The Samurai's Heart (The Heart Of The Samurai Book 1)

by Walt Mussell

Omi glowered at her. “Why did you stop?”

  Sen averted her eyes. “The cherry blossoms are in bloom.”

  Omi glanced out the portal and then stared at Sen. “I see that. Why is that important?”

  Sen breathed through her nose, remembering the feeling of a few hours earlier. “Their scent woke me last night. I couldn’t sleep for a while.”

  Omi pushed out her lips, her arms akimbo, reminding Sen of Haru. “You must have been dreaming. Cherry blossoms don’t have such a strong fragrance, but that explains why you rolled around so much last night.”

  Sen opened her mouth to disagree, but her breath caught in her throat. Omi was right, and she was also trying to help. Sen needed to focus. “You must be right. It was only a dream.”

  Omi nodded and then turned serious, her thumbs stuck in her obi. “You can look at the blossoms later. They’ll bloom for two weeks. For now, get busy.”

  Sen hurried out into the courtyard toward the main keep of Himeji Castle as dawn broke over the castle grounds. Her mistress would rise soon. She needed to be ready.

  Passing the west wall, she glanced at the circular tile with a cross on it, nestled near the top of the wall with the other ornamental ceramic tiles. Sen paused, as she did every day, to stare at it. Many tiles lined the eaves of the buildings, tiles intended for good luck to protect against fires, tsunamis, and typhoons. Yet this tile bore the raised image of a cross in its center. How did it get there? Who placed it there? How had it survived the anti-Christian edict?

  She pursed her lips and looked around. The courtyard stood empty. Keeping her eyes open, she brought her palms together, but left her hands down as strength flowed within her. She rubbed just below her shoulders and massaged her muscles. Like the symbol of the cross, she would endure. She hoped to have the answer someday to the mystery of how the tile got there. For now, the cross on the wall and the cherry blossoms served the same purpose. Both were signs from God.

  But what did they mean?

  Did these signs mean she would find a husband here? How? The castle lord was the regent’s brother-in-law. This place teemed with samurai who were tasked with enforcing the ban. Why had she come here at all?

  Lord Akamatsu.

  After the incident in Haibara, Lord Akamatsu and his wife had seen Sen back to Himeji. Upon arriving, she’d learned that Lord Akamatsu had found her work at the castle. She had pleaded to be allowed to go home to her parents, but he insisted it would be better for her here. Why? She was twenty-four, well beyond the age appropriate for apprenticeships and first marriages. Finding a husband willing to marry into her family and care for her parents as they got older would be difficult enough.

  Her shoulders had sunk along with her spirit. Finding a Christian husband here would be impossible.

  ###

  Nobuhiro noticed the white flowers as he walked the path along the route to the castle. With each stride, his left foot grew heavier. As a child, he had tried to hide his limp, realizing it made him different. As an adult, he had accepted it, barely noticing any issues in his daily routine. However, as he approached the castle, years of ignored pain weighed on each step.

  Himeji Castle was a part of his life, as it was for all the citizens of the city. The three-story structure sat atop Himeyama Hill. If the weather were clear, he could see the castle from the front of the shop at the edge of town, where he worked as a swordsmith’s apprentice. When he ran errands in town for his master, he often got close enough to distinguish the castle’s features: the stone base, white wood walls, and terraced eaves. However, this was the first time in seven years he had stepped on the grounds of the place he had once called home.

  Delivery merchants passed him in both directions. A few familiar nods flickered his way, but he didn’t stop. He rubbed the tightness in his chest with a fist as he crossed the bridge that led toward the castle’s outer wall. Two prominent samurai walked toward him, and a hard lump rose in his throat. Both men wore typical black kimonos with gray hakamas, the skirts extending to the ankles. Both men wore two swords in their belts.

  Most people would have found these two men intimidating. However, Nobuhiro was accustomed to them appearing at odd times at his master’s shop. His heart swelled at their approach. He breathed deeply and cleared his throat. “You honor me by coming to meet me.”

  The stocky older one, Ujihiro, laughed. “Dispense with the politeness, little brother. We would not miss your return.”

  “Yes,” the slender one, Toshihiro, commented. “Even if we do remember what a bothersome child you were.”

  “But Uji? Toshi? What if someone hears I’m on the grounds? Word will reach our father. It may have been a long time, but he will know I’m here.”

  Uji waved his hand to the side in a dismissive motion. “You worry too much. Rest your fears. You’re back home.”

  How could he rest? Born with a limp, he was a disappointment to his father, a disappointment Nobuhiro never overcame.

  Toshi pointed at the long cloth package Nobuhiro carried. “So what have you brought us?”

  He looked down and rubbed his hands along the cotton cloth, then laid the item in his eldest brother’s outstretched hands. Uji unwrapped it, revealing an intricately carved wooden scabbard. He held it, edge up, and partially withdrew the blade. Both Toshi and Uji gazed at it, admiration gleaming in their eyes.

  “Impressive,” Uji said. “We’ve been expecting this. In May, Regent Toyotomi will entertain the emperor at Jurakutei Palace. A group of samurai will leave later this morning for Kyoto to deliver this prize.”

  Toshi’s eyes sparkled like the sun’s reflection on the blade. “Your master’s work is inspiring. Perfectly balanced, I would imagine. How many times was the steel folded?”

  “The core steel was folded five times. The jacket steel was folded fifteen times,” Nobuhiro answered, envisioning the process where the metal was heated, flattened with a hammer, and then folded on itself. The process removed impurities and created a stronger blade.

  “Can you now craft swords like this?” Uji asked.

  “I may be at the end of my apprenticeship, but I’m still a long way from this level of skill. I can fashion standard blades. That’s my primary job.”

  “Did you make any of the folds on this one?”

  Nobuhiro nodded. “Several. Master did the rest. We just received it from the sword polisher. Master reviewed the work and signed his name. He then requested I bring the sword here.”

  Uji’s eyebrows rose. “Are you ready to open your own business then?”

  Nobuhiro nodded as his mood lightened. “Almost. I will serve my year of gratitude. Then Master will lend me the money to set up my own workshop.”

  Uji flashed a wry smile. “Your master is the best. He knows your work will reflect on him. He wouldn’t help you get established if he didn’t think you were ready.”

  Toshi laughed and slapped Nobuhiro on the back. “It’s good we let you live then. I voted to throw you in the river when you were first born.”

  Nobuhiro froze. He flattened his lips as his brother’s verbal arrow pierced his heart.

  Uji’s voice broke his thoughts. “You are too serious, little brother. Toshi was joking.”

  Heat flooded Nobuhiro’s cheeks. By having a name that meant family, Uji understood the joys and responsibilities that term carried. Nobuhiro’s actions had shamed his brother. “I know. I beg forgiveness.”

  Uji placed a firm hand on Nobuhiro’s shoulder and stared him in the eyes. “Physical ability is but one part of being a samurai. Striving to improve yourself in all aspects of your existence is a greater challenge and a worthy one for all. You will one day be the finest swordsmith in the region, earning the name of your village as your teacher has done.”

  Nobuhiro’s shoulders slumped. Would earning the name of his village be enough to lift his shame? No matter how many katanas he crafted, no matter how fine they were, he would never wield one like his brothers did. Or like his father.

&nb
sp; Toshi shook his head. Did he sense Nobuhiro’s thoughts? “Uji’s right. You worry too much. You are our brother. That hasn’t changed. It’s good to have you back, even for a day.”

  Uji nodded his concurrence. “Let’s go,” he said in his gruff voice. “The grounds have changed much since you left.”

  Thankful that his brothers had maintained contact with him through the years of his estrangement from their father, Nobuhiro’s mouth spread in the kind of grin shared only by siblings. He rewrapped the cloth around the scabbard, readying the sword for presentation. A blanket of inner warmth from his brothers wrapped his childhood memories the same way. It was a fleeting feeling. His limp had made it impossible for him to become a samurai. His failure disappointed his father. That displeasure resonated in Nobuhiro every day of his life. If only he could prove himself and somehow change his father’s mind.

  ###

  Sen crossed the courtyard, feeling the day’s warmth on her cheeks. The sun was rising, but the morning dew had yet to evaporate, leaving the ground damp. She gazed at the trees, mesmerized by the beauty of the scenery. The surroundings tugged at her heart.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling her nerves.

  Focus, Sen. Focus. Remember what Omi said. You need to do your job. You’re fortunate to be here. Losing your position would shame your parents and Lord Akamatsu.

  Her head clear, she glanced around and stepped back.

  Then her foot hit something solid.

  She gasped for breath. Her arms flailed. She searched for something to grab on to but clenched empty air.

  Strong hands grasped her under her arms and held her until she regained her balance. She turned around and looked at her rescuer, a tradesman dressed in a simple, blue linen kimono. His eyes suggested gentleness and pain. His touch was both light and firm. He must have a kind heart.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  Her cheeks heated as she bowed. “Ah, sumimasen! I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  She glanced to the man’s left. Two samurai stood next to him. Her breath lodged in her throat. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she stepped back and bowed again. Her hands trembled as her eyes focused on the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sen, are you injured?” a deep voice asked.

  Her shoulders stiffened. She brought her palms together but couldn’t still her quaking hands. Anybody but them. I am already too much in their debt. She raised her head slowly and looked back at the two samurai. Two weeks ago, these men had met her, Lord Akamatsu, and his wife in darkness outside Himeji. They’d provided Lord Akamatsu with food and escorted Sen to the castle. Now they stood before her. The tradesman who’d caught Sen bore a striking resemblance to the samurai.

  The older of her two escorts nodded slightly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And good to see you smiling,” the younger escort added.

  “Thank you both. I’m sorry, again.” Her breaths grew rapid and she looked back down, maintaining her station. “Please forgive me, Samurai-sama. You know who I am, but I don’t know your names.”

  She regretted the question immediately. It was not her place to ask. Impertinence would get her killed faster than religion. The two men had befriended her the night she met them. Lord Akamatsu had promised Sen that these men would take care of her, an amazing promise considering her low status. She trusted Lord Akamatsu.

  She trusted these men.

  She raised her eyes and the samurai introduced themselves. Tokoda Ujihiro and Tokoda Toshihiro. Her initial impression that night had been correct. Brothers.

  The one called Toshihiro turned and indicated the man she’d tripped over. The man who’d caught her and kept her safe. “And this man is our youngest brother, Nobuhiro.”

  A cool breeze blew across Sen’s face, carrying a mix of floral and pine fragrances, both of which were familiar and comforting. Her lips parted, and she stared for a second. The samurai brothers were both handsome and friendly, but they had the presence of soldiers ready for battle. Nobuhiro was also handsome, but his broad forehead and soft brown eyes gave him the appearance of a peaceful man. Her heart warmed, much like the rising sun. “Are you also a samurai?”

  Nobuhiro turned red and studied the ground for a moment before bringing his eyes back up to meet hers. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if each little movement caused him tremendous pain. “I . . . I . . . I work for a swordsmith.”

  Her face grew hot and her skin tingled. Many samurai rose from the ranks of farmers and tradesmen. However, it was rare that one went the other direction if born a samurai. Still, her father was a swordsmith, the best in the area. It was an honorable profession.

  Movement near one of the buildings drew Sen’s attention. Other attendants hard at work. She needed to return to work as well. She bowed before the men. “If it is acceptable, I must return to my duties.” Her breath hitched. “I remain in your debt.”

  The samurai nodded and Sen took a step away. Nobuhiro’s face remained in her mind.

  “What are all of you doing?” a voice bellowed from behind her.

  She turned. An older man whose name she did not know, but whom she recognized as an advisor to the castle lord, approached. His lined face resembled a piece of overripe fruit, wrinkled from the sun. Dressed formally in a kataginu, a sleeveless jacket with winglike shoulders, he was not a man to be trifled with.

  His eyes flared with anger. “I repeat. What are all of you doing?”

  The old man’s eyes shifted between her and the brothers. She quivered under his stern gaze like wind chimes in a stiff breeze. “Sumimasen. I . . . I just stopped to talk.”

  The elder man glared. “I wasn’t talking to you. Be silent!”

  She bowed low, but he strode past her as if she were invisible. She wheeled around to look at the four men. The elder warrior stared at the three brothers, and all three showed glimpses of fear, even Ujihiro, who was half a head taller. The older man glanced at Nobuhiro, who clutched the package he carried, and then shifted his gaze back to Ujihiro.

  “What is he doing here?” the older man asked, gesturing at Nobuhiro, who flinched and looked away.

  “Father,” Ujihiro said, “he is here delivering a package for the May festivities in Kyoto.”

  Father? Are these men really the sons of this grand advisor? This man reports to the castle lord. He even deals with Regent Toyotomi himself. She began to back away.

  “You stay put. I will talk to you shortly,” the elder samurai said without turning to face her. Instead, he stared at his youngest son.

  “Hand the package to me. You are not fit to carry that item any longer than you have.”

  She gulped air and her fingers grew stiff as Nobuhiro handed over his package.

  The elder samurai opened the wrappings and examined the item. “Good. It seems to be perfect, as it must be.” He wrapped it back up and handed it to Ujihiro. “Assemble the contingent that will carry this to Kyoto. Leave within the hour.”

  “Yes, Father.” Ujihiro bowed.

  A short breath escaped Sen’s lips as the old man nodded and dismissed Ujihiro with a blink of his eyes. No return bow? The man then turned to Toshihiro. “As for you, escort this man to the entrance.” He motioned toward Nobuhiro. “He saw fit to leave us seven years ago. He does not belong here now.”

  Toshihiro murmured something to Nobuhiro, but it was too low for Sen to hear. He glanced in her direction, his eyes betraying his shame and sadness. She had seen that look before. On Lord Akamatsu when he lost his castle and lands. On his servants when they’d faced the samurai and seen friends killed. She hadn’t before seen such looks of despair at this castle. Her throat tightened.

  Toshihiro and Nobuhiro walked away, headed for the entrance. Nobuhiro had a slight limp, yet he walked with the same grace and carriage as his brother.

  The elder samurai interrupted her thoughts. “And who are you? I have seen you on the grounds but do not know your n
ame.”

  “Goami Sen, sir.” He’s seen me? She marveled at his awareness, as there were hundreds on the grounds daily. How did he notice someone as low as her? His aloof eyes drilled into her, though the corners of his mouth drooped slightly and his chin quivered.

  “Ah, the new arrival. I understand that the mistress you serve is satisfied with your work. However, you would do well to forget your former associations. Those leanings of yours will cause you trouble if you’re not careful.”

  She bowed. Memories of her former master and images of the cross tile flashed through her mind. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Also, I saw your exchange with my sons. You would do well to remember your place.”

  She trembled and bowed again. Thoughts of Nobuhiro increased the beating of her heart. He might be a swordsmith’s apprentice and have his father’s disdain, but he was still highborn. She was lowborn. Whatever attracted her to him, she needed to forget it. “Yes, my lord.”

  “And my name is Tokoda Shigehiro. You would do well to remember me. Get back to your duties.”

  “Yes, my lord. Thank you for your advice.” Again, she bowed low before the older man, squeezing her body together as if she would fall apart. The old man turned and walked away. Her stomach churned at his mistreatment of Nobuhiro. Still, she kept her head down a few more seconds and then raised it up.

  Scary old prune.

  She turned and headed toward the main keep. In the distance, Nobuhiro and Toshihiro approached the main gate. She smiled. Would she see him again? She would find a way to do so.

  A sudden breeze brought stray cherry blossoms down to kiss her face.

  Chapter Two

  Nobuhiro stared out the window of the workshop into a dark sky filled with stars. Still no hint of sunlight even though the moon had already set. At least two hours till dawn. He rubbed his hands to warm them from the night chill.

  So much work to do yet and Master will arrive any minute.

  A lantern on the wall illuminated the room, casting a glow on the benches, tools, and forge. Some tea and a half-eaten rice ball lay on a nearby table, a light snack to get him going. Master Goami’s wife would prepare a full meal within a couple of hours. He would be fine until then.