Girl Takes Up Her Sword (3 page)
“It’s just a dream, Chi-chan. She’s just you, trying to give yourself permission to take up your sword.”
“And the snake? What am I giving myself permission for there?”
“I don’t know. You have to be patient. It may become clear in time.”
“Fighting to defend myself is one thing, Sensei. I know how to do that, and I’ve learned to live with the consequences. But taking up a sword, that doesn’t sound like self-defense. I’m not cut out to be an assassin. My father died protecting me, and it wasn’t to leave an avenger behind him. That’s not who he was, and it’s not who I am.”
“I’m sorry, Chi-chan. I don’t have an answer for you. But if you need to take up your sword to stay safe, we have to make sure you know how to use it.”
“And my father’s sword, do you still think it’s a gift from the goddess of the sun?”
“I’ve seen you in that meadow. You
are
the sun in your meditations.
Kusanagi-no-tsurugi
, the sword of heaven, is yours because you gave it to yourself. This much I’m sure of: when you figure out how to take it up, it
will
keep you safe.”
“I hope so, Sensei. These people think they can breed an army of assassins from my DNA. I won’t make myself into one to stop them. I have to find my own way, even if it means risking everything.”
Children Underfoot
The dojo, which had been closed for a few weeks at Emily’s request, was open for afternoon and evening classes. Once again, the sound of martial grunts and yells echoed across the storefront with the large front window. Gis snapped and feet stamped. Students practiced with an intensity they had not known prior to Emily’s encounter with the North Koreans. Something must have rubbed off on them, at least some of them.
Sensei spent several mornings a week at Michael Cardano’s estate, again at Emily’s request, working with the two children she’d rescued from the North Koreans. Even at six years old—if that really was his age—Stone’s energy made lessons a chore, especially since Li Li took her cue from him. Anthony’s thirteen year old focus was considerably more reliable, even if it didn’t much influence the little kids. There were days when the drive to Charlottesville could hardly have been rewarded by the time spent there.
Emily’s presence, whenever she could be there, worked wonders on Stone’s attention, and by extension Li Li’s, too. In the cool, spring mornings, Emily’s sessions usually began on the lower lawn with breathing exercises and meditation. Eyes closed, her hands moved in the familiar pattern of the “iron wire” exercise, alternating dynamic tension and relaxation. Both palms pressed straight out before her, then pulled outwards, palms up, until fully extended to the side. Finally, she squeezed them gradually together, only to push forward to start the cycle again. Stone mimicked her every move by some sort of sympathy. Li Li peeked.
Emily’s breathing reached out, pushed past Sensei and the children. She breathed through it all, down the lawn toward the cabins and the pond, up and back toward the main house and beyond. Her meditation carried her to a place deep inside herself, or so it seemed. Wherever it was, she recognized it as
home
. The cool, speckled shade of a wooded grove flickered across her cheek, soft dirt crinkled underfoot. The forest path opened onto a bright, warm meadow. Sunlight glanced off her head and shoulders, but it didn’t hurt her eyes, even when she gazed directly at the sun. Her father’s spirit lived here, always palpable to her, always comforting.
The sound of the stream drew her on, wet, shimmering, rushing water, a waterfall crashing in the distance. She followed it all the way back, eventually finding the ledge behind the falls. Misty air glistened on her face. At the far end, she stood at the mouth of the cave, staring into a liquid blackness. When she stepped inside, the shadows enveloped her as if she were slipping beneath the obsidian sky reflected in a mountain lake. Dark as it was, she had no difficulty seeing. With each step, the cave floor dropped further away, and she moved gradually faster until her feet no longer gripped anything. She was in free fall. The darkness carried her down, holding her, caressing her, keeping her safe. The spirit of the cave was familiar, she could hardly help feeling how much it loved her. It was unmistakably her mother’s.
Sensei managed to follow along into her meditations once or twice. She opened herself to him, so he could see the grove and the meadow, the stream and the falls. He felt her father’s spirit, too—recognized an old friend. It took a supreme effort each time, practically exhausting him. The light was painfully, searingly hot. When he caught sight of her, she seemed bright as the sun. He followed her along the stream, behind the falls and even to the mouth of the cave. But he wasn’t welcome there. A blast of hot air pushed him back, and a red-orange glow at the bottom terrified him.
Stone followed her in, too. It seemed easy for him, as if he felt at home there. It hadn’t occurred to her to invite him. When she noticed him in the meadow, she couldn’t help smiling. He saw her, bright as the sun, dark eyes beaming out from the center, leading him on to the stream and the waterfall. He saw the cave, too, but knew better than to enter.
Everyone noticed. With Emily next to him, Stone could concentrate on even complicated moves. One foot forward and reverse punch, front foot feeling the grass, hips swivel and shoulders follow, propelling his fist. Li Li followed him step by step across the lawn, copying his every move. She hated it when he did something better than her. Backwards step, rising block, pull the block back to start the hips moving and bring the reverse punch out. Next time across, Sensei added a front kick or a ridge hand. After an hour, the kids would be exhausted. But it only worked if Emily was there, and until graduation she couldn’t be there most mornings.
~~~~~~~
“She’s tireless, isn’t she?” Connie observed to Ethan, sitting on the patio observing the class.
He grunted. It was almost cathartic watching her, even from that distance. Connie knew both of them had experienced the results of Emily’s training first hand, though in decidedly different circumstances.
It was easy to guess how it must have happened for him. Desperately curious, he would have condescended to spar with her one morning, anxious to show how superior his Israeli army training was to her vanity karate classes. In the end, the truly humbling thing wouldn’t have been losing to a girl, and someone so much smaller, but that the match wouldn’t even have been close.
For Connie, the humiliation carried a moral charge, a burden she carried ever since confronting Emily in a public restroom. She’d been sent to kill her, stab her with a poison needle. A quick, surreptitious lunge and it would all be over, neat and tidy. Her team would dispose of the body. Of course, things didn’t turn out as planned. Emily swatted her aside like a bug. A fierce roundhouse kick to the side of the head sent her spinning into the stalls. When she came to, she found herself wedged between a toilet and the wall, Emily on top of her, holding the syringe. Why didn’t the girl kill her? She richly deserved it.
Looking into Emily’s jet black eyes, Connie saw her own shame writ large. She lay there, after the girl left, contemplating the event. Of course, she owed her a debt, and she would devote herself to repaying it. But it was more than that. She caught a glimpse of redemption in her eyes. The path to it lay in service. By a mysterious alchemy, Emily had transformed a jaded operative, an enemy assassin, into her most loyal retainer. As she sat next to Ethan, Connie marveled at the change she had wrought on her.
Perhaps strangest of all, as far as Connie could tell, no one on the estate knew anything about their first encounter. Why hadn’t she told them about it? Michael must suspect something. He knows all about her connection to Meacham. But he acts as if he knows nothing. Emily kept her secret, just as she must have kept Ethan’s
“Come back on Sunday,” Ethan offered. “She’s holding a sparring class for the staff.”
“That ought to be eye-opening for some of them.”
They snorted out a laugh together. In the event, Connie was right. Though the security staff knew her as one of their charges, one of the principal persons to be protected on the estate, few understood much more than that about her. Like Ethan, they wouldn’t know how to take her seriously until they faced her in the ring. Most were ex-military, people Michael rescued from obscurity or poverty, or even in a few cases, brushes with the law. Their loyalty to him was based on their sense of a debt. He paid them well, trained them, took care of them.
His rivals, Meacham and Burzynski, built large, shadowy networks by playing on the ambitions of covert agents across the intelligence community. Connie had been one of these. They operated without any legal authority, but with impunity, as far as their connections within law enforcement would allow. Their bosses thought of themselves as patriots. But they were really only hungry for power. Michael wasn’t worth taking any trouble over, until it appeared he had something they wanted. Then he began to take precautions. He built his own network to protect himself and his family, and especially Emily and her mother.
~~~~~~~
Class over, Stone and Li Li raced up the hill to the main house, trailed by Anthony and Sensei. Snack time! The cook had standing orders to have something ready for the little hellions when they burst into the kitchen: grapes or apple slices, a banana, maybe a few cookies. The key was to get them to drink a big glass of milk. They’d start to feel sleepy within thirty minutes.
“It’s good to work with Sensei, isn’t it?” Michael probed his son later in his study.
“It’s not quite the same without Emily,” Anthony replied. “I can’t wait for school to be over. Then she’ll be here all the time.”
“You’re gonna have to let her have a little time to herself.”
“I know, Dad. But I just miss her. Everything is better when she’s here.”
“You know, Sensei taught her everything she knows. They started when she was Li Li’s age.”
“That’s not how it feels when we’re all together. Sensei acts like she’s the teacher.”
Michael smiled. He knew what that felt like. He’d known her all her life, helped raise her, protected her, loved her like a daughter. Now she was practically
his
teacher. After Kamchatka, he felt like he and Andie owed her everything for rescuing Anthony. It was hard not to defer to her.
“Well, I’m glad Sensei’s here. His lessons look a lot more substantial than the horseplay you and Ethan used to pretend was training.”
“I guess so.”
“Your mom and I are very proud of the way you take charge of Li Li and Stone.”
Anthony shrugged.
“Those little guys are kind of fun, Dad, especially out in the woods.”
The report of a crash and some scampering footsteps snaked its way into the office.
“Maybe you better take ‘em outside now, before your mother catches them.”
Meditating with the Midshipmen
Captain Crichton burst into the office of the Commandant of Midshipmen, flushed and a little out of breath. Captain Jenkins looked up from his desk, bemused.
“Sir, she’s here.”
“Who, exactly, are we talking about, Jim?”
“You know, the Kane girl... I mean Tenno.”
“I thought she turned us down. Why are we still interested?”
“Just come with me. Parker worked pretty hard to persuade her to make the trip up here.”
“And Jefferies is as enthusiastic as you?”
“Not exactly. But he thinks she’s worth holding a space for.”
Captain Jenkins shook his head slowly, wondering why his Director of Admissions was behaving like a schoolboy with a crush.
“Sir, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to miss this. Even if you decide not to bend the rules for her.”
He grunted and pushed back from the desk.
“I really want to see how she does against Hankinson,” Crichton gushed. “He’s the best we have.”
“I’m more interested in what she can do with Calder.”
~~~~~~~
The Karate team occupied a large, matted square on one end of the field house, twenty or so midshipmen, men and women, all black belts. The sounds of stretching and warm-up exercises echoed dully through the rest of the empty, cavernous structure. The afternoon sun poured in through the windows above the track. No other lights were needed.
Only one spectator, a civilian, sat in the bleachers, reading a book. On closer inspection, Jenkins saw a teenager: shoulder-length red hair with two blue streaks, casually dressed and sporting an air of insouciance, definitely not “Navy.” Maybe sitting by her will encourage the respect she ought to show for the institution. She barely lifted her head from the book.
Jenkins cleared his throat. The girl shushed him and gestured impatiently to the mat. Twenty people in stiff, white karate uniforms now sat in a circle around a girl with short black hair. She wore what looked to be a running suit. The midshipmen seemed perplexed, trying to meditate perhaps, while she sat motionless, eyes closed, apparently paying them no attention. After another minute or two she looked up and nodded to Coach Parker.
“Miss Tenno has agreed to help us prepare for the tournament,” Parker began. He described their first meeting in a tournament at Norfolk. Not everyone in the circle was impressed. Finally, she addressed the team.
Jenkins listened to the girl’s quiet voice, tiny in that space. She said something about the importance of breathing, and listening. It all sounded too mystical to hold his attention. It evidently wasn’t holding all of theirs either.
“Strength and speed are important,” she said.
That
got his attention back. “But seizing the initiative, the
sen
, in a fight is much more important. Whoever controls that, wins. There is only one
sen
in any conflict, and it’s located in your opponent’s heart. But the only way to find it is to search your own. Until you can do that, you will not control the fight.”
“She clearly understands what a fight is,” Jenkins thought. He mused on a scene from Shakespeare, his favorite, in which on the eve of battle King Henry says “All things are ready, if our minds be so.” But is it merely a personal insight for her, or does she know what
esprit de corps
is? He could guess what Jefferies’ reservations about her were.
He turned to the girl sitting a few feet away. “A free spirit,” he thought. Marks on her nose and lower lip suggested old body piercings, now scabbed over. How many others did she have? If this is who Miss Tenno hangs out with, well that doesn’t exactly spell officer material.
A grunt and a yell turned his head back to the mat. The Kane girl had just sent someone tumbling head over heels. He didn’t see exactly how it happened. It was time to watch more carefully.
It looked like she was going to spar with the entire team, one at a time. He watched the next match. She slipped inside a punch, making her opponent completely vulnerable. Next time, she used her feet to prevent a kick, slapped a punch aside, and stepped inside again. Afterwards, she tried to tell him how she’d done it. But the explanation was so puzzling.
“I listen to your breathing,” she said. “I hear your
chi
. That’s how I’m able to anticipate your attack.”
What on earth did that mean? It sounded preposterous. But the fact is she had completely dominated him, and it looked effortless. Could there be some truth to what she was saying?
The next several matches unfolded similarly. In each case, a kick, a punch, a frantic combination—it didn’t seem to matter—she would evade or block, step inside and deliver a decisive blow. Jenkins couldn’t quite see how she managed it, since she didn’t appear to be faster or stronger than her opponents, certainly not the men. She looked so relaxed, so unrushed, at times she seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if her opponents posed no threat to her. None of them were even able to make her take a backwards step. “That certainly says something about her,” he thought.
“There’s no way Calder goes that easy,” he snorted at Crichton. “He’s tough, and he’s got too much ego to let a girl beat him.”
“Yeah, it won’t matter. You didn’t see how she dominated Durant at Norfolk.”
Jenkins mulled over this last bit of information. He knew Durant was not just skilled, but also tough and ruthless. Standing up to him would have taken some backbone. He cleared his throat and leaned forward.
“Your friend there, what’s her story?” he asked the girl sitting in the next row.
Wendy looked back over her shoulder.
“You mean Emily? She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” She was clearly happy to gush over a friend.
“She’s pretty good in the ring,” he continued. “But what’s she really like?”
He pressed a little harder, the tone of his voice condescending, even dismissive. “Let’s see what kind of loyalty she inspires in her friend,” he thought.
“I mean, is she really tough, or is it just a show?”
“I don’t know what you want to hear, mister. Use your eyes.” She paused, her voice a little shaky, looked at his uniform, and began again. “She’s as tough as she needs to be,” she said. And then, after a heavy breath: “She’s also a good friend. I owe my life to her.”
He nodded, and tried to adopt a friendlier tone.
“Forgive me for asking, but what happened to your nose ring?”
Wendy looked at him warily before replying.
“The piercings were supposed to annoy my parents,” she admitted. “But, you know, hanging around with Emily, they just started to feel ridiculous.”
Crichton nudged him and gestured to the mat. “Calder’s up,” he said, as a large, muscular man positioned himself opposite Emily.
Jenkins watched as she deflected, dodged and blocked, then delivered one decisive blow after another. Calder was unable to lay a glove on her. After losing five straight points, he stepped to the edge of the informal circle formed by the rest of the team seated around the mat.
“This is bullshit,” he said, as he paced the perimeter, his frustration palpable.
“Being stronger and faster is important,” she said, her eyes fixed on him. “But it isn’t the most important thing.”
“Strength has nothing to do with this... this... game of tag. In a real fight, what you’re doing would be worthless.”
“I thought we were preparing for a tournament, not a fight.”
Emily stared at him for a long moment. A wan smile played across her lips as she took off her head gear and pads, everything but her gloves.
“Fine. You want to make this a real fight? Okay. Show me what you got.”
“Yeah, right. Like I’m really gonna hit you. You’re just a kid.”
“Suit yourself, big guy. But I promise, you won’t hurt me. I’m tougher than I look. Take your best shot.”
Calder paced the other side of the ring, clearly afraid to back down, but uncertain what would be permitted. Jenkins turned to Crichton.
“What the hell is she up to?”
Crichton shrugged. Finally, Calder looked like he was ready to fight. He stepped to the middle of the ring. Parker stood between him and Emily.
“I think we need to put a stop to this,” Jenkins told Crichton.
“Don’t,” Wendy said. “Unless you’re worried about your boy. Emily knows what she’s doing. She’s faced a lot tougher guys than him.”
Parker stepped back. Calder peered over his gloves at Emily. Jenkins took a deep breath. Emily looked like she wasn’t paying any attention to Calder, as if she was lost in thought.
“Oh, crap,” thought Jenkins, and stepped out of his seat, ready to stop the fight. Just then, he got a clear view of Emily’s face. Utterly placid, as if she were folding laundry, or comforting a child, she was the picture of repose. Except for her eyes, which were on fire with an intensity he had not seen the like of before. She stared at Calder, but to Jenkins it felt like she was pushing him back into his seat. He reached back to find the bench. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” he thought.
Calder led with a left jab, followed by an overhand right hook and a left uppercut. These were real punches. He clearly meant business. Anyone of them could have laid her out on the mat, if only they made contact. But none of them did. Emily leaned out of the way of each one, but didn’t strike back.
“That was a good combination,” she said. “But it’s nowhere near fast enough. You’re not taking the initiative. That’s just aggression. What else you got?”
A quick front kick initiated a new combination, but Emily kicked Calder’s foot before he could fully extend his leg, then hooked his foot with hers and pulled it out from under him. He tried to roll out of the fall as he lost balance. A quick step and Emily gently placed the heel of her foot against his nose. It was the first thing he saw as he came up out of the roll. The look of surprise on Calder’s face was unmistakable.
“Her technique is outstanding,” Crichton blurted out. “And her composure, she’s just like her father.”
Jenkins grunted, his eyes fixed on the ring.
Calder tried to gather himself one more time. A leg feint followed by a lunging jab, if she leaned in to block the kick, the jab would catch her on the cheek. But she didn’t block the feint. She stepped just inside his fist and hit him hard in the chest with a reverse punch before he could bring the hook around. It all happened so fast, two quick moves by Calder, but Emily’s counter was so direct that he still couldn’t catch up to her.
He staggered back, struggling to catch his breath. And then, as if in slow motion, Emily crossed one foot behind the other to stick a side kick in the center of his chest. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He lay on his back at the other end of the ring looking up at the ceiling. It was a good thing he was still wearing a chest pad. Emily crouched next to him.
“Are you okay?” was all Jenkins could make out from where he sat, though he had a clear view of Calder’s face. The midshipman who had been so arrogant moments earlier looked up as if he were seeing her for the first time only now. What would he find in her eyes? What wouldn’t Jenkins give to see it too? He stepped to the edge of the mat and her soft voice became audible for him.
“I know it feels unfair,” she said. “Like the rules of the game are stacked against you. If only you knew how much the rules take away from me, you’d be glad of the exchange.”
Jenkins didn’t understand what she was referring to. But Calder seemed much more amenable to whatever advice she offered. After a moment, she helped him up and let him bow to her. Without a word, he walked back to the perimeter and took a seat on the mat.
Jenkins turned back to Crichton, his eyes wide.
“Don’t tell me she’s not officer material,” he whispered, after he sat back down. “Did you see how she managed him? He’d follow her into battle now, I expect.”
“So would I,” Crichton replied.
“Her father’s a Marine, you say?” Jenkins reflected on this fact for a moment. “There’s no way we can let her go to West Point. We need to change her mind.”
Wendy laughed when she heard this.
“I’m pretty sure she’s going to Charlottesville,” she blurted out.
Jenkins stared at her wordlessly, as if he’d only just realized she was there, then turned away.
“Her father’s dead,” Crichton whispered, as he handed over a file. Jenkins flipped through it.
“Does she have any other family? It says here she lives on Michael Cardano’s estate. That name sounds familiar. Who’s he?”
“A State Department fixer. You know the type, bounced around a few embassies in Asia, various non-descript assignments. He’s not Navy.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s married to Andrea Leone, isn’t he? You know, her father was a sub driver in the Pacific, three brothers, all Navy, one used to be a SEAL. We can reach out to her family, get them to work on her.”
He stood up abruptly and turned to go, with Crichton jumping up after him.
“Wait, don’t you want to see her against Hankinson?”
“He won’t spar with her. He’ll know better. Besides, I’ve got some calls to make. I’ll let the Admiral know we need to keep that space open. Tell me again why she turned us down in the first place.”
