by David Kudler
The sounds of fighting around us gave way to panicked shouts and the sounds of running feet.
There was more shouting, and then the roar of the horses’ hooves came to a halt.
There was quiet for a few long moments, and then Emi gasped when the latch on the closet was raised. The door was flung open, and bright light blinded us. We all three—Emi, Toumi and myself—stiffened, ready to run, to fight for our lives if need be.
Aimaru stood in the door, his face as tense as ours must have been. “Good morning,” he said.
From the back door, the Little Brother entered, looking much less good-humored than he usually did. His bald head had a large bleeding gash on it. “Ssh!” he ordered. “We don’t know who those horsemen were.” He looked at all of us. “Where is Mieko-san?”
Each of us gave a gasp—in our relief, we had forgotten what had happened to poor Mieko. We burst through the doorway back into the dining area to see if we could help her.
Mieko knelt, her hair loose around her lovely, sad face. She was wiping a long, thin blade with a rust-brown kerchief. Before her lay two soldiers whose armor bore the emblem of Lord Imagawa. The smaller was indeed the samurai who had ordered us up the side road the day before. Both were lifeless, their faces frozen in shock.
Her knife clean, Mieko slipped the blade into a small, flat sheath. With her left hand, she gathered her hair into a bun at the back of her head and then with her right slid the covered blade in so that it neatly held her tresses in place.
She did all of this with the modesty and ritual decorum of a shrine maiden preparing tea and cakes for the gods.
7—Wind
Mieko stood calmly and bowed to us.
From a small curtain at the end of the hall opposite the kitchen, we heard a whimper. Aimaru sprinted toward it, his battered knife still in his hand. With a yell, he yanked down the curtain, and revealed the old innkeepers, huddled on the floor of their small room.
After a moment of shocked silence, Aimaru bowed to them. “Pardon me for intruding,” he said, as if he had merely turned in at the wrong door.
The old couple seemed barely to recognize that he was there.
We all stumbled out of the dining hall into the corridor. Two more Imagawa soldiers lay dead there, and the elder Little Brother was standing impassive above them. Emi and I started to run toward the front door to see who our rescuers might have been, but Lady Chiyome called out sharply, “Stay here, young idiots! We don’t know who those horsemen are!”
Shamed, we shrunk back toward the back of the corridor, stopping just shy of the dead soldiers who had been piled at the bottom of the staircase.
The two Little Brothers lumbered up toward the front of the hall, blades at the ready. The door was hanging from a single hinge, and a shard of sunlight thrust against the corridor wall. The younger Little Brother, his head still bleeding, crept up to the door and peeked through.
“It’s all right!” he shouted, “It’s the Takeda cavalry.”
I gasped at that: that our saviors should be the force that had been the nightmare of my father’s warrior career, and the enemy of his second patron, once he became a scribe. What have I gotten into? I wondered.
With Lady Chiyome herding us from behind, we all began to make our way toward the exit. I was more than a little terrified. Father had said that the Takeda cavalry were the wind, a mighty tempest that swept away everything in its path. Toumi pushed at my back, or I would have been frozen to the spot.
When we were all in place, the elder Little Brother reached out to open the door, but before he could, the remaining hinge pulled out of the wall with a squeal, and the door slammed to the floor.
I let out a yelp, but then pulled my mouth shut, so that the teeth clicked.
A cold, nightmarish scene met us in the warm light of the new morning. In front of the stable, three Imagawa soldiers lay motionless on the ground in their own gore. In their midst lay the still form of Kuniko, her blood-streaked glaive still clutched in one hand. A sword was planted in her chest. Mieko and the two Little Brothers ran to her.
Lady Chiyome gave a low, growling curse.
At the entrance to the inn’s yard, four cavalrymen sat gleaming on their black stallions. Each had a red flag on his back bearing a four-diamond insignia. The Takeda.
The foremost of the samurai, whose helmet was decorated with antlers, leapt from his horse and strode fiercely toward us.
Aimaru lifted his battered blade, but Chiyome-sama shouted again, “Put that down, boy. You’ll get hurt.”
The Takeda samurai knelt directly in front of Lady Chiyome and bowed deeply. “Chiyome-sama,” he said, his voice respectfully low, “it is an honor to see you again. We were sent to find you. I didn’t expect it to be so easy.”
The old woman looked amused at his show of respect. “Easy indeed, Lieutenant Masugu. I had been told the Takeda army would be leaving Serenity Province to Lord Matsudaira’s troops.” She arched an eyebrow. “Who are, I believe, attacking from the other side of the province.”
The samurai removed his helmet, revealing a sweat-stained cap and a sharp, wry face. He looked around at all of us. “The Imagawa seem finally to have realized that they were stuck between a pair of jaws, and they’ve started wriggling quite a bit.” He gestured to the dead men on the ground. “They attacked our camp last night. When we scattered their charge, they ran back here, more interested in looting their own villages than defending their province.”
Lady Chiyome looked down at the corpses with a look of utter contempt. “Ruffians,” she said, and her tone made it clear that this was the lowest term she could have used.
Then she glanced over toward the stable door. Mieko sat, still cradling stony-faced Kuniko’s head in her lap; she was not crying, but her face was blank with grief. The larger of the Younger Brothers shook his head, and Lady Chiyome gave something halfway between a grunt and a sigh.
Staring at the tableau, Lieutenant Masugu’s mouth opened and closed. “Poor... I’m sorry.” He turned back to Chiyome. “She... died well.”
“She did.”
What had Kuniko been doing out there? What had she been doing arming herself with the long glaive? Fighting well, clearly. Dying well.
Masugu gave an embarrassed wince and looked around at all of us. His eyes lit on Aimaru, Emi, Toumi and me standing there, still dressed for bed. “What are these?” he asked, a look of curiosity sharpening his frank gaze. “New shrine maidens?”
“Of course, Masugu,” said Chiyome-sama. “The gods must be honored even in such times as these.”
I blinked. Shrine maidens?
Chiyome-sama got a sly look on her face. “Lieutenant Masugu, let me introduce three young samurai maidens: Tarugu Toumi, Hanichi Emi, and Kano Murasaki.” A little confused to hear my rank and formal name, I bowed politely, if stiffly. I could see the others do the same to my left.
“Kano...?” Masugu looked at us as if he were trying to think where he’d met us before. Then his brows sprang up, and he gave a sharp whistle of surprise. “Quite a pack!” he said. Then he jerked his thumb toward Aimaru. “Who’s he? Go-Daigo’s heir, come to life again?”
Lady Chiyome gave her thin smile. “No, he’s just a spare.” She glanced over toward where Mieko continued to rock Kuniko’s head in her lap, while the two Little Brothers stood, looking impassive as statues. “Much needed spare, it seems,” she sighed.
The Takeda samurai rubbed the top of his head through the cap, and looked around at us. “Chiyome-sama,” he said, “we’ve come from the Mountain to bring you and your, um, cargo back to the Full Moon. Would you do us the honor of allowing us to escort you out of the battle zone?”
Lady Chiyome peered around at the scene, her acid gaze washing over the inn, now even more sad than it had been the day before, and our company, none of us even dressed for the day yet. “We will leave as
soon as I am changed and packed,” she proclaimed. Then she strode back toward the inn and her room. Mieko fell in silently behind her, and we all prepared to leave.
—
As quickly as our hands and feet could manage it, we were back in the courtyard. Lieutenant Masugu’s troops now flooded out the inn-yard gate, an ocean of them, all on sleek black stallions, all with red Takeda flags on their backs. The horses’ steaming breath was a glowing fog in the now-bright morning light.
The Imagawa corpses were all piled to one side of the courtyard.
In front of them, on a rough wooden platform, Kuniko’s body lay wrapped in a dirty white shroud.
It felt odd. I had barely met the woman, had only known her for a day. I hadn’t liked her very much. And yet I mourned her death far more than those of the pile of dead soldiers.
Lady Chiyome stood before the old couple that owned the inn. She handed the woman a small, heavy bag. “Let the proper rites be said for my woman.” Then she looked to the broken door and sniffed. “And use what is left—what is left, mind you—to clean this place up.”
The old couple muttered their thanks and promises, and touched their grey heads to the dirt.
Then Lady Chiyome turned and slid into her waiting palanquin. Next to me, Lieutenant Masugu extended his hand toward Mieko, offering to let her ride with him. But she stepped by without acknowledging his gesture. After the briefest expression of shock flickered across his face, Masugu turned and extended his hand toward me.
8—The Mountain
For three days, we rode quickly, without speaking until the mirror of the sun passed behind the mountains. On the first two days, we passed large groups of soldiers bearing the Takeda four-diamond banner marching toward the battles we had just left behind. By the third day, we might as well have been the only people in all of Worth Province —in all of Japan. We passed no one. Even the villages seemed empty.
Every night, the soldiers would make camp—in dry rice paddies or on the edges of fields. They would start preparing a simple meal, which Emi, Toumi, Aimaru and I would help clean up. The men would start talking to each other, and to the Little Brothers, occasionally. They would speak respectfully to Lady Chiyome occasionally, and even tease Aimaru and us three girls a bit.
None of them ever spoke to Mieko-san, though the lieutenant seemed always to know where she was.
Riding a horse turned out to be much more exhausting work than I would have expected, even if one was, as I was, merely a passenger.
I found to my surprise and dismay that I, who could climb the tallest tree or building without fear, felt profoundly unsteady on horseback. Every day, Masugu-san would very gently help me up onto his stallion, and each morning I had to work not to tear the poor creature’s mane out in my terror. It felt to me as if I were sitting on the back of nothing less than an earthquake at rest.
The only consolation that I had was that Toumi seemed to hate it even more than I did.
At the end of the third long day, Masugu helped me down off of his horse, and I thanked him, embarrassed not to be able to manage it on my own. He smiled at me and shrugged.
Lady Chiyome was climbing out of her palanquin, muttering and grumbling as she always did. Steam rose from the Little Brothers, who didn’t grumble at all.
The soldiers set up camp in the long-drained rice fields beside a lazy river.
As I had every evening, I looked south, seeing nothing homeward but mist.
For the first time, I turned to the north. The distant sight of a high peak struck me—a perfect, snow-capped cone, like the sand mountains that Usako and I had made when our mother brought us to the beach. Like the endless sketches our father had drawn on scraps of used paper or in the dust.
Mount Fuji.
“The Mountain,” I whispered in awe.
“Yes,” said Masugu from behind me. It was the first time he had spoken to me about something other than to tell me how to sit steady or when to get down since that horrible morning. We stood for a time, watching the sunlight disappear from the peak. “Do you know what our battle flag means—the four diamonds of Takeda?” Masugu asked.
I shook my head, still staring at the mountain, its white peak turning pink.
“It’s the clan motto: Be swift as the wind, silent as the forest, fierce as fire, steady as a mountain. My lancers and the other companies like us are the wind, sweeping all enemies ahead of us. The infantry are the forest, impenetrable and overwhelming. And the heavy cavalry are the fire, consuming any obstacles an enemy might try to put in our way.” He told it as if it were a bedtime story.
“And the mountain?” I asked.
“The mountain is Takeda Shingen himself. Like Fuji-san—” Masugu pointed at the peak. “—he is unmovable, untoppable. He has nerves stronger than any sword, and a mind as sharp. He can out-think any general.” His voice was surprisingly soft, gentle.
As we watched the light fade from the distant mountaintop, I found myself thinking how strange it was that I had spent days riding in front of this stranger, this Takeda warrior, unable to see any part of him but his gauntleted hands, neither one of us speaking. And yet I found that I hoped for the first time that I would ride with him again the next day.
—
That night, we ate sitting around a campfire, watching the sparks float up to join the stars. The meal was mostly rice and pickled radish, but in that moment it tasted as good as any food I had ever had.
Masugu spent a long time speaking to Lady Chiyome, both of them very serious. Mieko seemed to be listening intently to them, but when Masugu glanced up at her, she looked away.
“Mieko-san?” I asked when a soldier who was carrying wood to the fire crossed to the other side of the circle before putting his logs down.
“Hmm?” She stared up into the night sky.
“Mieko-san, why don’t the soldiers talk to you?” Then I considered. “Is it because of Kun—?”
Her finger sealed my lips gently but without compromise. “Do not use her name.”
“Oh. Of course not.” Mother had taught us that one should not use the name of the dead for forty-nine days after their departure, so that you don’t call their spirit back from the journey to the next life. “I am sorry, Mieko-san.”
Mieko gave me a sad smile. “No apology is needed, Risuko.” She stroked my cheek gently, which made me feel the night’s cold for some reason. “And Lieutenant Masugu’s soldiers have been avoiding speaking to me since long before this ride.” Saying no more, she rose and walked to Lady Chiyome’s tent.
As she disappeared into the shadows, Emi took her place. “I can’t decide if she is really nice, or kind of scary.”
“Both,” I sighed, and Emi nodded. We both turned away from the dark and warmed ourselves in the fire’s light.
As the night closed in around us, we huddled closer together.
—
It rained as we climbed out of Worth Province, and I spent the next days with a rough blanket wrapped over my head to keep dry. At inns and villages, the people treated our party with great respect. I thought back to the way that the people in our village used to tease Lord Imagawa’s soldiers. Clearly, in Lord Takeda’s domain, his servants were treated with more deference—and fear.
As the days passed, my own awe began to lessen, and I began to talk with Lieutenant Masugu as we rode. We discussed the countryside, we discussed some of the books and poems Otō-san had made me try to read. I sang some of my mother’s favorite songs. He told me stories about his cousins, and sailing boats, and chasing his father’s horse when he was a boy. Often we would simply ride in a damp, thoughtful silence.
One misty morning after we had just begun riding, as we were still on the outskirts of the village we had stayed in, and the weather had trapped the smell of wet smoke close to the ground, curiosity overcame my awe. “Masugu-san?”
He grunted in response.
“What is this... Full Moon?” I felt sure that we could not actually be traveling to the moon—though it felt as if we had been climbing enough mountains to lead us to the heavens. “The school?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.” I was sorry now to have said anything.
“Oh” He was silent for a bit. I could hear him scratch his chin. “Yes. Chiyome-sama’s school for miko. That’s where you’re going.” He cleared his throat. “I am so sorry. I assumed you knew.”
I shook my head.
“Ah!” Masugu said, and cleared his throat again. “Yes. We are taking you to the school at the Full Moon. It is the great mission of Lady Chiyome’s life since her husband died. There you will be trained to be a shrine attendant...and you will learn a few other skills, as well.”
I absorbed this. “But why did she have to wander over half the country, through all the fighting and robbers and such, just to find girls to be miko? Aren’t there enough unmarried girls near her home?”
“I guess not,” Masugu mumbled.
A miko?
The Full Moon... Of course: Chiyome-sama’s symbol, which I bore like everyone else in her party.
I was silent for some time, but my mind was racing, reliving the conversations I’d had with Lady Chiyome and her servants. Had it been my imagination that I had been purchased away from my family for some purpose much more important than merely to be attendant at some local shrine? All this—sneaking about, taking me away from my home, marching across battle zones and snowy desolation—was so that I (and Emi and Toumi) could be trained to wear red and white robes, to learn sing and dance at weddings and festivals, and to serve tea and rice wine to the old forest gods?
That night I asked Emi and Aimaru about it. They were surprised, not by the news but by my reaction—like the lieutenant, they had assumed that I already knew.
A miko? It seemed... odd. But if that was what she had purchased me for, well, it wasn’t the worst thing I could have been forced to do.
