Sisters of the Sword (9 page)

“I would be happy to,” he said, hanging his bow back up on the wall next to a
jo
pole. “I'm always ready for extra practice.” He glanced at Hana, and then looked back at me. “What are your names?”

“I am Otonashi,” Hana said.

“I'm Kagenashi,” I added.

“Well, my new friends,” Tatsuya said. “When it comes to sparring, my father always used to say that there's no time like the present!” He quickly snatched his
jo
down from its hook on the wall, sweeping it around in an elegant curve.

He took me by surprise, slicing into an attack almost before I had time to raise the broom I was carrying. But I deflected the
jo
with the broom handle, twisted, and immediately Tatsuya and I were circling each other, watching to see who would make the next move. My broom handle was about the same length as Tatsuya's
jo
, and I hoped it would prove as sturdy.

His gaze still fixed on me, Tatsuya suddenly launched a sideways attack on Hana. She ducked quickly and darted behind Tatsuya, trying to catch one end of his
jo
with her dusting cloth, wrapping it and pulling it down. She was graceful even in the smallest of her movements.

The three of us danced back and forth across the room, sidestepping bedding rolls. The room echoed to the sound of wooden poles clashing together.

I soon found myself out of breath, and Tatsuya was sweating. “You're both very good,” he acknowledged. “Next time I'll remember to take on only one of you at a time!”

I grinned and whipped a wide arc with my broom,
catching his weapon and trapping it for a moment. Tatsuya broke free and raised the weapon to strike from above. I twisted my body, spinning myself out of reach of his
jo
, turning toward the open doorway—

Where I froze.

We were being watched—by Master Goku!

I
mmediately I flipped my broom up the right way. Beside me, Tatsuya slid into a perfect
kata
practice stance while Hana dropped to her knees and began to rub at an invisible stain on the floor.

But we didn't fool Master Goku for a moment. He took a step into the bedchamber and gently took hold of my broom. “Your moves show promise,” he said. “But perhaps you'll allow me to demonstrate a more correct technique?”

I glanced up at him from beneath my lashes and saw that his eyes sparkled good-naturedly as he twisted the length of wood and showed me a firm two-handed grip.

“You need to keep the weapon steady,” he told the three of us. “And use it to gain control over your opponent. Tatsuya, attack me.” Tatsuya did not hesitate and moved to strike Goku from above. Goku raised the broom to protect his head from the strike
and, in the same movement, twisted the long stick around Tatsuya's. Moving his weapon in a tight downward spiral, Goku dropped to his knees and trapped Tatsuya's
jo
against the floor.

“Thank you, Sensei,” I said humbly, and bowed as Goku handed the broom back to me. “I will remember that.”

Master Goku gazed thoughtfully at Hana and me. “I observed you both during the
kenshu
ceremony yesterday,” he said. “And I was pleased with what I saw. Perhaps you would both like to attend a study class in the scroll room later this morning?”

Hana and I exchanged astounded glances.

“We would be honored to!” I exclaimed.

“You have earned the right to be there,” Master Goku said lightly.

With a small bow he turned and left the room, leaving me wondering what he had meant. What had he seen that pleased him? Our work as servants or what happened with Tatsuya?

But it didn't matter why we had been chosen. It was enough to know that we had pleased Master Goku. Hana and I were going to begin our studies under a
real
master. Our skills would improve and grow, helping us to become strong enough to take revenge on our uncle.

We thanked Tatsuya for sparring with us and he
went to his next class, leaving us to finish our cleaning. As Hana and I quickly worked through our chores, I thought about the study class we would attend later. I was excited and grateful that we had been invited to the scroll room, but secretly my heart longed for Goku to allow us into one of his training classes, where we could run and kick and twist and leap!

After Choji dismissed us, we hurried along a covered walkway to the scroll room and saw immediately that we were the last to arrive. The other students were already kneeling at the low tables that were grouped around the center of the room, their colored sashes a kaleidoscope of orange, green, and blue. They were copying a scroll that hung at the front of the room.

The scroll room was light and airy, the size of ten or twelve tatami. The screens had been opened onto a garden full of lush green foliage. Master Goku was bent forward over his own table in the middle, studying a long scroll covered in flowing black
kanji
characters.

He looked up as Hana and I entered. “Come and take your places,” he said with a warm smile. “There is a table at the back you may share. I have put out brushes and scrolls for you—they are well used but still serviceable, I believe.”

As we made our way across the classroom, Master Goku turned to the other students. “Although these boys are wearing servants' uniforms, you will treat them both with respect and humility. During training, all boys are equal. Everyone, whether student or servant, has something to learn…and something to contribute. Now, please continue your copying.”

The other students went back to their work as Hana and I took our places. Ken-ichi was sitting at the table next to ours. I was surprised to see him looking happy and relaxed, almost his old self. But then he glanced up and caught my eye. Immediately his shoulders tensed and he scowled. I quickly looked away and moved on.

Just behind Ken-ichi was Tatsuya. We smiled at each other, and I knew that Hana and I had at least one friend in the room.

Kneeling at the table, Hana reached for an ink brush eagerly. I quickly poured some water onto the ink stone, and dabbed the dried ink stick into the little pool of liquid, turning it black. I selected another of the brushes, dipped the tip into the wet ink and swept it back and forth across the ink stone until it was coated with thick charcoal ink. As Master Goku had said, the brushes were well-used and most of the scrolls were already covered with faded
kanji
characters.

No matter. My fresh black ink will show up over the faded gray,
I thought as I began my first stroke. I knew Hana and I were lucky that Master Goku had provided for us when we could not provide for ourselves. I hoped that one day we would be able to repay his kindness.

Beside me, Hana drew her brush downward in a graceful sweep, like water flowing over a smooth rock. At the end of the stroke, she lifted the tip of her brush clear of the paper, and then made another curving movement. As she covered her scroll in elegant
kanji
, I saw that her face looked tranquil for the first time since we had fled from the compound. She seemed at peace.

In contrast to Hana's writing, my own
kanji
seemed awkward and choppy. I could not find a rhythm, and as the black ink spread downward over the paper like the waves of a rough sea, I imagined my mother standing at my shoulder, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Ah, Kimi, my dearest daughter,” she would say. “You are so much like your father. It is such a shame you do not apply the same focus to elegant writing as you do your sword skills.”

For a moment, her presence seemed so strong that I imagined I could smell her cherry blossom perfume. But then I realized it was merely a hint of
incense, carried in on a light breeze through the gap in the screens. My throat went tight and I blinked as I tried to concentrate on applying the correct pressure for each stroke of my
kanji
.

Master Goku had begun to walk slowly around the room, stopping to correct the way a student held a brush or to give advice on the way characters should be spaced on the scrolls.

“You may wonder why writing is so important to a samurai,” he said in his quiet, firm voice. “Of course, the importance of reading is obvious. How else can a man read the poems of the masters and gain greater understanding of the path a warrior must tread? And how else can a warrior follow instructions if he cannot read dispatches from his general who may be on the far side of a battlefield?” The Master paused by one of the gaps in the screens and gazed serenely around the room. “But writing…why is writing important? Perhaps one of our older students might enlighten the new boys?”

One of Ken-ichi's friends raised his hand and Master Goku smiled at him. “Please go ahead.”

“We learned last year that writing promotes inner strength,” the boy said. “The literary arts are as important to samurai as martial arts.”

“Indeed, that is so,” Master Goku said, folding his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe as he moved
around the room once more. “Literary arts and martial arts are like the two wheels of a carriage. They keep everything in balance. Can you expand upon that theme, Ken-ichi?”

“Yes, Sensei,” Ken-ichi responded. “You have taught us that creating beauty in our writing brings serenity and inner tranquillity, in much the same way as contemplation of a beautiful painting or a cleverly designed garden.”

Master Goku smiled. “Well done, Ken-ichi. A serene mind will triumph over a troubled mind, just as composed movements will defeat erratic ones.”

I bent my head over my work and tried to focus on my own inner tranquillity, covering my scroll in thick black strokes. Master Goku paused as he came to our table and watched Hana as she conjured a series of sweeping characters that reminded me of weeping willow trees.

She glanced up at him when she had finished and he nodded. “Beautiful,” he said. “You write with grace and with a nobility that is rare in one of your status.”

Hana lowered her gaze modestly, but my heart was beating slightly faster than before.
Nobility
…once again my sister and I were in danger of giving away our true status by our tiniest actions.

I swallowed hard and twisted my wrist, making my next stroke even more awkward and harsh looking.

Master Goku sighed when he came to inspect my progress. “Short strokes require quick and even pressure,” he said. “Try to imitate the curve of a swan's neck….”

As the Master moved away, I glanced up to see Kenichi smirking at me. “Just face the fact that you're a peasant, rice boy, and peasants have no use for writing.”

Master Goku suddenly loomed over Ken-ichi's shoulder. “You could improve the refinement of your stroke if you concentrated more on yourself rather than those around you, Ken-ichi,” he said quietly.

Ken-ichi flushed deep red. “Yes, Sensei.”

I couldn't help feeling a tiny dab of pleasure at his embarrassment. Master Goku gave him a stern look before moving on. We all bent our heads to our work, and for the remainder of the morning the lesson was conducted in near silence. The only sound was the sweep of sable brushes on paper.

When Master Goku finally dismissed us, we all filed quietly past him, placing our scrolls onto his table. I was last in line. As I drew level with the Master, he reached out and took my scroll straight from my hand before I had time to put it with all the rest. Unfurling it, he studied the poem I had copied
from one of the scrolls hanging on the wall at the back of the classroom.

“Where did you learn to write, Kagenashi?” he asked.

My mind raced as I considered the possibilities. Where
would
a peasant have learned to write? I glanced at Hana who was standing by the door. Her wide eyes showed her concern, but there was no way for her to help me.

Master Goku, meanwhile, was waiting patiently for my answer.

“In her youth, my grandmother lived with the servants of the
Jito
's family,” I blurted at last. “She learned to write there. Sometimes when it was too cold to venture out, she would give lessons to my brother and me.”

Hana nodded to confirm my story, and I could see that she was glad I had managed not to lie outright to our teacher. Grandmother had often given us extra writing lessons when the weather kept us from practicing outside, and she
did
live with the
Jito
's servants, but not as one of them as I had implied.

“Then your grandmother was a skilled tutor. The characters she taught you have great refinement.” Master Goku looked up at Hana and me. I could not read the expression in his eyes. “Long ago, I taught
a student who formed his
kanji
in much the same way as you do,” he continued. “Firm pressure on the downstrokes…a certain choppiness in the upward sweeps…the brush wielded as if it were a sword…”

His next words sent my heart fluttering. “If someone else had brought me this scroll,” he said quietly, “and they did not tell me where it had come from, I would have said that this writing came from the brush of the great
Jito
himself, Lord Steward Yoshijiro.”

I stared in horror at the Master. Had he guessed our secret?

“M
y grandmother would be honored to hear you say such a thing,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

“I would like to meet your grandmother one day,” Master Goku said.

“Alas, Sensei, she is dead,” I told him. “Two winters ago, a sickness came and took many souls, including my grandmother's.” I remembered the sad day of Grandmother's funeral so well. The weather had been bitterly cold and an icy wind seemed to freeze our tears. That was the only time I ever saw my father cry.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Master Goku gently placed my scroll with all the others. “I feel she and I would have had much to talk about. She must have known the
Jito
when he was a young man, as I did.”

“Y-you knew the
Jito
?” I asked, pretending ignorance.

“Lord Yoshijiro studied here many years ago,”
Master Goku said. “He was a remarkable student. Very skilled. Born to be a warrior and a leader of men.”

My heart twisted as I thought of my father, the way I had seen him last, with crimson blood staining his yellow robes. Had that really happened only two days ago?

It was on the tip of my tongue to blurt out the truth. I wanted to tell Master Goku everything—about Uncle, and the massacre, and the way Hana and I had run away…

But before I could speak, a man in leather armor appeared in the doorway behind Hana. He was dusty from the road, and I guessed that this must be the messenger that Master Goku had sent to our compound last night.

“So sorry to disturb you, Master,” the messenger said in a gruff voice. “I have urgent news and thought you would wish to hear it immediately on my return.”

My heart began to race. Was he bringing Master Goku news about Uncle, and about Father's death?

Master Goku quickly dismissed Hana and me and drew the messenger into the scroll room.

Just before we left the room, I saw the messenger hand him a crumpled scroll. Hana and I stopped just outside the door to listen.

“I could not deliver the message you sent to the
Jito
yesterday, Master,” the messenger said. “The gates to the compound were heavily guarded by samurai who would not let me in. I refused to leave, and noticed that no servants were coming in and out. Something sinister has happened, Master. I am certain of it.”

We had to move on because a pair of young masters came down the hall toward us, but we had heard enough. Hana and I stared at each other. Master Goku would know that something was wrong—it was unthinkable for his messenger to be refused an audience with the
Jito
. An insult!

We made our way back toward the kitchens, cutting through the rock garden where gray stones and boulders had been carefully placed on a bed of finely raked gravel.

“Uncle is already insulting his subjects and arousing their suspicions,” Hana whispered as we crunched along the pathway. “Why hasn't he revealed his treachery? Why isn't he telling anyone that he is the new
Jito
?”

“I'm certain he won't wait long. He must be gathering strength and consolidating his power,” I said. “When he finally makes his announcement, he will want to be sure that no one doubts his authority.”

Hana turned to me and touched my hand. “No
matter what, sister, we must keep our heads down and carry on being servant boys.”

I nodded.

Choji was waiting for us in the kitchen doorway. “Ah, skinny boys!” he boomed. “You've returned to me at last. Come along. Hurry! Hurry!”

He gestured for us to go past him into the kitchen, where Ko was stirring a huge vat of rice, his face red from the steam. Another servant was on his knees by a low brazier, turning pieces of fish with a long-handled fork.

“It's time to prepare lunch,” Choji said.

Hana and I had no more time to think about Uncle and his plans, because laid out on the table ready for us were several enormous piles of vegetables that tottered almost as high as our heads: brown ginger root, white cabbages, pickled green cucumbers, red-brown lotus roots, and giant daikon radishes.

I guessed the vegetables had been placed there for us to peel and chop but Hana and I were both apprehensive—we had never prepared food before. At home, delicious meals had just appeared from the kitchens as if by magic. But, as with the tea and cleaning duties, we would simply have to improvise. Quickly we grabbed a pair of knives from the table and began to work on the cabbages, chopping them into tiny pieces which we tossed into a
shallow lacquered dish.

“No, no, skinny boys!” Choji exclaimed when he saw what we were doing. “Not like that! Your heads are so full of Master Goku's teachings that you're ruining my lovely cabbages!” He seized a knife and showed us how to slice. “Like this,” he instructed. “Coarse and thick. For texture in the food. If you must shred something, shred the ginger so that the full flavor will come out in the cooking.”

Once we were chopping and shredding to his satisfaction, he left us to work alone. Sounds drifted in through a nearby open screen—the quiet strumming of a
koto
harp, students calling encouragement to one another as they sparred in the practice hall, the clash of
bokken
in one of the courtyards. My heart yearned to be out there with them, learning, moving forward on the pathway to becoming a warrior….

I saw Hana looking out of the screen opening. “I wish we could be out there now,” I murmured to her, and she nodded.

I wanted to be learning how to send an arrow winging toward a target as accurately as Tatsuya had done. Or practicing our
kata
until we could move with the same grace and deadly speed as our cousin Ken-ichi. We had to hone our skills to protect our family, to avenge our father!

I was so distracted that my vegetable peeling was
clumsy and slow. But the short blades of Choji's vegetable knives were razor sharp and gradually my hands began to move faster.

And suddenly I had an idea. I turned to Hana and grinned.

When I had her attention I flipped my knife up in the air, caught it deftly, and held it like the
tanto
dagger that samurai warriors used for close-quarter fighting. Firmly grasping a long white radish, I slashed swiftly through the fat vegetable, imagining that it was an enemy's exposed throat. Then I pared it into a hundred pieces, my fingers moving so fast they were a blur.

“We
can
train,” I whispered to Hana. “Here and now, in the kitchen.”

Hana caught on quickly, seizing another radish and holding it out as if it were a sword. I lunged and sliced off the end of the radish, dancing forward to catch the severed end in my fist before it hit the ground. Blade flashing, I whittled the radish all the way up to within a hairsbreadth of Hana's hand, grabbed the remainder, tossed it into the air, and impaled it as it fell.

With a gentle smile, Hana picked up a blade of her own and soon all the radishes lay slaughtered on the table. We practiced the footwork that Father had taught us, shuffling and sliding, turning in half-circles as we moved back and forth between the bowls
of vegetables. In the same way, we quartered the pickled cucumbers and made matchsticks from the lotus roots while Ko stared at us in astonishment from the other side of the kitchen.

Choji caught sight of us. He watched for a moment, and then shook his head. “Crazy boys,” he tutted, but there was a good-humored sparkle in his eyes. “If you weren't so fast, I'd have to complain to the Master about you….” Then he said, “I'm looking forward to teaching you in my class later.”

I glanced at Hana in surprise, and Choji nodded. “Yes, indeed. After the midday meal I take the servants to the small courtyard for their daily weapons training. Master Goku insists that everyone in his school train to the highest standards in the martial arts, including the servants.”

Bursting with excitement, Hana and I raced through the rest of the vegetables and hurried to help Ko carry bowls of rice and fish to the eating hall, where the students chattered loudly throughout lunch. We cleared everything away afterward, gulped down our own food, and then scoured the dishes and bowls with sand and vinegar until they shone.

“You need to change into a short-sleeved kimono,” Ko told us when we'd finished our work. “And bring your swords!”

Hana and I hurried to our room and changed.
We met up with Ko on the walkway outside and at last all three of us scurried to the small courtyard, along with the nine other household servants. Choji was waiting for us, a row of tall
naginata
spears propped against a rock beside him.

I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of taking one of those elegant weapons in my hand again. I knew how to handle a
naginata
—

Suddenly I remembered that a poor farmboy would never have even held such a weapon, let alone used one! They were used by foot soldiers and even by horsemen but a shorter version had become a woman's weapon, used to defend her home when her samurai husband was on the battlefield. All the women in my father's household had been well trained in the
naginata
. Hana and I would have to hold back, or we might give ourselves away.

I shot my sister a warning glance and she nodded as if she had been thinking the same thing.

The head servant smiled as we all took our places, kneeling on the ground before him.

“You have probably not trained with one of these before,” Choji said, and I tried to feign the same ignorance and curiosity as Ko. “The
naginata
is a versatile weapon, part spear and part cudgel.”

He picked up one of the
naginata
and weighed it expertly in one hand before propping it in front of
him. Its black wooden shaft and long blade gleamed. “Women in the home will often use it, because they can keep any intruders at arm's length. And not so long ago the
sohei
warrior monks used it to beat, slash, and stab their enemies into submission. There are tales of great battles, where warriors would swing their
naginata
and slay ten or twelve opponents at a time!”

Choji demonstrated different hand grips but then, without warning, he launched into a sudden and breathtaking attack upon an imaginary enemy, swinging the weapon over his left arm and stabbing backward.

Knees bent, brows twisted in a frown, he leaped sideways and turned around as if to meet a second enemy head-on. The long curving blade, which rose from the tip of his
naginata
, sparkled in the afternoon sunshine. He dispatched his foe and sprang around to meet yet another.

The weapon became an extension of his arms, whirling like a waterwheel, slashing at imagined limbs and slicing off invisible heads. When he came to a standstill, his powerful chest was heaving.

“Now it's your turn,” he said. “Choose your weapons according to your height. Your
naginata
should be at least an arm's length taller than you are.”

I leaped to my feet, Hana at my heels, and we
both hurried to select
naginata
. Choji positioned us so that we were all standing in a row, strung out across the courtyard with a space the length of a
naginata
shaft between each of us. “We don't want any collisions,” he explained gruffly. “No severed limbs, please, because there's work to do this afternoon!”

He instructed us in detail about how we should position our hands, the need to stay light on our feet, and how important balance and focus were once a fight was in progress. Hana and I held our
naginata
with deliberate awkwardness, trying to look the part of unskilled peasant boys who knew everything about farm tools and nothing about fancy weapons such as this.

“Today we will learn three basic moves,” Choji said, demonstrating a deadly looking sequence as he spoke. “First, the forward step with an upward slash. Second, slide this hand down, take a wide-legged stance, swing the shaft backward beneath your arm, and stab forward with the blade. Finally, slide the right foot forward, angle the toes of the left foot out a little, and swing downward at an angle as if you are harvesting a field of wheat. Now—follow me!”

Stepping in time, we advanced across the courtyard behind Choji. I watched the other servants from the corner of my eye, checking to see how well they handled their weapons. Hana and I copied
their mistakes where we could, all the while pretending we were striving for perfection.

I could hear Ko muttering beneath his breath. “Upward slash, swing the shaft, stab, and then swing downward.”

“Terrible! Terrible!” roared Choji. “Terrible, all of you. Out of time, out of step, whirling your arms…” He shooed us all back to our starting point. “Where's your discipline, eh? Where's your poise? You're like a barrel of monkeys thrown over a cliff.”

I saw Hana's hand flash up to cover her mouth, and had to stifle a giggle myself.

“Again!” Choji ordered, and then when we had done it again—worse than the first time by his account—we had to do it another six or seven times. A few of the servants grumbled and Choji made a tutting sound. “You'd better get used to it,” he said sternly. “This is the
kenshu
period of intensive training. We train hard…and then we start all over again. And the second time around we train
harder
.”

“My arms are aching,” complained Ko. “I understand about
kenshu
, but can't we go on to another move? Why do we have to do the same thing over and over?”

“You will repeat these three basic moves until you can do them blindfolded,” Choji barked. “Your
technique must be more than perfect. In real combat your enemy will exploit your slightest weakness, your tiniest hesitation. Do you think an opponent will wait for you to consider your movements? No, he will not. And when he attacks, you won't have time to think about sliding your foot here, or your hand there…you must move without thinking, as if in a trance!”