his own legend than killing for killing’s sake. Now, what profit could be had of it? The thrill of a few moments, and then they were all dead. No one to pass on his story but his band of followers.

Yuta’s eyes grew heavy almost as soon as he stretched out and allowed his head to touch the pillow. His brain felt full. He wanted to stop thinking, but nothing would drown the humans’ screams and Dragons’ shrieks from his ears. His thoughts again drifted to Andria, to her impossibly blue eyes, the smell of her long, wavy hair, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled at him, the musical ring of her laughter. He couldn’t say whether saving her justified what had happened that day. Nothing could justify such tragedy. But it brought him the slightest comfort to know that hundreds of miles away, she was still safe, and he still had a chance to give her back the life she had lost.

 

*          *          *          *          *

Yuta climbed with the rest of them. Like a zebra with its herd, he was perfectly camouflaged. So few Dragons had ever knowingly looked upon his human face, excepting Kazi and the other Lords, and their Messengers were far to the North. All he had to do was keep his head down and try not to cause a scene, and infiltrating the lair would be quick, simple work.

Fuji  was a popular tourist attraction, attracting about 2 million hikers every year during the months of July and August alone. The crowds navigating the narrow uphill path were nothing compared to what they were just before sunset, but progress was still slow, much slower than Yuta preferred.

The Yokohama Duchess had docked in Yokohama harbor just before sunset. Yuta had been long gone before then. He couldn’t be seen on television, and having discovered perhaps the only survivor of the whaler catastrophe, the captain of the Duchess would surely have contacted the press. Time was too valuable to spend answering meticulous questions about the accident in a police station lobby for the rest of the evening. Adding to that, about an hour into a nap he had been enjoying in the barracks, a voice inside his head had awoken him.

Status, Yenko had said. Quickly.

Yuta’s eyes shot open. On a boat approaching Yokohama Harbor at 30kph.

Yuta could feel Yenko’s unease, but no traces of surprise. Are you being held captive? Yenko quickly asked.

No. They believe I was a victim of a shipwreck.

Why? Yenko retorted flatly. This was not a part of your original plan, I’m hoping. Claiming to be a shipwreck victim draws attention to the claim that there was a shipwreck, which simple radio technology will either quickly confirm or deny the validity of. I know I don’t need to remind you, but telling stories that can be easily disproven runs a high risk of landing you in handcuffs.

There was a shipwreck, Yuta replied weakly.

At this, Yenko paused, surprised. Explain. Quickly, he demanded.

Jormun. Yuta replied. It was my fault, but Jormun sank the ship.

Yuta could feel Yenko’s mind whirring around this new development.

Later, he replied, after a brief moment. Right now, you’re being tailed. A Messenger Crow is following at a distance of 50 yds.

Yuta swore.  He had officially lost the element of surprise. Who’s? Yuta asked.

Civilian, Yenko answered. Yuta breathed a sigh of relief. But if it’s following you, it has a reason. Its Master must be an informant.

Or just another civilian waiting a slice of the bounty, Yuta thought exasperated.

Bounty? Yenko demanded.

Later, Yuta thought. What do I do about the Crow?

First, Yenko charged, you have to get off that boat. If there’s a bounty out for whatever reason, that Crow’s Master may very well be waiting in the Harbor with friends to take you down and bring you in. Best case scenario, it gives away your position at every point between here and their front door. That it hasn’t already tried to bind you is a miracle. But that doesn’t mean that it won’t try the second it spots you trying to jump ship.  It has to be dealt with.

And what do you propose? Yuta retorted, holding his head in his hands. This was a mess. How could he have been recognized, and by a civilian? The only explanation had to be that he was spotted in his Dragon Form back on the whaler, and then followed from there.

There was a long pause on Yenko’s end.

I’ll deal with it, he finally responded. Yuta needed no further explanation, but felt a pang of sympathy for the Crow’s Master. Still, there was no way around it. It had to be done.

As quickly as Yenko had invaded Yuta’s thoughts, he was gone. Yuta sat up, rubbed his eyes, and immediately began tearing off layers of clothing. Down to nothing but a pair of long trousers, Yuta threw his discarded clothing atop his bunk, and began tearing through the cupboards lining the walls. He tried his best not to envision the scene that would be occurring outside the boat, as he leafed through the crew’s belongings, searching for spare cash. Right about then, the unknowing Crow would feel his own mind going blank, no thoughts, no fears, nothing but the uncontrollable impulse to dive. It would plunge downward fifty or so feet, hit the choppy, frigid waters, and then keep diving.

Within a minute, he had stuffed a sizeable handful of crumpled bills deep into his trouser pockets. Everyone would still be above deck, preparing their lines and nets to dock. He needed to get past them without being seen, if he could. He looked around. He hadn’t recalled seeing any extra rain slickers lying about. It would have been a perfect disguise.

Having no choice, he slipped out the door to the set of stairs leading above deck, completely bare-chested, wearing only a pair of black pants. He would have one opportunity to get above deck, run, and dive before someone could stop him. Then, he would be home free. He looked up to ten or so steep steps, to open space and blackened skies. Darkness would be a useful cover, but he couldn’t rely on it. There would be lanterns and fog lights glowing brightly on deck.

Yuta tentatively began climbing the steps, keeping his head down as much as possible, so as not to draw unwanted attention too soon. Once he had a clear view of the scene on deck, he was pleased to see that pretty much everyone was distracted with their various jobs. Several men were tying off ropes, a couple were kicking and tossing dead fish from the deck into the hull, and others were busy reeling in nets. Yuta couldn’t see the captain anywhere, most likely in his own cabin, crouched over his calculations and monitors.

Recognizing his chance, Yuta braced himself and sprinted above deck. Before he had time to take note of whether anyone had seen him, he was overboard. The water hit him as cool and refreshing as diving into a wave of pure relief. He pushed from his mind the fact that his sense of relief had come at the cost of a Messenger’s life. He would have to beg Yenko’s forgiveness for forcing them both into that position. It was one more life, two if you counted the piece of the Master’s soul that had also been destroyed, that he would have to account for that day. His mission to bring safety to his lair was beginning to cost a terrible price.

Once covered by the blackness of the waves, he discarded his pants and balled them up before transforming. He would need them later.

Twenty minutes later, having made the brunt of the journey in his larger, faster form, Yuta emerged on a small fishing dock on the fringes of Yokohama Harbor. Only dim lights shone over the small dock, void of boats and dangling fishermen’s hooks. It’s why he had chosen it. He wanted to be as discreet as possible.

“Hey!” a man shouted from about twenty feet away. He was an older gentleman, hanging half way out of a shop door. He was yelled directly at Yuta, as he shimmied himself onto the wooden dock . “Did you fall in, son?” The man released a warm, bellowing laugh.

Yuta plopped himself onto the side of the dock and pulled himself to stand upright, giving his pockets a quick squeeze to ensure that the cash he’d stolen was still there. Then, Yuta turned to the jovial, smiling, probably drunk older gentleman, and shouted back, “Yeah. Lost my rod, too.”

“Fishy got the best of you, eh?” the man laughed, swaying dangerously as he did so. “You’ll find it, son,” he called, before disappearing back into the shop, which Yuta now saw was, indeed, a pub.

From there, Yuta had found the nearest metro station and taken a train to Hakone, doing his best to blend into the other train-goers in his dripping trousers and painful lack of shoes or a shirt. At Hakone station, he had purchased a bus ticket to take him to the 5^th base, the most popular hiker’s hub, again ignoring the stares and looks of protest he attracted from other travelers.

The 5^th base was buzzing with life. It was the location where most all hikers began their journey to the summit. That being the case, it was crowded with shops selling everything from snacks and souvenirs, to walking sticks and all forms of hiking gear, just what Yuta needed.

Using the stolen cash, he purchased a long shirt, long pants, a warm coat, and a backpack, and then filled the backpack with all forms of necessities: a flashlight, water, first aid kit, thermal blanket, and a disposable camera. He needed none of these things. Literally everything that he had thrown onto the counter to be rung up was to add to the illusion that he was making the hike, same as the rest of them, and indeed he would be, but only halfway to the summit.

Dragons guarded the entrances to the Assembly in their human Forms, functioning as shop and inn keepers at a few hubs at base 7. The entrances were normally disguised as fully functional shops, back doors or out-of-service toilet stalls concealing the actual tunnels leading into the mountain. He needed to avoid attracting suspicion, as the place he was headed was just beyond base 7, and he now had no doubt that the Assembly had been alerted of his previous location, meaning the guards would be on alert as well. If it hadn’t already happened, it would very soon.

Yuta hiked as fast as he could. Thankfully, he had beaten the rush of tourists that usually stormed the mountain near 9 or 10 pm. He marched steadily upward, pausing at rest areas only long enough to check for suspicious eyes that may have been lingering on him before pressing onward.

At base 7, he didn’t stop at all, but cut through and continued along the path without giving it so much as a backward glance. He knew the exact spot where he had to be. It was as fresh in his mind as it had been 400 years ago. Then, however, the mountain paths had been far less traveled. He could only pray that the location he needed to find had not been obstructed by buildings in that time.

The path wound somewhat horizontally around the mountain at one point, the downward slope to the left obstructed by a sparse tree line. He was getting close. Very close. He needed to get down in the trees in order to get at it though, and doing so undetected would be a challenge. Yuta glanced behind him, at the steady procession of slowly moving hikers behind him.

Yuta fumbled in his backpack for a moment before withdrawing the flashlight he had purchased. He shone it ahead of him for a few moments, as he noticed other hikers doing. Then, as nonchalantly as he could, he dropped it. He pretended to look startled and concerned as it started to roll off the path and into the trees. All he could do was pray that he didn’t appear too suspicious as he chased after it, half-running, half-sliding downhill, deep into the tree line.

Back on the path, a few hikers had stopped to look. “Are you okay?” one called. “Need help?” offered another. “Find it?” a man yelled as Yuta and his shining, rolling flashlight continued sluggishly downhill.

“It’s fine,” Yuta called back as he stumbled down the hill, hoping the curious few who had stopped would take his assurance and not wait for him to emerge.

The flashlight tumbled to a stop about 30 feet downhill. Skidding to a stop behind it, Yuta quickly retrieved it and flicked it off. He spun around to check the path and for people who may still be lingering in wait for him. Luckily, thankfully, the trail of hikers was steadily moving along.

Yuta wasn’t far. He could feel it. He had been in this exact spot a hundred times before, on missions less dire and far more juvenile, but even now, the trees seemed to whisper to him that what he was searching for was practically within his grasp.

Yuta moved a little deeper into the trees, so he was completely obstructed from the view of hikers along the path. Finding a satisfactory location, he threw down his backpack and ripped at the zipper of his coat. He discarded the heavy coat next to his backpack and began working on the rest of his garments. He left on only his trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, enjoying the feel of the cold dirt between his bare toes.

Before turning to leave, as a last minute thought, he kicked the pile of discarded belongings against the base of a tree. He would be inside by the time anyone noticed, but there was no sense drawing added attention to his port of entrance, especially when his secret was still fairly exclusive. As far as he knew, none of the Lords, not even Kazi, knew that he possessed any unique abilities, much less one as rare as the ability to shape and manipulate the very earth at his feet. It was how he would be executing the infiltration, as it had been time and time again in the past.

Yuta found the spot he was looking for almost immediately, marked by a large ring of solid stone, now masked by brush and dirt. It was unmistakable. Yuta’s lips curled into a smile. The trees between this spot in the path were luckily too dense to see through, so nothing would hinder his progress from that point onward. With a smile of satisfaction, Yuta waved his hands over the thick layer of dirt covering the stone circle’s center. On command, the dirt and rubble parted, revealing a slab of rock as big as the side of a small building. Focusing his energy on the center of the stone circle, directly in front of him, he watched the stone turn to clay and shift to the sides, out of the way, creating the beginnings of a tunnel leading into the heart of the mountain.