by India Millar
Mantis
Warrior Woman of the Samurai Book Two
India Millar
Red Empress Publishing
www.RedEmpressPublishing.com
Copyright © India Millar 2019
www.IndiaMillar.co.uk
Cover Design by Cherith Vaughan
www.ShreddedPotato.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recoding, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.
Contents
Also by India Millar
Preface
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thank You For Reading
Chameleon
The Song of the Wild Geese
The Geisha with the Green Eyes
About the Author
About the Publisher
Also by India Millar
Secrets from the Hidden House
The Geisha with the Green Eyes
The Geisha Who Could Feel No Pain
The Dragon Geisha
The Geisha Who Ran Away
The Song of the Wild Geese
The Red Thread of Fate
This World is Ours
Warrior Woman of the Samurai
Firefly
Mantis
Chameleon
Haiku Collections
Dreams from the Hidden House
This book is humbly dedicated to Baizenten, the Japanese Goddess of writers and geisha. May both you and she enjoy the words written herein!
Preface
Though the sex to which I belong is considered weak you will nevertheless find me a rock that bends to no wind.
Queen Elizabeth I of England, 1558—1603
Prologue
Yo sifted the wood ash with me. When we had enough, I smeared it on my hands, feet, and face. I loosed my hair and allowed it to fall lank and unlovely around my shoulders. I had not washed it for over a week and it looked dirty and unkempt. To make sure the effect was properly noticeable—for I expected to be viewed only from a distance—I rubbed more ash into my scalp, combing it through to the tips of my hair.
“Will I do?” I asked Yo. He looked me over carefully and nodded.
“Apart from your kimono, you look like a penitent. Just remember to behave like one as well.”
“Of course I will.” I smiled at him, pleased with his comment, but then a thought occurred to me and I paused. “Do you think he might find it strange that my hair is so short?” I asked.
Yo shrugged. “I doubt it. From all I’ve heard of Akafumu, he’s not greatly interested in anything that doesn’t concern his own comfort. Even if he did notice, he would probably think you had cut it as a mark of respect for your position.”
I nodded in agreement.
My kimono was white cotton, the color of mourning. Not silk, as that would shine inappropriately. My obi, also, was white. Perfectly plain. I held my grimy hands out in front of me and I was pleased. Just right, I thought. After all, I was a penitent, one who begged for my lord’s favor. It was only correct that I should look the part.
“Ready?” Yo asked. I nodded and stepped forward briskly.
He left me at the great door leading into Lord Akafumu’s audience chamber. He could not come in with me. I glanced down at my hands and feet, and when I raised my head, he had gone. I wasn’t surprised. After all, he was shinobi—what the superstitious peasants called a ninja. It was his stock in trade to move silently, to vanish like a ghost. And to kill like one, if necessary.
But now, my lover had gone, and I was alone.
It was down to me to ask for what I wanted. If I failed, then I had no one to blame but myself. The thought gave me courage.
One
There is nothing in
This world that I cannot face
If you are with me
My neck ached. I turned to punch my sobagara—the buckwheat-hull filled pillow that was usually so very good at supporting my spine and neck—and winced as my closed fist met something much harder. I dismissed the minor discomfort with a shrug of irritation. I was still sleepy. More than sleepy; my body craved oblivion.
“Keiko-chan.” The man’s voice was soft and very tender. I didn’t care. I wanted him to go away and leave me in peace. Almost as annoying, a breeze must have come through my open shoji and disturbed the covering I had drawn over my face. The light was in my eyes and there was the sound of fluttering close by.
“Go away.” I sighed wearily.
Matsuo growled softly, sounding oddly uncertain. I put my arm around his neck and the huge akita leaned against me. As I moved, my back became cold and I reached around to tug my kakebuton closer. My groping fingers found only clear air.
“Keiko-chan, you must wake up.”
Yo. My lover. I was confused. What was he doing in my bedroom, in what appeared to be full daylight? Shinobi he might be, but even he could not hope to get out of our house during the day without being discovered. And if it were either my father or my brother, Isamu, who saw him, then his blood would inevitably be spilled in the name of honor.
Blood. Although my eyes remained tightly shut, I could smell blood. And not only a little blood. With the nauseating reek came memories I did not want.
“Go away,” I said again, but this time my voice was a whisper. “Go away and leave me alone. I want to be here, with my dead. It’s where I deserve to be.”
I reached out, groping for my brother’s sword. Not the curved, samurai katana sword. That would be too long for my purpose. I wanted his shorter, second sword. Isamu’s wakizashi, the sword he wore thrust through his obi during battle. It was close by, I knew it was. I had seen it yesterday.
I took a deep breath, holding it for a long time to steady myself. Less than a day ago, I had been gloriously happy, looking forward to my future with little thought for the past. My family honor was safe. I was free, and about to begin a new life with Yo. I knew my brother would be horrified by my decision, but I would not let that lessen my happiness. My life was my own, and I would use it as I saw fit.
I had been away from home for over a month, held a prisoner in the Floating Word, yet I doubted that Father even noticed I had been absent. Even my sister, Emiko—the beauty of the family who had always held a place in Father’s heart; a place that eluded me entirely—had to ask for an appointment to see him if she had something she needed to discuss with him. No, Father would not have noticed I was missing. Even if he had noticed, I doubted he would have cared greatly. But it had amused Isamu to teach me the way of the code of bushido. It was he who had set my feet on the road to becoming onna-bugeisha, a legendary warrior woman of the samurai. Isamu would surely have missed me. While I had been held captive, I had consoled myself with the idea that he would think I had run away to taste more of the delights of Edo’s Floating World. The world he had introduced me to. But even then, I was sure that he would have worried about me.
As I worried about him when on my return I found not a living soul in our fami
ly home. Even the servants were missing. I knew something was very wrong, but I was so bewildered I had no idea what to do, still less where to begin my search. Matsuo had far more sense than I had. He had been shut up in the stables, and when I released him, he had immediately led me here to the dry river bed.
And there my search had ended. I found my father and brother, both dead. Fallen to the arquebuses of our own villagers. Conquered by the weapon that Isamu had dismissed with contempt. How the villagers had ever managed to obtain an arquebus, I had no idea. The guns were not common and were expensive. Perhaps the head man had one, no doubt used to hunt ducks and rabbits in better times, when there had been enough cash available to buy balls to fire from the muskets. Neither Father nor Isamu would tolerate the use of a gun in battle. They were not the way of the samurai; there was no honor in being able to kill from a distance, with no need for either skill or courage.
And now that same scorned weapon had killed them both, piercing their armor as if it was no more than paper. True, they had dealt death to many of the villagers. Terribly thin, ragged bodies lay all around my menfolk. But what was the point? Death was death, no matter how it arrived.
I could hardly believe I had slept amid of such horror. Had my mind simply given way and I had been unconscious rather than asleep? Either way, unlike my father and brother, I had awoken. The knowledge added to my guilt. I had arrived too late, but only just. If I had come home a few hours earlier, I could have fought alongside my men. Died with them, surely, but at least I would have died with honor. Instead, I had spent the time they were fighting and dying in pleasuring myself with Yo.
There was only one option open to me. I was glad Yo was at my side to help me leave this world in an honorable fashion. I frowned as I saw that he was holding Isamu’s wakizashi firmly in his grip. I held out my hand for it, demanding what was now mine.
“No.” Yo put the sword behind his back, as if he thought I might snatch for it. I stared at him in astonishment but spoke reasonably.
“I must. You know that. Please, give me the sword. I’m sure I’ve got the courage to make the first cut, but I don’t know if I can manage the final slash. Will you truly be my lover and do it for me? Finish me before I can wish I hadn’t done it? Put an end to my pain?”
“You are not going to commit seppuku. I won’t allow you to.”
I laughed. My heart was suddenly light. Yo was speaking nonsense. Seppuku was the traditional way for a samurai to atone when he had brought dishonor on his family. I was onna-bugeisha, and I should have died fighting with my men. As I had not, seppuku was the only way to atone for my actions. Yo knew that perfectly well. It was only for love of me that he denied my wish. That pleased me greatly.
“Yo, I have no option. Give me Isamu’s sword, please.”
A noise close to Father’s body startled me. Yo turned quickly, Isamu’s sword held in a two-handed grip at waist height, ready to strike out. He relaxed as I called out to him.
“No, don’t hurt him. It’s Father’s golden eagle. The one I stole from the nest with Isamu. His name is Soru—Sky. Father always took him with him when he went hunting. He couldn’t have foretold how this hunt would turn out.”
Yo lowered his arm, watching Soru intently as he smoothed down some ruffled feathers with his wickedly-curved beak. It seemed the two had reached an understanding. Yo finally put the sword back on the ground, slowly, so as not to alarm Soru.
“He was lying next to you when I got here,” he said quietly. “He had his wing stretched out over your head. I nearly killed him then. I thought you were dead and that he was pecking at your body. Even eagles will eat carrion if they’re hungry.”
“He was protecting me,” I marveled. “Even though I took his freedom away, he still guarded me.” Tears smeared my eyes and I blinked them away, reluctant to allow even Yo to see my weakness. I held out my arm and Soru immediately took wing, circling down cautiously to land on my wrist. Beneath my father’s armor, I could see the leather wrist guard he used when he was hunting with Soru. For a moment, I wished I was wearing it. My wrist was naked and the pain was very great when Soru perched himself on my arm and dug his talons in deeply, rocking to find his balance. Blood ran down my arm. I ignored it. What was my pain compared to that my men had suffered?
“You had little to fear with Soru and Matsuo at your side.” Yo put the sword on the ground but kept his foot on it. I shrugged. A moment more or less on this earth wouldn’t matter. Besides, before I took my own life, there was something I had to do.
I raised my arm, holding it far away from my body to give Soru room.
“I took your life from you, Soru, but you kept me safe.” The beautiful bird cocked his head to one side, as if he was truly listening and understanding. “In return, I give your freedom back to you. Go back to your mountain. Find yourself a mate and raise a family in peace and safety. Go!”
I raised my arm at the last word and literally threw Soru into the air. He flapped his wings, beating the air. For a moment, he seemed to be poised on the wings of the wind, and then he was rising. He went so high he was barely more than a dot, and then he turned and winged away from me.
“You are generous to the eagle. But what about me? And Matsuo?” Yo added as Matsuo whimpered, deep in his throat. “Are you going to give us our freedom as well?”
I was suddenly tired of all this discussion. I was ready to die. I should die. What was the point of discussing it any longer?
“I would be grateful if you take care of Matsuo,” I said politely. “He has more sense than many humans, and you will find him an excellent companion. Now, will you give me that sword?”
Yo glanced down at the wakizashi. I noticed that the blade was discolored, and the edge not as sharp as I remembered it. I swallowed; my own death would be painful. I closed my eyes, almost feeling the jagged blade entering my belly, and Yo grabbed his chance.
He kicked the sword away and leaped fluidly toward me. The last time we had fought, I had been naked, and my oiled body difficult for him to grip. Now, we were equal. Matsuo rose and walked away from us without a backward glance. I glared at him. He was supposed to be my dog! Surely, he should be leaping to my defense?
“This is not your day to die, Keiko.” Yo circled me cautiously. “If the gods had wanted to take you, they would have sent you home earlier so that you could fight and die alongside your men. They did not. You were meant to live. Meant to get vengeance for your family.”
He had barely finished speaking when he feinted to the left and lunged. But I was no longer there. I turned quickly and thrust my foot out, tripping him. But Yo righted his balance with the grace of a dancer and grabbed my robe, trying to throw me. I moved with his force, slipping away from him before he could secure his grip.
“I am samurai, shinobi,” I taunted him. “You would never understand. It’s a matter of honor.”
“Better to be alive than to die an honorable death,” he mocked me back. I glanced past him and my eyes widened in horror. I thought the trick had worked when Yo seemed to follow my gaze, but I was wrong. I was so busy planning my next move that I slowed for an indiscernible moment and Yo took full advantage. He bent so quickly his body was blurred and scooped up a handful of sand, throwing it in my face. I was quick, but not quite quick enough. I avoided most of the sand, but a little went into my eyes, effectively blinding me.
No matter. I closed my eyes against the sting and existed in my other senses. Yo was holding his breath, so I couldn’t track him that way. I ordered my ears to be deaf. When he moved, I knew where he was by the push of displaced air. He had gone low, intending to grab me around the waist. I let him almost touch me, then dived under his grip and slid away, reaching for the wakizashi. It was in my hand in far less than the time it took for my heart to make a single beat. I held it in front of me, the point resting beneath my left breast.
“Enough, Yo. I win.”
The blade may have been well used, but it was still wickedly sharp. Is
amu had always boasted it was sharp enough to part a hair down its length. I had no reason to doubt my brother’s words.
“And killing yourself is winning?” Yo spoke very quietly, barely out of breath in spite of our violent activity. I did not move to face his voice, but kept very still, ready to move in case he tried to take the sword away from me. “If that is really what you want, then I will give you the finishing stroke. I love you, Keiko. And I could never see you suffer.”
His voice carried the bitter ring of truth, and I relaxed slightly.
“Thank you. I am very glad the gods allowed us to meet, my shinobi. A great pity we didn’t have longer together, but one must be grateful for any mercy.”
I slid to my knees, making myself comfortable on the bare riverbed. I wriggled, assessing carefully the best place to make the first incision. Yo spoke again and I frowned in irritation as his words disturbed my concentration.
“Keiko, listen to me. If you’re still determined to go ahead when I’ve finished, then I’ll help you pass into the next world. But listen to me first.”
I bowed my head and shrugged. He was right. Another minute wouldn’t hurt. The sun had risen above the horizon now, warming me. I felt a great surge of sorrow at knowing I would soon be cold forever. As cold as Isamu and Father, I thought. I was angered by my own cowardice.
