Aim For Love

by Pamela Aares

  “The harai will dissolve the knots of fear that you hold from your melding with the life story, with the spirit, of this other woman.”

  “Kristen’s spirit?”

  That a story, a character, could have a spirit—she’d never considered it. But great stories did live on in lives and in cultures for thousands of years. Stories with resonance had the power to influence, to open eyes, to move individuals as well as groups.

  Still, the idea that she could be so drastically affected by a fictional woman’s afflictions was mind-boggling. And that Kaz gave credence to the potency of story, well, that was mind-boggling too. She’d been worried that he wouldn’t understand what felt like forces at war within her. Turned out he and Obaa knew more about them than she did.

  “Kristen’s spirit, yes,” he said gently. “Obaa-chan will place the spirit under oath. It doesn’t rid you of the power, as such power is part of the mysterious force that drives you, that drives all life. Instead, what Obaa-chan will do will create a covenant, an agreement, so that the spirit is bound to work with you to serve the greatest good. That includes what’s good for you, Sabrina. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again.

  “The kuji-ho is a ritual that consists of chanting nine words of power. It will give you strength and protection for the future. So will the physical practices I’ll teach you later this afternoon and tomorrow. You’ll be able to walk the path you choose without being thrown off balance.”

  “I can’t stay until tomorrow—I have a script run-through early the next morning.”

  “I suggest you postpone it.”

  He looked at her, no judgment, no expectation. And waited for her response.

  She could call and change the run-through. Derrick had already postponed the informal rehearsals for two days due to Hayne’s death. Whatever Kaz and Obaa had in mind, she was up for trying it. Nothing could be worse than the haunting feelings that were claiming more and more real estate in her mind and body.

  “I’ll send a text this afternoon.”

  “Good,” he said with a slight nod. A lock of silky, dark hair fell across his forehead, and he swiped at it. She stared at his forearm. And then at his chest. She felt as if energy swirled around her and him, spinning her into a cocoon of nerves and—

  “Sabrina?”

  She snapped her thoughts back.

  “Stay with me, okay? Here, in this space, for now. When we go down to the stream, you can let your thoughts wander. In fact, it would be best if you do.”

  She shifted her legs and mirrored Kaz’s posture. And she simply relaxed.

  Maybe it was the scent of the incense, maybe it was her lack of sleep, but everything began to take on soft edges: what she saw, the words Kaz was saying, even her responses.

  “My grandmother will chant the kuji words of power as she circles you with incense and an amagushi. The amagushi is made of peach wood from our oldest tree. Tied to it are paper messages that she will have written out for you using a special script called ‘thunder writing.’ I don’t expect you to remember all this, all these terms, but I want you to know, to hear. It helps to prepare you.”

  He stood and offered her a hand up.

  “Ready?”

  Nothing could have prepared her for the power of his touch. Something had changed. It was as though Kaz could now reach into her, reach in and wrap his hand around her heart. When she tilted her head and her gaze met his, she froze midmotion.

  “What’s wrong, Sabrina? What do you see?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to tell him.

  He took her other hand in his. “Tell me.”

  “I–I felt, just then, that you could reach in and touch my heart.” She didn’t move a muscle. “And I felt I could look into you, see the true you, the…the being who lives in your soul.”

  And did that make any sense? Suddenly everything she was thinking, everything they were doing, struck her as funny. “Did you put something in my coffee?” she said with a nervous laugh.

  He smiled then and the beauty of it did touch her heart.

  “It’s good that you’re laughing. I thought I’d lost you there. I’d never hear the end of it from my grandmother if I lost you before we even got started.”

  Before they even got started. She was well past started. Where he was, she could only guess.

  “I should warn you of one thing,” he said in a suddenly serious voice. “I’ll be playing the fue.”

  A smile teased his lips, and the silly pantomime he did made him look like a giant Pied Piper.

  “It’s a traditional Japanese flute, and I play it very badly.” His smile broadened. “Please don’t let that distract you from our purpose.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kaz led Sabrina to a spot by the stream. White, fluttering paper shide hung from the lines Obaa-chan had strung from an oak to three bamboo poles marking out the ritual space. His grandfather’s sword was propped against the tree, and Obaa had placed a cushion for Sabrina at the center of the space.

  “Sit here, Sabrina,” Obaa-chan said, indicating the cushion. “Kaz has explained what we will do?”

  “Yes,” Sabrina answered in a barely audible voice.

  “Then shut your eyes. And relax. There’s no need for worry.”

  The tension in Sabrina’s muscles told Kaz she was anything but relaxed.

  Kaz tied the braided hemp shimenawa around the oak and pulled the fue from the back pocket of his jeans. He willed himself to not think about the message he’d received from the sheriff’s office, to put aside his concerns about Ortega and to focus on helping Sabrina. One thing at a time, his grandfather had always said when he’d tried to get Kaz to focus.

  One thing at a time. It was a damned hard practice.

  On a long breath he began to play the repeating notes he’d learned so many years before. As he played, some of the tension in Sabrina’s shoulders released. She took a deep breath and shifted, settling onto the cushion.

  Obaa-chan picked up the onusa and began shaking the strings of white paper covered with prayers around Sabrina.

  “Rin, pyou, tou, shai,” Obaa-chan chanted in soft, rhythmic tones.

  Though it’d been years since he’d heard the chant, it brought back memories. She’d performed such a chant for him after his grandfather’s death.

  “Kai, jin, retsu, zai, zen.”

  Her voice and the words transported him to that day, the day he’d considered giving up baseball, leaving the game to pour all his energies and time into the farm. But though his father had encouraged him to do just that, his grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. And after the harai, he’d known he couldn’t give it up. Baseball—the challenges, the discipline, the competition, and the sheer joy of playing—lived in his heart. No matter what other trials the world threw at him, he vowed he’d chase down his dream.

  He took another breath and blew into the flute, repeating the ritual melody. Sabrina swayed, almost imperceptibly, with the haunting tune. Birds sang in the trees bordering the stream. Water gurgled across the rocks and seemed to keep time with the gentle swishing of the onusa as his grandmother shook it around Sabrina.

  “Rin, pyou, tou, shai.”

  His grandmother’s voice was stronger now as she circled Sabrina. She kept up the rhythm of the chant as she laid the onusa on the ground and reached into the raku bowl filled with water that she’d scooped from the stream. She shook her hand over Sabrina’s head, letting the water rain down on her.

  Sabrina tensed as the droplets landed. Then, slowly, a smile eased across her face. Obaa-chan circled Sabrina, making the hand gestures of the Great Thunderbolt, the Outer Lion, the Inner Lion, the Seal of the Inner Bonds, and then, finally, the Wisdom Fist.

  Then Obaa-chan drew up, stopping next to Sabrina. He stopped playing, knowing what would come next.

  “Akuryo taisan!” his grandmother shouted in a booming voice.

  Sabrina’s eyes flew open. No one moved.

  He felt
Sabrina’s gaze on him as he tucked the flute back into his pocket and stepped to the oak, where he drew the sword from its sheath.

  “Akuryo taisan!” His grandmother again shouted the words marking the banishment of any ill-intentioned forces. He walked to the farthest pole, raised the sword and with a swift stroke, slashed the bamboo pole supporting the string of shide in half.

  The paper strips that had been blowing in the breeze fell limply to the ground. He approached the next pole and did the same. And at the third pole, as he raised the sword, Obaa-chan shouted the banishing words again and then he sliced the pole in half. He turned and joined his grandmother, who was now kneeling beside Sabrina.

  “If this were Hollywood,” Obaa-chan said with a twinkle in her eyes, “we’d have one of those slow fade-outs that your directors are so fond of. But our budget here is limited.”

  Sabrina smiled at his grandmother’s disarming words. She had the appearance of a person waking from a dream. That was no wonder, considering the forces that their prayers and chants had stirred up.

  “You’re all done, Sabrina-san.”

  His grandmother’s use of Sabrina’s first name told him more than any long speech would have. Sabrina had charmed him—he’d had to admit that fact as he’d lain sleepless in the dark, thinking of nothing but her. But when had his grandmother opened her heart to Sabrina’s charm?

  Silence fell. Even the birds paused in their songs.

  “For goodness’ sake, Kazi,” his grandmother said, crossing her arms and shooting him a speaking glare. “Help her up and let’s go have some lunch.”

  He stood and reached a hand to Sabrina. As her hand slipped into his, he knew that all the rituals in the world couldn’t dissolve the spell Sabrina had woven in him.

  As they walked back to the house, Kaz and his grandmother chattered easily about the orchard and the weather, as if conjuring powerful prayers to alter lives was something they did every day.

  Maybe it was. Sabrina intended to ask.

  But for the moment she wanted to savor the lightness in her step, the peace she felt in her body, and the calm, warm, happy feelings coursing through her.

  At the house, Obaa had her roll thinly sliced vegetables and mushrooms with rice, wrapping the mixture in toasted sheets of nori and slicing the rolls into rounds. She’d never made sushi before and was surprised at how simple it was to prepare.

  “You should nap after lunch, Sabrina,” Kaz’s grandmother said as Kaz joined them at the small wooden table in the farmhouse kitchen. She poured out steaming cups of tea and handed one to Sabrina.

  “Kazi will show you the outward protections later this afternoon.” Obaa sat down and picked up her chopsticks. “Just the basics, Kazi. Don’t overwhelm the poor girl.” She turned to Sabrina. “He gets carried away. He doesn’t get that from me.”

  “Don’t believe her,” Kaz said. “I totally get that trait from her. If my grandfather were here, he’d tell us some stories.”

  Sabrina found herself wanting to listen to their easy banter, wanting to hear the stories. The world of the Tokugawas fascinated her.

  “This doubt you have, Sabrina,” Obaa said, tapping a finger to Sabrina’s arm and interrupting her thoughts. “Doubt eats energy until there’s nothing left to feed the fire that fuels your dreams.”

  How could the elderly lady have known that along with the haunting she’d felt from Kristen’s character, that under it—sometimes stronger than the haunting itself—churned fears that she was a fraud? Fame had fallen into her lap and she hadn’t done enough to deserve the opportunities it brought. Anxiety that payment would one day come due lapped at the moorings of her life, eroding the sands that supported her, washing her confidence out from under her like an incessant tide.

  “You have a gift, you have an obligation to your talent. Just like Kazi-chan.” Obaa shot a penetrating look at Kaz.

  “You’re in for it now,” Kaz said with a smile she couldn’t read. “Once you get lumped in with my bad qualities, there’s no escaping her lectures.”

  “What is it about you young people that you walk around thinking this and that and the other but forget to listen to your hearts?” Obaa harrumphed and shook her chopsticks at them. A powerful weapon couldn’t have driven her point home any better. “I think it’s all this technology. It scrambles your brains.” She took a sip of tea and her face softened. “Do you have questions, Sabrina?”

  Did she. But as she looked into Obaa’s eyes, the questions she had lined up dropped into the background and another rose.

  “How do you know which voice to listen to?”

  Kaz’s grandmother pressed back from the table and slipped her hands into the sleeves of her kimono, crossing her arms. “You see,” she said, nodding to Kaz. “She asks the right questions.” Obaa leaned toward her. “You train up your heart.” She pulled one hand out of her kimono sleeve and placed it over Sabrina’s heart. “Listen with this. Your heart will not steer you wrong.”

  “But how do you train up a heart?” Sabrina was hooked now, wanted to know, had to know.

  “Life does that for you.” Obaa rose and took their plates. “Just keep listening.”

  Listen to her heart.

  But as she stole a glance at Kaz, Sabrina wasn’t sure she was prepared for what she’d hear.

  No, that was a lie.

  She was quite sure she wasn’t prepared to hear what her heart had to say.

  Sabrina met Kaz in the graveled circle by the shrine. She’d changed out of the ill-fitting pants and kimono and now wore the shorts and thin-strapped tank top Obaa-chan had given him to deliver to her. The garments had never looked like that on his sister. He swallowed hard and composed his face. Whoever designed such clothing must know the effect the body-hugging garments had on men.

  Of course they knew.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand. “Did you nap?”

  “Like someone knocked me out with a drug.”

  “Dreams?” He could only hope that the harai had begun its work.

  “Dreamless,” she answered, watching his face.

  “So far so good, then.”

  They’d only been apart two hours, but to him it felt like days. He didn’t tell her that he’d spent the best part of those two hours meditating, trying to center himself. Trying not to be taunted by thoughts of her.

  In the earliest days of his training with his grandfather, he’d learned to control his body, to guard and focus his thoughts, to meld body and mind, to find harmony and harness power.

  But the force she called up in him was beyond the reach of even his most focused discipline, beyond anything he’d ever felt or imagined. A power that cut deeper into him than any thrust of an enemy’s sword could have sliced.

  Sabrina stretched her arms up with catlike grace and yawned. He dragged his eyes away from following the curve of her waist and hips, the fullness of her breasts under the thin tank top, and looked to her face. A smile curved there, and he was caught by it and the dreamy light in her eyes.

  Yes, she had pierced him, and he burned. But it was sweet fire. And rather than consuming him, it simply burned steadily, feeding him with its power, sometimes raging, sometimes easing back, but always warming him.

  “Your grandmother said you’d show me some aikido.” She ran her hand along the wooden pole that still held the webbed straps from their previous session. “But I had hoped to learn something of the samurai training you talked about.”

  She stretched again and leaned back against the pole, pressing her face up into the sunlight. Was she trying to torture him? The fire in his groin reminded him all too well that though he was samurai, he was man first. If he had any illusions otherwise, the heat warming his blood and muddling his thoughts would keep him honest about that.

  “Samurai is a lifelong practice, a whole body of disciplines—mental, physical, spiritual.” He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, willed himself to feel the earth under them. Called up the centered focu
s he’d practiced years to hone. “We have little time, Sabrina. It’ll be just the basics.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Then the basics will have to do.”

  She copied his stance without him asking. It was no wonder she was an excellent actress—when she wasn’t self-conscious, she had an eye for movement, a body knowledge she could translate to visual action. He could work with that.

  “Then let’s get started.” He drew himself up and extended his right arm. “Making the invisible visible generates great power.” He moved his hand through the air, extended his arm in front of him, and made a scooping motion and drew his hand back to his chest. “Reach out, take hold of the power that surrounds and supports you. Feel it.”

  She copied his movement.

  “Can you feel the energy?”

  She made the motion again.

  “Yes.”

  “Now, as if it were a cape, draw the protective power around you and touch it to your heart.” He demonstrated the move—reaching out first, then scooping, then drawing his hand to his heart. And then he watched as she completed the identical motions.

  When she touched her hand to her heart, she closed her eyes. Her lashes cast feathered shadows onto her cheeks. A gentle smile curved her lips as she opened her eyes.

  “I can feel it, Kaz—the power. It’s…familiar. Like it’s always been there.”

  “It always has. People don’t realize that the guiding, protective power is there for them, that they have only to access it, to call it in. Name it God or spirit, it’s there to guide, to safeguard, to support your life.”

  He moved his hand from his heart and put both hands to his hips. “Do it again.”

  She did, keeping her eyes open this time. He saw wonder dance in them, wonder and peace.

  “Since you won’t likely be able to do this in public, I’m going to show you an abbreviated move—a gesture you can use anytime, anywhere.”

  He put his hand to his heart. And tried to ignore the racing beat that her presence stirred there. “Place your hand over your heart. Rest it there and feel the life force.”