Sisters of the Sword

by Maya Snow

  But just then, a small door set into the gates flew open.

  I gulped back my relief as three boys of my own age came tumbling out through the doorway, laughing and jostling one another, the hems of their long black hakama trousers swirling in the dust.

  One of them had a long, ornate sword fastened tightly at his waist by a blue silk sash. He had clever dark eyes, wide cheekbones, and a firm mouth. And even though I had not seen him for almost five years, he looked enough like his father for me to know that this was my cousin Ken-ichi—the only son of my treacherous uncle Hidehira.

  My skin turned cold with fear.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ken-ichi caught sight of me and I quickly tucked my chin down, praying that he wouldn’t recognize us. For a moment there was silence; then he swaggered toward me and stared down at my bare feet.

  “A peasant boy, eh?” he said slowly. “Surely you aren’t stupid enough to think you might be able to join our training school?”

  His voice was heavy with arrogance, and I glanced up at him from beneath my lashes. Ken-ichi had changed. What had happened to the boy I used to know? The good-natured cousin who used to laugh with me when we were children?

  “Looks like he is stupid, Ken-ichi,” one of his friends said with a snigger. “Why else would he be here?”

  Ken-ichi walked a full circle around me, studying me from head to toe. An insect buzzed near my face and I wanted to swat it away but I didn’t dare move. Ken-ichi paused to look at Moriyasu’s little wooden sword and gave a snort of laughter. “Is that what they teach you to fight with out in the paddy fields?” he asked. “How old are you? Five years? Six?”

  “I’m thirteen,” I said fiercely, remembering just in time to make my voice sound deeper and more like a boy’s. “And I have a sword.”

  Ken-ichi nodded. “I can see that,” he said, bending down to inspect my nihonto. “Tempered steel blade…carved hilt…a scabbard worthy of the finest craftsmen…but I don’t think that sword is really yours, is it? A blade like that is far too good for a stinking peasant like you. You stole it!”

  “I did not!” I protested. How could I have been so stupid? He was right! A peasant wouldn’t have a nihonto like mine. “It was a gift from my father,” I said quickly.

  Ken-ichi shrugged. “Then your father’s a thief,” he said in a matter-of-fact way, and circled around me again.

  I wanted to launch myself at him and make him apologize…but I controlled myself. Attacking a student of the dojo wasn’t the way to get an interview with the Master. I gritted my teeth and turned to address the guard.

  But Ken-ichi put himself in front of me again. “The most noble families in the kingdom of Japan send their sons to train here,” he drawled. “And nobles like us don’t mix with stinking peasants like you.”

  I should have been angry when he said that, but I knew him calling me a stinking peasant was proof that he hadn’t recognized me. I relaxed, just a little, and forced myself to unclench my fists.

  “You two had better get lost,” Ken-ichi said, glancing across at Hana. When he looked at her, Hana dipped her head and stared down at the road. “Go on—get lost,” he said, his voice louder now. “Back to the paddy fields with you.”

  Ken-ichi had changed so much. The last time I had seen him he had been a boy, listening thoughtfully as my father read poetry to us both in a sun-drenched courtyard. Now many moons had passed, and Ken-ichi had turned into an arrogant young man who sneered at strangers. I wondered briefly what had happened to make him like this. Then another thought occurred to me. Did Ken-ichi even know that my father was dead? Was he aware of what his own father had done?

  I decided to test him—to mention Father and watch Ken-ichi to see what his reaction was.

  “I beg your forgiveness, sir,” I said in a respectful tone, bowing low. “We are two humble boys, strangers to the province. We seek only to improve our skills and heard that the Jito, Lord Steward Yoshijiro, sent his sons to this dojo.”

  Ken-ichi didn’t flinch when I said Father’s name. “That’s true,” he said with a shrug. “Harumasa and Nobuaki are students here. What of it?”

  His tone was easy and natural, and I was certain that he had no idea that my father and brothers were dead. I bowed lower. “If the sons of the Jito were students here, then this must indeed be a very great dojo.”

  “It’s the best in all Japan,” Ken-ichi said proudly. “Too good for the likes of you. Now get out of the way, rice boy. My friends and I have an appointment in the village, and you’ve delayed us long enough.”

  With that, Ken-ichi beckoned to his friends and deliberately shoved past me, coming so close that the saya scabbards of our swords clashed together. The harsh sound echoed in the clear morning air.

  I froze. Ken-ichi and his friends whirled around and the nearby guards stared at us, their eyes wide with shock. A clash of saya was a grave insult to any samurai, student or not.

  I glanced at Ken-ichi. His eyes were as sharp as swords. “How dare you!” he hissed, his face growing red with fury. “You—you—stinking peasant!”

  I was sick of being called a peasant, and I felt my temper rise. “It was your fault!” I exclaimed, fists clenched in the folds of my hakama trousers. “You pushed past me!”

  “I am the nephew of the Jito,” Ken-ichi retorted. “You should have shown me respect by backing off and going down on your knees while I passed by.”

  “I don’t go down on my knees to anyone,” I muttered fiercely.

  “Then perhaps it’s time you did,” Ken-ichi said. He drew his sword in a single fluid movement. “You’ve come here to learn, have you? Then I’ll give you a lesson in respect, rice boy. Draw your blade!”

  The guards stared blankly ahead as if they had suddenly gone blind. A breeze shifted through the pine trees behind me.

  Ken-ichi glared at me. “We fight to first blood.”

  I exchanged a glance with Hana. Her mouth was set in a grim line and her hand was on the hilt of her nihonto. As if they sensed she would come to my aid, Ken-ichi’s two friends moved quickly, blocking her. She tried to step around them, but one of them shot out an arm and held her back.

  I turned back to Ken-ichi and quickly drew my sword.

  Ken-ichi stared back at me. “First blood, rice boy,” he said again.

  I tested the weight of my nihonto. The hilt felt smooth and familiar in my hand, the steel perfectly balanced. I slid my right foot backward and stared at Ken-ichi, trying to read him as he shifted his weight and took a two-handed grip on his sword.

  He let out a bloodcurdling yell and came at me hard and fast. The tip of his blade glittered in the sunshine as it sliced the air. I brought my nihonto up in a high deflection. Steel clashed on steel, the sound echoing from the walls surrounding the dojo.

  Ken-ichi showed me no mercy, and I expected none. He was a good fighter—better than I expected—every bit as swift and skillful as my brothers had been. His dark eyes fixed on me; he came at me with quick, fluid attacks, fueled by anger and aggression that he only just kept under control. I was forced to block again and then quickly slide my right foot forward, keeping my stance strong as I raised my blade and brought it slicing down.

  Our swords crossed and then twisted together, blades ringing, the sound carrying in through the open gate of the dojo.

  Ken-ichi didn’t let a single opportunity slide by—he attacked the merest hint of an opening, and only frantic rolling of my wrists enabled me to swing my blade back to deflect his attempted strikes.

  I caught a brief glimpse of Hana watching us with a terrified gaze. Ken-ichi’s friends called encouragement to Ken-ichi as they held Hana back. One of them had seized her sword and twisted it from her grasp. Her face was flushed as she struggled against them.

  Breathless now, Ken-ichi and I danced around each other, the dust on the road churning beneath our feet. He was quick and light, his blade flashing up and then downward in a glittering arc. My cousin’s years of training here a
t the dojo showed in his smooth, purposeful movements. I felt a sudden stab of fear. How could I hope to defeat him?

  Desperately fighting back, I kept my gaze fixed on Ken-ichi’s swinging blade. I could hear myself grunting as our swords jarred together. The midday sun beat down on our heads and I felt sweat prickle across my forehead.

  Again and again, our blades sang through the air, upward, sideways, back, down. I shot one hand straight out in front of me, struggling to keep myself centered while my sword hand flashed upward—and suddenly Ken-ichi ducked beneath my blade and came in so close I felt his arm touch mine. He grasped the handle of my nihonto and twisted hard.

  The next moment I was flying through the air and landed hard on the dusty road, the breath knocked from my body. Knowing that I must get up again, I tried to stand. But it was too late. A shadow fell across me. Ken-ichi was there, blocking out the sunlight as he loomed over me. His sneer was triumphant as he slowly brought his sword down and placed the blade against my cheek.

  “Remember the rules, rice boy,” he said softly. “First blood…”

  “No!” Hana cried in horror, struggling harder against Ken-ichi’s friends.

  But Ken-ichi ignored her. I could feel the razor-sharp edge of his sword pressing into the soft skin just beneath my eye. I gritted my teeth and told myself that I would not beg my cousin for mercy.

  All at once a loud and commanding voice cut the air around us. “Stop!”

  Immediately Ken-ichi sprang back. I glanced up and saw a man standing calmly in the gateway of the dojo. Gray-haired with bushy gray eyebrows, he was dressed in a long black silk kimono belted with a wide black sash. With his straight back and strong shoulders, he did not seem like an old man. His face was stern.

  At the sight of him, Ken-ichi hastily sheathed his sword. Ken-ichi’s friends let Hana go. One of them tossed her sword down into the dirt as I scrambled to my feet.

  Ken-ichi bowed low. Although I had never seen the man before I guessed that this must be Master Goku. He had taught my father and my brothers, and Father had often spoken of his wisdom and skill.

  “I heard the clash of swords as I led my class in meditation,” Master Goku said in a quiet, measured tone. “I thought that perhaps bandits had dared to come to the gates of my training school. Naturally I hurried to investigate.” He stared at Ken-ichi with narrow dark eyes. “But on my arrival I see no bandits. Merely boys. Perhaps, Ken-ichi, you could explain to me what is going on here?”

  “This peasant insulted me, Master Goku,” Ken-ichi replied. His ferocity was gone now that he thought he might be in trouble with the Master, and I saw a glimpse of the cousin I used to know. “He did not move aside to let me pass on the road.”

  “Is that so?” Master Goku’s stern gaze rested on me for a moment. “Did you insult my student, boy?”

  “I meant no insult,” I said quietly. “Our swords touched, but it was an accident.”

  Ken-ichi snorted and would have protested, but Master Goku silenced him by raising one hand. “It is easy to see the worst in any action,” he said thoughtfully. “A good samurai should know the difference between an insult and an accident, and avoid violence until it is necessary.” He folded his hands inside his wide sleeves and settled his gaze on Kenichi. His eyes were as dark as black slate. “If you are ever to be a samurai, then you must learn to control your pride.”

  Ken-ichi’s bow deepened. “Yes, Goku-sensei,” he murmured, using a respectful term of address.

  “Go now, and meditate upon the folly of rash actions.” Master Goku waved his hand toward the doorway that led into the dojo.

  “But this is my free hour, Master Goku,” Ken-ichi spluttered. “We’re going to the village—”

  Master Goku silenced him with a stern look. “I have asked you to meditate, Ken-ichi. You and your friends go back into the school. Immediately.”

  Ken-ichi shot me a furious glare and then stomped back through the gate and into the dojo with his friends.

  I looked back at Master Goku and found his gaze was fixed on me. “Sheath your sword, boy.” His command was quiet, but left no doubt that it was to be obeyed.

  I hadn’t realized until then that my nihonto was still in my hand, and I quickly returned it to its scabbard.

  “Now, tell me what you are doing here at my gates,” Master Goku said.

  I wasn’t sure, but his voice seemed gentler than when he had spoken to Ken-ichi. I swallowed hard and bowed. Beside me, Hana bowed, too.

  “Please forgive the intrusion, Master,” I said. “We are two humble boys who have come from far across the province to seek a place in your training school.”

  Master Goku smiled. “I am honored that you have traveled so far to attend my school,” he said. “But I’m afraid you have wasted your journey. My dojo is full, and there are many boys waiting for places to become free.” He bowed. “You must seek a place in one of the other schools. I wish you good luck.”

  With that, he turned to go back inside.

  Hana threw a desperate glance at me and stepped forward. The guards quickly crossed their spears, blocking her so that she could not go after Master Goku.

  “Wait, Master,” she called. “Hear our plea.”

  Master Goku stopped in his tracks. He did not turn around, but he seemed to be listening.

  Hana took a deep breath. “My brother and I do not wish to train in any other school,” she said firmly. “For us, there is no other dojo but this one.”

  The guards glared as I went to stand beside her. “We have great potential as warriors,” I put in. “Would you give us a chance to show you that we’re worthy of a place in the best school in the kingdom?”

  Master Goku slowly turned around to look at us.

  “Please let us show you our skills, Master Gokusan,” I went on. “My brother and I have practiced hard…and we could match any of your students in one-to-one combat if that’s what it would take to prove our worth.”

  “Belief in the self is an admirable quality in a warrior,” Master Goku said. “One should never approach combat with any element of doubt in one’s own skills.”

  He looked at us both in silence for a long time, regarding Hana first and then turning his unwavering eyes on me. I began to feel uncomfortable under his probing stare.

  “I admire your spirit, boy,” he said at last. “Perhaps I will give you a chance. Come inside, both of you.”

  He led us through the gateway and into a courtyard shaded by a tall maple tree. Neatly raked sand crunched beneath our feet as we walked. In one corner, a lone student in black hakama trousers and a short brown kimono was shuffling and turning swiftly in the dirt, practicing his footwork. A couple of servants were still raking the sand on the courtyard floor. They bowed low when they saw Master Goku, their faces full of respect for him.

  “You shall have the opportunity to prove yourselves,” the Master said, “but you will not fight any of my students. No.” He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Instead, you will fight me.”

  I heard Hana gasp, and struggled to hide my own surprise as I bowed to him. “Thank you, sir,” I said, barely able to breathe. “We will not disappoint you.”

  “That remains to be seen,” the Master replied. “We will fight hand to hand, and I will test your reflexes, your speed, and your ingenuity. Please remove your swords and sandals.”

  I swallowed hard. “Now?”

  Master Goku nodded. “Immediately,” he said. “I see no reason to delay. If you fail to convince me, then it is only fair to give you the rest of the afternoon to make your way to another dojo.”

  I thought I saw the ghost of a smile curve his lips as he slipped off his sandals and folded back the wide sleeves of his kimono. I remembered my father talking about his own training, many years ago, and how skilled Master Goku was in the art of hand-to-hand combat. He had once defeated ten of his top students, taking them on all at once during an exercise of a simultaneous attack. Ten students! I wondered what Hana and I h
ad let ourselves in for.

  But there was no more time to ponder, because my sister and I were both shedding our swords and following Master Goku to the center of the courtyard. As one, we all bowed and assumed a wide-legged stance, knees soft, to show that we were ready. Hana and I mirrored Master Goku, curling one hand into a fist in front of our stomachs while stretching the other arm out in front of our faces, palms flat to the floor and fingertips aimed for our opponent’s throat.

  Attack first, like the wind, and show him what you can do. The thought came to me like a breath of something fresh and pure blown in from the pine forest that surrounded the dojo….

  I took a deep breath, emptied my mind of all thought, and attacked.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I took a step forward, then shot out the fist near my stomach hard and fast, aiming straight for Master Goku’s chest.

  He blocked me with his forearm and before I had time to blink the back of his hand was heading straight for my face. At the same time his other hand was punching toward my stomach, fast and low.

  I quickly twisted away, and then hit back with a chop of my own, channeling power from my turn through my arm and into my hand.

  Master Goku defended my blow easily, his stance strong and balanced. My next strike was wild and when Goku stepped to the side, I stumbled forward.

  Hana darted in. Her outstretched hand swung around and became a chop to Goku’s head. Goku deflected it effortlessly and stood with his feet spread wide, knees bent, giving us time to think about our next moves.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lone student in the corner suddenly dash across the courtyard, the soles of his bare feet flashing white as he disappeared through a carved wooden archway. “Combat in the main courtyard!” he cried. “Come and see!”

  Other students took up his excited cry, and soon the words echoed from rooftop to rooftop. As the news spread through the dojo, boys of all ages came jostling through the archway, surrounding us and elbowing one another in order to see.