Gloria Oliver (20 page)

He wanted her to leave, though she obviously wouldn’t. So, he said nothing, not wanting to talk to her.

Soft music drifted toward him. With unfocused anger, he placed his hands over his ears, not wanting to be soothed. When Miko didn’t stop, he lay down on his futon and buried his head under his blankets, trying to muffle the sound. It didn’t help much. The music didn’t stop.

Not long after, he heard the door to his room open.

“Chizuson-san, it’s time for us to continue with your lessons.” It was Mitsuo.

Miko continued playing.

Toshi made no move to unbury himself from his covers. He was beginning to think perhaps Mitsuo had gone away when something poked him, landing directly on the sore spot on his right shoulder. Biting his lip in order to keep from uttering a cry of pain, he threw off his covers and glared at his teacher.

“I won’t be practicing anymore today!”

Faster than Toshi could react, Mitsuo brought his boken around and poked him on his aching shoulder again.

“Stop it,” he growled. He dropped his hand toward his own weapon and forced himself to stop.

“You will begin practice. You will do so now.” Mitsuo hit him again.

“You have no right to do this to me!” His anger grew, the pain in his shoulder making his vision swim.

Miko’s sorrow-filled voice filled the room. “No, Chizuson Toshiro, we have no right. But duty forces us to do what we must.”

Sweat poured down Toshi’s face as Mitsuo came at him again. He already hurt everywhere, but nowhere as painfully or inconveniently as his right shoulder. Every time he moved his neck or arm, his shoulder complained as if it were being struck anew.

Biting his lip and drawing blood, he tried to keep his attention on the weaving sword before him. At first, he’d been surprised by Miko’s words. But as he’d pondered them, he came to realize if he’d been in their place he wouldn’t have done anything different. What choice did they really have? It didn’t make him like his role any better, but at least he had his practice session to vent his frustrations.

Miko’s music wove in his mind. Though he knew she’d left once or twice, her music nevertheless wouldn’t leave him. None of her normal bantering had intruded in the lesson so far. It made him worry.

He hoped he hadn’t pushed her to the point where he’d never hear it again.

He wasn’t caught by surprise by Mitsuo’s first thrust, but he was too slow to block the second. Trying to twist out of the way, he only ended up putting his injured shoulder directly into the weapon’s path. He gasped as pain flared through him, his sight turning dark. With a hiss, he fell hard to his knees.

“Perhaps the two of you have trained long enough for today,” Miko suggested. “Don’t you think so, Mitsuo-san?”

Toshi wiped some stray strands of damp white hair from his eyes, agreeing silently with the geisha’s suggestion.

“Very well,” the old samurai conceded. “Tomorrow, however, we will work harder.”

Toshi moaned in sad defeat, bowed to Mitsuo and only then let his body sink onto his covers. His perspiration turned cold on his skin, but he made no move to cover himself. He was too tired and aching to care.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and heard Miko and Mitsuo whispering to each other across the room. Not able to make out what they were saying, he decided to concentrate on staying as still as possible. His eyes snapped open a few minutes later as a soft touch caressed his throbbing shoulder.

“It hurts?” Miko’s voice sounded close to his ear.

“No, not really.” He tried to make his expression neutral.

“Sit up and let me look at it.”

Not glancing at her, he struggled to sit up without moving his arm. Miko undid his sash and opened his shirt enough to reveal his injured shoulder. He tried to sit as still as possible as she inspected him.

“You should have asked for your lesson to stop long before this, Toshi-kun,” she said. “We don’t want you hurt, and it has been a long time since Mitsuo trained a living person.”

“I’m all right, Miko-san. It’s not bad.”

“Isn’t it?” Miko squeezed his shoulder.

He had to struggle with all his might to choke back a scream. His eyes watered from the pain, and he tried to turn away from her; but she wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t want you to ever let it go this far again.” Miko’s voice was hard.

He looked guiltily away. “Hai, Miko-san.”

She said nothing, her fingers probing his arm. He stiffened as a burst of numbing cold shot into his shoulder. He was suddenly free of pain.

“When Mitsuo returns, I’ll see if I can find some salve to help it heal.”

“Miko-san?”

“Hm?” She sounded distracted.

Shivering from the cold, he turned around to face her and then bowed down to the futon. “I want to ask for your forgiveness. I acted very childishly toward you when all you’ve ever been is kind to me. I’m sorry. I’ll understand if you decide not to forgive me.”

He didn’t look up, not at all confident she would. He felt his breath catch in his throat as she ruffled his whitened hair.

“There’s nothing to forgive, my man-to-be. Your reaction was quite understandable under the circumstances. Only if you had accepted everything I said without question would I have been concerned.”

He raised his head and stared at her, his confusion plain. “Then, why?”

“You will have a clearer head when you meet with our lord now,” she explained. “You will be prepared for what he has to say. Your aggression and frustration will have already been spent before you ever go in to see him.”

He stared at her in wonder. Somehow, she’d planned all of it. What she would have done if he hadn’t played into her hands he wasn’t sure, but she’d taken it upon herself for his benefit. He felt an aching need to thank her, to let her know he understood what she’d done. If only he could do so without looking like a fool.

“Miko-san—” He hesitated as someone knocked on the door. Mitsuo came into the room with a food-laden tray.

“Go ahead and start without me, Toshi-kun. I’ll only be a moment,” Miko said.

With a deep sigh, he nodded as Miko got to her feet. He tucked his covers around him and waited for his food.

As soon as Mitsuo had set the table and tray before him, he ate. He caught his teacher studying him as he tried to move as little as possible while eating all he could. Trying to pay him no attention, Toshi reached for the pot of tea and flinched. Mitsuo took it and served him. Thanking him, he drank the tea and returned the cup for more.

Miko returned during his meal with a wrapped bundle and a small earthen jar. She thanked Mitsuo for his help and then took his place by the table. Mitsuo bowed to both of them and then left.

“Your bath water will be ready soon. I’ll rub in some of this salve after that.” Miko held the small jar between two bony fingers and shook it. “So be good to me, okay?”

“Always, Miko-san.” He could feel his shoulder starting to throb again, and he had other aches and pains he’d like to get rid of as well. Miko laughed at his eager response. He found he was smiling, pleased to hear the sound again.

After eating his fill, he watched as Mitsuo brought in his bath water. Undressing, he hurried to the waiting pails and splashed himself with the hot water. To his embarrassment, he noticed both the geisha and his teacher studying him as he washed. With color infusing his cheeks, he turned away from them and tried to hurry.

Once he’d rinsed off, he rushed back to the warmth of his covers. He felt his cheeks reddening again as the two of them whispered to one another, occasionally pointing in his direction.

“Please use this lavishly, won’t you, Toshi-kun?” Miko held out the jar of salve to him.

He murmured his thanks as he took it, before totally covering up with his blankets. He gingerly applied the salve on all his aching places.

“Toshi-kun, when you’re done, please put these on. Lord Asaka will be expecting to meet with you soon.”

A shadow of his earlier dread rose up to haunt him. Trying his best to ignore it, he finished treating his aches before peeking out to find his clothes. As he dragged them in, he couldn’t help but notice it wasn’t the kimono he’d been allowed to borrow before. Holding it up as best he could, he admired the dark-blue hue of the silk and how it was brightened here and there with light-blue waves cresting with silver thread. It was beautiful.

He felt nervous. As far as he knew he hadn’t earned the right to wear such a marvelous thing. Fingering the four crescent moons set in the sleeve, he set the kimono down and started getting dressed.

Once done, he sat up and allowed Miko to fix his hair. As she tied his ponytail with a blue-dyed thong, he felt her lean forward toward his ear.

“Be fair with him, Toshi-kun,” she said. “Remember he’s only a man, one trying to do what must be done. Please, don’t judge him too harshly.”

He listened to her soft whisper but said nothing. He had no idea what to say.

“Mitsuo-san, Toshi-kun is ready,” she declared. “Would you do me the honor of escorting him to our lord?”

The old skeleton bowed, his white-lit eyes riveting on Toshi’s seated form. Feeling self-conscious, Toshi stood, leaving his covers behind. He glanced once at the kettle where it had sat since its arrival on the ship in his room’s far corner.

“Turn around and let me see you before you go,” Miko said.

Wishing she hadn’t asked, he put on his sandals and then turned around for her to see.

“Oh, Toshi-kun. Dressed like this, no mere woman could possibly resist you,” she stated with feeling. “If only I were still alive.”

He stared at the floor, wishing there were some way he could stop his face from feeling so warm. Not daring to look at her, he turned to the door and glanced at his escort. To his chagrin, he found Mitsuo had turned away to hide his face.

He tried to put the two of them from his mind and headed for the door. Mitsuo sensed his approach and opened it for him.

Miko’s voice came after him. “Toshi-chan. Make me proud.”

He hesitated at the doorway and nodded once before going on.

Led down the hall to a door on the right, he felt a lump of nervousness moving around inside him. Two guards were stationed, as always, at the door leading out onto the deck. Mitsuo knocked on the door in front of them, waited a moment and opened it. He motioned for him to go on in. Toshi stepped inside before he could think better of it. Mitsuo followed him.

The room was about the same size as his. Four traveling chests crowded the far wall and three wide, painted scrolls decorated the space above them. A large gold replica of the Asaka clan symbol had been painted on the left wall. On the right were eight to ten small black-and-white scrolls. They were beautiful, yet at the same time eerie, when viewed in the ship’s unnatural glow. Papers and brushes sat neatly stacked in a corner next to a drawing table.

Though he’d been avoiding it, his eyes were drawn toward the middle of the room. A wide round table occupied that space, a large green cushion sitting on the side facing him. Six small dishes sat on the table around a pot of hot tea. At the table’s other end sat Asaka.

The samurai wasn’t dressed in his battle regalia, as he had always been before. This time, he wore a soft kimono of a light blue that almost bordered on white. His twisted demon mask, however, was still firmly in place. Toshi got on his knees to bow to the floor before Asaka’s green stare lingered too long on him.

“Toshiro, please sit with me.” The samurai’s voice was soft.

He looked up, surprised by the invitation, almost forgetting what had been said in the process.

Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to occupy the cushion, folding his legs beneath him. He was quite grateful for his seat. It would keep his legs warm and off the deck.

Keeping his eyes lowered and placing his hands on his thighs, he waited for the samurai to speak.

Mitsuo walked around the table and set several of the dishes within Toshi’s easy reach. He also set a filled cup of tea before him. Mitsuo then bowed and took his leave.

“Please don’t hesitate to indulge yourself,” Asaka said.

Toshi barely raised his eyes to see what lay on the table before him. Despite the sweets and small appetizers there, what he craved more than anything was the steaming tea. Hesitating, he lifted the cup but didn’t drink, letting the heat warm his hands.

As Asaka continued staring at him in silence, he tried to clamp down on his nervousness and forced himself to take a sip of his tea. He realized, with unexpected pleasure, this was a very unusual blend of green tea and not his usual fare. Grateful, he let the liquid slide down his throat to warm up his insides and, with some regret, placed the emptied cup back on the table.

“Would you care for more?” Asaka asked.

He did, but wasn’t about to say so. “No, thank you.”

The samurai reached across the table. “Please, forgive me, but I insist.”

Toshi stared at Asaka as he refilled the cup. The pit of his stomach tightened at the almost personal yet quite formal way in which he was being treated.

“Thank you, Asaka-sama.” Still not daring to look at the metal-masked face before him for long, he carefully reached out for his refilled cup.

“I owe you a great debt for what you’ve done.”

He froze, his cup half-raised to his waiting lips.

“You have done more than was expected of you, and you have done all these things well,” Asaka said.

“For all this, I thank you.”

Toshi forced his hand to move and hid his face behind his cup.

“As you must surely realize, we have encountered problems on this voyage beyond those we had foreseen. The attack on the temple by our enemies was known to us. It occurred not long after we returned. Yet, though our enemies were victorious in their attack, they did not discover that which we sought. They tried their best to prepare the place against us, though how they could have known we’d return from death, I can only guess.”

Toshi gulped down his tea, still not looking at Asaka, but continued to hold the cup to keep his hands occupied.

“Thanks to your help, we’ve been able to overcome all that has been placed in our path so far,” Asaka said casually. “That is, but for our latest unexpected setback.”