HONSHU, JAPAN
Summer 1171
Yoshinaka saddled his horse, Demon, a gigantic black stallion. Demon always looked to Tomoe like he was about to throw Yoshinaka off, the way his eyes rolled and his nostrils snorted steam when it was cold; but Yoshinaka trusted Demon like no other horse. How good a samurai was with a horse reflected how great a warrior he was, so by taming Demon, Yoshinaka had earned the respect of many a doubter. Most of the time, Yoshinaka controlled Demon just by giving him a stern look. Yet today, Demon reared up, whinnying and windmilling his front legs. The saddle crashed to the ground. Yoshinaka swore under his breath.
“Demon. Stop.” Tomoe stepped over and took the reins from Yoshinaka. She put her face on the horse’s black one, stroking the white diamond in the middle of his face. Demon calmed as Yoshinaka strapped the saddle. Demon’s hooves stilled.
“You coming, Tomoe?” Yoshinaka climbed atop Demon.
Tomoe indicated her new horse, Cherry Blossom, who was already saddled and ready. Yuki had been put out to pasture. “I’m the one who’s been waiting for you, Yoshi.”
“Don’t call me that in public.” He winked. He had gained twenty pounds of muscle over the last year since the battle that had killed Kaneto. His face was lean and angular, his hair firmly pulled back to be out of the way. He already had a full beard that he refused to shave down into a smaller goatee, and chest hair that Tomoe glimpsed when he took off his kimono to practice swordfighting with Kanehira. In contrast, Kanehira was shorter and wiry, nearly hairless in the way of most of the men Tomoe knew. Kanehira’s beard was sparse, the skin visible everywhere.
Yoshinaka trotted Demon out of the camp. Kanehira waited, his face dark and knitted, his brown mare saddled with water and supplies, including gifts of rice for the farmers they were to visit.
Yoshinaka’s first decision as the leader was to increase his efforts to drum up support for the Minamoto. Once Yoshinaka had recruited enough men, he would build a fort and establish himself as a leader to be reckoned with. For now, they were a ragtag band, a group of bandits, really, working outside the established government.
The group consisted of Tomoe, her brother, Yoshinaka, and five men from their nearby village. They had traveled five days away from their home, down the mountains to a landscape markedly different. The land was bone-dry, cracked as winter skin.
It was high summer, mid-July, the days long and so humid Tomoe sweated through her light cotton yukata before noon, yet unceasingly without the rain that would bring relief. Would anyone want to hear their message when they were suffering with the drought? Tomoe wondered.
Kanehira put his hand up as Tomoe tried to pass him. “You stay at the camp.”
A hot surge of anger flooded Tomoe. “Yoshi asked me to come.” She thought of her mother, at home in the dark house, a refugee of the heat. There was no way Tomoe was going home to squint at sewing in a dark room, the smell of the day’s fish lingering on her clothes. She’d rather have sweat and campfire soot in the open air. If she had to cut off her own breasts to fit in here, she would do it.
Yoshinaka nodded once at Kanehira. Her brother put his hand down with an angry sigh.
They trotted quietly through a leafless forest of dead beech trees, following a road made flat by all the horses and people that had walked upon it, parched from the lack of recent rain. Tomoe had to duck frequently to avoid low-hanging branches.
She hoped they would be well received by this next group in Iwamura Town. So far, they had been to two villages. At the first, no one would meet with them. At the next, they had gotten several farmers to agree to join their army, when the need arose. It would take several years to raise enough support and people to make a difference against the Taira.
The people of the land were divided between the Taira and the Minamoto. Who the enemy was wasn’t so clear-cut. Sometimes, those with the name Minamoto supported the Taira, while those with the name Taira supported the Minamoto. Sometimes loyalty was based largely on convenience.
By the end of Kiyomori Taira’s successful campaign to become shōgun, the Minamoto had been cut down to almost nothing, either slain or abandoned by their supporters. It would take years, perhaps decades, to regain their numbers and gain enough support for a Minamoto to become shōgun again. And who knew who would change sides to the Minamoto cause at the last minute, once people understood they were unstoppable?
They traveled in silence, Yoshinaka uncharacteristically quiet. Last week, a letter had arrived at their home, brought by a tired horse and even more tired messenger, bearing a banner with the bamboo-leaf and violet-flower crest of the Minamoto family. Yoshinaka took the letter and disappeared with Kanehira, reemerging grim-faced an hour later. Whatever the letter had contained, no one had shared with her. But now they were off doing this.
She caught up to Yoshinaka. Kanehira and his horse were slightly behind. She knew her foster brother must know what the letter said. “Everything all right, little brother?”
Yoshinaka looked startled. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I’m not your brother.”
“You’re like a brother.” She reached over and gave him a playful shove, wanting to cheer him up. “Remember when you whacked me with that branch?”
His nostrils flared. “Tomoe, I am not your brother. You are not my sister.” His voice was held back, as if he had something in his throat.
She reached down for her flask. “Drink some water.”
“The letter from my cousins,” he said.
She put the flask down. Her horse picked up on her nervousness. “Yes?”
“If I raise my own army, I can fight with them.” He stared straight ahead, as though the letter hung in the trees. “I’ll be in charge of the north.”
“That’s what we expected.” Tomoe waited to hear the rest. That was good news, wasn’t it?
“There’s more.” Yoshinaka pulled up on his horse. “They speak of me as though they don’t trust me. As though I could turn against them. Me. Up here. With twelve men to my name. No land.” He laughed. “You should have seen the simple words he used, Tomoe. Writing as though I am a simpleton. They think I’m a bumpkin.”
“They don’t trust you because they don’t know you,” Tomoe said. “Once we fight with them, they will understand how loyal you are. You just want your father’s land back.” She could see why the other Minamotos would doubt him. But surely they didn’t see Yoshinaka as a real threat.
“And a lordship,” added Kanehira from behind. “And positions for all your friends.”
“Up here,” Yoshinaka said. “Not down in the capital. I would die of suffocation.”
They passed through fields of hard dirt, picking their way along the narrow muddy paths. Much of Japan was mountainous, difficult to farm. Where they lived, closer to the melting snowpack, the lands were more fertile, providing them with water and rice. The weather was cooler in the summer. Tomoe had not realized how lucky they were.
Dust rose into Tomoe’s nostrils and she sneezed. The humidity made the sun seem even hotter than usual. Tomoe perspired heavily. No one looked up or waved.
Tomoe saw a baby swaddled on its mother’s back as she worked a hoe on a paltry patch of vegetables, pulling up anemic carrots with brown tops. As she came closer, she saw the baby’s legs were long and thin. It was actually a child, perhaps four or five. And she had thought she came from a poor village. She stopped and reached into her pack for a rice ball, bending low off the horse to offer it to the child.
The mother, despite her sunken cheeks underneath her sunhat, turned away.
Pride. Or fear—fear that accepting the rice would mean obligation. Tomoe jumped off her horse to offer it again. “Please. Your child is hungry.”
“Many children are hungry,” said the woman. “What difference is one more?”
The child turned its head to look at Tomoe. She couldn’t tell
if it was a boy or a girl, so short was the hair. She wanted to rip the child off the woman’s back, put it on her horse, and take it someplace safe. Which would be where? she asked herself. Nowhere. Soon Tomoe herself would be fighting, and probably dead.
Tomoe held the rice out once more, her head bowed, her eyes closed. Take it, she willed the woman.
She opened her eyes. The woman had walked away.
Kanehira plucked the rice ball out of her hand and into his mouth. “Why are they so poor? The government surely takes enough rice from us to feed extra people.”
“You know the Taira don’t feed the people with our taxes.” Yoshinaka frowned. Already he had a permanent furrow in his forehead, making him look much older.
They reached the village. The place was far from prosperous, full of falling-down shacks with roofs in need of repair, bug holes in the timber, dirt roads dusty as though no one ever walked on them. The people sitting on their dilapidated porches watched their progress with dull eyes. Too tired to care, Tomoe thought.
Yoshinaka swung his leg off his horse and jumped effortlessly down. He strode over to the one young man who appeared somewhat interested in what the strangers were doing here. “Take me to your elder, son,” he said, though the man was clearly older than he.
The young man stared at Tomoe, ignoring Yoshinaka. His mouth worked on a sentence he couldn’t get out.
“What do you want? Money?” Yoshinaka fumbled about for one of the few coins they had. “I will feed your village, boy! Speak up!”
A few people had looked up. Several gathered around, watching, though silent. The young man finally found a voice. “It’s Kiso from the mountainside. We thought you were a myth!” The onlookers laughed, showing missing teeth.
Yoshinaka’s face reddened. Kiso meant “hillbilly,” uncouth, and was the nickname some detractors had given him. To have this man, so obviously Yoshinaka’s inferior, call him kiso was unconscionable. He moved his large form to the man’s tiny one. The man scooted backward. “Kiso? You dare to call me Kiso? Your mouth won’t be able to talk when I’m through. I’ll rip off your leg and stick it down your throat!”
Kanehira grabbed Yoshinaka’s arm, but he shrugged him off. The smaller man cowered.
Tomoe suddenly knew what to do. Instinct took over. She stepped in between the men, her back to Yoshinaka. She smiled her best, most gracious smile, fixing her eyes directly on the young man’s reddened ones. They blinked, slightly covered in yellowish crust. “We are here at your service,” she said in her softest voice. “Would you please fetch the village elder?”
The young man bobbled his head, then took off down the street, his bare feet slapping. Yoshinaka drew back his head, surprised. “You sounded almost like a lady, Tomoe.”
She blushed. She was surprised herself. It wasn’t as though she had great opportunity to practice her womanly skills. Her mouth went dry. “I am a lady. Haven’t you noticed by now?”
His narrow eyes seemed to graze her from top to foot, stopping at last on hers. His were not reddened like the boy’s, but very white around his brown irises. She saw herself reflected back, a miniature of herself. Girl no more. Her cheekbones high, her skin miraculously pale despite her love for the outdoors. Her obi tied below her breasts, drawing attention to them. He bowed his head. “I have noticed for some time, Tomoe Gozen.”
Gozen. Lady. Her pulse thudded in her throat. She put her hand there, sure that blood would burst out at any second, so wild it felt.
Kanehira coughed. “Maybe Tomoe can be of some use, after all.”
Her brother had broken the moment. She frowned. “I can shoot a moving hare out of its hole on a moving horse, Kanehira. You can’t shoot a horse from six feet away. And you say maybe I can be of use? Just because the fates granted you an extra limb”—she pointed between his legs—“doesn’t mean it’s a useful thing.”
Yoshinaka and the other men laughed. Kanehira reddened.
Tomoe clutched the reins, digging her fingernails into her palms. It was only because Yoshinaka saw her value that she was here at all. The other men, she knew, made crass comments about her behind her back and under their breath. It did not matter that she had beaten every single one of the men, including Yoshinaka, at sword fighting. It did not matter that she was the best archer in all of Japan (a fact she would prove, if allowed to compete against the men in the archery contests). No. She was here and unbothered only because her family protected her. Because Yoshinaka protected her.
Gaining respect was another matter. Especially from her own brother.
The young man appeared out of a doorway, waving to them.
“Come.” Yoshinaka turned and walked to the building.
Kanehira started after him.
“I meant Tomoe,” Yoshinaka said without stopping.
Tomoe paused. Surely Yoshinaka knew she would not be well received on an occasion like this, no matter how much she yearned to be. Women were considered little more than property, no matter how dear they were to their own families.
Kanehira spoke. “Yoshinaka, I do not think it is proper . . .”
“Do you not trust me?” Yoshinaka growled. “If you do not, then leave. Forever. I, Kiso, bend to no one. Come, Tomoe Gozen. Now.”
Her face burning, Tomoe hopped off Cherry Blossom and followed her foster brother inside, feeling the hard stares of the other men watching her. She did not have to glance at Kanehira to know her brother held on to his horse, willing himself still. The Minamoto cousins were right about one thing: nobody, including her, knew what rules of conduct and honor Yoshinaka was willing to break.
TEN
Yamabuki Gozen
MIYAKO, THE CAPITAL
HONSHU, JAPAN
Summer 1173
I am filled with starlight.
Yamabuki lay on her back with the door wide open to the sticky summer night, the futon slid all the way to the edge to catch the scant breeze. Her yukata stuck to skin, hair to scalp. She imagined herself weightless, floating. Above her shone millions of white lights. Endless darkness. A mosquito buzzed in loops. The willow tree in the yard shifted as its branches rustled. In shadow, close to her face, were the closed eyes and dark lashes of her maid, Akemi. The world turned in her vision and she held on to the futon, dizzy. Her skin goose-pimpled. She cried out, her voice echoing like birdsong in the courtyard.
“Shhhh.” Akemi kissed her on the mouth and fell to her side, pushing the strands of hair back from Yamabuki’s face, running her gentle fingers over her curves. Making her shiver. “Yamabuki,” she whispered. In the dim light, she smiled. Her face was shaped like a heart, with lovely dimples in creamy skin. “What are you thinking now, my little white dove?”
She nestled in closer to Akemi, put her hand on her chest to feel the steady, reassuring beat. “About flying. Up to the stars. Have you ever had dreams like that, Akemi? Where you can fly faster than any bird can go?”
Akemi lay back. “Those are great dreams. But not my favorite.” She held Yamabuki’s small hand in hers. “My favorite dreams are of you, Yamabuki.”
Akemi was her comfort, her sole source of friendship. They would never part. She smiled at Akemi, admiring her purple-brown hair, like a Japanese maple, and luminous dark eyes, and felt a happiness she never remembered feeling before. Not even when she was a very young child. Sad, that a child never felt joy. Yamabuki cannot remember laughing until Akemi arrived.
Akemi squeezed her hand. Yamabuki squeezed it back, wondering if this experience made her a woman, at last. She was nearly eighteen. At fourteen, her okāsan was already married, living far away from her parents. She’d had Yamabuki when she was only fifteen. It was past time for Yamabuki to marry, too. Still, she’d been outside these walls only a handful of times, always with strict supervision, and she felt as if she was in a prison.
Her parents were searching for a suitable match. Yamabuki
had no idea whether anyone would want to marry a soothsayer. But she would always have Akemi as her attendant. Okāsan had promised. Not that one could trust her promises, her inner voice said.
Akemi leaned over and regarded her. “Have you thought of whom your parents might choose for you, Yamabuki?”
“I don’t care.” Yamabuki used to imagine what life was like outside this compound. But now that she would actually leave, she didn’t like to. She wanted to stay here, shut away, forever. Safe. That’s all she wanted. To be safe.
“Well, I won’t always be with you.” Akemi stood and tied up her kimono. “I hope you don’t perish without me helping you all the time.”
“Why won’t you be with me?” Yamabuki sat up, suddenly wide awake. She grasped the edge of Akemi’s kimono. “Why? Why?”
Akemi smiled sleepily. “Did you know you look like the moon princess?”
“Answer me.” Yamabuki yanked on the girl’s kimono, but Akemi untangled herself and moved away.
“The princess had to come live on earth,” Akemi whispered, her voice low and her breath warm next to Yamabuki’s ear, “because she did something bad on the moon. Some nice people adopted her, and she loved them. Five princes wanted to marry her. But then she had to leave her family and go back to the moon.”
Yamabuki’s eyes filled. “That is a sad story. She had to leave her family?”
Akemi smiled again and sat down. “Everyone has to leave, Yamabuki. Nothing stays the same. You are too sheltered. You know, before I came here, I lived with my father and my mother? My father died. He did not wake up one morning and I found him, blue and stiff.”
“I didn’t know,” Yamabuki said. Akemi had never spoken of it.
“He was a farmer. We lived on a farm, and we had our own horses and some chickens—and now we are just servants. The Taira took the farm because we couldn’t pay the rice tax.” Akemi spoke matter-of-factly. “I find the story comforting, not frightening.” She took Yamabuki’s hand, lacing her fingers through her own. “Don’t you worry. Your story won’t stay the same, either.”
Tale of the Warrior Geisha Page 7