Senshi (A Katana Novel) (9 page)

16

Japan, 1491

T
he samurai wrenched Akiko’s arm behind her neck. While his grip hurt, it was nothing compared to the look Akiko’s mother had given her before the guards apprehended her for assault. The look told Akiko she no longer had a mother.

I do not have anyone,
she thought as she was pushed into the daimyo’s mansion and shoved to her knees. A hand at her neck kept her face against the floor.
But at least, if I have to die for my actions, it is because I defended myself when no one else would.

“Zeami?” A man’s voice crackled like a crumpled piece of parchment. “What is the meaning of this?”

Akiko tried to lift her head, but the hand smashed her forehead back down to the bamboo floor.

“Lord Toyotomi.” Zeami panted slightly. “I bring before you a prostitute charged with the crime of attacking a samurai. I would be honored to save you the trouble and behead her myself.”

“This small girl?” Lord Toyotomi laughed softly. “She assaulted you?”

“My Lord?” Zeami released his hold on Akiko’s neck. “You find this amusing?”

Free from his grip, Akiko stole a glance of the daimyo. Even though he ruled their small village, she’d never seen the man and hadn’t expected him to look so … frail.

Lord Toyotomi rose from his chair and walked toward them, his back hunched as if the weight of his robes were too much to carry. His beard ended at his waist and hid his clasped hands. Akiko wondered how he could possibly see out of the crescent slits that were his eyes. He beckoned her with shaking fingers, ignoring Zeami completely. “Come child. Tell me what happened.”

Akiko reached out a hand and Zeami pushed it aside as he stepped in front of her. “I will tell you what happened! An enemy sent her to lure me to my death. She is a traitor to you, my Lord, and must die!”

Akiko leapt to her feet. “That is not true!” The words burst out before she could stop them. Anger buzzed in her chest like a nest of hornets. Her eyes widened and she staggered back.
Oh, no! Not now!
Akiko turned her back to the men and tried to suppress the energy inside her with deep slow breaths. But it was too late. The pressure was too large, too sharp, like an animal clawing its way through her ribs. The power surged from her body, ripping a scream from her throat. She didn’t have long to worry about where it would hit. A teapot on a nearby table exploded, splattering the floor with steaming amber liquid.

Akiko sank to her knees, saying a quick prayer of thanks to the ancestors that she hadn’t hit Lord Toyotomi. Regardless, her secret was out. They would surely put her to death now. She turned to Lord Toyotomi. “I am so sorry.” She closed her eyes to hold back the tears. “It is just that … I do not know how … I cannot … ”

“Control it?” Lord Toyotomi asked.

Akiko was surprised that his voice was gentle and not at all angry. She opened her eyes, daring a look, and found him smiling down at her.

“My child.” He shook his head as he helped her up. “Ki manipulation is a very rare and powerful gift. I can teach you how to use it.”

Zeami jerked upright, as if struck by an invisible bolt of lightning. “You cannot be serious! She is a traitor. You must understand—”

But Lord Toyotomi cut him off with a look. “Zeami, you speak as if I have asked your opinion.”

Zeami quieted but his glare was sharp enough to make Akiko’s skin itch. She ignored him and instead addressed Lord Toyotomi with the question that had plagued her since the energy first began to burn within her body. “My Lord, can you teach me to … make it not hurt.”

Lord Toyotomi smiled. With a snap of his fingers, the three porcelain teacups surrounding the shattered remains of the teapot shattered. “Does that answer your question?”

Akiko stared at the broken porcelain, frozen. Lord Toyotomi was cursed, like her, only he seemed to think it was a
gift. She was afraid to speak. Afraid the words would wake her from the dream she found herself in, a dream where she no longer had to be a woman of pleasure and where the explosive pain that built inside of her could be cured.

Zeami made a sound of disgust and marched from the room.

Lord Toyotomi waved a dismissive hand. “Do not worry about Zeami, child. He will learn to accept you. When you become a samurai, you will be part of the family. You will see.”

His words echoed through her head, but no matter how many times she turned them over, she couldn’t decipher their meaning. Surely the excitement of the day had affected her hearing. “I am sorry, my Lord, but I thought you said I was to become a samurai.” She laughed a little, hoping he would find her mistake as funny as she did.

Lord Toyotomi laughed as well. “I did.”

Akiko made a choking noise, her laughter dying on her tongue. “A samurai? Me? That is impossible. I am a girl! And I was not born to the samurai class.”

He snorted. “I have always believed that nothing outside of you can dictate who you will become. Only in your heart does your destiny lie. You have the gift of ki manipulation. You have been chosen for this.” He raised a single bushy eyebrow. “Unless you prefer to return to the pleasure district? That can be arranged … ”

“No!” Akiko yelled before smothering her mouth with her hands. She bowed her head. “Forgive me, my Lord. I forget myself.”

He nodded, his long mustache lifting to hide the grin underneath. “Good. That is what I want you to do. A long path has been laid before you. If you walk it with the weight of your past, you will tire and fail. Do you understand me?”

Akiko nodded. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the room in focus. How had she gone from Akiko, failed woman of pleasure, to Akiko, samurai? She dug her fingernails into her palm to prove to herself she wasn’t dreaming. One thing was clear; Lord Toyotomi had spared her life and given her a second chance. She lifted her chin and dared to stare him in the eyes. “I will not let you down.”

17

W
hen I arrived at Quentin’s house, his mom greeted me at the door in a faded purple bathrobe and holding onto a spoon still dripping with pancake batter.

“Rileigh, dear, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Farmer tilted her head, oblivious to the batter dripping on what was probably a very expensive rug. That was one of the things I liked best about Quentin’s family. Their house, a 3,000-square-foot mansion, was pristine on the outside, thanks to the landscapers that came by weekly. But, once you walked inside and took in the sink full of sippy cups and the always-sticky television remotes, you realized this family cared more about living their lives than making an impression.

I took a step back as a glob of blueberry batter narrowly missed my sneakers. “It’s my day for carpool. Is he ready to go?”

A toddler squealed upstairs, the youngest of Quentin’s five brothers and sisters, and Mrs. Farmer looked over her shoulder distractedly. “I’m sorry, honey, but Quentin rode with Carly today.” She cocked her head and gave me a sympathetic look. “Carly told me you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Are you sure you didn’t get your days confused?”

Yeah, I’m sure that wasn’t all Carly told you.
I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Thanks for your concern, Mrs. F. I’m sure that’s what happened.” But I knew it was so much more than that. Quentin would never willingly subject himself to riding with his twin. He was obviously avoiding me. I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but something crashed in the kitchen followed by the sound of a child crying. Mrs. F sighed and shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry, dear. I have to go.” She slammed the door, but not before I heard her yelling something about no Irish step-dancing on the table.

Sometimes I was reminded that being an only child wasn’t a bad thing.

I drove straight to school, skipping my morning stop at the Starbucks drive-thru. The last thing I needed was to add caffeine to my already-jumbled emotions. I marched straight to Q’s locker, where I found him wearing workout clothes and shuffling through a duffel bag.

“Q!” I weaved around the kids who were starting to filter through the hallway.

His shoulders straightened, but he didn’t look at me.

I stopped in front of him so he’d have no choice but to acknowledge me when he stood. “Where were you this morning? Tuesdays are my day to drive.”

He rose slowly, juggling a stick of deodorant between his hands. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I forgot to tell you that I needed to be at school early. Since Carly had pom practice, I caught a ride with her. And, figuring you stayed up late with Kim, I didn’t want you to get up any earlier than you had to. I thought I texted you.”

“You didn’t.” I folded my arms across my chest. “And for your information, I wasn’t up late with Kim.” Because he never showed up, but that was beside the point. “And why did you have to be at school so early, anyway?”

He shrugged and hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder. “I wanted to work out in the school’s weight room.”

“But why? We get plenty of exercise with martial arts. Why would you want to sit in a room that smells like mold and stinky feet and touch equipment that at least a hundred other guys have sweated all over?” I shuddered. “I hope you used sanitizer.”

He pulled a bottle of Purell from his bag and held it up. “Of course I did. I don’t have a death wish.” He dropped the bottle back into the bag.

I nodded. “Okay, but why the need to bulk up? And why not tell me about it?”

He shrugged and made his way down the hall, forcing me to follow. “I didn’t realize I had to run everything I do by you.”

His words hit me like an invisible wall and I jerked to a halt. “What?”

He stopped walking and looked at me, only he wasn’t really
looking
at me. There was something about his eyes, a glazed-over quality, like he couldn’t quite focus on any one thing.

What the hell was going on with him? The mood swings, the dazed expression … was he on drugs? My skin began to buzz with invisible electricity—a warning that I had to get my emotions under control and quick. I placed my hand on my hip and took a deep breath.

Quentin blinked rapidly and shook his head. When he looked at me again his eyes were focused. “I’m sorry. It’s these damn stress migraines. I thought if I exercised a bit more, my brain would release enough serotonin to counteract the migraine-causing norepinephrine produced from stress.”

That sounded a little more like the Q I knew and loved. When the prickling sensation receded, I looked at him. “But what stress is causing the nor-uh-whatever? Is it me? Because I can’t control my ki?”

His eyes widened. “You think this has to do with your ki?”

My hand fell from my hip. “Doesn’t it?”

“No, Ri-Ri.” His face hardened. “It’s not always all about you, you know.”

I flinched like I’d been hit. “Q … I didn’t mean … I didn’t—”

“I have no idea why I said that.” His eyes widened and he looked horrified. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear I didn’t mean it. This migraine is killer and I’ve had it for a couple of days now. It’s … I … I don’t know. It’s making me act crazy.” He dropped his hand from his head and took my hands within his. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. You forgive me, right?”

I nodded dumbly. I could understand a migraine making someone cranky. Lord knew, I turned into a snarling she-beast every time I got PMS. But this felt more extreme than just a headache. “Of course I forgive you. We’re best friends, right?”

He smiled and squeezed my hands once before releasing them. “Totally. And we’ll talk. I promise.” He glanced at the clock on the wall.

“You have somewhere to be?” I guessed.

“I’m sorry.” He gave me a pleading look. “But I only have forty minutes to shower and get dressed. You know I need at least twenty minutes to make my hair look like I didn’t do it.”

I sighed. “I know.”

He gave me a quick hug. “We’re going to talk. Soon. I promise.”

“Ew. Go shower.” I pushed him away and ushered him toward the locker room door. “Before your man stink rubs off on me.”

He gave me one last squeeze before hoisting the duffel bag over his shoulder and taking off down the hall.

I folded my arms across my chest as I watched him walk away. Despite his assurances that he had a migraine, I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong. It was like an itch on the wrong side of my skin. If there was something else going on with him, I had to get to the bottom of it.

“Hey, Rileigh.”

Startled, I spun around and almost planted my nose in the center of Carson Ashcroft’s chest.

“Oops, sorry.” He laughed as he took a step back, exposing his straight, white teeth. He was tall and lean with jagged brown hair that fell to his cheeks. A dozen multi-colored bracelets adorned one wrist while a two-inch thick wrist cuff covered the other. I’d seen him around the park enough to know he was good skater. Almost as good as me.

Carson was definitely swoon-worthy. Or, at least he would have been, before Kim. Now he didn’t even blip my radar. “Oh, hey, Carson. How’s it going?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his biceps straining against the rolled cuff of his flannel shirt. “What are you doing at school so early?”

I shrugged and walked across the hall to my locker. “Just call me Rileigh Martin, overachiever.” I turned the combination on the dial.

His laugh was too loud to be natural, which made me halt in putting my books away. I glanced at him over my shoulder and his eyes were everywhere—on the ceiling, on the floor, down the hall—why was he so nervous? I shut my locker. “Is something up?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Kinda.”

I folded my arms and waited as Carson continued to rub his neck until the skin under his fingers turned tomato orange. I cringed. It had to hurt.

“It’s just that, I heard you were seeing that Whitley guy over the summer,” he said.

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t remind me.”

For some reason that seemed to perk him up. His hand fell to his side. “Really? Does that mean that you guys are on the outs?”

I shrugged. If only it were that simple. Between the look-alikes on the street and now the dreams, it really did feel like Whitley was haunting me.

“Sorry,” he said, but he looked anything but. “Breaking up sucks.”

“Meh. I’m over it.”

His smile was immediate. “Cool. You think you’d want to do something sometime?”

Do something? It took my brain a moment to process his request.
Rileigh, you idiot, he’s asking you out.
Suddenly I became aware how crowded the hall had become, not only with students gathering their books for first period but also with a cluster of guys from the skate park shouldered against the nearby lockers with their ears perked in our direction. Crap. If I didn’t play this just right I could embarrass him—and Carson was a nice guy.

“Oh. You see … ” I swallowed and shoved a lock of hair behind my ear. “I would, Carson. It’s just that … uh … my grades haven’t been great and I’m kinda grounded until they get better.”

His face fell. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. It does. I’m really sorry.” I began pulling books that I didn’t need from my locker just to give my hands something to do.

He looked over his shoulder and exchanged glances with the skate park guys. “Right. Maybe some other time.”

I smiled weakly. “I’ll let you know.” The history book slipped from my grasp and tumbled to the floor.

Carson bent over at the same moment I kicked my locker door back so I could reach for it. The metal door clanged against his skull.

“Oh my God!” I reached for him even as he shuffled away from me with his hands cupped over his nose. A thin trickle of blood escaped through the gaps between his fingers. “Carson! I’m so sorry.”

His friends howled with laughter.

“It’s cool,” Carson said, his voice muffled. I stepped forward and he stepped back, his hands still locked on his face. “Just a nosebleed. No big deal.” His watering eyes told me otherwise.

Stupid, stupid Rileigh!
As if turning him down wasn’t bad enough I had to go and break his nose! So much for letting him down easy. I looked around the hall for something or someone that might be of help. “Do you want me to get the nurse?”

One of his friends, a tall boy with several tattoos despite the fact he wasn’t yet eighteen, took him by the arm. “Love hurts, doesn’t it, Carson?” He laughed.

Carson shrugged him off without taking his eyes off of me. “No. Don’t worry about it. It’s cool. I’m cool.” He let go of his nose and shook his bloody hand once, spattering the linoleum with a sprinkle of crimson—like party confetti gone horribly wrong. “I’m just going to … go. Now. I’m going now.”

“Okay. Sorry.” As I watched him amble down the hall and dart inside the bathroom I couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of unease.

Was I destined to hurt everyone who crossed my path?