Sisters of the Sword

by Maya Snow

  “The house of Yamamoto is proud to welcome its treasured brother, Yamamoto no Hidehira,” Father said, bowing to Uncle.

  Uncle bowed low in response. I wondered how he felt, being welcomed to the place that had once been his own home…would still have been his home, if circumstances had been different. My grandfather had decided many years ago to pass the title of Jito to Father, even though he was the younger brother, because of his exceptional martial skill. Samurai from all over Japan came seeking work under my father’s leadership. Since becoming the Jito, he has built strong alliances with neighbors that had once opposed our family, and has earned favor with the Shogun and the Emperor.

  I was so proud of Father and all he had achieved. I prayed that I had inherited some of his skill, as my brothers had, and that one day we might all reach the standard he had set.

  I gazed through the gap in the silk screen as Father turned to the gathered men. His voice rose with pride as he spoke of Hidehira’s bravery in past battles. “My brother’s skill was the key to defeating a rebel army from Shinano,” he said. “He outfought three ambushes, and went on to march southward and defend our allies in the province of Sagami. The Yamamoto lands are in safe hands. Yamamoto no Hidehira will look after our people as if they were his own children.”

  Uncle bowed. “I thank you for the trust you place in me, brother. I am proud that you think me worthy of the great honor of passing your powers to me.”

  My father bowed. “You have earned that honor, Hidehira.”

  “Thank you, little brother,” Uncle said.

  Servants came gliding silently into the room, bearing balls of sticky rice, fresh sushi, and paper-thin slices of fresh soybean curd arranged on wooden trays shaped like leaves. They placed the food carefully on low black and gold lacquered tables, and then bowed as they withdrew backward from the room, their heads respectfully lowered.

  I glanced at Hana and she made a face that said, “I’m hungry, too.”

  Using pairs of short hashi chopsticks, my father and Uncle helped themselves to bean curd and sticky rice. This was the part of the ceremony that took away the pangs of hunger that might spoil the enjoyment of tea drinking later.

  When my father had finished, he passed his hashi to a waiting servant. “Hidehira, as you know, my sons will accompany me on my tour around the estates,” he said to Uncle. “They are ready to learn about their inheritance, and to test the skills they have learned at their training school. Indeed we will be leaving early tomorrow morning to attend the opening ceremony at the dojo and pay our respects to Master Goku before we proceed on our tour.”

  “I trust that Goku has been as rigorous with them as he was with us, Koishi,” Hidehira said.

  “He has,” my father replied. He glanced across at my eldest brother and raised his eyebrows. “As first son, perhaps you will demonstrate some of the moves Master Goku has taught you, Harumasa?”

  My brother nodded eagerly and rose to his feet. I watched as he stepped into the wide space between the rows of tatami mats. “With your permission, I will now demonstrate.”

  Carefully drawing his long sword, Harumasa held the blade horizontally before his face and bowed to Father. Uncle sat back, a look of keen interest on his face.

  Behind the silk screen, I mirrored Harumasa’s graceful motions as he performed a series of slow movements to warm up. Knees bent…eyes on sword…elbow up…blade placed carefully across the upturned palm of the hand, pointing to the floor. Every move was designed to concentrate the warrior’s mind.

  Now Harumasa was ready.

  For a moment he looked as though he was preparing to dance, but then he executed a short, sharp, and deadly thrust.

  Steel sword singing, Harumasa cut left and right, deflecting invisible attacks from an imaginary enemy. He bent at the knees and twisted behind to cover an attack from the rear. A turning single-handed forward slash was followed instantly by a fast two-handed slice. And when the invisible opponents were dead or dying from their wounds, Harumasa shook the imagined blood off his blade and sheathed his sword in one single fluid movement.

  Behind the screen my hand followed his every move.

  “Excellent,” Uncle said as Harumasa bowed.

  “Very good, first son,” my father said, pride ringing in his voice as he gestured for my brother to sit down again. “You will earn the respect of the people we meet on our travels.”

  My heart burned at the unfairness. I had been dedicated in my training and practiced every day, even without the privilege of attending Master Goku’s school. I had grown up watching Father’s samurai exercises, copying the movements in the privacy of my bedchamber. Whenever my brothers were home from school, I had pestered them to teach me what they had learned. Now my skills were almost as polished as Harumasa’s, but I would never have the chance to prove it.

  One day, I promised myself, I will show them that a girl can be just as good as a boy.

  For the hundredth time, I ached to be allowed to go on the journey around the province, riding with my father like my brothers. The arguments of the past moons played again in my head, and once more I heard my father’s voice, kind but firm: “No, Kimi. As first daughter, it is your duty to remain here at your mother’s side.”

  But I didn’t want to be at my mother’s side! I wanted to be out in the provinces on horseback, with the wind in my hair and a quiver of arrows strapped to my back….

  A sharp nudge from Hana brought me back to the present. Her expression showed that she knew I had been daydreaming. She mouthed, Look, and pointed to the slit in the screen. I looked through to see servants carrying in the charcoal fires to heat water for the tea. Others placed elegant ladles and small ceramic drinking bowls carefully on the low table in front of my father so that he and Uncle could admire them, as ceremony demanded.

  My father made tea slowly and in silence, demonstrating with every move his authority and power as the Jito. I watched, fascinated as always by the strict rules of the tea ceremony.

  His motions calm and harmonious, Father held his sleeve back with one hand as he poured a bowl of dark green tea and then lifted the bowl to his lips with both hands. He took a sip, wiped the rim, and then passed it to Uncle Hidehira who sipped in the same place to show their bond. The passing of the tea bowl symbolized the strong bond of friendship between them.

  When he had finished, Uncle placed the bowl carefully on the mat in front of him. Then suddenly his red robes rippled as he rose to his feet and I felt a flash of surprise. Such abrupt movements were not fitting, especially during a tea ceremony!

  “I honor my brother, the Jito,” Uncle said. “Just as I honor our Yamamoto ancestors—especially our father, who chose to pass power to the little stone, Koishi, instead of the great rock, Oiwa.”

  Frowning, I looked at my father. His face showed the surprise and confusion that I too was feeling. What did Uncle mean—was he criticizing Grandfather’s decision in front of everyone? I clenched my fists, my body full of tension.

  However, Uncle smiled. I could see clearly as he pulled my father to his feet and embraced him. My father grunted and I guessed that he must have been astounded at such an unusual display of affection. But I relaxed, because all was well between them.

  Then I realized that the grunt was not astonishment, but pain. My surprise turned quickly to shock as my father cried out. I caught a glimpse of his face. It was twisted in agony.

  What was happening to him?

  Then I looked at Uncle’s hand and saw that he was holding the shiny red-lacquered hilt of his sharp tanto dagger. The blade was buried deep in my father’s back…and a dark crimson stain was beginning to spread outward across the glossy yellow silk of his ceremonial robes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As Uncle released him and stepped back, Father slumped heavily to the floor. His silk robes settled around him, hiding his face. My brothers Harumasa and Nobuaki leaped to their feet. Nobuaki paused to bend over my father, but there was nothing he could do.
Our noble father was dead.

  I shoved my fist against my mouth to stifle a scream as Harumasa turned on Uncle with a wild yell and drew his sword in a single sweeping movement.

  Nobuaki leaped forward but was blocked by one of Uncle’s samurai, a man with a battle-scarred face. Treacherous soldiers in red silk robes turned on those in yellow, and sharp cries tore the night air as clashes of swords echoed around the banqueting room. Uncle must have prepared them for this moment!

  The look in Harumasa’s eyes was terrifying as he prepared to attack. Hope swelled in me as he lunged at Uncle.

  But Uncle was ready for him. Thrusting his own ornate blade upward and outward, he easily parried Harumasa’s swinging cut. Then he twisted away, slashing at my eldest brother with the tanto dagger he still held in the other hand—the dagger that still dripped my father’s blood. Nobuaki, meanwhile, was still grappling with the battle-scarred samurai.

  “Is that the best Master Goku could teach you?” Uncle sneered at Harumasa. “Killing you will be child’s play!”

  Killing you? Shock pounded through me and my skin turned cold as I caught a glimpse of Uncle’s face. His expression was set and stern, his dark eyes those of a stranger. This was not my cheerful uncle, but a fearsome warrior determined to do battle—and win. He raised his sword and brought it down in a swooping curve.

  Buckling under the assault, poor Harumasa tried to block the rain of attacks. His movements grew wilder, and he wasn’t moving as quickly as he needed to. Nobuaki, still fighting hand to hand against the scarred samurai, yelled encouragement. I willed Harumasa to find the elegance and power that he had demonstrated earlier.

  Harumasa managed to spin out from under Uncle’s attack and raise his sword for a deadly slice, but Uncle was swift. With the tip of his blade pointing to the ground and the blade side facing my brother, Uncle put his left hand on the blunt side of his sword and pushed it upward and outward, before my brother could complete his advance. Then Harumasa was staggering backward, his face ashen with pain. Blood seeped across my brother’s yellow tunic and I knew immediately that Uncle had sliced him from belly to throat.

  I twisted my knuckles into my mouth, watching in horror as Uncle shoved Harumasa backward so that he crashed onto one of the black and gold lacquered tables.

  Harumasa lay there for a moment, groaning.

  And then my courageous brother was dead.

  Seeing that Harumasa had been slain, my second brother, Nobuaki, roared with rage. He gave a swinging blow that knocked down the scarred samurai and allowed him to steal his attacker’s still-sheathed sword. Then Nobuaki leaped at Uncle, wielding his enemy’s weapon.

  Nobuaki did not even land a blow, however, before my uncle coldly cut him down. With a sword in one hand and his lethal tanto blade in the other, Uncle outmaneuvered my second brother in a heartbeat.

  Nobuaki’s head shot back and bright blood spurted from his throat in a great red arc. His eyes widened and he pitched backward. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  I wanted to leap into the fray and destroy my uncle. But I had no weapon. Then Uncle kicked the sword from Nobuaki’s lifeless hand. The blade came spinning across the room toward the silk screen—and in an instant I knew what I must do.

  I must take up the sword and fight!

  But before I could make a move, a distant scream echoed from beyond the shinden. The attack must have spread outside the banqueting room. Uncle wasn’t just after my father and brothers!

  I turned, heart racing, and found Hana was still at my side. She had been so silent that I’d almost forgotten she was there. Gentle Hana. Her face was as pale as a moonflower, her eyes enormous as she drank in the terrible scene. I grabbed at her, trying to pull her away. But she resisted, unable to tear her eyes from the bloodshed on the far side of the silk screen. I took her hand. It was soft and lifeless, as if all her bones had melted away and she was nothing more than a rag doll.

  “Come on,” I whispered, roughly squeezing her fingers. “We have to warn Mother and Moriyasu. Now!”

  At the sound of my voice Hana blinked, like someone coming out of a trance.

  “Now,” she repeated, her eyes dark with pain. “Yes. We must go now.”

  We darted out from behind the screen, away from the victorious cries of Uncle’s samurai. Together we hurried along the corridor and just as we reached the corner, Uncle’s gruff voice echoed from the banqueting room behind us.

  “Find the rest of the family,” he ordered his men. “Kill them all!”

  There came the sound of paper walls tearing as samurai soldiers smashed their way out of the room. My heart beat hard with fear and for a terrible moment I thought my trembling legs would give way beneath me. Come on, I told myself. Move!

  With Hana’s hand gripped tight in my fist, I darted down one corridor and then the next, zigzagging through the shinden and out into the compound. I could hear Uncle’s soldiers crashing into the courtyards and gardens. The harsh sound made me feel sick with terror.

  Up ahead, a distant scream echoed again, and I knew it was coming from the bedchambers behind the shinden.

  Is it Mother? I wondered. Have soldiers reached her already? Please, no, I prayed.

  We ran faster, desperate to stay out of sight. All around us came the sound of massacre. Uncle’s samurai showed no mercy, their battle cries mingling with the screams of pain coming from my father’s samurai. I caught glimpses of shadows on the paper walls, like ghastly versions of the puppet shows Hana and I had watched as children. Swords sliced down on defenseless shoulders in the rooms as we passed. Blows rained on innocent heads. And blood flowed, splashing walls with gory crimson.

  Hana and I came at last to a doorway that opened out onto a moonlit courtyard. It was deserted. Long shadows reached inky fingers across the paving stones. A solitary tree stretched slender branches to the night sky. I pressed myself against the door frame, and closed my eyes briefly.

  “Why?” I whispered in distress. “Why would Uncle do this? We’re his family! His own flesh and blood. I thought he loved us!”

  Beside me, Hana choked back a sob. Her knees buckled and she almost fell. I grabbed her, slipping my arm around her waist and holding her tight.

  “We must get to Mother and Moriyasu,” I whispered. “Mother will know what to do.” I glanced back over my shoulder, and then checked the courtyard again. “We can’t let Uncle’s samurai see us.”

  Hana was breathing heavily and I could feel her heart fluttering against the inside of my wrist like a tiny bird trying to escape its cage.

  “Can you make it to the bedchambers?” I asked her.

  Hana swallowed hard. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “I’ll count to three, and we’ll go,” I told her. “One…two…three…”

  Crouching low, we darted to the nearest patch of shadow and paused, listening breathlessly for any sign that Uncle’s soldiers had spotted us. I could hear shrill cries in another part of the compound, but nearby was nothing but silence.

  We waited a moment, then I glanced at Hana, my eyebrows raised. She nodded and we set off again, leaving the fragile safety of the shadows and launching ourselves out into the moonlight.

  Running, we made our way across the courtyard, then through a gateway carved like the spread wings of a crane, and onto a walkway that skirted the moss garden. Far away to our left, burning arrows flew toward our compound. Bright flames licked upward, illuminating the night sky.

  “They’re burning the pavilions,” Hana gasped. “Why?”

  “The fire will drive anyone who’s hiding out into the open so they can be slaughtered,” I said grimly.

  We hurried on, and I tried to shut out the screams of the servants as they begged for their lives. Soon, fire raged through most of the compound, staining the sky red.

  At last we came to our bedchambers.

  We rushed up the steps and into the entrance hall. Everything was quiet here, ominously still. A body was slumped in a
doorway—a woman, dressed in a servant’s simple blue cotton robe. I went down on one knee and turned her over. It was one of my mother’s maids. Her throat had been cut.

  I glanced up at Hana, terrified that we would enter Mother’s rooms and find her dead, too. But I couldn’t let terror stop me. I had to go on.

  I stood up and took Hana’s hand again. I forced myself to step over the maid’s body and into my mother’s bedchamber. The floor was wet beneath my feet and for a moment I thought someone had spilled a jug of water. But Hana’s hoarse cry made me look down.

  I realized we were standing in a pool of slick red blood.

  Two more bodies lay slumped near the bed. I saw at a glance that neither of them was my mother. One was another young maid, her blue cotton robe soaked with blood, while the other was one of Uncle’s samurai soldiers. His iron helmet had been wrenched off, and I guessed by the expression on his face that he’d died in pain. I felt no pity; he was a traitor to the Jito he had sworn to honor.

  There had been a struggle. A small red and gold lacquered table had been smashed. Some of my mother’s tiny pots of makeup were scattered across the mat. On the far side of the room, several of the cypress wood blinds that formed the wall had been torn down, and the cool breeze that drifted in from outside rippled the shreds of painted white silk inside.

  And suddenly I saw something that made my heart leap.

  Moriyasu’s little wooden sword was on the floor by the gap in the wall!

  CHAPTER THREE

  I dashed across the bedchamber and picked up Moriyasu’s sword.

  My thoughts tumbled over one another. My little brother would never have left his beloved training weapon behind on purpose. He must have dropped it as he and Mother rushed away! Just holding it in my hand gave me a feeling of hope. Could they have escaped?

  Cautiously I peered out of the gap in the blinds. The covered walkway that led along the side of the bedchambers and down to the ornamental lake was empty. To my relief, there were no bodies and no sign of blood.