by C. J. Anaya
“Fine,” I said. I was definitely in trouble.
“Then follow me, little healer.”
From the tone of his voice, I knew I would soon be paying for my little outburst.
Chapter Ten
“This time, you are going to learn the proper way to hold a samurai sword,” he said. He walked over and held out a curved, slender, single edged blade made of wood. I sighed when I noted it was merely a practice sword. If Musubi noticed, he didn’t show any sign of it.
We had traveled several hundred yards from the encampment into a clearing of soft grass surrounded by cherry trees. The cool breeze coupled with the fresh fragrance of cherry blossoms spun a magical atmosphere of hope and possibility. I might have considered the location quite romantic if Musubi’s mask of indifference hadn’t resurfaced once again. He was all business now.
“This sword is called a katana. Notice the nakago, or hilt, is long enough for both of your hands to hold it at the same time. Your right hand will be placed above your left just under the tsuba, the hand-guard.”
He demonstrated the proper way to hold it and then handed it to me. I placed my hands in the same position. It made me feel powerful and protected, but wielding a real blade would leave death and destruction in its wake. It was a heavy responsibility to bear.
“Mikomi, if that hilt were someone’s throat, you would have strangled them to death by now. You cannot hold your sword as if you are afraid of it.”
“Sorry.” I loosened my grip and tried relaxing my stiff fingers.
“Better. Now, we must put this around your waist.” He reached into a bag on the ground and produced a belt-like sash. After considering me for a few seconds, he walked over and began undoing my kimono again. I dropped my sword and immediately stepped back, holding out a defensive hand.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?”
“I cannot for the life of me understand why you don’t come to practice wearing something you can actually move in. The fabric of your sleeves is never ending, and you continually trip all over the folds of your kimono.”
“Akane didn’t give me much notice, and I was not in a position to change into different clothing when I left my place of residence.”
Musubi shook his head. “We will have to rectify that issue for you, but until then,” he closed the distance between us, “you will have to make do without it.” He pulled me to him and quickly removed my clothing, faster than my spluttering protests could form upon my lips.
Once again, my cotton body suit was exposed for all the world to see. He whipped out the sash and brought it behind me, leaning forward and slightly brushing his cheek against mine. I wasn’t sure if he had meant the light contact or not, but my face burned as he abruptly pulled back. He fastened it securely as I struggled to control my body’s response to his close proximity.
“I could have removed the clothing myself, you know.” I felt like I had to say something to fill the awkward silence.
He rested his hands at my waist, giving me another wicked grin.
“But it’s so much more fun when I do it.” He backed away and picked up the sword I had dropped. He was lucky to have moved so fast. I had come very close to giving his face a much deserved smack.
“Now, you store your katana in your obi, with the sharpened face turned up. This will facilitate a quick removal and striking motion simultaneously. It’s a useful tactic when defending yourself.”
The sword hung through the sash on my right side.
“Grasp—do not choke—the hilt with your left hand, then pull it up against your left side and straight out so the end of the sword will hit an opponent in the stomach if they were standing in front of you.”
I followed his instructions, and when he was satisfied with my positioning, he continued.
“Step back on your left as you swing your sword in an arc forward to pull it fully out of its saya, its sheath, until the pointed end comes to rest against my chest. I will stand in front of you so you can practice that motion a few times. Please, try not to kill me.”
“If only,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
I sighed heavily and practiced the movements, pulling the hilt to the left, straight out, sweeping it into a forward arc out of its saya and pointing it at Musubi’s chest. The first time I performed this task, I almost stabbed him in the stomach, to which he chuckled and muttered something about the battlefield being more hazardous to his health with my added presence. I continued to perform the motions until he felt I knew how to hold and unsheathe my katana properly.
“There are several different positions you must learn. You are going to step with your right foot forward and lift your sword backward so that the pointed end is at a forty-five degree angle. This is right foot forward, upper position.”
I lifted the pointed end of my sword straight up into the air.
“No, straight up is ninety degrees, back a little further and you will have it right.”
I adjusted and waited.
“Swing the sword down in front of you at a forty-five degree angle, and you will have right foot lower position. Then step forward with your left in the lead without moving your sword. This is left foot upper.”
Once I got the hang of it—it really wasn’t that hard—he continued speaking.
“Move the sword out to the side of your head, pointed about fifteen degrees off of the ninety, but not too close to your head because eventually you’ll be wearing a helmet of some kind…maybe…although, if I do my job right there will never be a need for you to defend yourself. This is called left foot lead, middle. Then move the handle of the sword to your center, square your shoulders and keep your feet in place. This is left foot forward, lower.”
“Do I really need to know the names of all these positions? If I think about the terminology, I’ll get so confused, I won’t be able to move to them.”
“Giving up already, are we?”
I threw him a frustrated glare which only amused him further.
“It’s not that difficult to remember once you get used to it, and eventually the names won’t matter as the swordplay becomes second nature to you. These different positions are like springboards for your movements. If they are precise, your movements will be also.”
I decided I’d better quit whining. I was the one who wanted to learn this, and I had challenged him not thirty minutes earlier to make the process more difficult.
“Now, start from the beginning and move through the sequence of positions slowly and fluidly. This is not a race, and I am not concerned so much with quantity as I am with quality.”
I nodded and started from the beginning, allowing my movements to flow smoothly as I hit each position and advanced to the next. Once again, I marveled at how the process soothed me. I was aware of every aspect of my body, the weight of my sword, the small breeze playing through the loosened strands of my hair and the way the wooden blade became an extension of myself. I wasn’t sure how long I continued through the positions before my movements became instinctive.
“You seem to have a good handle on this exercise, so let’s try something different. I will call out the positions, and you will move to them. I want swiftness and precision. Left foot forward, lower.”
And so began an interesting dance of commands and responses, where my ability to follow instructions depended on my focus and mental clarity. I was slow and hesitant at first but became more confident as time progressed.
I wasn’t sure at what point Musubi stood before me, calling out positions and mirroring me as I hit them, but I was no longer dancing alone, and the peace I felt as Musubi stood in front of me, maintaining eye contact and performing the same dance I did was something I had never felt before. He called out one last command, and we ended with our blades centered and touching.
We neither moved nor spoke for several seconds, but openly studied one another. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had exceeded his expectations. Perhaps he was prou
d of me, and maybe, just maybe, he believed in me.
“You have an uncanny ability to pick things up faster than most of the students I have worked with. Your form and technique are perfectly accurate. I’ve never met someone with that kind of mastery over their person.”
I knew he meant it as a compliment, but I could see my abilities troubled him, and I was afraid that I had, once again, accomplished something no true mortal would have been capable of. If I didn’t temper my abilities, I was going to give myself away. I fought to think of some subject that might distract him.
“What made you decide to join forces with the rebels?” I asked.
Musubi stepped forward and sheathed his sword. I did the same and continued to stand facing him.
“I imagine the same reason you did. I wanted to help those who could not help themselves. I’m also susceptible to lost causes.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think this rebellion is a lost cause?”
Musubi shifted the sword at his hip. “I don’t think it, I know it. These rebels cannot possibly win against a deity. They can kill all of the emperor’s soldiers if they wish, but as long as Fukurokuju remains in power they will never win, and he will remain in power until The Healer takes her rightful place beside the warrior god Katsu.”
He nearly spat Katsu’s name like a curse. I could feel his anger like heat leaping from his body. I wondered what it was about Katsu that caused him such anger.
“Why fight if you feel the cause is a hopeless one?”
“Because I fight with an entirely different goal in mind. There is someone else who will pay for the wrongs committed against these people and for a very important life lost.” Musubi ground his sword into the stone at his feet. “He’ll pay…and eventually, so will she.”
His response left me with more questions than answers, but the hot anger rolling off of him in waves began to make me feel uncomfortable and a little afraid as well. I tried to lighten the mood by diverting the subject to something that would cool his anger.
“How did you come across Akane? She mentioned that you were the one to train her.”
Musubi’s anger evaporated almost immediately, and a small smile lightened his brilliant eyes.
“Akane started life as a starving orphan on the street, which is where I met her several years back. She attempted to steal some food from my bag when she thought I wasn’t looking. I caught her red handed and forced her to follow me back home. There was a good woman in the village where I dwelled at the time. She willingly gave shelter to Akane, and I decided to teach her how to defend herself. It never occurred to me that anything would come from her training, but she is the fiercest general I have ever met. I’m quite frightened of her now.”
I chuckled at his playfulness, but then I began to feel a bit discomfited as another thought hit me.
“Does that mean you two are lovers?”
Musubi’s eyes narrowed. “You know, for a woman you have a strange tendency to ask very personal questions.”
“Oh, forgive me,” I said, feeling my face go warm all over. Maybe it was the uncharacteristic behavior I had displayed over the past few days or the fact that I had left the palace under false pretenses, or maybe the feel of a sword in my hand had liberated me in some way, but I felt as if I could do anything, be anyone, behave any way that I liked. “You don’t have to answer that question.”
“Well, I’m afraid I must. Otherwise, you’ll always be wondering, and that might make things a bit awkward considering Akane is very much like a sister to me.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. I couldn’t begin to understand why, but his answer had meant everything to me. Then I wondered about other girls and became panicked all over again.
“Well, if Akane isn’t your wife, then who is? Aren’t you afraid to be without her?”
Musubi gave me a look I found difficult to interpret.
“According to Akane, you are my wife.” He chuckled at my sour look, and then his face grew somber. “There was a woman once, but she passed away several years back.”
His anger returned, and the heat from it began to scorch the air with its intensity. I knew only I could feel it, but the emotion seemed to echo throughout the clearing. I wondered how he could survive with such bitterness in his heart.
He didn’t look very old. In fact, he looked only a few years older than myself, but he talked as if his loss had happened centuries ago. That was exactly how old and how deep his pain felt to me. Like it had lasted for centuries.
“I’m sorry for your loss. She must have been a very special individual.”
Musubi studied his sword and fingered the hilt. “She was.”
I felt sad and hopeless. I wasn’t sure if I was absorbing his emotions or experiencing my own, but I wished with all my heart that I could help him hold on to the memory of lost love with a sense of joy instead of bitterness.
“You are a very special individual as well, wouldn’t you agree, Mikomi?”
Musubi studied my face again, and I wondered what he meant. It didn’t sound like a compliment to me. More like an accusation.
“I’m not special. I’m nobody, really.”
He shook his head and closed the distance between us in two easy strides. He lightly took hold of my chin.
“You’re clearly a well-bred woman of consequence, yet you have an amazing amount of knowledge where medicine is concerned, and you take to the fighting arts as if you had been doing it all your life.”
I swallowed hard, but couldn’t break eye contact with him.
“I suspect that you are special in more ways than one could count, Mikomi. There is something you and Akane have not told me, but I will not press either one of you about it just yet.”
“There is nothing to tell. I’m simply a girl who wishes to help your men. That’s all I am.”
Musubi lowered his face closer to mine, and drew a finger down the side of my cheek.
“We shall see,” he whispered.
* * *
“I want to accompany you the next time you have a meeting with Akane,” Saigo said.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, young prince,” Kenji said. “It is nerve-wracking to have your sister out doing the work she is doing, but to have you there as well without being a fully trained samurai yourself leaves you vulnerable and me anxious. Also, I have no idea how I could convince your father that veil history is something you should be studying along with your sister.”
Saigo grunted sourly and folded his arms across his chest. I reached across the table on my left where he sat sulking and gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.
“Besides, Saigo, I haven’t received a message from Akane for almost four days. Circumstances between Father and the rebels have quieted for now.”
“Yes, but you get to leave the palace and train every day with a samurai warrior. I’m stuck with our boring staff, and I never have the same sword trainer.”
“I cannot believe you would ever find my lessons boring, Saigo,” Kenji said, pretending outrage. “There can be nothing more thrilling than the study of historical politics and their effect upon our future.”
Saigo made a snoring sound and dropped his head on the table, pretending sleep. I giggled, but soon my thoughts returned to my handsome samurai instructor.
A full three weeks had passed since I’d started my samurai training with Musubi and veil training with Katsu. It made me dread the day one minute and then look forward to it the next. I didn’t mind Katsu’s company. He was actually becoming a good friend, despite our many differences and his tendency to overlook and undervalue anyone or anything that didn’t pertain to what he focused on accomplishing.
I was still unable to sense the veil surrounding me, even though he had been very patient with his instructions and my slow progress. We both wanted to avoid having to bring in any more people who were terminally ill, but each time I failed to sense the veil on my own I would be forced to deal with another dying individu
al during the next practice session.
It was an agonizing process, and made me feel as if a part of me faded away with each life I failed to save. I’d become so emotionally overwrought by it that I had taken to shutting myself within my rooms to write poetry until it was time to train with Musubi. Poetic verse seemed to be my only outlet for the emotional upheaval my trainings with Katsu produced.
The hours I trained with Musubi were quickly becoming some of the most treasured moments of my life. I knew when I held my katana in my hand it was meant to be there. With each new lesson and each new exercise my abilities were growing, and Musubi’s curiosity as to my secret with Akane grew as well. Something else seemed to be growing in strength, though I was sure it blossomed solely on my part. With every new day I spent in Musubi’s company, my affections for him increased.
There were moments when I sensed he might hold some kind of feeling for me also, and other times when I was sure it was only my imagination. He saw me as a student and a peculiar mystery needing to be solved. His interest in me went no further than that of teacher and student. Even though I was aware that my growing feelings were one-sided, I couldn’t put a stop to them, and I couldn’t prevent them from gaining ground and overcoming all of my reasoning and logic.
I knew I had left my heart vulnerable and unprotected where Musubi was concerned, but I couldn’t have fenced in my emotions and shielded my heart even if I had wanted to, and that was exactly my problem. I would have rather experienced this kind of pain than any other kind that had ever been inflicted upon me because that pain brought with it thoughts of Musubi and a chance to be near him.
I was also anxious to learn as much as I could before my eighteenth birthday. With a little over five months left before the marriage ceremony and my ascension as a full kami, I still had no plans for how I would avoid it, only that I needed to become a master in the art of fighting in order to have any hope of survival for Saigo and myself if we had to leave to avoid the marriage and permanently join the rebels.