John Flanagan: The Emperor of Nihon-Ja

Shigeru patted the muscular arm. 'Parting is hard, Kurokuma. But you and I will always be together. Just look into your mind and heart and you'll find me there. I will never forget you. I will never forget that I owe you everything.'

'I…I don't…' Horace could manage no more, but Shigeru knew what he was trying to say.

'I wish you could stay with us, my son. But your own country and your own king need you.'

Horace nodded, overwhelmed by the sense of conflicting loyalties. Shigeru couldn't have picked a more compelling form of address than to call Horace 'son'. Horace had grown up an orphan, deprived of a father's love and guidance from an early age. Then Shigeru smiled and spoke in a lower voice, so that nobody else could hear.

'And I believe that a certain young princess has need of you too. Take good care of her. She is a jewel beyond price.'

Horace raised his tear-reddened eyes to meet Shigeru's. He managed a faint smile in return. 'She certainly is that,' he agreed.

'We'll see each other again. I know that in my heart. You know you will always be welcome here in Nihon-Ja. You are one of us.'

Horace nodded. 'I will come back one day,' he said. 'That's a definite promise. And maybe you could travel to Araluen.'

Shigeru pursed his lips. 'Yes. But perhaps not for a while. I think I need to stay here until matters are stabilised,' he said. 'But who knows? If there were an important occasion of state – a high-ranking wedding, perhaps?'

He left the thought open and again they shared a conspirators' smile. Then he reached into the wide sleeve of his robe and produced a small scroll, tied with black silk ribbon. He handed it to Horace.

'In the meantime, remember me by this. A token of my friendship.'

Horace took the scroll. He hesitated, then Shigeru gestured for him to open it. It was fine linen paper, and on it, painted in the stylised, deceptively simple strokes that typified fine Nihon-Jan art, was a rendition of a bear, depicted in the act of catching a salmon at a waterfall. It was a fascinating piece, with only the barest of detail inked in. Yet somehow, the viewer's eye was led to provide the missing lines and features, creating a complete and comprehensive illustration. The more Horace looked, the more the bear seemed to become alive. The more he could see the water flowing around him. All accomplished with a few masterly brush strokes on the linen.

'You painted this?' he said, noting the small rendition of three cherries in the bottom left-hand corner.

Shigeru bowed his head in acknowledgement. 'It's a little crude. But it was done with love.'

Horace slowly rolled the linen up, replaced the ribbon, and placed it safely in the breast of his jacket.

'It's a true treasure,' he said. 'I will keep it always.'

'Then I am content,' Shigeru said.

Horace spread his hands in an awkward gesture. He hadn't thought to find a gift for Shigeru.

'I have nothing to give you…' he began. But the Emperor held up one graceful forefinger to silence him.

'You gave me my country,' he said simply.

They faced each other for a long moment. There were no more words. From the ship, they heard Halt call, his voice a little apologetic for the intrusion.

'Horace. Gundar says the tide is falling. Or rising. Whatever it's doing, we have to be on our way.'

His tone was gentle. He had watched his young friend and Shigeru and he sensed they had reached the awkward point that comes in all farewells – when there is nothing further to say, yet neither person wants to be the one to make the final move, to break the bond between them. When someone or something needs to give them the impetus to part.

'I've got to go,' Horace said huskily.

Shigeru nodded. 'Yes.'

Briefly, they embraced once more, careful not to crumple the scroll inside Horace's jacket. Then the tall young warrior turned abruptly and ran up the boarding ladder. His feet had barely touched the deck when the crew hauled the ladder aboard and began poling the ship clear of the beach, turning its bow to the open sea. Horace moved to the stern, his hand raised in farewell. On the beach, Shigeru mirrored the gesture.

The ebbing tide took hold of the wolfship, pulling it swiftly away from the beach while the crew hoisted the triangular sail. Then, as the yard was braced around, the sail filled and the rudder began to bite as Gundar set a course to weather the headland. Horace remained in the stern, watching the figure on the shore grow increasingly smaller. After several minutes, Evanlyn moved to stand with him, slipping her arm around his waist.

Impulsively, Will went to join them, intending to add his support and comfort to Evanlyn's. But Alyss caught his arm and stopped him.

'Leave them,' she said quietly.

He frowned, not quite understanding for a second or two, then the message sank in. His mouth formed a silent 'Oh'.

The deck heeled as the wind freshened and the water began to chuckle louder as it slid down the sides of the accelerating wolfship.

Finally, they rounded the point and Horace could no longer see his friend, the Emperor of Nihon-Ja.

'Butterfly?' Will said. 'Why "Butterfly"?'

'I believe it's a term of great respect,' Selethen said gravely. He was very obviously not laughing. Too obviously, Will thought.

'It's all right for you,' he said. 'They called you "Hawk". "Hawk" is an excellent name. It's warlike and noble. But…Butterfly?'

Selethen nodded. 'I agree that Hawk is an eminently suitable name. I assume it had to do with my courage and nobility of heart.'

Halt coughed and the Arridi lord looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'I think it referred less to your heart and more to another part of your body,' Halt said mildly. He tapped his finger meaningfully along the side of his nose. It was a gesture he'd always wanted an opportunity to use and this one was too good to miss. Selethen sniffed and turned away, affecting not to notice.

They'd been at sea for five days, which explained Halt's current good spirits. He'd gone through the usual period spent huddled by the lee rail, face white, eyes sunk deep in his head. His friends had tactfully ignored him while he got his sealegs.

Now, with a constant wind over their port quarter and a smooth, even swell, Wolfwill was eating up the kilometres on the trip home. In the west, a magnificent sunset was painting the low-lying clouds on the horizon in shades of brilliant gold and orange. The six friends sat in low canvas chairs in a clear space just forward of Gundar's steering position, discussing the names they had been given by the Kikori.

Selethen was named Hawk. Alyss had been given the title of Tsuru, or Crane. It was a long-legged, graceful bird and the name was appropriate. Evanlyn was Kitsune, the Nihon-Jan word for fox – a tribute to her speed and agility.

Halt, strangely enough, had been known only as Halto-san. Perhaps this was because, of all of them, his name was the easiest for the Nihon-Jan to enunciate.

But Will had been taken aback in his confrontation with Arisaka to discover that his name – Chocho – meant Butterfly. It seemed a highly unwarlike name to him – not at all glamorous. And he was puzzled to know why they had selected it. His friends, of course, delighted in helping him guess the reason.

'I assume it's because you're such a snazzy dresser,' Evanlyn said. 'You Rangers are a riot of colour, after all.'

Will glared at her, and was mortified to hear Alyss snigger at the princess's sally. He'd thought Alyss, at least, might stick up for him.

'I think it might be more to do with the way he raced around the training ground, darting here and there to correct the way a man might be holding his shield, then dashing off to show someone how to put their body weight into their javelin cast,' said Horace, a little more sympathetically. Then he ruined the effect by adding thoughtlessly, 'I must say, your cloak did flutter around like a butterfly's wings.'