Journey Through Fire (4 page)

“Sorry, Kimi,” Daisuke said as he lifted my white pebble off the board and threw it into the small bowl by his side.

I forced a displeased look onto my face.
Hide what you're thinking,
I told myself.
Don't let him see
. But there
was no point wasting any more time. I picked a white pebble out of my bowl and held it in the air, pretending to consider. Then I brought it down on the board with one swift movement, and Daisuke gave a small cry of disbelief. At the last moment, he had noticed what I had been watching for an age—his vulnerabilities. I plucked his final black pebble from the board and placed it in my bowl. Then I looked back up at Daisuke.

“No, I'm sorry,” I said. “It was too good an opportunity to miss.”

From then on, I had the advantage, placing my pebbles down one after the other, capturing his at a rapid rate until it was clear that he had been defeated.

“Yes!” Moriyasu cried, punching the air. Daisuke gave a smile and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You've learned quickly,” he said. “I'm impressed. That was a clever—and risky—strategy for someone so new to the game.”

“Kimi is always brave,” Moriyasu told him, leaning over the board.

“I can believe it,” Daisuke said. But he wasn't looking at my brother; he was gazing straight at me.

Daisuke got to his feet. Moriyasu scrambled to take his place opposite me.

“I have lessons with my master,” he said. He started
to walk out of the room. Then he paused and turned back around to look at me. “But this short game shows that you have
ki
, fighting spirit, Kimi. Just like the samurai warriors who play Go.” As I watched him turn into the walkway, I felt a rush of pride.

Mother came to kneel on one side of the low table as Moriyasu shook the pebbles back into their bowls, ready for a new game. All this talk of strategy had brought back my thoughts of our fight against Uncle.

“What are we going to do next?” I asked Mother.

Her face remained expressionless, even though I was sure she knew I was asking about the family and Moriyasu's claim to Father's title. Moriyasu was bent over the board, considering his first move.

“We wait,” Mother said, after a long silence.

“What for?” I burst out. “Uncle grows more powerful by the day!” Too late, I realized my impertinence. “Forgive me,” I said as I bowed. It was difficult adjusting from making decisions to being just a daughter again. Mother allowed the moment to pass before speaking again.

“For one thing, we must wait for your sister to return to full health. But, more important, I've been talking to the monks. The power struggles between the estates and the clans are growing. They're pulling and pushing between themselves. I don't want
your brother to get cast to one side while there is such political chaos. His rightful claim to your father's title cannot be lost in the tussle.”

As she spoke, the clicking sound of a pebble landing on the Go board drew my attention back to my game with my brother. Moriyasu's first pebble sat in the middle of the board, alone and vulnerable. He looked up into my face hopefully. “Your turn,” he challenged.

How could I know what he was planning? From his place in the center of the board, he would be able to group a territory in almost any direction. If I tried to surround him, he could just as easily surround me. Was he drawing me out—encouraging me to take similarly dangerous risks? I realized I had so much to learn.

I looked back at my mother. “You're right,” I said reluctantly. “We are only a few small pebbles on a vast playing board. We must make our moves carefully.”

W
ith food in my stomach, I slept well that night. But dawn light soon crept under my eyelashes and teased me awake. The scratches on my back did not hurt as much as they had yesterday.

There was shallow breathing close by. Moriyasu had come to my bed in the night and now he `lay by my side, curled up like a mouse. I smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead. He squirmed in his sleep and snuggled deeper into the warm bedcovers. I gazed past him and saw our mother sleeping in her own bed. Her cheeks were as smooth as marble, but a frown furrowed her brow.

From the open window sounds drifted up from the courtyard, even at this early hour. Curiosity found me pushing the bed covers to one side. Carefully I stepped around Moriyasu. But as I wrapped my quilted robe around me, I froze. My headdress had come off in the night. The midnight-blue silk
lay across the dove-white pillow.

The betrayal of sleep had washed over me. I had almost forgotten. In my dreams I still had my glossy hair. I touched the cracked skin on my head to find stubble beginning to graze the surface unevenly. I should have been happy that I was healing, but a sob caught in my chest when I realized how I must look.
What kind of a girl has stubble on her head?
I took a deep breath and leaned over to retrieve the silk, carefully wrapping the square back around my head. With a few clumsy tucks and awkward knots, the ugly truth was hidden once more.

I walked to the slightly open screen and breathed in the cool morning air. A breeze brushed against my cheeks, and I closed my eyes as I listened to my heartbeat slow.

A cry carried up on the air and I pushed the screen open farther to gaze into the courtyard. The warrior monks were training. I could see a group of them holding long, wooden
bokken.
Other monks kneeled, well poised and watching. Their faces were portraits of perfect serenity, reminding me of my sister. They wore loose linen clothes, their sleeves tied back with
tasuki
cords. The legs of their
hakama
trousers were hitched up through their belts in order to allow them to move more freely. None of them wore armor. I knew that even the edgeless swords could
deliver painful blows and broken ribs. Every movement counted. As I watched their strikes and parries, I felt excitement course through my veins. I longed to be down there with them, practicing my own sword movements.

I looked back at Mother, on her thin mattress. My heart told me that she would prefer me to stay close by, but I needed to escape. I had spent too many days hiding indoors. Tiptoeing past her, I told myself it would be better for both her and Moriyasu if I left them to their sleep. I did not want to wake them as I paced the room like a caged animal.

The moment I stepped onto the walkway, I looked down to the room where Hana lay. I had not seen her since yesterday and wanted to go to her first. I pushed open the door and saw her laid out on the bed.

She had not moved.

No one else was in the room, though clouds of incense still filled the air. I stepped across the cool wooden floor and kneeled beside her bed. In the weak morning light I thought I could see a smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

“Hana?” I took up one of her hands and held it to my chest, but her fingers drooped uselessly against my palm. I squeezed her hand once, hoping to feel her fingers affectionately squeeze back, but her hand remained cold and lifeless in my grip.

I saw a cup of green tea resting on the table beside her bed. When I felt the sides of the cup, it was cold. Still, I dipped a finger in the tea and brought a few drops to my sister's lips. I brushed my finger against her mouth, hoping that she might respond.

Nothing.

I sighed and gazed down at the folds of bedcovers that covered the worst of my sister's injuries. I did not dare look again; it felt disrespectful to pull the bedcovers back if I was not tending to her.

“I'm here. Waiting for you,” I told her. I had no idea if she could hear me. I had no idea if she would ever be able to hear me again. But I remembered a poem from our nursery days and decided to share it with my sister as she lay silently in her bed. I recited

       
Furious mountain winds in their passing

       
must spare this spot

       
For red maple leaves are clinging

       
even yet to the branch.

I stood up. I hoped that Hana still clung to life, as the maple leaves clung to the tree. I waited, one last moment, for a sign. Then I turned and walked out of the room.

 

Gravel crunched under my feet as I stepped into the courtyard. One or two of the younger warrior monks
looked up at the sound, but soon turned back to their practice. Cautiously I stepped around the edge of the yard toward where an older monk sat, fingering his prayer beads. I took a step back into the shadow of the walkway, feeling suddenly shy.

“Come,” said the monk, patting the ground next to him. “Kneel.” I hesitated. Why would this monk want to talk to me? But I sat by his side. He did not look at me, but kept his face straight ahead as the warrior monks practiced.

“I sense your philosophy is the same as ours,” he said at last. “You live in the heart more than the skin. That is good.” Involuntarily my hand flew to my head. But as the monk turned his face toward me, I saw a milky white film over his eyes. He was blind. But if he couldn't see…how did he know so much about me?

“I could tell by your footfall that you are a girl,” he said as if he could hear my thoughts. “I have heard all about the two girls and their bravery. Will you join our friends in their practice?” As he spoke, he lifted a sword from the ground beside him and held it out to me, hilt first.

For a blind man to handle such a weapon so confidently, knowing where the hilt was and how to avoid the deadly blade—it took my breath away. I found my fingers wrapping around the hilt. The weight of the sword felt good in my hands.

“Go,” the monk said, turning his face back to the practice area. “Show me what you can do.”

“But how can you…?” I didn't know how to continue. How could he see my sword practice? How could he assess what I was doing? The monk smiled and waved a hand before his eyes.

“The body is our outer shell—and not a good one at that. It lets us down, as I know all too well. I don't need eyes when I can hear the thud of your foot or the sound of the blade. And I can sense your spirit. What more do I need to enjoy the pleasure of your performance?”

I gazed up at the piercing blue sky and my vision blurred as I felt tears sting my eyes. Here I had been, wallowing in my injuries when…how could they compare with the losses of this sightless monk? But his words about my spirit had touched me most of all. I had always had the spirit to fight, and after the attack on the village, that spirit had only grown.

I found myself walking over the gravel, holding the sword in front of me. The skin on my back stretched oddly, but it only hurt a little. I wanted to practice, wanted to feel a sword in my hand out in the sunshine.

The sounds of exertion were all around me as the monks swiveled their swords against imaginary enemies. Did they hate the people they attacked in
their practice, just as I hated Uncle? I watched the monks as they moved through the well-rehearsed pattern of their
kata
sequence. I noticed that they left a pause between moves that was slightly longer than the pauses we had been taught by Master Goku. With each resting moment, they stared intently at the space before them. I decided to mimic their pattern, to see if there was anything I could learn. I circled the sword until I grasped it above my head. I sliced through the air—and paused. Then I brought the sword into the next position, and waited again. But my stance was not steady and I stumbled slightly to one side as I tried to keep my gaze fixed before me. The blind monk might not have been able to see my performance, but I knew he would be able to hear the scuffs in the gravel as I fell out of line.

I had thought the longer pauses would make the practice easier. Now I could see that they gave me too much time to think. With each slow move from one position to the next, errant thoughts wormed their way into my mind.
Will Hana ever wake from her sleep? What would it take to stop Uncle—if he even could be stopped?
And with each thought, a new emotion pulsed through me. I stumbled again and angrily brought myself back into position. Sweat sprung out on my palms and the sword shifted in my hands.

The only sound I could hear was the thud of my
own heart. I gave up on following the monks' meditative practice, on giving myself time to rest.
This is for you, Uncle,
I thought. I heaved the blade of the sword down to slice through the air. But as I brought it around to my left, I felt the clash of wood on wood.

I swirled around.

My
bokken
had been parried by another sword.

T
he blind monk slowly circled around until he stood before me. His face was as serene as ever, but I could see his knuckles were white as he brought his own sword up to chin level.

“You are skilled, Kimi,” he said. “But anger drowns your skill. Your emotions turn your sword into a weapon against yourself.” He indicated that someone was standing behind me, and I turned to see that Daisuke had been watching. He stepped into the courtyard and accepted the
bokken
that the blind monk passed to him.

“Face each other,” the monk ordered, groping to find our shoulders and straighten us up face-to-face.

“Daisuke, you must help show this girl how to adapt to our practice. I would fight her myself, but…” A low chortle escaped him and Daisuke grinned at me. I forced a smile back; the anger had still not left me and it was difficult to be as lighthearted as these men. Especially when I felt like such a failure.

“Don't blame yourself,” the monk said.
Can he see
into my thoughts?
I wondered. “We make each tiny part of each movement count much more. This means there is more beauty to it—and more to get wrong. Your core must be strong, your movements fluid, and your mind empty. Is your mind empty?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Then clear it!” he ordered. Even Master Goku had never been this abrupt with his students. But it was difficult to take insult at this wise monk's teaching; I wanted to learn.

The monk stared into the space between Daisuke and me, but I knew his senses were trained on both of us.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice firm.

“Yes, Kazuo,” said Daisuke, bowing his head. I did the same.

The monk nodded, satisfied. “Now, Daisuke. Attack!”

Before I had a chance to think, Daisuke drove his sword toward me. I had to hurry to bring up my own sword. I gasped loudly as I twisted awkwardly at the waist. All wrong! Daisuke raised his sword over his head and then brought the full weight of it down on my
bokken
. I slid my blade down the length of his sword and twisted to deflect him to one side. But Daisuke's sword quickly sliced back up through the air and crashed into mine. My
bokken
clattered onto
the gravel at my feet and I rubbed my wrists.

Daisuke gave no apology.

“Pick it up,” Kazuo said. With my cheeks flushing, I retrieved my sword.

“Who is it you hate so much?” asked Daisuke.

I straightened up and held my sword high and proud before me. My eyes narrowed. “My uncle…,” I hissed.

“Your father's killer…,” he said.

Pictures of my father and older brothers lying in pools of their blood filled my head. I felt my face harden as anger swept through me. My jaws clenched until they hurt and my hands trembled as I struggled to keep my sword raised.

Daisuke leaped forward, his feet as light as air, and suddenly the tip of his sword hovered beneath my chin. He had taken advantage of my emotions to win the fight.

“You are too good for me,” I said.

Kazuo shook his head. “Not too good for you,” he said. “Only better than you—now. But keep practicing, remember what I said. Don't forget your spirit.” Then he walked away, holding out a hand to feel the outer walls of the monastery.

“He is right,” Daisuke said. “While anger remains in your heart, your spirit will never win the fight that counts.”

Daisuke brought his sword down and let it hang by his side. His words echoed in my mind but I could not let go of the anger.

“Come with me,” Daisuke said, and the two of us walked away from the training ground. Daisuke led me toward a large building that squatted low in the complex. Thick wooden pillars lined the front of the building, and the shutters at the windows were all drawn closed.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I'd like you to see something,” Daisuke said as he held open the door. “My patients.”

I stepped into the gloom. A tall man moved forward to greet us. His head was closely shaved and fine lines fanned away from the corners of his eyes. He held a wooden bowl of water and I could see that his finger joints were knotted with age. But he stood tall and straight.

“May I introduce my teacher, Master Satoshi,” Daisuke said. “He is also the head monk at our monastery.” I lowered my head respectfully. When I looked back up, I saw the older man dart a questioning look at Daisuke.

“I am showing Kimi the infirmary,” Daisuke explained. “I thought she might be able to help.”

“Very good,” the master said. “An extra pair of hands is always welcome.” Then he stepped back.

Groups of people sat around, talking quietly among themselves. Elsewhere, rows of bodies slept or rested on mats. As I took a step closer, I caught my breath. One of the nearest men sat with his back to me. Each nub of his spine poked through his sallow skin. The curved rows of his ribs pushed against the flesh.

The man gazed over his shoulder at me and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of more than sadness. They traced the path of starvation. His body was covered in bruises where he had no flesh to protect him from even the slightest knock, and as he raised a bony hand and smiled at me, I could see where his gums had shrunk back far from his teeth. Forcing myself to remain composed, I raised a hand in salute to him.

“Welcome,” he said, before turning back to his friends. I could barely believe that a man so close to death was ready to smile and welcome me.

Daisuke walked past me toward the man, and I followed. The master had turned away to tend to a woman who sat in a corner of the room, murmuring to herself.

“Good morning, Akira,” Daisuke said, kneeling next to the man. “Is your health returning?”

The man shrugged his skeletal shoulders. “With your food and medicine, yes,” he said. Then his eyes turned serious. “My wife fares less well,” he admitted.
“She cannot bring herself to eat.”

Daisuke looked around at me and nodded in the direction of a woman laid out on a mat. “See to her,” he said gently. “Offer comfort.”

I stumbled forward, hardly knowing what to do. Despite all the killing I had witnessed, I had never seen anything like this. I felt ashamed of my good health. Why had I been so concerned about a few scars, when these people's hearts were fluttering weakly in their chests, barely keeping them alive?

I kneeled at the woman's side.

“May I help you?” I asked, my hands knotting in my lap. The woman slowly opened her eyes and looked at me. Then she smiled a weak smile, before shaking her head. Daisuke came to stand next to me and handed me a small bowl of steaming, watery soup. I took it gratefully—it gave me something to do. I placed the bowl on the floor and put an arm around the woman's shoulders. The feel of her bones against my plump arm sent a shudder through me. I lifted her so that she was sitting up—it was like batting a hand through a wisp of fog, she was so light. I raised a spoonful of soup to her dry, cracked lips but she twisted her head away violently.

“I cannot,” she said. “My stomach is too shriveled to take anything.” I couldn't believe it. The starved were starving themselves now.

“You must,” I said, wishing I could say or do more to stir the woman's spirit. But what could I do? And then it came to me. I reached up and slipped the silk scarf from around my head. The woman's eyes widened as she took in my scars and burns, the patchy growths of hair and the tender skin. Under her gaze, the soreness of the area returned to me—as if the scars and burns had been woken up.

“Are you one of the daughters of Yamamoto?” asked the woman. “The ones who were caught in the fire? The girls we've heard so much about?”

I nodded. “And one thing I have learned is that you can never give up.”

The woman looked at me, understanding. Then she gripped her fingers around my hand and tentatively brought the spoon to her lips, taking a few small sips as her hand trembled. She closed her eyes as she swallowed and grimaced at the discomfort. But it was a start. I sat with her until the bowl was gone and then climbed to my feet.

Daisuke was a short distance away, watching. I walked over to him.

“Where are all these people from?” I asked as I followed him on his circuit of the room. He was giving people ground herbal powders to add to their bowls of soup.

“The countryside,” he said. “They had nothing left
once their meager supplies were taken for the
Jito
.” I saw a flicker of anger in his face as he bent to a child resting in her mother's arms. “I do what I can.”

“Kimi!” a voice called out excitedly, and I was surprised to see my brother sitting with two other children in a corner of the hall.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Moriyasu didn't seem at all affected by the illness that surrounded us.

“These are my friends,” he said. A boy and a girl grinned up at me. Their bellies were swollen but their teeth were white and healthy and I could see the empty soup bowls by their side.

The girl lifted a straw doll up to me. “This is you,” she said. “Moriyasu told us all about how you defeated the evil
Jito
's son.”

“The wretched Ken-ichi!” her brother added. His eyes crinkled in a smile as he looked up at me. “He was really awful. But you took care of him. You swung down from a tree and knocked him out with your feet and then you fought him until your blade ran with blood and he was begging for mercy. Isn't that right, Kimi?”

I couldn't help laughing. My brother had clearly been embroidering the details—there had been no blood.

But as I laughed I noticed an older boy shift on his
haunches and shake his head. His clothes were clean and well-darned, unlike the rags most other people here were wearing. He had his back to us, so I could not see his face—but I could feel his disapproval.
Perhaps I should not be laughing here,
I thought.

“What have you been telling them, Moriyasu?” I said.

“About how brave you've been,” he said somberly. I did not have the heart to reprimand him for his tall tales. He turned back to his new friends. “And did I tell you about when she was caught in the burning hut?”

The girl turned to me and put a hand up to gently stroke the charred skin of my head. “Poor thing,” she said. I could barely believe that a starving child felt sorry for me.

“I'm fine,” I said, scrambling to my feet. I was uncomfortable with her sympathy. “I hope you are back to full health very soon, too.”

“We will be!” the children chorused.

Moriyasu nodded seriously. “I've told them that if they pray every night to the Buddha, he will make them as strong and brave as you, Kimi.”

The girl and her brother nodded eagerly. I smiled and turned away. I didn't want them to see the tears that were brimming in my eyes.

Daisuke was talking with his master, and I
overheard the elderly teacher ask for help with the laundry. I caught Daisuke's eye and he beckoned me to follow. We walked out into a small courtyard, where a wooden basin sat, full of hot, soapy water. Clouds of steam melted away into the morning air.

“I have to wash these blankets,” he said. “The fleas need to be kept under control.”

“I can help,” I said, bending down to pick up the first blanket. “I've dealt with worse than fleas in my time,” I said. Daisuke laughed and came to kneel on the other side of the basin. I plunged my arms into the scalding water and rubbed the blanket together between my fists. I knew from my duties at the dojo that the rubbing had to be vigorous.

“I'm impressed,” Daisuke said. Splashes of soapy water blossomed on his loose monk's robes.

“Don't be,” I said. “Until my uncle killed my father I didn't know how to clean. But I learn fast.” Daisuke bent his shaved head to the task.

“What's inside,” I began, still washing the blankets. “It's because of Uncle Hidehira, isn't it?”

Daisuke nodded. “It is,” he agreed, taking out one of the blankets and wringing it out. “But don't be fooled, Kimi. These people do not waste their spirit feeling angry—their ability to endure is what's keeping them alive. They have found some of the peace you must seek, in order to heal.”

I heard Daisuke's words, but I failed to understand. “Why aren't they angry? Why don't they rebel?” The thought I couldn't say out loud came again to me: Were Hana and I the only people prepared to actually take the fight to Uncle? I could feel my hands curling into fists around the wet sheets.

Daisuke straightened up and looked pointedly at my clenched fingers. I forced my hands to relax. “In this monastery, there is much you can learn,” he said. “Those people in there taught me a lot.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Daisuke's eyes clouded with sadness. “I arrived here when my mother died,” he said. “She was the only family I had. My sadness consumed me, and the monastery took me in. But it was only when I became involved in helping the ill and the starving of our country that I learned to live again. I let go of the bitterness about my mother and let these suffering people help me find my path in life, to help others with the medicine I'm learning. You could learn from them, too. You could find your own path in life.”

A voice sounded out from the sick room. It was Daisuke's master, calling for him.

“I must go,” he said with a bow as he turned to the open door.

I knew my path, to face down Uncle, but could it be that my anger was holding me back? Did I need to
heal, like those sick people?

Something in his words rang true, deep inside.

If helping the infirm helped Daisuke find his path, then I would do it, too—starting with my sister.

 

That evening my sister's bandages needed changing. As the stars twinkled in the sky above, I made my way along the galleried walkway. There was no voice to greet me as I let myself into Hana's bedchamber. She remained as still and serene as a painting.