The Golden Naginata

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

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  The Golden Naginata

  The Tomoe Gozen Saga, Book Two

  Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  DEDICATION:

  to Junko Fuji, Michiyo Yasuda, Yoho Matsuyama,

  Junko Miyazono, Keiko

  Nakamura, Meiko Kaji

  “and many other stars”

  also

  to Susan and Terri

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  by Wendy Adrian Shultz

  Tomoe Gozen with Inazuma-hime

  The Gaki Spirit Seeks Tomoe

  The Fortuneteller and her Companion

  The Tengu and the Magic Toad

  Ushii at Shigeno Valley Cemetery

  The Holy Kirin

  Tomoe in Emma’s Hell

  Dream Eater of the Dark Land

  At the Battle of Fuhara

  Lord Kiso’s Dance

  Death-Poem Ceremony

  The Reluctant Encounter

  PART ONE

  The Vengeance Swords of Okio

  Azo Hono-o awaited Tomoe Gozen where two rivers forged themselves into one, north of Daki village in the province of Heida. Azo wore a pair of baggy trousers or split skirt called hakama, printed brown on black, over a short kimono of blue slik. Her family seal—a gingko leaf—was printed on the back of the kimono and in the front at each shoulder. Through her sash or obi she bore two swords: long and short. Around her head was tied a towel, symbol of her readiness to meet with Tomoe.

  She watched the two rivers blend, as she and her sword would blend to become a mighty machine by which another samurai might fall. One of the rivers was smaller than the other. It was overwhelmed by the turbulence of the larger one. The froth and noise of the clashing rivers vanished into serene greatness further on, beyond the destruction of the smaller.

  There had been too many occasions when Azo heard it said that among the women warriors of Naipon, only Tomoe Gozen could defeat Azo Hono-o. Azo disagreed; no samurai, be he man or be she woman, was match for Azo’s blade. She believed this devoutly. She would demonstrate the truth of her belief. It was a matter of pride.

  Tomoe was more famous, it was true; she had slain the Shogun’s champion Ugo Mohri and won reestablishment of the Shigeno clan. The clan’s only heir was a woman named Toshima-no-Shigeno. It was rare that a clan survived the lack of male heirs. The fact that a woman samurai championed a woman Lord was naturally a fascinating incident. To Azo, none of this meant that Tomoe was special. It grated that Tomoe should become so famous because of unusual circumstances. Defeating her would bring Azo deserved recognition, and bring honor to her family and her sword instructor.

  The violence of the two rivers provided a monotonous roar which soothed Azo’s anger over having to wait. Tomoe Gozen had not arrived within the time allocated! It would do Azo no good to succumb to rage. When the duel commenced, she must apply herself with calm precision and not be daunted by the cheap maneuver of disrespectful tardiness.

  More time passed. Despite her resolve, Azo began to seethe. It was inconceivable that an honorable warrior should accept a challenge and then keep the challenger waiting so long! A good fighter would never stoop to it. Therefore, Tomoe Gozen was not a good fighter. Deciding this, Azo let herself experience the rage after all. She let it sweep over her, and what matter if it weakened her, when her nemesis was famous without warrant!

  Enmity peaked. It washed away like silt to a distant delta. If anger was meant to weaken Azo, Tomoe had waited too long to reap the advantage. After a while, the only thing the waiting woman felt was contempt.

  Shining Amaterasu passed Her zenith and began the long descent toward twilight. Azo paced along the upper banks of the rivers. She began to suspect Tomoe would not come at all. This was even more inconceivable than tardiness, that Tomoe was a coward.

  Azo reeled about, thumb pushing her sword a little ways loose of the scabbard.

  There was a thrashing among the bushes along the smaller of the two rivers. Azo caught a glimpse of a varnished straw hat. Tomoe Gozen burst from cover and scrambled up a steep bank. She wore a long kimono, tied up between her legs to allow for running and wading. She was soiled and wet, scratched and sweaty. Her sword was drawn.

  Azo drew her sword, though puzzled by the dirty specter who earlier that day had been a regal warrior, wholesome and beautifully dangerous. As Tomoe topped the hillside, she stopped, fell to her knees, and said, “Please accept my apology. Trouble kept me from your commission.”

  Along the river from the direction of Daki village there came the sound of splashing feet and shouting samurai.

  “You were detained?” asked Azo, trying to see who was coming in a loud hurry.

  Tomoe bowed to Azo, humbled and ashamed to be so late. “My father decided my marriage! I was not informed until shortly after your challenge that I was to meet the man today. I refused, saying that my duty was to the Lady of Shigeno Valley, to whom I am a vassal. My father knew of my commitment and previously honored it … but … intrigues! Even the Shogun’s concubines become rambunctious knowing that one woman killed his Champion and another woman is overlord in a distant valley. My master, Toshima-no-Shigeno, is politically powerful and cannot be compelled to marry. But I am vulnerable through my father. The Shogun’s agents hinted that a dutiful daughter should be married. He bowed to the pressure and said I must accept betrothal and not be so famous as a bachelor. When I refused, my father grew wroth. He said no woman can place her career first, that all women bow in youth to the father, in prime to the husband, and in old age to the son. I disagreed further, saying a samurai’s duty is first to a master and to family second. It made him furious that I spoke so boldly. He turned his retainers on me; I killed many of them. Then I realized I was late in coming to you. I came as fast as I could run, but have been followed. My father’s men have orders to bring me back to meet with my fiancé, or, if that is not possible, to kill me for my disobedience.”

  “A harsh father!” said Azo.

  “A difficult daughter,” Tomoe confessed. “He and I both are at an impasse. He too must act according to a master; family ties are indeed secondary.”

  Azo Hono-o barely had time to consider Tomoe’s situation when six men burst out of the brush. They stopped at the foot of the hill and spotted Tomoe at the top. Tomoe leapt to her feet and sprinted alongside Azo to a stand of trees.

  “Before we can have our match,” said Azo, “it seems we must first kill them. I will wear your hat. It will confuse them.”

  Tomoe exchanged her varnished hat for Azo’s towel. The six men saw the two women separate in opposite directions. Three of them followed after Azo and three after Tomoe. Azo led her three through a ravine, turned quickly to slay the foremost pursuer with a surprise sweep of her sword. The trick could only work once. She jumped up from the ravine and took a stand by a tree, so the two men could not get her between them. They immediately saw their mistake. “Not Tomoe!” one of them said. The other said, “Good. We needn’t hesitate to avenge our friend murdered in the ravine.”

  They charged together. Azo caught both their swords on her one. When they fell back for another run, she did not wait against the tree as would be expected. She became the aggressor, following them several paces. A quick downward slice cut through shoulder bones, continued through ribs, and found a man’s heart. She did not see him fall, already having turned to her third and final opponent.

  “Who kills me!” cried the final man, backing away and shaking.

  Azo pursued him to the edge of the ravine. “Azo Honoo,”
she replied. Her sword cut through his forehead, and he fell into the ravine without another sound.

  It was quickly done. She did not hear the sound of fighting elsewhere, and presumed the other battle was finished as quickly.

  “Tomoe Gozen!” she called. There was no answer. Azo Hono-o rushed toward a figure half hidden by brush. It was Tomoe, sitting on her knees cleaning blood from her sword. Three corpses lay around her. She looked up and said to Azo,

  “You make a lot of noise killing. I finished these three at one stroke.”

  “Stand up and duel,” said Azo. “It is our turn.”

  Tomoe stood, sheathed her sword, and left the three corpses. She returned to the bank overlooking the two rivers, then sat down upon her knees once again.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Azo. “We will fight now!”

  “I won’t,” said Tomoe.

  Azo looked stricken. She took the varnished hat from off her head and tossed it away. She said, “It was agreed!”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It was agreed!” Azo repeated, more confused than angry. There was nothing in tradition to allow for behavior such as Tomoe’s.

  “Chop off my head, then. I won’t stop you.”

  Azo looked at the unreasonable woman intensely, feeling unhappy about the direction of events. She walked around Tomoe slowly, striking threatening postures. “I want to test your blade!” she exclaimed.

  “Take it. Test it.”

  “I want to test you!”

  “I refuse. Kill me if you want to. I won’t resist.”

  “Tell me why!” Azo pleaded, her tone dwindling from fierce to exasperated.

  “All of my life,” said Tomoe, “I have been faithful to the Way of the Warrior, to bushido. Suddenly I am told to break faith with my master by marrying. If my master were not a woman, no one would insult her by commanding one of her samurai to be unfaithful. If I were not a woman, they would not be so surprised that I balk and fight when given orders contrary to my master’s will.”

  Azo Hono-o sat down on her knees facing Tomoe. They looked each other eye to eye. “Surely you will be allowed to serve the Lady of Shigeno Valley your requisite amount of time,” said Azo. “Meeting your betrothed is not the same as an immediate marriage.”

  “That is true,” said Tomoe. “It is not reasonable that I refuse to marry.” She sighed heavily. “But I have tasted adventure, Azo! I have seen too many good fighting women given to the defense of households, never riding off to battle, never fighting for more than a husband’s holdings or their own dubious virtue. I have never wanted to be like them.”

  “I am still too young to have your worry,” said Azo, for in Naipon marriage was not encouraged until mid-twenties for women, early thirties for men, as it was not a good idea to begin a family at too young an age in a tangibly finite island nation. Azo added, “But when my father eventually arranges my marriage, I will be glad to serve Naipon by serving my husband.”

  “How can you say so?” asked Tomoe, leaning toward Azo. “You are famous too! You would trade it for a husband?”

  “Women must provide heirs. We are still allowed to fight.”

  “Hai! Like my mother fought—and died bearing my younger brother.”

  “Death is always near a samurai,” said Azo. “Man or woman.”

  “Death by these!” exclaimed Tomoe, pulling her sword out a ways and shoving it back. “Not by this!” She struck her own belly.

  These were not acceptable notions and Azo Hono-o shook them off. If women thought as Tomoe Gozen, soon they would not be allowed the choice of a warrior’s life before marrying. Not many women chose the life of Azo or Tomoe, it was true; it was not precisely encouraged. Yet the choice was there; it existed because women would yet obey their parents’ plans of marriage when the time was ripe.

  “Perhaps you will like your husband,” Azo suggested uneasily.

  “I don’t care to like him,” Tomoe said stubbornly. “My father says he is a powerful warlord: Kiso Yoshinake of Kiso Province. You may have heard of him.”

  “Yoshinake! He is called the Rising Sun General and is known to be fierce in battle. I hope my father plans so well for me!”

  Tomoe made a disparaging sound. Azo said,

  “It is said that the Shogun would not be half as secure if not for Yoshinake. You are lucky if you wed a general favored by the Shogun.”

  “The Shogun favors Yoshinake, but not me. He despises the example I set for other women. Why, then, would he have his most valued warlord marry me? He wants me contained by someone strong!”

  “That is impressive!” said Azo. “I wish I could make a claim like yours. The Shogun does not even know that I exist. Consider yourself fortunate! Bushido is different for women, Tomoe. We must have strong sons.”

  “So! Sons you say! What is wrong with a daughter? I was a fine daughter! What has it brought me?”

  “It has brought you the promise of an excellent marriage with an important warlord,” Azo argued. “It is no worse a mess than Kiso Yoshinake’s. Perhaps he counts himself even more unlucky than you, if he waits to meet you now, and hears you killed your father’s retainers rather than go ahead with a mere meeting.”

  Tomoe was insulted. “He is luckier than me!”

  “How so? Because you could defend his household better than another wife?”

  Tomoe’s face reddened. She said angrily, “Because I can fight at his side across Naipon!”

  “You see? You do want to marry him.”

  “I did not mean that,” she said, and looked away from Azo. She scrunched down into herself, pouting.

  “If you honor my challenge as you are supposed to do,” said Azo, “you will not have to worry about marriage, because I will kill you.”

  “No. I will kill you.”

  Now Azo Hono-o was amused. “You hate your betrothed though you have never seen him, and you say you can defeat me though you have never tried.”

  “I heard your sloppy killing.”

  “Still. I always win.”

  “I won’t fight.” Tomoe was adamant.

  “Then,” said Azo, rising to her feet and drawing her sword, “I will claim your ear as my trophy.” She slashed without hesitation in the direction of Tomoe’s head.

  Her steel met steel instead of ear. Tomoe’s sword had slid from its scabbard with lightning speed. It blocked Azo’s blow then returned to the scabbard. Tomoe had not moved from her sitting position. Azo Hono-o’s eyes were momentarily round. She said, “That was very good! I have never seen it done before. Once more, please?” She made another sweeping approach with her sword. Again Tomoe performed an amazingly swift draw, not even rising to one knee as was usually necessary. She struck Azo’s sword aside without difficulty. Azo said, “Now it is certain we must fight! I must know who is better.”

  “Azo: I defeated the Shogun’s champion. I have survived a dozen terrible wars. I wield steel forged and tempered by Okio, the Imperial Smith, and blessed by the Mikado himself. With it I have slain men and demons. By contrast, you have acquired most of your skills in a dojo; and while your school is of the highest repute, it is never the same as practical experience. If you wish to kill me, do so in five years, when I am older and you are stronger than today.”

  “An insult!” said Azo. “I have distinguished myself in two battles. I’ve killed more men than I remember!” She raised her sword above her head. “I will show you my strength!” She whirled around and sliced toward a squat, thick tree. When her sword was sheathed, the tree began to fall. The trunk was thrice the width of a hand, but had been shorn through effortlessly. The tree fell directly in front of Tomoe. If she was impressed, it did not show.

  Tomoe took two long breaths, then said, “We have chosen the wrong place,” relenting a little. “If you wish so strongly to be killed by me, it must be announced publicly.”

  Azo was delighted. “Excellent! How will it be arranged?”

  “It may take a while,” said Tomoe. “F
irst I must escape my father’s wrath. I can kill his retainers and break no law; but if he comes for me himself, I would be guilty of patricide.”

  “I can help!” Azo promised. “We will trade clothing. Your family seal will cause me to be followed. I will keep my face shadowed under your hat. By the time the error is realized, you can be far away!”

  Tomoe nodded. “A good plan.” Azo began to untie the straps of her hakama. Tomoe doffed kimono.

  “You have gained momentary respite,” said Azo boastfully, trying on Tomoe’s clothing. “Next time we meet, we will fight.”

  “As you say,” agreed Tomoe. “My advice: Practice for that day. Be worthy of the contest.” She finished dressing in Azo’s hakama and short kimono. “Until then,” she said, “farewell.”

  Tomoe rested comfortably on her knees and watched the street from the inn’s upper story window. Beside her an oil lamp glowed within a columnar paper lantern. In front of her on a small black tray was an untouched meal: rice, pickles and braised eggplant, each in different bowls. Her longsword rested on a rack against a wall. Her shortsword was in her obi. She had long since traded Azo’s kimono for a plain one without family seal. She still wore Azo’s cotton hakama, somewhat worn from a month’s hard travel, yet fastidiously clean and pleated.

  She had sent a message to Toshima-no-Shigeno three weeks earlier, explaining her plight and saying she would await Toshima’s instruction at Chogi Inn on a certain date. As Tomoe watched the street, a bare-legged messenger appeared from an alley near the edge of town. He wore a bandana around his head and chin. Over one shoulder he carried a long stick with a letter pinned to one end. Tomoe slid the rice paper window closed. She reached for the bowl of rice and pair of pointed chopsticks and began eating while she waited.

  Several pairs of feet clambered up the steps at once. Tomoe heard the coarse laughter of men and the giggling of geishas. The party entered one of the other rooms. By her keen sense of hearing, Tomoe knew that one of those pairs of feet had not passed by her door.