He stepped back, refusing to part with it.
Onóir glanced at Reece, silently calling for his assistance. He pretended to ignore her, choosing to let the siblings fight their own battle; he had his own inner conflicts to contend with. Rosalyn moved to intervene but was prevented by Kai, who insisted they were left alone in their childish rivalry.
In jest, Gill raised his hands, in defence, recoiling from his sister’s advance.
‘Give it to me!’ she demanded, knowing she would be unable to prize the weapon from him.
‘No!’ he teased, patting his thigh. ‘This, stays with me, until you have calmed down.’ Looking down at her, he rose to his full height and folded his arms, raising the barrier between them.
Rosalyn closed her eyes, shaking her head. With all that was at stake, brother and sister continued to behave like disruptive children. A single grunt from Eleanor, told them what was coming. Turning on her heel, the young woman stormed from the house, pulling the door behind her.
Gill laughed out, in triumph over his sister. But his victory was short-lived, when he turned to his mother. Rosalyn’s tilted head and tapping foot sent a warning to her son. Gill passed a look towards his grandmother, seeking her support. Onóir slowly shook her head.
Traitor! he mouthed at the old woman, then moaned. ‘I promise to return it before we leave.’
But in his moment of glory, after their brief battle, something told him they may never see each other again. Gill then sighed with regret for having taunted his sister. Plagued by more guilt, he decided to follow her. He would apologise, and they would discuss it like grown-ups. Heading for the door, he halted, finding Reece blocking his path.
‘Leave her!’ he urged.
‘But I must explain—’
‘Leave the girl!’ Reece now insisted. ‘She needs to work this out for herself. She is no longer a child. And you should know better.’
‘He’s right,’ Onóir added, siding with her husband.
Gill frowned at his grandmother—he now feeling deceived by them.
‘The “traitor” yet again, it seems,’ Onóir confessed, feeling a pang of shame. It was time she ceased taking his side. If not all the time, then most of it.
‘Let someone else speak to her,’ Kai suggested. ‘Perhaps—he will convince her to stay.’
Gill looked back into the green eyes peering at him through their intensity. He now saw an honesty lurking behind Reece’s stare. It was the first time he had noticed it.
‘What about Onóir and Kai?’ Rosalyn enquired, moving towards her father. ‘How safe will they be?’
Reece and Gill watched her determined face as she stood, hands on hips, expecting answers.
‘Kai will not be staying,’ Onóir informed her curious daughter.
Reece let out a deep-rooted sigh. ‘Then we shall need five horses,’ he mumbled.
‘I thank you,’ Kai returned, his tone calm and diplomatic, despite being aware of Reece’s displeasure of him. ‘But I do not require one.’
‘Then four it is!’ Reece promptly replied, his mood now brightening. The thought of spending any length of time in the Servitor’s company had not been appealing.
Onóir turned to her daughter. ‘Therefore…’ she continued, ‘it is important we make certain no-one enquires of their whereabouts, or follows them for that matter. Everything here must remain as it is.’
‘We?!’ cried Rosalyn, taking a deep breath.
The forewarning tone in her voice cautioned the wary faces staring at her.
‘If you think I intended to stay,’ she informed them in a slow, defined manner, ‘then you are mistaken. We’ll be needing five horses… as I shall be taking Farrow.’
Chapter Forty
Eleanor threw herself out into the balmy night before finally giving in to her tears. Overwrought with sadness and fear, she failed to notice Tam loitering about, in a vain attempt to avoid the family feud; her mind was distracted—awash with anxious thoughts.
How will I cope without Gill? she thought. And when did he suddenly become my protector? she then questioned, unable to comprehend the change in her younger brother in less than two days? Is that all it’s been? It felt as though their unexpected visitors had been in their company much longer; so much had happened, since their arrival.
She felt the familiar tightness in her chest as she struggled to catch her breath, forcing her to stop at the edge of the woods. Leaning over, she tried desperately to control the irregularity of her breathing, before the burning in her stomach made its presence known.
Gradually the tension released as she relaxed into the rhythmic flow of life once more. Wiping the tears from her flushed cheeks she inhaled, straightening her body, then gazed up at the night sky. The lustrous stars winked down at her, as if letting her know everything would work out. Closing her eyes, she made a wish. It was the one little secret she had taken with her throughout her childhood, carrying it on into womanhood. She recalled the story Oran had told her of the starry sky’s “lost souls” and thought of Kai. She was in awe of their close friend yet sympathetic to his plight.
What a sad existence! she thought, unable to imagine it. But he seems content with his lot.
Reece then entered her mind. Despite being her grandfather, she would not forgive him his
cold treatment of her, before she had abruptly left the house. She grinned to herself. It was clear he was envious of Kai’s relationship with the family—none more so than the bond the Servitor shared with Onóir.
‘Huh! she quietly grunted. ‘That’s his problem!’
There was a warm stillness in the night air that had followed the humidity of the day, despite it being late Autumn. But she was not naive to the sudden and unexpected changes in Mother Nature, living so close to the Highlands. As she turned her gaze to the moon, she was forced to narrow her eyes against its glare; its unusual glow was still dazzling, lighting up everything below its domain—even though it had begun to lose its fullness. She looked down at the distinctive, eerie shadows it cast on the ground, catching sight of two hedgehogs rummaging about in the thicket of leaves, preparing for hibernation. They would soon find quietude in their long, lazy slumber ahead. She envied them.
Eleanor glanced back at the house, deciding to wait a while before facing her family again.
Then, leaving it behind, she took herself into the familiarity of their surrounding woods, pausing briefly, to take in the night; there was something unnatural in the haunting, blue light, enveloping everything around her.
The dry leaves beneath her feet crunched as she stepped further into nature’s territory. A sense of relief fell over her as she sat for a while, enjoying the solitude of her own company.
‘Why do things have to change?’ she quietly asked the universe.
Her grandmother’s words drifted back as she nestled her head against a tree.
“Life is all about change, Nori; it is what moulds us, makes us who we are as people. From the moment we are born, it is inevitable. But we do have a choice—one which is ours to make. We can either fight or accept it and join its journey through life. It is wise to choose the latter.”
Eleanor jumped to her feet. ‘That’s it! I will make a choice… my choice. And I refuse to stay!’
And so, it was decided, by the young woman who found the need to finally come into her own: she would go back and simply tell them, whether they liked it or not. Naturally, avoiding all eye contact, she thought. She played out her speech in her mind. I am going with Gill, and no-one will change my mind. ‘Short and to the point,’ she then told herself.
Committed in her decision, she turned to make her way back, when the moon’s light seized a tiny glint of metal; it was enough to catch her attention. She hesitated, waiting to glimpse it again, quietly gasping when it began to dance and sway in perfect formation. Mesmerised by the beauty of its movement, she decided to seek it out, her curiosity enticing her.
The hoot of a night-owl announced her pre
sence as she drew closer. She stopped; and when she did, its movement stopped too. Unafraid, she moved quietly with confidence. However, despite her knowledge of her territory, she was unaware her movements had not gone un-noticed.
The sudden sound of a blade being slowly removed from its sheath re-awakened her senses as she crept nearer. She paused, before promptly concealing herself behind a bush, then quietly rummaged through its branches, in order to see.
Tilting her head, Eleanor scrutinised its owner’s every move, in awe, as he handled and caressed the curvature of the sword with passion and respect.
He then stopped and hesitated. She held her breath, thinking he had heard her. But when he removed the upper part of his kimono—revealing his bare torso—she quickly looked away… briefly.
Hearing his movements, again, she slowly turned her head. Her eyes widened, seeing the outline of every moving muscle on his toned body. He paused, raising the great weapon to the moonlight, displaying its true magnificence, before making it dance again in the elegance of his skilled hand.
Eleanor gasped at the mastery of his expertise, then felt her own betrayal, when Asai paused again, and looked in her direction, letting her believe she had only just come to his attention. Feeling embarrassed, having intruded on his privacy, she rose from her hiding place and turned to leave.
‘Come—join me!’ he said. ‘Your company is always welcome.’
As she turned, Eleanor caught her breath, seeing him standing there, in full view, and half naked. With his free hand, out-stretched, he smiled, beckoning her. She peeped over her shoulder, knowing she would be completely alone with him now, under the blanket of night, without another soul watching them or casting a suspicious eye. She lingered, sensing the intensity of his presence. There was nothing to distract her from him now.
Trembling inside, she edged nervously towards him, hoping it did not show. Asai bowed, encouraging her to sit on a stray piece of wood. She returned the bow, awkwardly, feeling a little foolish. He smiled, approving of her attempt to acknowledge him, as she cautiously sat on the uncomfortable surface.
‘Will you permit me?’ he asked, motioning to the space beside her.
She nodded, attempting to divert her eyes. Aware of her embarrassment, he covered himself again. She pretended not to notice, but as he took his seat, she felt his thigh brush against hers, before space divided them again.
For a short time, they sat together in silence, conscious of one another—Eleanor clasping her fidgeting hands while he sat, poised, resting one hand on his sword. Her eyes slid towards the sheen emanating from the blade.
‘’Tis a beautiful piece,’ she finally remarked, plucking up the courage to speak.
Without a word, he held the weapon out before her. She stretched her hand, daring to touch its lethal blade.
‘Be mindful of its sharpness,’ he warned, his voice soft and melodic. ‘It will sever the hand with one swift movement. It has been known to cut the skin without one knowing.’
Eleanor snatched her hand back, visualising its ferocity. He observed her spirit of enquiry as she leaned forward to inspect it further, her brow creasing with genuine interest. She noticed the deep engravings of unusual symbols—one in particular standing out.
‘What is it?’ she enquired, feeling brave as she reached out to feel it.
He smiled. ‘A reminder of my home,’ he said, subtlety moving the blade from her contact. His features softened as droplets of fading memories returned for a brief moment.
‘Is it far—your home?’
‘A great distance away—to the east. There was a time I could close my eyes and see it clearly. Sometimes I imagine I can smell the apple blossom tree. Its wonderful scent is intoxicating.’ Raising his head, he closed his eyes, struggling to catch a mere glimpse of the memory he had fought to retain.
‘Is this what you describe?’ she asked, pointing to the small but perfectly detailed
engraving of what appeared to be a flower.
‘Ah! The lotus. It, too, hails from my home.’
‘It looks beautiful.’
He nodded.
‘Hai. It is sublime in its simplicity, and its aroma, truly unique.’
‘How long has it been—since you last saw one?’
‘Almost six decades since’— he looked away in a moment of thought— ‘Fifty-seven years… to be accurate. It is a piece of my memory they failed to steal. It continues to remain… here… and here,’ he added, pointing to his head and heart. ‘I only have to look at my sword and I can see it vividly in my mind. It is something of great beauty, and yet it is so delicate to the touch, like—’ He hesitated, then glanced at her.
Eleanor’s eyes widened. Smiling, she looked away, discreetly fixing her hair, while concealing her shyness.
‘It is a pure and sacred flower,’ he continued, arousing her attention once more. ‘Each morning it emerges from the murky waters—from which it lies—before presenting its true, clean magnificence to the world.’
‘Without a stain?’ she asked, astonished by his description.
He nodded.
‘Pure. It is just one of many colours. I favour the white.’
She frowned, confused by his choice, compelling her to ask; ‘Even through the splendour of colour, you choose the simplest?’
‘Ah! But it is not simply the colour,’ he said, raising his hand, ‘it is what it represents.’
When she failed to respond, he looked directly at her, taking her with his glance, before continuing. ‘Each distinct shade symbolises the choice of the individual. The white lotus stands for enlightenment of the mind and spirit. It depicts the spiritual journey one has taken, in the hope they will find true happiness at its end. It is the one thing I seek… again.’
She turned to face him. ‘Again?’
A vacant look fell on his flawless features, emptying him of all expression, save for the sadness in his dark eyes. It drew her in, making her want to delve further into his mysterious world.
‘Who is she?’ Eleanor asked, attempting to hide the taint of jealousy in her tone.
It seemed an age had passed before he replied in a sombre voice. ‘My wife, Ayumi,’ he uttered, realising he had not spoken her name in all the time that had passed since their final parting. ‘She died.’
‘Oh!’ Eleanor chewed her lip as the wave of guilt came crashing down. She searched for the necessary words to express her sympathy, but was at a loss. Clearing the lump from her throat, she finally asked; ‘When… did she die?’
Asai inhaled deeply. Until that moment, he had only shared his story with Reece. Even then, his colleague had to force it from him. Nonetheless, it had been the making of their friendship. And now, as he sat beside his friend’s granddaughter, he was about to do the same, giving him great comfort.
‘Forgive me,’ said Eleanor. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, interrupting her. ‘We were new to marriage. I came from a line of “Daimyo”—feudal lords of the Asai clan. Our home was the great castle of Odani. It was considered to be impregnable, and regarded as among the five greatest mountain castles… or so we thought. I had the honour of becoming a Samurai—a protector—following in my father’s footsteps. Ayumi, my wife, lived with my parents inside the fortress. Her mother and father had long since entered the spirit world. Although we had survived many turbulent years, we felt safe within the castle walls, knowing we had our allies—the Asakura clan. But then came the great battle against a more powerful Daimyo—Oda Nobunaga. We were all but defeated. We struggled for another three years, until the Asai clan were eventually eliminated by him.’
‘If that is so,’ Eleanor remarked. ‘Then how are you here?’
‘Oda was not alone in his battle for Odani. He had the aid of another. Her intervention forced me into this way of life, and on to this point in time.’
‘The Sorceress?’
He nodded.
‘It was our unique skills that attract
ed her to our kind; the Samurai is regarded as a prized warrior.’ As he spoke, Asai removed a smaller sword, tied to a gold rope, attached to his belt. He held it out alongside the larger one. ‘So different yet well-matched as equals,’ he started. ‘The one you first met is the Katana—the sacred one—linked to my soul. It is the Samurai’s ruling, that it can only be used as a last resort. As with most things in life, it needs its pair. This… the smaller, is called, Wazashi. Together they are “Daisho” meaning, “the big and the small”—the big for cutting—the small for stabbing. They are the perfect, deadly match.’
Eleanor watched, in awe, as he admired them equally, before providing her with a brief display of their unity.
‘Only the most skilled warrior of the Kenjutsu—the great art of the Samurai sword—can wield both weapons at the same time,’ he stated, continuing his display.
Eleanor observed the pride in his face while he spoke, like he’d been transported back in time. She listened intently, letting him re-live his past.
‘Once skilled in this art, the Samurai knows he can go to battle with honour and pride. When he draws his sword, it is his intention to draw blood. As he attacks his opponent, his unique ability to rush his victim confuses them. It is then the Samurai strikes…without fail. But it is also his will, to die a glorious death by the blade.’
Eleanor gasped at the great warrior’s revelations yet felt saddened by it. ‘Do you see this as your fate, Asai?’ she said, feeling compelled to ask.
Asai. He stopped and stared down at her; there was something in the way she had spoken his name—like a voice from the past.
‘Asai…?’
He continued to stare before the reality of his past failures returned. His shoulders dropped, recalling the horror of his defeat. Looking down at his precious weapons, he returned them to their resting place, before quietly resuming his place beside her.
Her mind raced, thinking of what she would say next, when something in the night sky caught her eye. She looked up. His eyes moved quickly, following hers.
In the far-reaching distance, to the north, they noticed a faint, green hue of light, through the wide gaps in the trees. It danced and swirled in a continuous flow, throwing its wonder across the night sky. They marvelled at its haunting, natural glow, before its abrupt departure.
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