by Renee Ahdieh
They were all masked. All dressed in black. Thick lines of black ink had been drawn across their eyes. Mariko knew they saw her. Saw a girl, dressed in a simple pale pink kimono, its hem stained from her trudge through the forest.
A figure moved to the head of the converging shadows. He stood before her. Mariko knew based on his stature, based on his bearing, that it was Ranmaru.
“To be a shadow warrior, the forest must accept you first,” he began. “It must see you as its equal. As its ally.” His eyes glowed yellow for an instant. He winked at her once.
Mariko remained still, her heart immobilized in her chest.
The beast. The beast formed of smoke and shadow.
It was Ranmaru.
Which meant the leader of the Black Clan had known all along that Mariko was a girl. She longed to ask him why he’d kept her secret. Why he’d helped her in the forest after her convoy had been attacked. Only to disappear as she was set upon by a drunken fool.
There would be time later for her questions. Now was not that time.
“The forest led you here tonight,” Ranmaru continued with a meaningful smile. “Only those it deems worthy are granted this gift.”
Mariko lifted her chin, accepting the forest’s embrace. Accepting that she had truly found her place here, in a grove of enchanted trees, with a band of mercenaries dressed in the color of night.
“Hattori Mariko . . . do you agree to fight and die for your fellow shadow warriors?”
“Yes.”
“Do you agree to fight for justice, irrespective of honor?”
Mariko cleared her throat with conviction. “Yes.”
“Do you agree to see all those before you as your equal, regardless of birth or rank?”
“Yes.”
“Do you agree to use all manner of subterfuge—even lying, cheating, stealing—to achieve our shared goals?”
“Yes.”
“And will you die to protect this secret?”
She did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Today you become kagemusha. Today you swear to serve and protect all those in need.” Ranmaru walked back when he finished.
No leaves rustled nearby. No sound emitted from his footsteps. No wind carried with it the scent of warm stone and wood smoke. But Mariko knew Ōkami moved toward her. Her body leaned forward of its own volition, drawn like drying leaves to a river’s edge.
Ōkami stepped before her.
“Close your eyes,” he said softly. In one hand he held a small earthenware pot filled with a black liquid.
She let her eyes fall shut, reveling in the darkness. Embracing her fears.
“Be as swift as the wind. As silent as the forest. As fierce as the fire. As unshakable as the mountain.” His words swept over Mariko as Ōkami’s fingers brushed slowly across her eyelids, covering them with the same black paint they all wore. His touch was a flare of heat across her skin. When he finished, the wind took flight once more. The trees rustled with a sudden swish of air, and the branches creaked in celebration.
As though the forest itself were welcoming her.
—
Mariko tossed in her tent, sleep eluding her.
She did not understand why she could not rest.
The Black Clan had welcomed her. Not a single one of them had turned his back on her, though they all knew who she was. Though they all knew what she had done.
She’d deceived them. Infiltrated them. Cheated her way through their ranks. Outsmarted and betrayed them, several times over.
And they’d welcomed her for it, as though she’d always been one of their own.
No one in her life had ever welcomed Mariko for being herself. Not her parents. Never those in the nobility. Even Kenshin had wished her to be different. Wished her to conform, at least in the smallest of ways.
She had done none of those things.
Now there was nothing to fear. And still Mariko could not sleep.
Only when she paused to stare at the sloped ceiling of her tent did she understand why dreams continued to elude her. Ōkami had not spoken to her. Save to tell her to close her eyes. Save to recite the refrain he’d once said to her in passing.
For the rest of the night, the Wolf had leaned against a twisted tree trunk as Yoshi had come to take her in a rather energetic embrace. As Ranmaru had clapped her on the back, his grin simultaneously knowing and secretive. As each member of the Black Clan had—in his own way—demonstrated his solidarity. Their sense of kinship with her.
Perhaps Ōkami did not want Mariko to be here.
Perhaps he had objected and been overruled by a higher authority. Overruled by the forest itself. The trees must have known better than they that Hattori Mariko belonged—above all—beneath the forest’s sighing branches. Perhaps because she was far more inventive than all the men put together. Or perhaps the forest simply knew this was where someone like Mariko—a lost girl in search of a place to call home—could plant roots and flourish.
She tossed again, kicking up her thin woolen blanket. Wishing she’d had a chance to tell Ōkami that Ranmaru had always known she was a girl.
Wondering if this revelation was worth seeding enmity between the two friends.
When the flap of her tent rose—washing cool night air across her skin—Mariko yanked a throwing star from beneath her pallet and sat up in the same motion.
Ōkami crouched outside the entrance.
“Throw it or put it down.” He did not sound angry.
But Mariko did not discard the throwing star immediately.
He waited. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Those are the words of a villain.”
“I am a villain. A deceiver. The son of a traitor. And so much more.”
“I know.”
“So then are you going to invite me in?”
“If I don’t?”
“Then I will never ask for an invitation again.”
Mariko moved aside, tossing off her thin blanket. She wore nothing but her white underrobe, but it did not matter. From him, she had nothing to hide. “Stay or go. I leave it to you. But you are welcome always. In all ways.”
Ōkami dipped inside the tent, letting the flap fall behind him. Mariko did not ask why he’d come to her tent in the dead of night. She dared not hope to ask, the blood pounding through her veins.
He cast her a searching glance. “I was unfair to you earlier.”
“I lied to you,” she said simply. “And I hated you.”
“I wanted to hate you,” he said. “It would have been easier to hate you. But I couldn’t.” Ōkami lay beside her, long and lean. “One day, I will tell you everything. About who I was. About where I came from.”
Mariko stretched out next to him, her fingers laced across her stomach. “I don’t care who you were. I only care who you are now. And that you are with me tonight.”
He turned toward her. “Always. In all ways.” Ōkami stroked a thumb along her jaw. Mariko leaned into his touch as he framed her face between his hands. As he kissed her eyes closed.
“Look at me.” It sounded innocent.
But nothing Ōkami ever said was innocent.
When Mariko opened her eyes to meet his, she saw a night full of stars.
“To me, you are magic.” His voice was soft. It slid over her skin like silk. The words he spoke were firm and unyielding. Steadfast. It gave Mariko comfort. For she, too, was equally unyielding. Equally steadfast.
She kissed his wrist, then reached for the loose collar of his kosode. Her hands brushed away the fabric, baring him to the darkness. When his fingers grazed the muslin of her thin underrobe, it sent a shiver down her back. The slide of the ties through his fingers was like a spark igniting in the dark.
“I want to lie here next to you tonight,” Ōkami said.
&nbs
p; “How unfortunate for you,” she murmured. “Because I want much more than that.”
He smiled. His lips pressed beneath her chin, and Mariko wrapped both arms around his neck, drawing him over her.
Ōkami took hold of her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. Then he dragged a fingertip along the edge of fabric at her chest, loosening it, pulling it away.
All too slowly.
She sighed in frustration.
“So impatient. You’ve always been so impatient.” With his teeth, he spread apart her underrobe. Every bit of unveiled skin, he kissed, his breath a whisper and a promise.
Mariko brought him back to her lips. “You’re trembling,” she teased.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar. Tell me something true.”
“You first.”
She swallowed carefully. “I am not a maid.”
“Neither am I.” He laughed as she shoved a hand in his face.
“Ōkami?” She looked into his eyes. “To me, you are magic, too.” Mariko rested a palm against his chest. “My heart knows your heart. A heart doesn’t care about good or bad, right or wrong. A heart is always true.”
All trace of amusement vanished from his expression. “I may lie every day of my life, Hattori Mariko. But my heart will always be true.”
She could ask for nothing else. Mariko crushed her lips to his. He caught her against him, swallowing her sigh with a kiss. Causing her to catch flame as his tongue swept into her mouth. She let the fire burn through her until every thought in her mind was nothing but a wisp of smoke.
And Mariko felt it. The magic of a night sky filled with stars. Of a haunted forest with demons hidden in its folds.
Of a liar, cloaked in truth.
She felt it with every brush of his lips, every touch of his skin to hers.
The searing warmth of this new emotion. This hope she dared not name. A part of Mariko knew better than to touch this kind of flame. Knew better than to let anything deliberately burn her. But she returned Ōkami’s embrace. Returned each of his kisses. Every touch. Until nothing at all existed between them.
But shared breaths.
And unspoken promises.
Lies.
And unshakable truth.
THE BLACK ORCHID
Kanako watched her son, Raiden, sit across from the son of her enemy. She watched him laugh. Watched him listen intently. Interject occasionally.
Her face was cool and calm. Though her blood boiled from within.
The emperor dreamed of a world in which both his sons held power. Roku as emperor. Raiden as shōgun.
For years, Kanako had smiled at this. Smiled and gifted the emperor tastes of her power. Tastes that had intoxicated him. Kept him in her thrall. It had not mattered to her that the emperor’s evil hag of a wife mistreated her daily. Spoke down to her. Belittled her at every turn. It was not unusual for an emperor to have several consorts. For an empress to abase them out of jealousy or spite.
But Kanako had watched for nineteen years as the hag had mistreated her son.
Openly mocked him. Openly called him a whoreson.
Kanako could stomach anything when it came to herself. But she would not stomach any more of the tiny she-devil’s contempt for Raiden.
The emperor was her lover. Her son was her beloved.
There was no contest when it came to Kanako’s loyalties.
She wandered away from the first enchanted maru. Wove through the next set of gates. Then another. And another. Kanako paused before a flowering orchid tree. When she raised her hand, the surface of its leaves shimmered. Distorted.
The tree had been bewitched years before, by an enchantress of great skill. Kanako waved her hand across the blossoms. Removed a purple flower at its base. She gently drifted past the vines along its bottom. Vines that snaked toward her feet, then curled back, as though they’d wandered too near a fire.
A mirrored surface shimmered to life before her. Kanako touched a finger in its center and watched eight concentric circles ripple from the point of contact.
She stepped through the mirrored surface, into a garden absent color. Everything around her was rendered in shades of grey and white. Of black and silver. Her skin was milky, her kimono a stark contrast. A layered arrangement of painted silk.
A man waited beneath a yuzu tree. Its citrus scent wafted toward her, sharp and fresh all at once.
The man stood, dressed in a formal hakama, his features solemn.
A dark grey fox with golden eyes ambled across a corner of the enclosed garden. Stopped. And waited.
“I’ve come with another task for you,” Kanako said to the solemn man.
“Then I am to reemerge from this place?”
“It is time.” She conjured a silk purse from nothingness. The silver pieces within clinked together as she passed it along to him. “You must tell my son to go into Jukai forest. The fox will show you the way.”
“How does the fox know?”
“The fox is a creature of the forest. It always watches. Always knows.” Kanako smiled warmly. “Tell Raiden to seek out the Dragon of Kai.”
The man’s gaze hardened. “Hattori Kenshin.”
“You were unsuccessful in the forest the first time. But here is another chance to remedy your mistake. Find the Dragon’s sister, and you will find the one we seek. The one who will set this course on its rightful path.”
“What am I to do with the Dragon once I am done?”
“It is immaterial to me what happens to Hattori Kenshin. Bring me a way to control the leader of the Black Clan. A way to exert influence over the son of Takeda Shingen. If he will not come to me of his own volition, then I will pull his strings from afar and wait.”
“This is what the emperor wishes of me?”
Kanako bowed. “I serve our emperor, in all ways. And you serve him in the greatest of ways.”
The man nodded and returned her bow.
Kanako passed him the flower in her hand. The orchid had turned black. She breathed deep of its perfume. Blood and heavy musk. “Take care not to damage our prize, Nobutada-sama.”
“Of course.” For an instant, his eyes glazed over. Distress washed across his face.
The distress of a man in conflict with his soul.
“The emperor will not look kindly on you should you fail,” Kanako reminded him, imbuing her words with steel.
Nobutada nodded, setting his spine straight. “If need be, I will die to bring an end to this conflict.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” She smiled. “You are the finest of samurai. A true tribute to your way.” Her eyes drifted across the sea of grey and silver before her. To the immense white oak tree in the distance. And the distortion in its center. “If Hattori Kenshin should cause you any trouble, do not hesitate to inform me.” Kanako wandered closer to the white oak. “I am caring for something he desperately wishes restored to him. Your lord will be grateful to us for our consideration.”
Nobutada bowed once more.
Kanako waved her hands across the thick trunk of the white oak. The mottled surface of the bark shifted to reveal a young woman, fast asleep in an enchanted slumber.
Half of her face was badly burned.
A MOUNTAIN OF FIRE
The next day all the men of the Black Clan were put to work fortifying the camp’s position against the Dragon of Kai’s oncoming onslaught.
All the men.
Mariko protested loudly when she was sent once more to work alongside Yoshi. Blank faces and solemn stares were the only replies with which she was met.
Finally—after three days spent preparing food—Mariko stood her ground before evening mealtime, tightening the dark silk cord wrapped around her middle. As before, she’d donned the clothing of a warrior, but she now chose to augment her garments with elemen
ts more suited to her status as the camp’s only female.
“I would hate to think,” she began in a stern voice, “that my place is manning the cast-iron pot simply because I’m a woman.”
“Why would you think that?” Lines puckered across Yoshi’s brow. “You did not protest before.”
“Give me something meaningful to do.”
“Do you not find providing sustenance meaningful?” He huffed.
“I did not mean to insult you.”
“Nevertheless you did.”
Though Mariko had never been gifted in the art of placating, she attempted to do so now. She took a step back and channeled her best attempt to emulate Yumi. “You’re being entirely too sensitive, Yoshi-san. I am merely stating that I’d be of far more use developing a way to reinforce the existing defense structures than I would be stirring a simple pot of bean curd.”
Yoshi turned to yell into the darkening woods. “Ōkami!”
“What are you doing?” Mariko said under her breath in exasperation.
Ren limped from the bushes, the wound in his side still causing him obvious pain. “What did you do now, woman?” he seethed, his face wan, the color in contrast to his eyes.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with, boy,” Mariko retorted.
Ōkami shoved through the underbrush, his arms coated in a thin layer of sweat. He waited, and Mariko ignored the way the setting sun struck the angles of his face. Brought his muscles into sharp relief. “Why did you shout for me, Yoshi-san?”
Yoshi pointed at Mariko. “She was condescending.”
“What did you want me to do about it?” Ōkami raised his eyebrows.
Yoshi shrugged. “I thought you might . . . talk to her. After all, she might . . . listen to you,” he grumbled.
Ōkami started to laugh. Then promptly turned and walked away.
Mariko smothered a smile. And refrained from watching the Wolf’s tall figure vanish from sight. It would do no one in the camp any good to know how often she looked for him, even at the most inopportune moments.