senchou: Boat chief.
Shinmoe-dake: Volcanic mountain on the Isle of Unknown Fires.
tachi: Long sword commonly worn by samurai.
tantō: Dagger.
Taka: Yamabuki’s clan; hawk (literal).
Tendai sect: A Buddhist sect.
tessen: War fan made out of metal.
Tiger Claw: Name of Yamabuki’s tachi.
Tiger Cub: Name of Yamabuki’s personal sword.
toi: Foreign; Korean.
tsuibu kampu: Warrant of Pursuit.
Tsukushi: Another ancient name for Kyushu, Yamabuki’s home isle.
Wa: Ancient Chinese name for Japan.
Wakatake: An inn in Kita; young bamboo (literal).
Windward Sea: Pacific Ocean.
yoroi: Full armor.
Japanese Years, Seasons, and Time
Japanese Hours
The hours of the day are defined as divisions of time between sunrise and sunset, and back to sunrise again. Sunrise marks the middle of the Hour of the Rabbit; sunset marks the middle of the Hour of the Bird. There are only twelve hours in each day—six hours of daytime and six hours of night—therefore each hour is approximately two hours in modern reckoning. The new day always starts at sunrise.
Naturally, as the seasons change—days longer and nights shorter during summer, and vice versa during winter—the actual duration of daytime and nighttime hours will vary throughout the year.
Hour of the Rabbit
6 bell strikes
5–7 AM
Hour of the Dragon
5 bell strikes
7–9 AM
Hour of the Snake
4 bell strikes
9–11 AM
Hour of the Horse
9 bell strikes
11 AM–1 PM
(Noon)
Hour of the Sheep
8 bell strikes
1–3 PM
Hour of the Monkey
7 bell strikes
3–5 PM
Hour of the Bird
6 bell strikes
5–7 PM
Hour of the Dog
Shokō, First Watch
5 bell strikes
7–9 PM
Hour of the Pig
Nikō, Second Watch
4 bell strikes
9–11 PM
Hour of the Mouse
Saukō, Third Watch
9 bell strikes
11 PM–1 AM
(Midnight)
Hour of the Ox
Shikō, Fourth Watch
8 bell strikes
1–3 AM
(“witching hour”)
Hour of the Tiger
Gokō, Fifth Watch
7 bell strikes
3–5 AM
Months
Each month begins with the Dark Moon (New Moon). Sprouting Month, the First Day of Spring, begins on the first Dark Moon to fall on or after the first day of the solar stem of Risshun (February 4).
Because the lunar cycle does not coincide perfectly with the solar year, intercalary months, or urū months, are added every few years. For example, in the year 1172, the Dark Moon on 16 January 1172 marks the beginning of Urū Twelfth Month, and the year 1173 officially starts on the next Dark Moon on 14 February 1173; in 1156, Urū Ninth Month begins on 16 October 1156. (See “Years” section below.)
Month 1 — Sprouting Month — First day of Spring
Month 2 — Clothes-Lining Month
Month 3 — Flowery Month
Month 4 — Unohana Month — First day of Summer
Month 5 — Rice-Sprouting Month
Month 6 — Watery Month
Month 7 — Poem-composing Month — First day of Autumn
Month 8 — Leaf Month
Month 9 — Long Month
Month 10 — Gods Month — First day of Winter
Month 11 — Frost Month
Month 12 — Last Month
Solar Stems
Solar stems are based on the position of the sun. Risshun begins at the exact midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox.
Risshun 立春
Starts on February 4
Beginning of spring
Usui 雨水
Starts on February 18
Rain water
Keichitsu 啓蟄
Starts on March 5
Awakening of Insects
Shunbun 春分
Starts on March 20
Vernal equinox
Seimei 清明
Starts on April 4
Clear and bright
Kokuu 穀雨
Starts on April 20
Grain rain
Rikka 立夏
Starts on May 5
Beginning of summer
Shōman 小満
Starts on May 21
Grain Fills
Bōshu 芒種
Starts on June 5
Grain in Ear
Geshi 夏至
Starts on June 21
Summer Solstice
Shōsho 小暑
Starts on July 7
Little Heat
Taisho 大暑
Starts on July 23
Great Heat
Risshū 立秋
Starts on August 7
Beginning of Autumn
Shosho 処暑
Starts on August 23
End of Heat
Hakuro 白露
Starts on September 7
Descent of White Dew
Shūbun 秋分
Starts on September 23
Autumnal Equinox
Kanro 寒露
Starts on October 8
Cold Dew
Sōkō 霜降
Starts on October 23
Descent of Frost
Rittō 立冬
Starts on November 7
Beginning of Winter
Shōsetsu 小雪
Starts on November 22
Little Snow
Taisetsu 大雪
Starts on December 7
Great Snow
Tōji 冬至
Starts on December 22
Winter Solstice
Shōkan 小寒
Starts on January 5
Little Cold
Daikan 大寒
Starts on January 20
Great Cold
Eras and Years
Years are marked by twelve or thirteen months and designated by era names. Because the lunar cycle does not coincide perfectly with the solar year, intercalary months, or urū months, are added every few years.
All western dates refer to the Julian calendar.
Kyūan 1–6 [1145–1151]
Beginning 22nd day of seventh month of 1145
Kyūan 1 has an urū month starting 16 November 1148
Kyūan 5 has an urū month starting 18 July 1148
Ninbyō 1–3 [1151–1154]
Starts on 26th day of the first month of 1151
Ninbyō 1 has an urū month starting 18 May 1151
Ninbyō 3 has an urū month starting 16 January 1154
Kyūju 1–2 [1154–1156]
Starts on 28th day of the tenth month of 1154
Hōgen 1–3 [1156–1159]
Starts on 24th day of the fourth month of 1156
Hōgen 1 has an urū month starting 16 October 1156
Heiji 1 [1159–1160]
Starts on 20th day of the fourth month of 1159
Heiji 1 [1159–1160] has an urū month starting 18 June 1159
Eiriaku 1 [1160–1161]
Starts on 10th day of the first month of 1160
Ōhō 1–2 [1161–1163]
Starts on 4th day of the ninth month of 1161
Ōhō 2 has an urū month starting 17 Ap
ril 1162
Chōkan 1–2 [1163–1164]
Starts on 29th day of the third month of 1163
Chōkan 2 has an urū month starting 16 December 1164
Eiman 1 [1165–1166]
Starts on 5th day of the sixth month of 1165
Nin’an 1–3 [1166–1169]
Starts on 27th day of the eighth month of 1166
Nin’an 2 has an urū month starting 17 August 1167
Kaō 1–2 [1169–1171]
Starts on 8th day of the fourth month of 1169
Kaō 2 has an urū month starting 18 May 1170
Shōan 1–4 [1171–1175]
Starts on 21st day of the fourth month of 1171
Shōan 2 has an urū month starting 16 January 1173
Angen 1–2 [1175–1177]
Starts on 28th day of the seventh month of 1175
Angen 1 has an urū month starting 17 October 1175
Acknowledgments
I want to thank my editor, Laura Lis Scott, for her indefatigable enthusiasm and support for this project. Her work not only with the manuscript, but in layout, cover design, historical research, and story development made a key difference in the final product.
I also would like to thank Tonia Hurst, Carolyn Burke, Anne Vonhof, and Stella Myers for their careful review of the early drafts and the final galleys, and their ardent support.
Thanks also goes to the beta readers for their insight and feedback, as well as their input in the cover art: Roslynn Pryor, Carolyn Studer, Janet Brantley and Crystal Thieringer. Finally I’d like to express my gratitude to Amy Bovaird, S.M. Larson, Lynn Ewback, Carryl A. Robinson, Vanessa von Mollendorf, and Rebecca Barth on their feedback on the cover design.
About the Author
For several years, Katherine M. Lawrence has been researching and writing the adventures of Yamabuki, an actual historic female samurai who lived in the Heian Era of Japan. Inspired by several decades in the martial arts halls led by women—Ja Shin Do, the San Jose State University Kendo Club, and Pai Lum White Lotus Fist: Crane style—Katherine set out to write about the experiences of women who train in warriors’ skills . . . and Yamabuki in particular.
Katherine graduated from the University of Washington with a BA degree in both History and Chemistry, and continued with work on a Masters in History at the Far Eastern and Slavic Institute. She also received an MBA from Harvard University.
She is currently developing further books about the adventures of Yamabuki. She lives in Boulder, Colorado.
Kate blogs at KateLore.com
Follow her on Twitter: @pingkate
Sign up for Kate’s newsletter at http://eepurl.com/K8IIf
Extras . . .
Excerpt from Cold Rain,
Book Two of
Sword of the Taka Samurai
The action of Cold Blood continues. . . .
excerpt from Cold Rain:
Female Warriors Were Ordered to Beautify Themselves
Cold rain washed runnels of blood past her feet.
She had never been in an actual duel; never had anyone fallen before her sword. Three dead bodies lay in the road. Her palms still pulsed from the impact of steel against steel. The dying echoes of the assassins’ screams lingered in her ears, mixing with the ever-increasing beat of the wind-driven rain. The skies turned black. Thunder rolled through the forest. The temperature dropped.
Even as icy showers drenched everything, she still felt flush. Rain soaked her hair. She mopped her brow. Cold entered her armor where her chest protector was torn. She touched her own breasts. The fencing master’s blade had only split the corselet’s outer layer. The imperial yellow under-silk remained intact. No blood. Not so much as a nick.
She wiped her cheek, fingering the single wound she received in the fray. It was viscid. Only when she touched it did it sting. Her naked fingertips extending from her sleeve-and-hand armor were now red. She let the reiu wash away the blood.
She had to get Mochizuki out of the ice storm. She took the colt’s bridle, leading him to a sheltered place under the trees. His hot breath steamed. She looked into his dark-brown, moonlike eyes. “You never doubted I’d survive, did you?” Impassively the colt looked back at her.
Her breathing had almost returned to normal.
The rain and hail increased, drenching the dead, pelting them with pearl-white ice pebbles. The cloudburst grew so thick it became a fog. But like any fury, it abated. The rains began to die away. The grayness lifted. High clouds broke. The bright skies of noon shined through.
A piercing screech rose from the nearby Shintō shrine. A black kite perched on one of the crossbeams of the red torii entrance gate.
“A tonbi. Has he been watching us?”
Though usually not superstitious, she took comfort in the bird. A good omen. Kites were kin to taka. Taka: “hawk,” her clan name.
The bird’s gold-speckled eyes peered first at her, and then at the dead. As if agitated, it swiveled its head from side to side. Now left, then right, not able to make up its mind. It straightened itself. Shrieked. Then, beating its wings six or seven times, it flew up over the forest and soared into the blueness of the clearing sky. Giving forth a final prolonged and chilling cry, the tonbi disappeared.
“You know, Mochizuki, it’s said kites carry fallen warriors’ spirits into the next world.” It was an ancient Taka clan belief—older than Shintō, going back to an age when spiritual matters were the province of female shamans. “The tonbi flew west,” she said. “The Red Land lies beyond the setting sun.”
The kite might possibly have flown off to the Western Paradise with the essences of the dead, but the bodies still lay where they fell. Though she had seen bodies before, until today she had never seen one decapitated.
Her father’s retainers sometimes argued with an almost ghoulish relish, trying to sound jaundiced, about the fine points of “taking the head.” A head was proof that a warlord’s foe was truly dead. An entire warrior lore had grown up around the “proper” way to cut off the head of a foe. It was an art. A head could not be allowed to putrefy. A bad smell was a breach of good manners. There were heated debates whether to use salt or saké as a preservative; salt dried out the face, but saké bloated the features.
The gruesome punctilios were sedulously followed by the Taka, not only in anticipation of victory but also in the case of their own deaths. Before a major battle, samurai were admonished to wash, oil, comb, and perfume their hair so that the smell of rotted flesh would not offend should their severed heads happen to be presented to their enemies. So that no one would suffer the humiliation of being taken for a girl, those whose facial hair was a fine fuzz were told to stain their beards and moustaches with darkening cream.
As for female warriors, they were ordered to beautify themselves.
Yamabuki imagined what might have happened had the assassins succeeded: Standing over her body, daggers drawn, they would be cutting her head away from her neck, ready to immerse it into some awful kill-box. She pictured her skull, dangling by its long black tresses, as the ninja lowered it into the liquid-filled canister. The saké, now tinged red by her blood, would slowly rise up under her chin, coming up to her gaping mouth and lips. As they lowered the head further, the liquid would move over her cheeks and cover her vacant eyes . . . until it closed around her forehead and her scalp as the last of her finally disappeared beneath the fluid. Only her hair would be left floating on the surface. And then the lid would be closed, sealing her in darkness.
Cold Rain is available now!
Excerpt from Cold Saké, a Yamabuki Novelette
Years after the events in Cold Blood . . .
Along a lonely road, at a forgotten inn,
Yamabuki fights for her life . . . and her sanity.
excerpt from Cold Saké
Last day before Gods Absent Month
Five days after Dark Moon’s Night
&
nbsp; 2nd Year of Shōan
October 31, 1172
The dusk promised rain. The rider knew it, the horse sensed it, the sky foretold it. Behind her, what remained of the day clung to an unsettled horizon of dirty orange, jade green, and deepening blue. Ahead of her, the rutted road snaked northeastward—an unlucky direction.
The farmers back at Ogami village had assured her that she would reach East Wind Inn before sunset. Now it was past the Hour of the Monkey. She had ridden for over two hours without seeing so much as a hut.
Farmers! They’ll say anything.
Near a washed-out bridge, the road detoured into a ravine where dead dry leaves danced about in small whirlwinds that carried with them the scent of autumn. She pulled her jimbaori cloak tighter, but still she shivered.
But then, as the road rose from the ravine, she spied a dark building in a shadowy grove of pines. A man stood near its entrance. “We may have arrived at last, Mochizuki,” she whispered to her mount. Yet as she rode further, she saw that it was not an inn at all, but an abandoned Buddhist temple. Probably built to guard the northeast direction from an approach by demons, it had fallen into ruin, overgrown by vines; its gardens lay choked in dead grass; its ponds sat putrid and muddy.
What she had taken for a man at the entry turned out to be a statue of Jizō—patron and guardian of dead children’s souls. Entangled among vines, one of his arms was lifted, reaching for what scant light fell into the wooded grove. Carved in gray stone, Jizō’s compassionate eyes stared into the gloom, his chiseled, serene expression sending a smile to the lone traveler. His other hand remained outstretched in an attitude of blessing, his shattered fingers bearing mute witness to the statue’s decay.
Cold Blood Page 8
