Sisters of the Sword Read online

  In the fight arena, the crowd seemed to have grown larger, as though word had spread outside the dojo and people were coming from nearby to witness the duel between Master and student. As they went to get their weapons, I hurried back to my place and found Tatsuya sitting with Hana, who was massaging his shoulder through his kimono. Ko was kneeling beside them.

  “Are you badly hurt?” I asked Tatsuya.

  He shook his head. “I must have sprained my shoulder when I landed awkwardly. It hurts, but it’s nothing that a few days’ rest won’t fix.”

  Down in the arena, Master Goku was taking off his flowing ceremonial robes and handing them to Choji. Soon he was wearing just an undershirt and breeches, his feet bare on the sandy floor of the courtyard. Ken-ichi stood facing him, looking bulky in his shoulder armor and leather arm protectors. He was dressed for archery, not close combat.

  “Surely it’s not fair for Ken-ichi to wear so much armor,” I muttered as Choji brought forward their yari.

  “Don’t worry,” Tatsuya reassured me. “the Master knows what he’s doing. No armor means he’s lighter on his feet. He’ll be able to dance around Ken-ichi and tire him out.”

  The spears were perhaps four feet long, the type usually carried into battle by samurai on horseback. Each had a wooden shaft covered in lacquered bamboo strips, wrapped in wire at intervals with a heavy steel pommel at the blunt end. The blades were straight, flat, steel daggers, razor sharp for cutting and stabbing.

  A murmur rose from the crowd and people edged closer to the fight arena, keen to get a good view.

  The crowd fell silent as the two combatants bowed and took up their fighting stances. Master Goku’s gaze was steady, watching Ken-ichi alertly…and then the fight began.

  Ken-ichi lunged forward, spear glittering in the sunshine. Master Goku blocked, and the clash of iron blades tore the air. Then Ken-ichi was leaping sideways, lunging again, and then again. Master Goku defended with skill and speed, using his body in harmony with the spear. His torso weaved back and forth as he met every move with an expert deflection.

  Around me the men and women in the crowd gasped and sighed as Ken-ichi unleashed one stinging attack after another, his spear whirling, his arms flashing like the spokes of a wheel. I clenched my fists, watching intently.

  My cousin was as skillful with a yari as he had been with his sword that day I had fought him outside the gates of the dojo. But it could never be enough to best his teacher.

  Master Goku began to move faster, his feet kicking up arcs of white sand. The noise from the crowd intensified and expanded, breaking in a wave against the stone walls of the courtyard.

  Goku deflected each one of Ken-ichi’s attempts and did not once try to attack his student. the Master’s superior skill was clear for all to see.

  How would this fight end? Ken-ichi looked like he would never give up, but surely Goku wouldn’t really injure Ken-ichi….

  But then, Ken-ichi flexed his knees, coming in with a low slice that only just missed Goku’s stomach. My heart began to beat harder.

  “Ken-ichi seems to be getting closer to a strike,” I murmured to Hana.

  She bit her lip, her gaze fixed on Master Goku. Abruptly she reached sideways and grabbed my sleeve. “Something’s wrong!” Her voice was a low and urgent whisper.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. My fists were clenched so tight that I could feel my nails driving into my palms as I watched Goku swing into a sudden attack.

  But my sister shook her head. “Watch Sensei,” she said. “He’s slower than usual.”

  I followed her gaze and at first I couldn’t see what she meant. Master Goku’s spear sliced sideways and upward. He was driving Ken-ichi relentlessly backward. A murmur of voices rose from the crowd. Some of the students leaped to their feet, yelling encouragement to Master Goku. Nobody seemed to be cheering for Ken-ichi, who was buckling under the onslaught. Everything about his movements spoke of defeat.

  But then Goku missed a beat. Instead of striking into Ken-ichi’s center, Goku’s jab went wide.

  Ken-ichi took the advantage and struck back, the shaft of his spear clanging against Goku’s. They struck and parried, struck again, and I saw that Master Goku was slowing down, as though his limbs were suddenly too heavy. A strange look washed across his face. He frowned in confusion, brought his spear up to catch a glancing blow from Ken-ichi, and shook his head as if to clear it.

  “He looks like one of Father’s samurai looks after drinking too much sake,” Hana murmured.

  Master Goku stepped forward to attack again, missed his footing, and slumped to one knee. Hana was right. He looked like he was drunk. What was wrong with him?

  The crowd gasped, and someone yelled, “Come on, Sensei! On your feet.”

  “What’s the matter, Master?” Ken-ichi taunted loudly. “Getting too old to fight a mere student?”

  In the arena, Ken-ichi danced toward Master Goku, launching a sudden, vicious kick that knocked the Master to the ground.

  “Get up!” Tatsuya called urgently.

  But Master Goku lay there on his back in the sand, looking dazed. Ken-ichi stood over him for a moment. “Do you yield?” he asked, his voice tight.

  The crowd waited breathlessly, and at last Master Goku shook his head. “I will never yield to you.” He rolled sideways and came up onto his knees, then launched a sluggish attack with his spear. Ken-ichi parried it effortlessly. Goku’s momentum sent him stumbling to the ground.

  “Do you yield?” Ken-ichi demanded again, aiming his spear at the Master. His voice was louder this time, as if he was sure of victory and he wanted everyone to know it.

  “Never!” Master Goku said again. Pain and fatigue were etched across his face and suddenly he looked like an old man. His gaze slipped sideways and for a heartbeat, his eyes made contact with mine.

  This isn’t right, I thought. Suddenly my mind raced back to that day up behind the bathhouse, when Ken-ichi had talked about slipping poison into drinks.

  My skin prickled with dread. Hadn’t there been a gritty residue in the bottom of the tea bowls when I wiped them?

  And hadn’t Master Goku complained of the cha tasting bitter?

  Ken-ichi must have poisoned him!

  I launched myself forward, desperately elbowing through the crowd to get to Master Goku. People got in my way, pushing at me in confusion. “Please,” I begged, my voice raw and savage. “Let me through.”

  Through the press of the crowd I could see the Master struggling to rise to his feet once more. His movements were listless and heavy, but his face was stubborn. I knew in my heart that he would keep on getting up until whatever it was that Ken-ichi had put in his cha finally stopped his heart beating.

  Ken-ichi knocked Master Goku down for a third time. Caught between two farmers, I watched as my cousin reached down and wrenched the Master’s spear from his grasp.

  He flipped it over, and then held the point lightly to Master Goku’s chest. “Yield,” he said.

  “No.” Goku was panting for breath now, his face the color of ash and his lips blue. He reached up and gripped the spear’s shining blade. “You have not won this fight fairly, Ken-ichi—”

  “Silence!” Ken-ichi roared. “And yield to my honorable victory!”

  “There is no honor left in you,” Goku gasped, and I could see panic spread across Ken-ichi’s face. “You have—”

  Before the Master could say another word, my cousin brought his yari spear plunging down.

  “No!” I yelled, and shoved the people in front of me out of the way with all my strength. As I broke through the crowd, my spirit broke once again.

  Ken-ichi had stabbed Master Goku through the heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Crimson blood seeped out around the blade and darkened Master Goku’s white shirt. Behind me, Hana let out an anguished cry. I turned to see her rushing forward. She seemed to fly past me through the stunned crowed, her gaze fixed on Goku.

  Finally the
crowd parted for me and I fell to my knees at Hana’s side in the dirt of the courtyard. Master Goku’s eyes were closed, and there was a trickle of blood at one corner of his mouth.

  Hana kneeled too and slid her hand under his head. “Sensei,” she whispered urgently. “Sensei, don’t leave us.”

  All around us, people crowded in close. I was aware of Choji leaning over us. “Sensei, open your eyes,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse with distress.

  Master Goku’s eyes fluttered open. He glanced first at Hana and then at me. “S-silent Fist,” he whispered. “And Shadowless Feet…” His face twisted and pain seemed to overwhelm him for a moment.

  Behind him, Ken-ichi dropped his yari spear. “It…it was only supposed to slow him down,” he muttered. He looked suddenly like the little boy who I’d played with all those years ago.

  I turned back to see Master Goku struggling to speak.

  Hana was shaking her head. “Please, please don’t leave us.”

  “Beneath the cherry blossoms,” he said to me with a groan, gripping Hana’s hand tightly. “Look beneath the cherry blossoms….”

  Still kneeling at his side, I glanced across the courtyard to the cherry blossom trees that lined the walls. A slight breeze stirred their branches and the pink and white petals began to fall to the ground, as if the trees were weeping.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him. “Look for what beneath the cherry blossoms?”

  Master Goku’s gaze fixed on mine as he struggled to take a breath. His chest rose, then fell…and was still. His eyes widened, staring up at the sky, and I saw that he would never tell us what he meant about the cherry blossoms.

  “He’s dead,” Choji said in disbelief. “Sensei is dead. May the Buddha bless him and give him peace.”

  A woman in the crowd made a shocked sound, and an old man nearby bowed his head in sorrow. I felt my throat go so tight that I could hardly breathe. Hana let out a muffled sob and leaned forward until her forehead was touching Master Goku’s shoulder.

  I glanced up to see that Ken-ichi was motionless. His face was as white as the sand beneath his feet. He caught me looking at him and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  I stood up. “Murderer!”

  “I—I didn’t mean to,” he stammered.

  “Yes, you did,” I cried. “You had every intention of killing him or you wouldn’t have poisoned him!”

  A shocked gasp rose from the crowd.

  “Poison?” Choji said, looking up at me in surprise.

  “This slave has gone mad,” Ken-ichi said quickly. “He’s babbling. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How ridiculous, to accuse the son of the Jito!”

  I shook my head. “You poisoned him,” I said firmly, narrowing my eyes as I studied my cousin. How could I prove it? Did he still have the poison on him? The only place he could have possibly hidden it was…

  His sash.

  In one fluid movement I drew my sword and sliced it downward across Ken-ichi’s knotted belt. With a whisper, the fabric parted and dropped to the floor.

  A tiny black leather pouch landed at Ken-ichi’s feet.

  In a heartbeat, Choji had snatched up the pouch and loosened the drawstring. When he took his fingers out, the tips were covered in a fine green powder.

  “That’s nothing!” Ken-ichi said. “Just a little ground seaweed to flavor the soup at lunchtime….”

  Choji sniffed the powder and frowned. “Ground seaweed, you say? Then you won’t mind tasting it, will you?” and he thrust his fingers under Ken-ichi’s nose.

  Ken-ichi went even paler and I thought for a moment that he was going to faint. He stared at Choji for a moment. All around us the crowd shifted restlessly.

  “No,” he said at last. “I won’t taste it. I’m the son of the Jito and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “Your word doesn’t count for much,” I said sharply. “For you are no longer the son of the Jito. Remember?”

  Ken-ichi shot me a venomous look. “Shut up, rice boy,” he snarled. “I knew you were trouble. I should have cut you down the day you first showed your filthy peasant face at the gates of the dojo!”

  My sword was still in my hand and I leaped at Kenichi with a yell of blind fury. He just had time to draw his own blade and defend himself before I was slicing at him again. He knew he was not fighting for the title of champion anymore, or his honor. He was fighting for his life. Everything that I had held back since my father’s murder came surging up through me in a torrent of rage and fury. I could feel power humming through my sword arm.

  Ken-ichi buckled beneath my attack. But my anger made me clumsy. In a moment he recovered himself and came back at me, spinning and slicing, his nimble feet dancing back and forth. He leaped sideways, then twisted his body, bringing his sword downward in a glittering arc.

  Gasping, I ducked backward, only just able to get out of the way of his blade….

  Emotion is the ally of your opponent. I could almost hear Goku’s voice drift into my head. A breeze stirred the blossom trees on the far side of the courtyard, releasing another shower of petals, and all at once I felt a great calm descend upon me. I slowed my breathing, focused my mind, stilled my emotions.

  Everything around me slowed, too. I closed my eyes and let images of Goku’s dead body fall out of my mind like leaves from a tree.

  And then I heard Ken-ichi advancing toward me, feet crunching the sand, sword whistling as it was raised to strike. I opened my eyes and brought my blade up and defended easily. As he gathered himself for another backhanded slice, I used the force of his attack to propel my sword around into an attack on him, forcing him to turn his strike into a block.

  He was off balance for a moment and I saw my opportunity. I spun, twisting my hips and snapping my foot forward to kick him. I heard my foot connect with his chest, and he staggered.

  Ken-ichi’s mouth opened wide in shock and I knew he was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear. My ears were filled with the sweet sigh of the warm spring air. I felt a huge energy pulsing inside me and I channeled it all into my right foot as I unleashed the same yokogeri kick that had felled the willow tree.

  This is for Goku! I thought triumphantly.

  But sound came crashing back in as Ken-ichi stepped to the side and snatched at my right foot. He trapped it beneath his arm, hard, and I had a sudden memory of the way he had injured the young student in training a few days ago. With a triumphant sneer and a chuckle, Ken-ichi twisted, and I knew that this time he wouldn’t hold back. He would break my ankle.

  I went with the motion. I let him twist, but I twisted too, using the strength in my cousin’s grip to spin my body in midair. My other foot came up and for a moment I was flying. Time stood still as I spun horizontally through the air, channeling all the power in my body through my left leg. I felt a jolt as my heel connected with Ken-ichi’s chin.

  He staggered, pain etched across his face. His arm loosened and suddenly my right foot was free. I landed lightly on my feet, my back to him.

  My kick had stunned him. His feet were planted wide. His sword dangled limply at his side.

  I didn’t hesitate. I launched myself forward into another yokogeri kick. My foot slammed into Kenichi’s chest and he went flying backward, face amazed. He went flying through one section of the crowd, which parted like a hastily raised curtain, and slammed into the wall of the courtyard.

  He was motionless for a moment, looking breathless, like a butterfly that had been pinned. Then slowly he slid down the wall into a crumpled heap.

  Around me, men and women in colorful kimonos surged upward and suddenly everyone stood, roaring and applauding. But I couldn’t think about them now. All I could see was the sword in Ken-ichi’s hand. I strode toward him and stepped on the blade, pinning it to the ground and aiming the point of my sword at his throat.

  “It is over now,” I said, and my voice sounded loud in the hush that fell on the courtyard. “Yield!”

  CHA
PTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ken-ichi looked up at me. For a moment I could see a look of surprise flash across his face. I realized that he had expected me to kill him.

  He was still breathless and there was a tiny trickle of blood beneath one of his nostrils. He shook his head, refusing to accept that he had lost.

  “Yield, Ken-ichi,” I said in a gentle voice. “You’ve been defeated.”

  “That’s what you think, rice boy,” Ken-ichi growled. “A Yamamoto is never beaten.”

  I know that, I wanted to say. Because I am a Yamamoto through and through. And after everything I have been through, I am still not beaten.

  But I knew that now wasn’t the right time to tell Ken-ichi who I was.

  I took my foot off his sword. “Get up,” I said.

  He stared at me for a moment; then he scrambled to his feet, re-sheathing his sword in one movement. “You may have beaten me in this fight, rice boy,” he said. “But you haven’t won anything. I’m still the son of the Jito. And you’re still nothing more than a filthy peasant.”

  With that, he abruptly turned and ran away across the courtyard. For a moment he was silhouetted in the gateway, and then he was gone.

  “Ken-ichi!” I yelled, and I would have gone after him but Hana appeared at my side.

  She took my hand in hers, her grip surprisingly strong. “Let him go,” she said. “He has to run away.”

  “Why?” I asked

  She gazed at me, her eyes clear pools of light. “If he stays, he would be dragged in front of the Jito to stand trial for his treachery,” she said simply. “He’s a murderer now. And a murderer cannot expect mercy, even if he is the son of the Jito.”

  She was still gazing at me when the crowd suddenly surged forward and surrounded us. People reached out to thump me on the back. “What a victory!” someone cried. “The Master is avenged!”

  But I felt no sense of satisfaction. I didn’t want revenge for Master Goku’s death—I wanted the Master alive and well, standing at my side. My heart ached as I thought of the deaths I had seen since that afternoon when Uncle had arrived at our compound—Father, Harumasa, Nobuaki, all our faithful servants, and now Sensei, too.