by Walt Mussell
“Sakichi. Sakichi.” Toshi’s voice cut through the grime of Nobuhiro’s thoughts.
“Sorry. Yes?” Nobuhiro asked.
“Thanks again for coming to see us. Before you go, you should see the west side of the grounds. The blossoms still linger there.”
Nobuhiro winced but kept his lips closed as he nodded. Toshi had seen Sen. And he knew Nobuhiro had seen her, too. The name Toshi meant alert. He didn’t miss anything.
Nobuhiro said his goodbyes and ignored his brother’s advice, at least for a few minutes. Instead, he enjoyed the various games and demonstrations at the nearby booths. The most captivating was a candy maker who impressed children and parents alike. The man shaped candy to resemble horses and put the pieces on thin skewers. The joy on the children’s faces was amazing. Family was important. Children spending time with parents. That was how it should be.
One day, he would be a parent. He would be a real father, unlike his own father. He would not be a failure.
But what woman would ever want him? Not to mention Sen. She could have any man she wanted.
Yet most men in the castle were watching the festivities.
Sen was headed to the west side of the grounds. Alone
Toshi had advised him to go to the west side. That was a place to start.
He was going to take Toshi’s advice. Regardless of its futility.
###
Sen headed for her favorite place, the spot near the wall with the cross tile. A roar erupted from the other side of the grounds and she twisted her neck to listen. Someone must have hit a good shot in the competition. The event would last until dusk. No one would leave to walk around the grounds now.
The festivities of the last official day of cherry blossom viewing were fun, but she needed a respite. She seldom got the chance to come here. The warning from Nobuhiro’s father wrapped an invisible mud wall around her every time she got close to the cross. Today, no one would notice her absence.
A light breeze cut across her face, a reminder to enjoy the spring weather before April gave way to months of humidity. The breeze carried the scent of the blossoms. The fragrance graced her nose and she inhaled it. How? She didn’t know. Omi was right. Sen shouldn’t be able to smell them, but for some reason their fragrance seemed strong to her. The blossoms smelled of life. Their time was short, but they brought beauty to the world while in bloom. People should do the same.
If only Mother thought so.
When she saw her mother at breakfast the next day, Sen didn’t mention Christians out of respect for her mother. Breakfast had been pleasant, with one exception: she did not see Nobuhiro before she left.
Her mother was right. He was a handsome man. His smile brought Sen joy. At dinner, she had put her concerns aside, at least for the moment. No worry of duty. No worry of the troubles that brought her back home.
Still, he was not a Christian. That was a problem.
Sen’s mother did not want to discuss Christians. That was a problem.
Nobuhiro’s father detested him. That was a problem for all.
Another roar sounded in the distance and she looked around again. No one was near. Part of her wished to return and watch, but she needed to be by herself.
Sen’s conversation with her mother reverberated in her head, like the thuds she remembered when her father used large hammers to fold his swords. She was missing something. What was it?
Did her mother believe Christians were dangerous? Or was it something else? What was she holding back? Her mother had reproved Sen for her decision. Why would her mother deny her that?
Because she was scared.
Sen’s mother mentioned Haru’s death as if she were afraid what happened to her might happen to Sen because of her faith. Sen had survived that day in Haibara, but many had survived that day. The regent hadn’t executed Christians for their beliefs anywhere else. He just wanted to make an example of Lord Akamatsu.
Yet friends had died in Haibara. Sen glanced down at the ground as she touched her neck. Why had God allowed her to survive?
“Hello, Sen.”
She shook her head as she perked up her ears at Omi’s familiar voice. She had looked for her this morning, but Omi had risen early. “Hello, Omi. How are you?”
“I’m well. I was looking for you over at the competition. I finally realized I’d find you here.”
“Why?” she asked, puzzled by how Omi had located her.
“You’re always here.” She paused and glanced at the wall. “You seem to like the view.”
Sen laughed as she stared at Omi, her black hair pulled tight with a red scarf that allowed people to enjoy her striking facial features. Many thought her somewhat empty headed. However, with her manners and her upbringing she was well-cultured with an understanding of attire, protocol, and place. It made her the favorite staff member of the court ladies.
Sometimes, she would show people that she had a sharp brain, which caught the attention of several of the samurai. But if Omi had figured out Sen’s habits, then others likely had as well. Lord Akamatsu had instructed Sen to keep her faith secret. If she kept coming here even when duty didn’t call for it, people might suspect it was for more than just the scenery.
“Yes, I do like it here,” Sen finally answered.
“It’s better than the view near the haunted well,” Omi commented.
At the mention of Okiku’s Well, Sen inhaled as her body shrunk in fear and sadness, contemplating the fate of a beautiful young lady from over a century ago. Okiku, the maid of a retainer at the castle, foiled the retainer’s attempt to overthrow the castle lord. In retaliation, the retainer charged her with thievery of one of ten family dishes. He tortured and killed her, and then tossed her body into the well. Castle residents often recounted times they had heard a woman’s voice arise from the well, counting dishes and crying.
“Why were you looking for me?” Sen asked.
“Why do you think? The final round of the archery competition begins in twenty minutes. I thought we might watch it together.”
“I’m surprised you left. Shouldn’t you be there to cheer for Toshi?”
Omi’s face reddened at the mention of Toshi’s name, a name Sen would only use around Omi. Many men in the castle appeared interested in Omi, but she appeared to have her heart set on only one.
“I see.” Sen leaned forward, full of understanding. “Does this mean he didn’t survive?”
Omi smiled as if the words might choke her. “He . . . was eliminated. He is also embarrassed as Uji went further in the competition than he did. The final round will start shortly. We really should go see it.”
Sen considered going back but was distracted by the movement of a solitary figure about thirty yards away. The figure limped slightly. Her heart skipped across the distance in an instant.
“Nobuhiro?”
He glanced back and her body tensed before melting into the afternoon heat. He carried a long, cloth-wrapped package. A sword, she presumed. She motioned him over.
“Nobuhiro? Your father’s apprentice?” Omi asked. “You ask me questions about Toshi. I should do the same to you. Didn’t you just meet him two weeks ago? Don’t yell for him. You’ll draw someone’s attention. Besides, it’s embarrassing.”
“Be quiet,” Sen fired back, though she didn’t look at Omi to say it. Instead, she watched as Nobuhiro closed the distance between them. Thoughts of him now warmed her face, even more than the sun. As he approached, the limp seemed to disappear, as if he were floating toward her. What would she say to him? She had been callous the times they had met before. He deserved more respect.
“You weren’t going to say hello?” she asked in a light manner that she knew Omi would tease her about later.
Nobuhiro acknowledged Omi with a nod and then looked at Sen. “Sorry. I saw the two of you and I didn’t wish to interrupt.”
“Don’t worry.” Omi said, and then introduced herself.
“You’re not watching the festivities?�
�� Nobuhiro asked, directing his question to Sen.
“I did for a while,” she said. “It’s exciting, but I grew tired.”
“She’s also over here for quiet time,” Omi added.
“Quiet time?” Nobuhiro asked. The puzzled look on his face meant she’d have to come up with something.
“Yes, Omi says I come here often.”
Sen said a quick, silent prayer, asking for forgiveness. She wasn’t denying her faith. But when Nobuhiro had asked her at dinner if she was a Christian, she had hesitated. Thoughts of Peter and how he denied the Lord had rung through her head. She had then confirmed her faith.
Yet flaunting it would be foolish.
Fast-approaching hooves drew her attention, but she didn’t see anyone coming. The fear etched on Omi’s face made her turn around. Nobuhiro stepped next to her as if to protect.
One of the competitors from the event galloped toward them, his bow displayed. A mask covered the lower portion of his face. The rider pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it in the bowstring. Her breathing grew shallow. She tried to move, but her feet froze. The rider brought the bow and arrow over his head, then brought it down as he pulled back on the string.
The arrow flew toward the three of them.
Chapter Five
Adrenaline coursed through Nobuhiro’s veins as the twang of the bowstring echoed in his ears. He stepped forward and swung the sword in an arc. Cloth met wood. The sword deflected the arrow harmlessly to the side.
“Get behind me,” he said.
His breath quickened to match his raging heartbeat. He had been lucky enough to stop the shot, but it wasn’t over yet. He stepped in front of the women, placing himself between them and the rider, moving left and right to maintain the barrier as the rider shifted his horse side to side.
In battle, you must do big things to calm your nerves. This will allow you to do the little things correctly.
Where had Nobuhiro heard those words before? He winced as he identified the voice in his head.
His father.
Nobuhiro moved the sword from hand to hand as he tried to slow his breathing. To slow his heartbeat. He would need calm to survive.
He held the sword high and tried to appear menacing. Yet one man with a sword, a wrapped-up one, held little hope against a mounted warrior. He had to outthink him. Did he know who Nobuhiro was? Had he grown up at the castle? If not, did he notice Nobuhiro’s limp?
Maybe on the first two questions. Probably on the third. The archer would aim at Nobuhiro’s left side. He grasped the hilt with both hands and tried to distribute his weight evenly between his feet.
The masked man took out another arrow. He notched his bow and brought it over his head. The reins were tied taut to his chest.
“Single file. Get down. A little to the right. It will provide less of a target.” He hoped the women would trust his judgment, but he couldn’t afford to look back.
Steady. Steady.
The rider let the second arrow go. Nobuhiro swept another arc in front of himself. The bump told him he’d hit the arrow. The whoosh of air against his temple told him how close it had come. He held out his arms to steady himself, as his left leg couldn’t support him. The extra weight of the cloths made the sword clumsy and unwieldy. However, he had been lucky.
He stared back at the rider, looking for signs that he might identify him from his childhood. Nobuhiro had followed many of the samurai and knew their children. Nothing registered. It was inconceivable that it could be one of his father’s men.
The rider returned an intense glare, as if considering another attempt. Nobuhiro held his breath while moving the sword between his hands. Both hands then gripped the hilt.
The rider kicked his heels into the sides of his brown horse and rode off to the north side. A less guarded entrance. Nobuhiro took a step to get a better view as well as to look for signs he might return. Nothing.
Nobuhiro heaved a sigh.
He turned around to see the two women crouched down. “Are either of you injured?”
“I’m fine,” Omi responded in loud breaths.
Sen said nothing. Her eyes and mouth were both wide open. He knelt to get her attention. “He’s gone. I doubt he’ll return. Are you hurt?”
Sen stared back and then nodded. Slowly. “I’m fine, too.”
She was lying. The attack had shaken her, but she hid it well.
“We should report this attack,” Nobuhiro said. “Can you move?”
Sen nodded again. “Yes. We should go.”
He offered his hand to help her stand. She didn’t move. Omi came to her side to assist her. Nobuhiro bit his lower lip as Sen stepped back, looking down at the ground. Had she been afraid to touch his hand? Whatever he was feeling, he needed to forget it. He had a bigger problem.
Reporting this incident meant he wouldn’t be able to avoid his father.
The walk back to the festival grounds took a few minutes. They quickly found both Uji and Toshi. Nobuhiro’s father arrived shortly thereafter. The creases in his face appeared to harden. Apparently, he welcomed this reunion as much as Nobuhiro.
Sen and Omi related their version of events. His father said little, his mouth thinning into a line. Then Nobuhiro gave his report. His father had many questions, as if looking for something Nobuhiro had missed. Nobuhiro breathed slowly through his nose. His eyes fixed on his father. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of one unknown detail.
“Did you see what he was wearing?” His father brushed his sleeve with the backs of his fingers, as if that mattered more.
“He wore the blue and gray braid, the same that Uji and Toshi wore at the competition.”
His father frowned. His eyes flared. “You will address your brothers with the proper respect. Is that clear?”
Nobuhiro swallowed his breath. “Hai.”
“Now then. You are certain you saw nothing but the standard braid?”
“That and the reins were tied to his chest.”
The old man shook his head. “It could have been anyone then. Even those foolish enough to wear their dress armor for this competition would have worn something similar underneath.”
Sen stepped forward, bowing slightly and shrugging her shoulders. “Tokoda-sama, was it definitely one of the competitors?”
Nobuhiro froze and stared at Sen. Most servants would have been afraid to address his father. His father was within his rights to dispatch Sen to her next life. Yet he only waved his hand dismissively, as if her question was as annoying as a buzzing gnat.
“It must be.” His eyes glanced her way. “Only a samurai would have been trained in such arts. Anyone else would have fallen from his horse when he pulled back the bowstring.”
“Could—”
The cold glance from his father silenced Sen. “You no longer serve Lord Akamatsu. He may have tolerated such impertinence. I. Do. Not.”
Sen bowed low and stepped back, keeping her face pointed to the ground. Did she think warrior monks had entered the castle grounds in disguise? None could have done so on horseback. He concurred with his father. It had to be a samurai from the competition.
Still, his father would likely confirm later if anyone suspicious had been noticed on the grounds. Would it have pained him to acknowledge it now?
Nobuhiro tapped his good foot as his chest hardened. Curse the old man’s arrogance.
His father stared at him and he looked directly back into the man’s eyes. His foot stopped tapping. “How about the horse? Do you remember the color?”
Nobuhiro closed his eyes and replayed the attack in his head. “Brown, I think.”
“You think?”
“Yes. It. Was. Brown.”
His father rubbed the bare path of his own scalp. When he reached the topknot, his fingers tensed. Nobuhiro cringed, but his father’s face went blank, despite the flame in his eyes.
“Distinguishing marks?” he asked after a pause, the intensity in his voice rising with the intonatio
n. “Anything to help us identify who might have been riding the horse?”
Nobuhiro ground his teeth, but his cockiness at his actions against the horseman dissipated as he considered his father’s question. The old man was right.
“No,” he finally said. He breathed slowly. His pride had lost him the battle. He had been so focused on the rider. Looking at the horse? It hadn’t occurred to him.
“Regrettable. It would have been . . . helpful.”
His father’s mocking tone steamed him like the effects of cooling water on a hot blade, erasing seven years in an afternoon. He was a chastised kid again. He vowed to remove that smug look from his father’s face.
His father wheeled around and headed toward the entrance of the main armory. “If you think of anything else, let us know,” he said without looking back.
Nobuhiro felt a reassuring pat on his shoulder. He turned and found Uji, smiling wide.
“Ignore him, little brother. You deflected two arrows with a cloth-wrapped sword. I wish I’d seen it. That must have been some display.”
Nobuhiro’s heightened tension from his father’s derision melted in the praise. Yet, his father and brothers would have noticed more than he did. He had failed again. “He was right. I know horses. I should have paid attention to this one. I’m just relieved that it’s over.”
“You’re too harsh with yourself. When Father has time to think about it, he will be proud of you, too.”
“That’s good to hear,” Nobuhiro said. “In hindsight, though, maybe it wasn’t that great an accomplishment.”
“Why?” Uji asked, the muscles in his forehead tightening.
“The archer wasn’t that good. Both shots were high.”
###
Sen concentrated on the attack again, hoping to remember something else that she could offer, but could think of nothing. She had been scared. Too scared to notice anything. Even safe now, her nerves danced like a rabbit hiding from a fox.
Nobuhiro had saved her.
She wanted to talk with him, to express her gratitude for what he had done. Instead, when he had offered his hand to help her up, she had been more scared than when they were under attack. Afraid to touch him. Afraid to hold his hand. Afraid that she wouldn’t be able to let him go.
