Sisters of the Sword (14 page)

A
t last Hana managed to twist her hair up and secure it on the top of her head. “You are mistaken,” she said quickly.

But Tatsuya shook his head. “I know what I saw,” he insisted. “You're no more a boy than this garden rake is a lethal weapon!”

My heart was racing and I stepped forward to go to Hana.

Tatsuya quickly stopped me by barring the way with the rake. He stared into my face, a questioning look in his eyes. Across the garden, a frog jumped into the pond with a plop, the sound disturbing the stillness of the night.

“Both of you?” Tatsuya asked.

There was no use trying to convince him. We had to confess. I bit my lip and nodded.

“But why—?” he demanded.

I glanced at Hana and she gave a tiny nod. I took a deep breath and told Tatsuya the truth. “We're the
daughters of Lord Yoshijiro.”

Tatsuya looked astounded for a moment, then he fell to his knees in front of us and pressed his forehead to the ground.

“No!” Hana said in alarm. “Don't do that. Please get up.”

Slowly Tatsuya raised his head to look at us, but he stayed on his knees. “Forgive me for any rudeness I may have shown you in the past—” he began.

But I interrupted him. “You've never been rude, Tatsuya,” I said, pulling him to his feet. “And you don't have to treat us as if we're ladies of the Imperial Court. We're ordinary girls now. Our father's dead and we're in hiding.”

“But why are you in hiding?” Tatsuya looked at us both, a sudden realization dawning across his face. “I remember Ken-ichi boasting to us all,” he said, and gasped in horror. “Lord Hidehira's men put the household to the sword for their treachery. He said it was the custom!”

“Except that Hana and I escaped,” I said quietly. “Uncle's samurai were charging through the house, smashing everything in their path, and slaughtering our servants….”

Tatsuya held up a hand. “Wait,” he said. “I think you'd better start at the beginning.”

So Hana and I sat in a shadowy part of the rock
garden with Tatsuya, far away from prying eyes, and told him our story. We started with our real names, and then took turns describing the night at the compound when Uncle had massacred our household. One of us took up the tale when the other found it too hard to go on.

Tatsuya's face grew serious in the moonlight. Every so often his dark eyes flashed with anger.

When we reached the end of the story, he clenched one of his fists and pounded it into the palm of the other. “How dare he?” he growled. “Lord Hidehira hasn't just broken the
bushi
code; he's ripped it to shreds and trampled it into the ground!” He looked at us fiercely. “If you ever need my help…,” he said. “We're friends, and friends look out for one another.”

“Thank you,” we both said together.

Then Tatsuya gazed at us again, this time shaking his head in disbelief. “Girls,” he marveled. “I still can't believe it. You know, I've never seen any girl who can fight with the skill that you two have.”

“Not skilled enough, though,” I said. “We must train harder.” Quickly I told him my plan to win the tournament and challenge Uncle openly.

“And if I win the tournament, I will challenge the
Jito
on your and Hana's behalf,” Tatsuya said, looking at me intently.

Hana looked surprised. “No, Tatsuya,” she said
quietly. “This is our fight. We are so grateful for your friendship, but we cannot drag you into this.”

I nodded in agreement. “But will you keep sparring with us?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Anything you need, just ask.”

 

As the tournament drew closer, the air of excitement in the dojo intensified. The gardens and courtyards echoed with the clash of swords and
jo
. Students worked until late in the evening, calling for servants to relight the lanterns among the trees as they burned themselves out.

Choji noticed our renewed efforts and complimented us both on our improved weapons skill. “We'll make warriors of you skinny boys yet,” he quipped in his gruff voice.

And every day that passed, I saw that Ken-ichi was training with the same intensity I was.

He'd taken over one of the courtyards on the far side of the school from the servants' quarters and kitchens, so at first I wasn't aware of what he was doing. But one evening, just as the sun dipped behind the curving roof of the main practice hall, Tatsuya led Hana and me along a series of walkways, through an ornamental garden to a wooden archway. As we approached, we could hear the sounds of combat—the grunts, the swiftly exhaled
breaths, the impact of a fist.

“Look through the archway,” Tatsuya said quietly. “This is what you're going to be up against in two days' time.”

I looked, and my heart squeezed tight. Ken-ichi and his opponent, a brown-sash student called Genta, were both stripped to the waist. Their wiry bodies glistened with sweat. Surrounding them were a group of about eight or ten other students, including Ken-ichi's two friends. All eyes were fixed on Ken-ichi and Genta.

Genta circled Ken-ichi warily. One of his hands was curled loosely in front of his stomach, the other held straight out in front of him. He seemed tense, uncertain of his next move, and I could see a red mark along one of his cheekbones where Ken-ichi's fist had already struck.

My cousin, by contrast, was relaxed and alert. A half smile played around his mouth. He stepped forward and without warning unleashed a powerful punch that almost connected with Genta's jawbone. Genta quickly bent backward, swaying slightly, rolling his weight on his heels. Ken-ichi didn't wait for his recovery. He shot straight in with a hard kick, power channeling through his leg into his foot. The impact was sudden and brutal, a blow that resounded around the courtyard. I cringed as the
boy's head snapped to one side, and all at once Genta was down, his face in the sand.

I saw one of Ken-ichi's friends punch the air with his fist in triumph.

Ken-ichi lowered his hands and bowed in Genta's direction—a supreme display of arrogance, for Genta was dazed and thus unable to acknowledge the supposed respect. Then, without the usual etiquette of waiting for an opponent to get up again, Ken-ichi turned to the other students. “Who's next?”

No one moved. For a moment, I thought of launching myself forward. But I stopped myself. Now was not the right time. I was beginning to learn patience.

“What, none of you?” Ken-ichi said with a sneer. “All right then, let's make it fair. I'll take on three of you. Three against one! Come on, you peasants. Who's man enough to challenge me?”

A few of the students shuffled and glanced at one another. One of Ken-ichi's friends, big and brawny, stepped forward and volunteered himself before turning and dragging forward the two students nearest to him.

Ken-ichi grinned as all three came to face him, their bare feet making tracks in the sandy floor of the courtyard. They bowed to one another as custom demanded, but Ken-ichi breached etiquette again,
coming up from his bow before the others had finished. They had barely gathered their wits when he launched into a punishing attack.

He is his father's son,
I thought.
Ken-ichi will trample over any sacred rule in the pursuit of triumph.
I resolved to remember this fact, to know my enemy.

One of the students—quicker than the others—met him with a high block, while another moved in with a sliding foot which almost swept Ken-ichi's feet from under him. But my cousin moved fast, fists and feet flying in a blur, one move following hard on another. He caught his first attacker in the ribs, sending him toward the third attacker, who almost tripped over him. Then he ducked down to ram a shoulder into his big, brawny friend, throwing him abruptly to the ground.

The brawny boy lay flat on his back, gasping like a landed fish, while the other two students sat looking dazed.

One of the boys on the ground recovered quickly, however. He scrambled to his feet, twisted his hips, and sent a flying thrust kick at Ken-ichi's stomach. The small crowd in the courtyard winced as they heard the contact.

For a moment it looked as if Ken-ichi had met his match. He gasped and backed off for a moment, his hands clutched hard across his muscular stomach. But then he shook himself off and darted in again
with a double-handed punch. His opponent ducked away at the last minute and launched into another devastating kick.

But Ken-ichi was expecting it this time. He caught the kick in midair before it had time to connect, trapping the ankle between his arm and his ribs. He twisted his body, forcing his opponent off balance. Instantly the boy collapsed to the ground, locked into an awkward position by Ken-ichi's painful control over his leg.

“Stop!” the boy yelped.

“Do you yield?” Ken-ichi demanded through gritted teeth.

“Yes…I yield,” the boy gasped in pain.

“Then I declare myself the champion!” Abruptly Ken-ichi let go and the boy fell to the ground, clutching his ankle. A couple of other students ran to help him up, and he limped across the courtyard.

“Can't you walk away like a true warrior?” Ken-ichi sneered at him. “A twisted ankle is hardly a major injury. I was holding back—if I'd wanted to, I could have snapped your leg like a twig!”

The boy flushed red with shame.

Out of sight of Ken-ichi, as the boy limped passed, I asked, “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” the boy replied, but he was breathing hard.

“Choji has some medical supplies in the kitchen,”
I told him. “Why don't you go and have your ankle bandaged?”

As his friends helped the injured boy away, I stood up and looked at Tatsuya.

“Seen enough?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” I said.

I
had
seen enough. I knew now that my cousin was a deadly opponent, skilled and ruthless.

I also knew that if this had been a full-contact bout instead of a practice, then it was almost certain that Ken-ichi's opponent would never have walked again.

 

The night before the tournament, everyone gathered in the main practice hall for one last formal tea ceremony. The period of intensive
kenshu
training was over.

“This evening,” Master Goku said, “I would like every student to take a turn at pouring tea for the
cha no yoriai
.”

Ken-ichi was chosen to go first, and he approached the low lacquered table with his usual confidence. He wore a crisp fresh kimono and neat black
hakama
trousers, his hair greased and folded on top of his head. With his handsome face and calm self-assurance, he looked every inch the noble samurai, and Master Goku acknowledged him with a bow. He bowed, kneeled, and ladled out the tea perfectly.

“Your technique is excellent, Ken-ichi,” the Master said. “You are a credit to your father.”

Ken-ichi walked back to his place, looking at his classmates as if they were already his subjects. One by one, the other students followed him. Each one bowed, kneeled, poured.

When it was Tatsuya's turn, Hana and I watched apprehensively. Tatsuya had worked so hard to improve, but what if, as he feared, his nerves took over when he was under pressure?

We needn't have worried. Tatsuya was perfection itself. Poised and calm, his movements spare and precise, he could have served
cha
to the Emperor himself and been praised for it.

Master Goku bowed to Tatsuya. “You have particularly pleased me,” the Master said. “You have not only shown great improvement, but also the unshakeable will to be the best. And the best is what you have become tonight, Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya blushed and bowed low. Master Goku smiled. “You have the focus and passion of a true samurai, my son.”

I felt my heart swell with pride that Tatsuya had reached his goal. I knew that I still had my own challenge to fulfill. I still had to kick down the willow tree.

As Tatsuya returned to his seat, threading a pathway through the other students, I saw Ken-ichi
roll his eyes. But Tatsuya was oblivious, smiling happily. Although he could not publicly acknowledge our help in his perfect tea-pouring skills, he bowed slightly to Hana and me as he passed.

Later that night, the three of us meditated together in the rock garden. We didn't want to spar, preferring instead to save our energies for the next day's tournament. I felt as if our time at the dojo had all been leading up to this.

Tatsuya sat in tranquil isolation in a far corner of the garden, his dark hair made silver by the moonlight. Hana was kneeling, eyes closed, face serene.

I kneeled motionless in a pool of light shed by a nearby lantern. My spirit felt calm, my whole inner being focused. For a moment I gazed across the rock garden to where the willow's sad dead branches swept low to the ground. The moment had come.

A breeze stirred my hair. I got up and slowly walked across the moonlit garden to the willow tree. I positioned myself carefully, adjusting my balance as I took a wide-legged stance. My knees were soft, my hands curled one in front of the other near my stomach.

Standing very still, I closed my eyes.

Count your breaths, Kimi
…, Master Goku's voice seemed to echo inside my mind.
Breathe in, two, three, four
…
breathe out, two, three, four
…

I focused on my breathing and let conscious thought slip away. Memories faded.

Something happened then. A great emptiness seemed to fill me, abruptly replaced by a vital force that pushed up from the depths of my soul. Power surged through me. My limbs hummed with energy.

Eyes flashing open, I unleashed a fierce
yokogeri
kick, channeling every ounce of vigor and weight through my leg and into my foot. My heel hit the trunk of the willow like a blacksmith's hammer. A loud
crack!
echoed through the night—