Dai-San - 03 Read Free Page A

long ago. You do not fear death, the little man had said, and that is good. Yet you fear—
    ‘Stop!’ cried Ronin.
    What is it? Moeru gripped his arm, the long fingers firm and supple.
    He passed a hand across his eyes.
    ‘Nothing. Just the ghost of a dream.’
    You know him, Ronin.
    The fear rose inside him, unbidden.
    ‘Now you speak nonsense.’
    A sky dark with vultures; the stiff rustle of their circling flight.
    I see it in your eyes.
    Irrationally, he turned on her, away from himself. A stench worse than putrefaction.
    ‘Chill take you, bitch! Shut up! You—’
    ‘Captain!’
    Ronin swung away, saw Moichi racing up the aft companionway.
    ‘What is it?’
    Moeru moved away from him, her eyes bleak and as opaque as stones.
    ‘Lookouts report sails to port.’ The big man approached them. He pointed. ‘Just visible now over the horizon.’
    ‘What manner of vessels?’ Ronin asked, shading his eyes as he looked out over the water.
    ‘Too far away as yet, Captain.’ His hazel eyes were chilled. ‘But this far out I would hardly expect them to be merchantmen.’
    ‘Very well. Swing away from them.’ Moichi nodded assent. ‘But mark you, I do not wish to waste valuable time. A swift landfall at Ama-no-mori is imperative.’
    ‘Aye, Captain,’ said Moichi, already swinging away, calling to the bosun in his deep voice. The bosun, at midships, relayed the order to the first.
    Slowly, the schooner heeled, beginning its wide arc to starboard. Spray flew up into their faces, rich and cool and fragrant with life.
    And they began their run from the oncoming ships.
    The seas rose as they plunged ahead, the men constantly in the shrouds now to take advantage of the shifting wind. The ocean turned a deep green, then a hard, flat gray as banks of rippling thunderheads climbed into the western skies.
    ‘They are gaining on us,’ said Moichi, on the poop with Ronin and the helmsman. ‘The sails are tetrahedral, an unfamiliar configuration to me.’
    ‘Have they seen us?’ asked Ronin.
    ‘Seen us? I think,’ said the navigator, ‘that they have been searching for us.’
    ‘How could that be?’
    His shoulders lifted, fell. ‘Captain, my expertise is in guiding ships like this to safe ports.’
    The rain began then a good distance away, a strange sight, the downpour a dark oblique brush flailing harshly at the sea with such furious intensity that it appeared as if the sea water were actually flowing upward.
    ‘Hard to port!’ called Moichi, and the Kioku returned eastward with the black rain and the odd sails in full pursuit.
    Moeru left her spot at the aft rail and came and stood beside Ronin.
    Who knows of your voyage?
    Ronin watched the shrouds straining their lines. He had been thinking along a similar path. Futilely.
    ‘To my knowledge, only Bonneduce the Last.’
    Moichi was too involved with the helmsman and the sails to question the seemingly one-sided conversation.
    Still, another may know.
    Perhaps he was only half-listening then. Certainly he did not understand her remark, part of their previous conversation.
    Moichi left the helmsman, went across the deck, stood at the poop’s port railing.
    ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I do not think that these are natural ships.’
    Ronin went to stand beside him, Moeru in his wake. He saw lines creasing the navigator’s face.
    ‘What do you mean?’ Ronin asked.
    ‘These ships, Captain. Well, look for yourself.’
    The trio peered into the west. The rain there had slackened, yet still the purple skies were dark. Out there, the sea was gray and white like the wings of a seagull. Purple-tinged.
    Moeru’s fingers gripped Moichi’s arm.
    ‘Yes.’
    Three ships, dark with high prows, their silhouettes slender and swift, sped toward them. They were still far away but now they were close enough to make out several important details.
    Their sails were black and obviously not of conventional canvas, for they shone in the wan light of the dismal afternoon.