James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

“Never seen nothing like us,” Mildred said out of a corner of her mouth.

One of the peasants, a withered old man, stooped and picked up a handful of dung from the edge of the road and shaped to throw it at the outlanders.

Without even breaking step, the nearest of the guards drew his short sword and clubbed him across the side of the head with the flat of the blade. Blood gushed down the old man’s neck as he fell senseless to the ground.

“They look after their guests,” Ryan said.

The road wound on, seemingly forever, past a large artificial lake. Ryan leaned over the low stone wall into the muddied depths, seeing vague, huge shapes moving ponderously below the surface.

“Carp,” Doc said.

“Have them in temple gardens,” Mildred added. “The Japanese regard them as a symbol of courage and determination. Big and slow is what I reckon.”

“Looks like home,” Jak said, pointing ahead of them, where they could now see high turreted roofs peaking over a stand of neat conifers.

Almost simultaneously they heard a welcoming cacophony of drums and gongs, followed by several loud explosions. A cloud of black powder smoke drifted toward them, carried on the light breeze, adding to the pollution in the air.

“Sounds like the stickies have taken over,” Ryan said, knowing, as they all did, the love that those particular muties had for all fires and explosives.

The blacktop finally straightened out across an embankment, between the trees, ending in a pair of gates even larger than those that had guarded the house with the mat-trans unit hidden in its subbasement. And beyond them was their destination itself.

“Now, that’s what I call a fortress ville,” J.B. said, casting his admiring, professional eye over it. “Built like an old citadel.”

Ryan had seen pictures in books of the medieval strongholds with moats, drawbridges and portcullises, and had to admit that the home of Lord Mashashige did look similar.

A river had been diverted so that it flowed completely around the high perimeter walls. The main difference between the fortress of Mashashige and the castles of old Europe was that European fortresses were built almost entirely from stone. This was built from wood, great balks of seasoned oak with overlaid yew for extra strength.

There was a bridge across the river that could be raised and lowered by thick chains of iron, and beyond that was a heavily barred set of gates. The walls were high, topped with battlements, with numerous slits for archers.

“The home of our lord, impregnable,” Hideyoshi called, turning in his high saddle to look down on them. “It can withstand a siege of a thousand years.”

“The Nazis said that about Adolf’s Reich,” Doc muttered.

“All the armies of the world would wither and die outside these strong walls.”

“One little antitank nukehead would blow it way out of sight,” J.B. said just loud enough for his friends to hear.

The drums and gongs were still flailing away from somewhere inside the walls, but they were quieter now.

Ryan looked up at the amazing array of bright silk flags that strained at their poles every few yards, each with a line of angular Japanese symbols on them.

“Look at all carved wolves,” Jak said, pointing to the wooden animals that seemed to decorate every post and tower of the fortress.

Hideyoshi smiled at the albino teenager. “Not wolves, young man. They are foxes, the messengers of the god of rice, blessed Inari.”

“What are those kind of beautiful swirly patterns called?” Krysty asked, gesturing toward the delicately carved panels on the outer walls.

The samurai hesitated for several long moments before replying, as though his temperament forbade a response to a question from a mere woman. His expression, shadowed under the helmet, showed the conflict.

Finally his fear of losing face by showing ill nature to one of his lord’s guests won out.

“They are called tatsumaki . This means ‘the twist of the dragon.’ They are whirlwinds of flame.”

“Thank you,” Krysty said. “I’m very grateful to you for telling me that.”

“You are welcome.”

They bowed to each other.

“I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship,” Mildred whispered.