Sisters of the Sword

by Maya Snow

  Maya Snow

  Sisters of the Sword

  For Ellis and Claudia—

  two inspirational young women

  Contents

  Prologue

  I have become invisible.

  Chapter One

  I was in the moss garden when the bell tolled…

  Chapter Two

  As Uncle released him and stepped back, Father slumped heavily…

  Chapter Three

  I dashed across the bedchamber and picked up Moriyasu’s sword.

  Chapter Four

  “Not as easy as you think,” I gasped.

  Chapter Five

  Afraid that we might meet more of Uncle’s samurai, we…

  Chapter Six

  Ken-ichi caught sight of me and I quickly tucked my…

  Chapter Seven

  I took a step forward, then shot out the fist…

  Chapter Eight

  I hugged her. “Okay then, Otonashi,” I said, my throat…

  Chapter Nine

  After the demonstrations, the ceremony continued with a feast. At…

  Chapter Ten

  Immediately I flipped my broom up the right way. Beside…

  Chapter Eleven

  “My grandmother would be honored to hear you say such…

  Chapter Twelve

  Somewhere a boy sniggered and I flushed a deep red,…

  Chapter Thirteen

  I blinked and then the moment passed. Master Goku picked…

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You wouldn’t dare to use it against Uncle. Would you,…

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was up on the balls of my feet, ready…

  Chapter Sixteen

  For Hana and me, life seemed a little easier after…

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You’re late,” grumbled Choji when we finally appeared in the…

  Chapter Eighteen

  At last Hana managed to twist her hair up and…

  Chapter Nineteen

  At last the day of the tournament dawned. The first…

  Chapter Twenty

  Master Goku sighed. “If you insist, Kenichi. I choose the…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Crimson blood seeped out around the blade and darkened Master…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ken-ichi looked up at me. For a moment I could…

  Epilogue

  I can move as silently as a ghost, a kami…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  I have become invisible.

  Imagine you are making your way along a bustling street in the Imperial Capital of Heiankyo, rubbing shoulders with craftsmen and merchants. You push through the crowd, touching me, but you still do not see me.

  Perhaps you are walking alone through a deserted alleyway in some remote village. You might walk right past me and never notice.

  I can move as silently as a ghost. Unseen by the human eye. And when I strike, I strike fast. You could be dealt a deathly blow, and yet never see who or what had killed you.

  But I would not draw my sword against you. Because to kill without reason, in cold blood, is against the bushi, the samurai code. And I am a samurai.

  Ah, I see you blink with surprise. A girl? you are thinking. Surely a girl cannot be a samurai!

  But you are wrong. My sister, Hana, and I have proved that girls can be samurai. Together we have honored our father’s memory by treading the path of the warrior, a path full of hardship, danger, and death.

  It is strange to think that I once knew little of danger, and nothing of death.

  But now, death stalks me. A dark shadow follows my every footstep, watches my every move. I can hide from you in the streets, but I cannot hide from death.

  Oh yes. Death and I have come to know each other very well.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I was in the moss garden when the bell tolled to announce the approach of a visitor at the gate.

  “Yamamoto no Hidehira!” The watchman cried Uncle’s name from the watchtower. “Ima tsukitamaisoro!” He is arriving!

  My heart jumped with excitement and I dropped the bamboo cane I’d been using as a practice sword. Two energetic leaps took me over the gravel beds and across the narrow stream that snaked through the moss garden.

  “Kimi, slow down!” my mother called from a nearby pavilion. “Remember what your grandmother always used to say—”

  “Yes, yes!” I called back. “The first daughter of his lordship, the Jito, should not behave like a farmworker!”

  My mother laughed. “And are you behaving like a farmworker, Kimi?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I replied, smiling.

  To honor my grandmother’s memory, I proceeded in a ladylike fashion all the way to the end of the path with my hands inside the wide sleeves of my silk robe. But being a lady all the time was too much for me. I would rather spend my days fighting and studying the bushi code, like my father and brothers do. So the moment I was out of sight of my mother’s pavilion, I broke into a run and raced to the side courtyard.

  I arrived at the entrance to the courtyard just in time to see Uncle Hidehira dismount from his horse. He was a big man, dark eyed and dark haired, dressed in robes of glossy red silk that befitted his important station as brother to the Jito. Plates of lacquered armor were strapped to his chest, arms, and legs, the iron panels laced together with strips of strong rawhide. I could see my uncle’s favorite tanto dagger fastened tightly at his waist by a narrow silk sash. The bright red-lacquered decoration on its ornate scabbard glittered in the late-afternoon sun.

  Surrounding Uncle Hidehira was his entourage of about thirty samurai soldiers in full armor, their faces stern beneath elaborate helmets. Long curving bows and quivers of arrows bristled at their backs as they leaped gracefully off their mounts and tossed the reins to a gaggle of waiting servants. I felt a thrill as I watched the samurai. They looked poised and fierce in their hardened leather armor.

  “One hour’s rest for the men,” my uncle said curtly to his captain. “Then I want the weapons made ready for inspection.”

  As his soldiers received their orders from the captain, Uncle turned to survey the compound that had been his childhood home. One hand rested casually on the hilt of his tanto dagger as his dark gaze settled on the red-painted pillars and graceful, curved rooftops of the pavilions. I saw him smile as he took in the beautiful gardens that went down in sweeping steps all the way to the green valley far below.

  I stepped forward out of the shadow of the gateway and Uncle caught sight of me.

  “Little Kimi!” he cried as he stretched out his hands toward me and came striding across the courtyard. “All dressed in silk robes with her long hair down her back. You’ve grown since I saw you last year. I suppose I shouldn’t call you ‘little’ anymore. You’re as tall as a willow tree and twice as strong.” He clasped my hands in his and I was aware of his great strength. “Have you come running to see if I’ve brought presents for you?”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Seeing you again is better than any present, Uncle.” I glanced past him and surveyed the samurai, searching for a smaller figure among the men. “Is Ken-ichi with you?”

  “Your cousin is in training,” Uncle answered. “These days he has no time for visiting. He must focus on his studies if he is ever to be a worthy samurai.” Uncle’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he regarded me. “And how are your own studies, Kimi? Have you remembered the kata I taught you when I was here last year?”

  “Yes, Uncle,” I replied, bowing to show my gratitude for his teaching. “I practice
the sword movements you showed me every day.”

  Training with a sword was not usually part of a noble lady’s education, but Father insisted that all women in his household knew how to defend themselves and their home in case of an attack. He even indulged our training in men’s weapons like the sword because, as he said, both Hana and I had shown exceptional talent. Tea ceremonies, dancing, and calligraphy were one thing, but it was weapons training and martial skills that thrilled me the most.

  “I remember I was impressed with the way you handled a sword,” Uncle said with a thoughtful nod. “You should have been born a boy, Kimi. What a warrior you would have made!”

  I smiled as I led Uncle up the stone steps and along a covered walkway toward the entrance hall. One day, I thought, I will show my family that even a girl can be a great warrior.

  “I’ve also been training with the naginata spear,” I told him as we walked.

  “An excellent defense weapon,” Uncle said. “You’ll need that if any rebels ever attack the compound. How many of the basic postures have you covered, Kimi?”

  “All six,” I said proudly. “And I can attack a target from above and below!” I swept my hand in a wide curve to show Uncle one of my moves.

  As I told him about my training and what I had been reading about in my Zen studies, servants in loose cotton trousers and baggy blue jackets followed respectfully behind us, carrying Uncle’s baggage. The samurai soldiers had disappeared off to their own quarters, no doubt to prepare for weapons inspection.

  Up ahead, a slanting beam of sunlight captured my younger sister, Hana, as she emerged from the entrance hall. She was dressed in a thick, sea-green silk kimono that rippled like water as she moved toward us. My grandmother would never have called Hana a farmworker—she was always poised and elegant. Her name means “flower,” and I often think of how well my parents named her. She is grace itself.

  I gave a little wave and Hana answered with a smile, her gentle face full of welcome as she bowed to Uncle. Behind her scampered our youngest brother, Moriyasu, dressed in yellow with the bottom of his trousers still damp from playing in the pond. He gave a yelp of delight when he saw our visitor and waved his bokken, the little wooden sword that rarely left his hand.

  Hana came to stand at my side, her fingers briefly touching mine in our secret signal of kinship. As Moriyasu dashed down the steps to Uncle, Hana and I stood side by side, giggling softly behind our hands as we watched our brother’s antics.

  “Hai-ya!” Moriyasu shrieked as he kicked up one foot and pretended to stab Uncle with a swift sword movement. “You’re dead! I killed you!”

  Uncle clutched his stomach, bending over as if he had been mortally wounded. “Aai!” he groaned. “An old man like me is no match for such a skilled young samurai!” He straightened up and lightly pinched Moriyasu’s cheek. “Keep up your practice, young man, and perhaps one day the great Shogun himself, Minamoto no Sanetomo, will employ you as his bodyguard.”

  Moriyasu’s eyes widened. “Do you think so, Uncle? What an honor that would be for our family! I would be like you then, serving the Shogun just as you serve my father.”

  Moriyasu’s voice was full of admiration, but I held my breath for a moment. Would his innocent words offend Uncle? It was not polite to remind a strong man like Hidehira that he must serve his younger brother.

  But Uncle cheerfully ruffled Moriyasu’s short black hair. “So you want to be like me, eh? Well, I think you have some growing to do first, little warrior!”

  We all made our way toward the shinden, the elegant pavilion that was the center of our home. My mother came out to meet us, all the elegance of her station reflected in her beautiful pale face and dark eyes. Her smooth hair was worn loose to the waist like mine, and it shone like black silk as she bowed to Uncle.

  “Welcome, Hidehira,” she said softly. “As always, it is a pleasure to see you. My husband is in the rock garden with his secretary. Yoshijiro was finishing some paperwork while he waited for you to arrive.”

  “My brother works too hard,” Uncle said with a smile.

  “Perhaps,” my mother replied, bowing respectfully. “But Yoshijiro always says that the Jito’s job is as much about proper administration as it is about fighting.”

  “Wise words,” Uncle acknowledged politely. “The Shogun would approve.”

  My mother led him through the square rooms, where the paper walls seemed to whisper as we passed. Moriyasu danced at Uncle’s heels, swinging his wooden sword.

  Hana and I followed behind, falling into step together. As we walked, I felt calmness settle over me. My sister was the tranquil influence that soothed my restless energy.

  We made our way out of the house and followed a line of cherry blossom trees to the rock garden. I could see my father sitting on a wooden bench in a patch of golden sunshine. His black hair was twisted into a knot on the top of his head, and his brow was creased in concentration as he held back his heavy, yellow silk sleeve and dipped his brush onto his wet inkstone. He made a series of quick, firm brushstrokes on a paper scroll, and then handed the scroll to his secretary who stood nearby.

  My father was very wise and learned, and he worked from dawn until dusk in his role as Jito, Lord Steward, a representative of the Shogun himself. He presided over a large southern part of the Kai Province, but however hard he worked, he was always pleased to give his attention to his family. He would often take time away from administration to train us: Hana and me and my brothers. Mother would be his mock attacker as he demonstrated principles of fighting: the importance of distance between the fighters; how to watch your opponent; or when to move. These were my favorite times as a family. We would listen and learn, swords in our hands and our minds fixed on Father, privileged to know that we were being taught by the best warrior in the kingdom.

  Now, as he heard our footsteps crunching across the gravel toward him, Father looked up and beamed with pleasure when he saw us all.

  “Brother!” he cried, rising and coming to meet Uncle. “I welcome you.”

  They greeted each other formally at first, as befitted the Jito and a faithful servant. But soon Uncle was teasing my father just as he had teased Moriyasu, calling him by his childhood nickname of Koishi, which means “little stone.”

  My father laughed. “And as I recall,” he reminded Uncle, “you were Oiwa, my ‘big rock’! Always there to support me, Hidehira, just as now.”

  Patting his brother’s shoulder, Father asked a servant to bring sake rice wine to refresh Uncle after his long journey. Then we all sat on tatami reed mats at my father’s feet to listen as Uncle told us the news he’d gathered from patrolling my father’s lands. I wished I was allowed to roam the countryside, fighting any bandits that I came across. What an exciting life!

  The men talked for a long time and when I next looked up at the sky, I was surprised to see that the afternoon had turned to dusk. A handful of servants emerged from the pavilions and glided silently across the terrace gardens. They lit the lanterns that hung between the trees where they shone like small moons.

  With a bow, Uncle withdrew to inspect his soldiers’ weapons and my mother leaned forward to gently touch my hand. “Kimi,” she murmured. “It’s getting late. I would like you and Hana to take Moriyasu back to the bedchambers now.”

  “But I’d like to stay,” I protested quietly. I glanced at my sister. “And I’m sure Hana would, too.”

  But my mother shook her head. “The men must prepare for their ceremonial dinner,” she explained. “The kaiseki ryori is an important occasion during which your uncle will assume the duties of the Jito for your father.”

  “Uncle is to be Jito?” I asked my mother in surprise.

  “Only temporarily,” my mother said in a reassuring voice. “Just while your father travels around our estates with your older brothers. You remember our discussions about the journey Harumasa and Nobuaki must make, now that they are of an age to begin to understand the duties of their station? One day,
one of your brothers will inherit the Jito title.”

  I did remember. We had talked many times, and not always peacefully.

  But this time I didn’t argue. Nor did I question why sons could inherit while daughters could not. Instead I nodded, and did as my mother asked me.

  But as soon as Moriyasu was settled with his nurse, I took Hana’s hand and led her to the shinden banqueting room.

  “What are you doing, Kimi?” she asked. “You know we mustn’t disturb the ceremony.”

  “The ceremony will not be disturbed,” I reassured her. “No one will even know we are there.”

  I led her quickly through the rooms to a hidden alcove I knew well, next to the formal dining room. The two of us hid easily behind the painted silk screen. I pressed my finger to my lips, signaling her to be quiet, and then pointed to a small slit at the edge of one of the padded sections.

  Hana put her face to the slit, and then jumped back when she saw how close we were to the men. Her eyes were wide with amazement and delight, and I nodded—we would not be seen, but we could see everything!

  There was a second slit for me to look through, and I could clearly see that my father, brothers, and uncle were kneeling on tatami mats just on the other side of the screen. Samurai soldiers sat shoulder to shoulder in two long lines that stretched all the way to the far walls of the banqueting room. All of them wore long, loose tunics. Those in red silk were Uncle’s men, others in yellow served my father.

  I felt a thrill of excitement as I watched the ceremony begin. They all washed their hands to purify themselves, and then my father began to speak. His words were thoughtful and formal, as befitted the ceremonial occasion.