by Maya Snow
Hana nodded. “We’ll stay out of his way, and everything will be all right.”
“We’re not going to stay out of his way,” I said firmly. Hana’s eyes widened in surprise, and she began shaking her head. “This could be our opportunity, Hana. At last we can have revenge on him. We can expose him for what he is and restore the honor of the Yamamoto family!”
“How are we going to do that?” Hana asked as we began pouring water down the pathways and sweeping away any leaves or dirt.
I paused at the top of the steps and glanced left and right along the path to make sure we couldn’t be overheard.
“I’m going to wait until the right moment,” I said quietly. “And then I’m going to run him through with a dagger, just like he did to Father.”
“But you don’t have a dagger,” Hana pointed out.
“Oh yes, I do,” I said.
Hana gasped as I slipped my hand into the folds of my jacket and drew out one of Choji’s razor-sharp kitchen knives. I had snatched it from the table when no one was looking.
Its blade glittered wickedly in the bright sunshine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You wouldn’t dare to use it against Uncle. Would you, Kimi?” Hana asked anxiously.
“I would,” I replied, my voice bitter. “We have been training so that we would be ready…so that we could strike fast, as soon as the moment came. And the moment’s almost here, Hana.”
Hana nodded. “It must be done. For our father and brothers.”
I weighed the dagger in my hand, feeling the smooth wooden handle. Of all Choji’s kitchen knives, this was my favorite. The blade had been sharpened so many times that it was thinner and more tapered than all the other knives, but it sliced through the toughest bamboo with ease.
When all the walkways had been cleaned, we hurried to stand with the rest of the servants so that we could watch Uncle’s arrival. The main courtyard was lined with students in crisp brown kimonos and formal, wide-legged, black hakama. Many were still whispering to one another, full of curiosity about the important visitor.
I spotted Tatsuya standing with one of the young masters. Not far from him, Ken-ichi was laughing and joking with his two friends. The school’s enormous gates had been opened wide. Guards stood at attention on either side of the entrance, spears in their hands.
Master Goku stood beneath the wooden archway at the far side of the courtyard, wearing formal robes with his gray hair oiled and dressed. His face was unreadable as he waited in calm silence, his hands hidden in the wide embroidered sleeves of his ceremonial kimono.
Suddenly the sound of a conch-shell trumpet split the air, announcing the approach of the Jito. An expectant hush fell over the students gathered in the courtyard. The guards at the gate straightened their backs and gazed straight ahead, the long horns of their steel helmets pointing to the sky.
All at once thirty or more mounted samurai came galloping into the courtyard, swords gleaming and quivers of arrows bristling at their backs. Behind them an ornate black-lacquered palanquin was carried high on the shoulders of four bearers in red silk livery. I recognized the palanquin immediately, with its engravings and gold leaf, white silk curtains rippling in the breeze. It was my father’s, and had been used to carry him to every state ceremony and occasion that he had attended as Jito.
With pain in my heart, I watched as bearers and palanquin came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard. More samurai soldiers on horseback rode through the gates, swelling the ranks to perhaps sixty or eighty, and I wondered how I was going to get close enough to Uncle to carry out my plan amid so many retainers.
I was still wondering when the curtains of the palanquin were opened and the Jito emerged. Surprise rippled through the assembled students, and I guessed that they had been expecting my father, Lord Yoshijiro.
I held my breath and studied my uncle. He was wearing red silk robes and his black hair had been shaved across the brow, oiled into a tail, and folded back on itself on top of his head. Two swords were strapped to his waist.
On the outside, he looked the same as ever…but there was something different about him now that he was the Jito. He held his head high and proud, without a shadow of guilt for what he had done. As I looked at him, I knew in my heart that when the time came, I would not hesitate to strike.
I would kill him as ruthlessly as he had killed my father and brothers.
Uncle’s dark gaze swept the courtyard, probing the faces of the assembled students and masters. I quickly shrank back behind Ko and Choji, pulling Hana with me.
I couldn’t bear to look at Uncle any longer, so I looked at Ken-ichi instead. And I knew by his stunned expression that he had been expecting my father to step down from the carriage, not his own. His shock quickly turned to a look of darkness and dread, as if he was afraid of his father. But even that expression passed and in its place came curiosity, and then arrogance. Ken-ichi could see that he was important now—no longer merely the nephew of the Jito but the Jito’s son!
Uncle Hidehira gazed around the courtyard for a moment longer, his eyes glittering like black ice. Then he spotted Ken-ichi and beckoned him out of the crowd.
Ken-ichi strode across the courtyard to stand before his father. They bowed formally.
“You are my son and heir, Ken-ichi,” Uncle said. “Watch me. Learn from me. And one day you will also stand here as Jito and accept the allegiance of the samurai students.”
Some of the students struggled to mask their disgust; others glanced at Ken-ichi with new respect.
“Thank you, Father,” Ken-ichi said, bowing again. As he returned to his friends, he looked even more smug and superior than before.
Not for long, cousin, I thought. Soon your father will be exposed as a murderer, and we’ll see how superior you look then.
Master Goku walked forward, his robes flowing behind him. He came to a halt five paces from Uncle and bowed deeply. “I welcome you to the dojo, Yamamoto no Hidehira, Lord Steward to the Shogun,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “I offer my own loyalty, and that of my students and servants. And I offer my sword….”
Kneeling, the Master laid his long nihonto sword at Uncle’s feet. He placed his hands flat on the ground and leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground, just in front of the ornate scabbard.
Uncle watched, looking pleased. He bowed, and then gestured for Master Goku to rise. “Thank you, Master,” he said in his deep, powerful voice. “I accept your allegiance, and I know that when the time comes you will wield your sword wisely on behalf of the house of Yamamoto.”
Master Goku replaced his sword in his belt, stood up, and as he bowed again, he brought his index fingers slightly together flat against his thighs as a sign of respect. “When the time comes,” he echoed. But his voice was strangely flat and I sensed a resistance in him, as if he privately hoped the time would never come when he had to fight on Uncle’s behalf.
The formalities over, Master Goku dismissed the students and masters, telling them that they should practice hard at their chosen skill because the Jito would tour the school later that morning. He and Uncle then made their way across the courtyard at a leisurely pace, heading through the wooden archway toward the moss garden.
Most of the samurai stayed behind, but at a signal from Uncle two of them dismounted, tossed their reins to a foot soldier, and followed the Master and the Jito at a respectful distance.
Choji turned to us. “Skinny boys, come with me to the tea pavilion,” he said. “I will need help serving.”
I exchanged an anxious glance with Hana. Surely Uncle would recognize us at such close quarters? We would just have to be invisible, moving like kami spirits around a room, and hope that the new Jito would not even glance us.
We could not afford to draw attention to ourselves before I had the chance to take my revenge.
We followed the small group of men through the moss garden to the tea pavilion. The morning sun had risen above the trees and there
were dappled shadows on the white pebble pathway. Master Goku and Uncle paused to slip off their sandals before climbing the four wooden steps that led up to the tea pavilion and went inside. The two samurai positioned themselves on either side of the steps, hands on the hilts of their swords, and narrow eyes fixed straight ahead.
Following Choji, I moved cautiously between the two soldiers and entered the pavilion with Hana at my side.
Although the doors were left open behind us, the screens were all closed and I blinked once or twice to accustom my eyes to the shadowy interior.
The room was richly carpeted with fresh green tatami mats, ten in all, to precisely fit the dimensions of the room. A tall vase stood in one corner containing a camellia flower, which filled the air with its delicate scent. Two cushions had been placed on either side of a low gold-lacquered table that had been laid with bowls and ladles for the cha no yoriai. A cauldron was poised on its hook above a charcoal brazier.
Master Goku and Uncle went to kneel on the two cushions, tucking their heels neatly under themselves. Uncle stared across the table at the Master, radiating power and authority. Master Goku returned his gaze without blinking.
There was a moment of tension; then the Master inclined his head in a half bow and turned to Choji. “Cha, please, Mr. Choji,” he said calmly.
“Yes, Sensei.” Choji turned to Hana. “Hurry to the kitchens and ask Ko to prepare a dish of rice and bean curd,” he said in a low voice.
“Yes, Choji,” Hana said respectfully, making her voice sound even deeper and more boyish than usual. She bowed and turned to go, her eyes meeting mine for an intense moment before she headed toward the door. I knew she was offering me her silent support.
When she had gone, the head servant turned to me. “Stand behind the Jito,” he said. “If he needs anything, you will fetch it.”
I bobbed my head and moved smoothly to take up my place. I was so close to Uncle that I could smell the oil he had used on his hair. I watched as he reached into his wide sleeve and drew out a small bamboo fan. He unfolded it and began to fan himself slowly, his gaze still fixed on Master Goku.
“I trust that you are well, Master?” he asked.
“Very well, thank you,” Master Goku replied.
“No plans to retire? To live out your twilight years in a comfortable pavilion overlooking the eastern seas?”
“No such plans,” Master Goku said mildly. “My place is here at the dojo, and always will be.”
“That is good to hear.”
There was a pause as they watched Choji kneel and serve tea with grace and expertise. I watched Uncle as he leaned forward to accept his bowl from Choji’s steady hands. I studied the way his robes shifted as he moved. I focused on his back, just beneath his rib cage, where my blade could be plunged through the red silk into the soft flesh beneath. I held that target in my mind.
“I have great plans to expand my power,” Uncle said to Master Goku, as Choji withdrew. “And to do that, I shall need your help. I want an army of skilled samurai to fight for me—samurai trained in your school, Master. I have decided that you will take on another fifty students. You may begin your search for the best candidates immediately.”
For a moment I thought Master Goku was going to choke on his tea. “Fifty students?” he said in astonishment. “But the school is already full. I don’t have room for any more students!”
“You’ll make room,” Uncle said crisply. He lifted his tea bowl and took a sip of cha. “Build more practice halls…extend the courtyards…employ more servants and teachers. It’s really quite simple.”
“Simple, perhaps. But why such a hurry, Lord Hidehira?” Master Goku asked. “Expanding the territory will mean war, seizing estates from other Jito—”
“I don’t see a problem with that,” Uncle interrupted, looking annoyed.
Master Goku was incredulous. “But—”
“Enough!” Uncle snapped. “You forget your place, Master Goku. I will not be questioned by one of my subjects.”
The Master looked shocked but recovered quickly. “Your brother, Lord Yoshijiro, would never have—”
“My brother is dead.” Uncle’s voice was harsh and loud. “Whatever he may or may not have done is in the past. The lands and title belong to me now and will be ruled with a firm hand from this day onward. Yoshijiro was too soft, too slow, always tiptoeing about the other Jito and the courts, being polite. I have no such intentions.”
Rage simmered inside me as I listened to him.
“I was sorry to hear of your brother’s passing,” Master Goku said calmly. “He was a wise man.”
“He was a fool,” Uncle said with a sneer. “Koishi. Little Stone. How I despised him…”
“And what of your nephews, Harumasa and Nobuaki?” Master Goku asked. “Will they be coming back to train at the dojo?”
Uncle leaned forward. “They died with their father,” Uncle said. “There is no one left with a claim to the title of Jito, and if you ever question my authority again, old man, I will kill you myself.”
My heart ached to see how completely Uncle’s disguise had slipped. There was no more mask of pretense—now I could see how hateful and evil he truly was.
I could contain myself no more. I checked the two samurai stationed outside the door, but they were out of sight. Quickly I reached inside my jacket and put my hand around the smooth wooden hilt of the knife.
The moment had come.
I would have my revenge!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I was up on the balls of my feet, ready to launch myself forward when Master Goku’s tranquil voice broke into my fury. “Kagenashi.”
I reacted the instant he uttered my adopted name. My gaze met his, and I saw that his eyes were hard, like jade.
“Go to the kitchen and fetch some food for our distinguished guest,” he said sharply.
I hesitated, my hand still firm on the hilt of the knife.
Could I let this moment pass?
Kill him now, a silent voice inside my head urged. Kill Hidehira! Before he sees your face and realizes who you are. You may not have another chance.
Master Goku repeated my name, “Kagenashi…” and Uncle, suddenly aware of an undercurrent of tension in the room, stopped fanning himself. He half turned to look at me, and I felt my grip on the dagger tighten.
Then a calm voice gently pushed its way to the forefront of my mind. To kill him here, in the presence of Master Goku, would bring great dishonor on the dojo. I hesitated, but then left my knife where it was and withdrew my hand.
I glanced at Master Goku. He nodded, his face unreadable.
At that moment Lord Hidehira turned around to look at me.
Quickly I bowed low to hide my face. Had Uncle recognized me?
Heart racing, I waited for an agonizing moment and at last Uncle turned away and began to fan himself lazily. “Rice and bean curd would be suitable after my journey.”
“Go to the kitchens immediately,” Master Goku told me. “Send Ko back here in your place.”
Keeping my head bowed, I slowly backed out of the tea pavilion. Bitter frustration washed over me, but also a sense of shame. I had been so close to bringing dishonor to the dojo—and somehow Master Goku had known.
The samurai guards did not even look at me as I raced down the steps and pelted along the pathway toward the kitchens. I almost ran full tilt into Hana, who was carrying a big square tray loaded with tiny bowls—white rice, creamy bean curd, and a delicate glass bottle of soy sauce.
“Kimi!” she cried. “Did you do it?”
“I couldn’t!” I bent forward and put my hands on my knees as failure and shame rushed over me.
Hana’s eyes widened. “What happened?” she asked. Hana quickly put her tray down on a nearby rock and put her arms around me.
“I couldn’t do it…I couldn’t do it…,” I blurted. “Goku looked at me…and he…he…!”
Hana took my elbows, making me stand up straight. “He knew, d
idn’t he?” she said quietly.
I nodded, barely able to breathe. “The knife was in my hand, Hana. I was so close! Uncle was just there in front of me. I was behind him; I knew the perfect place to strike…but the Master called my name and looked into my eyes. He knew what I was going to do—and all at once I couldn’t do it! All I could think about was the dishonor I would bring down on the dojo.” I clung desperately to Hana as another thought occurred to me. “What if Master Goku tells Uncle that one of the servants tried to kill him? I’ll be dragged out into the courtyard and Uncle will execute me with his sword.”
“No!” Hana cried.
“You know it’s true,” I insisted. I took a deep breath, feeling suddenly calmer. “Hana, listen to me. If Uncle has me killed, will you promise to get revenge? Not for me—but for our father and brothers. And promise to keep Mother and Moriyasu safe.”
“I promise,” Hana said firmly. “You know I won’t rest until Uncle can never hurt us again. But Kimi…I don’t think that Master Goku will say anything.”
Despite her reassuring words, my stomach was tight with dread at the thought of Master Goku telling Uncle what he had seen. But the rest of the day passed without incident, and I guessed that the Master had kept his silence. Uncle toured the dojo, inspecting the skills of the students with Ken-ichi at his side. Later, when Uncle had climbed into the palanquin and left the dojo, Ken-ichi carried on as if he himself was the Jito in his father’s absence.
That night he strode around the courtyards and practice halls with his two friends flanking him like bodyguards. He told anyone who would listen that he was heir to the Jito, and that one day they would serve him in his samurai army.
“How does that sound? Eh, Tatsuya?” Ken-ichi asked, interrupting Tatsuya, who was practicing the movements of the kata in the main practice hall. “You’ll swear allegiance to me, won’t you?”
Tatsuya bowed. “I will be yours to command,” he said, his voice wary, “if I stay in these lands. However, when I am trained, I may decide to travel across the kingdom of Japan to serve elsewhere.”
