From some great distance a bright light beckoned to him. He tried to run toward it but made no progress. The light seemed too bright. Was he afraid? The pounding in his vessels accelerated. What would he find there? Another long breath and he pulled back, gathering his qi inside himself. The light was there too, blindingly bright and warm. To his relief, it didn’t burn him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he began to see where he was: a sylvan glade, dappled sunlight, green things growing all around. He walked through a meadow toward the sound of running water. So peaceful, so familiar, so welcoming, the home of a profound sympathy.
He knew who lived here. “This is you, girl,” he thought. “It’s who you are. But it’s more than that. It’s your father. He lives here, too. You carry him with you wherever you go. How beautiful! How reassuring! Is this where you find your strength?”
Then he saw her, at least what he took to be her, at the far edge of the meadow. She glowed too brightly for him to make out a distinct shape, like a little sun. But he was convinced it was her. The light seemed to beckon him onwards. As he drew closer he thought he could make out her eyes, deep pools of blackness. In the midst of all that brightness, they were all he could look upon comfortably. They were cool, restful, forgiving. He had to be careful not to fall into them. It would be so easy to lose himself there. He felt the danger.
The eyes flicked to one side, to the sound of water crashing in the distance. He followed along the stream bed. The sound grew as he walked, until it became the full-throated roar of a waterfall directly in front of him. He couldn’t see the top. It might as well have been as high as the sky.
When she slipped behind the falls he followed along the curving ledge, breathing in the cool mist, the soothing spray of the crashing water. He couldn’t see her any longer. Where had she gone? He walked on. The misty air grew colder and darker. Finally he caught sight of her, distant once more, standing at the entrance to a cave, an enigmatic smile under those dark eyes. Then she was gone, vanished into an almost liquid darkness.
He tried to follow her, but something opposed him. The cave, which welcomed her as if she were slipping under the surface of a cool mountain lake, resisted him. It wasn’t cool and liquid blackness. A hot, smoking hole pushed him back. She had only just entered there smiling at him. Didn’t she want him to follow? He gathered himself and pressed forward. She must have wanted him to see something. Why else would she lead him here? The resistance grew, the smoke swirled around his head, singeing his nostrils. The darkness was not black anymore. It began to glow a dull red, then orange. He knew what must follow and stepped back. He was not welcome here.
He had seen as much as he could and was shaken by it. He encountered something almost volcanic in that cave, elemental forces of tectonic magnitude rumbling at the bottom, driving him back. It felt like he’d barely escaped with his life. When he opened his eyes he found himself drenched in sweat, shivering. She sat opposite smiling warmly. Neither spoke for a few seconds.
“I… I, I had no idea. It was so beautiful. I felt your father.” Her smile broadened as she too thought about the glade and the stream. “There was something else, too, something not so welcoming. It practically cast me out. Who was that?”
“That’s where I had to go to face Ba We,” she sighed. “I’m sure it’s my mother.” Her remark took him completely by surprise.
“Is that how she thinks of me?”
“I can’t imagine anyone but me is welcome there.”
“It was terrifying. I thought I would be incinerated. I’ve never felt such power, such fury. Is that really inside of you?”
She hesitated, her eyes melted a bit as she looked at him. He could see the full weight of anguish his question had triggered. Finally she spoke in a small voice.
“Now you know.”
~~~~~~~
The dojo was still closed to students. For the last week she was the only one who saw him there. He wondered if she wanted him to reopen it. She had her family’s sword with her to show him, and to use in her kendo training. They wouldn’t spar today, only kata, but she wanted to use the sword to display the student or shidachi half. As good as she had become with bokken and shinai, she knew the real blade just felt different in her hands.
Sensei hefted the sword, ran his finger along the side of the blade, gazed on the hamon and the hada, residues of the blacksmith’s folding and tempering process. A tiny chrysanthemum caught his eye, a pattern etched into the base of the blade, just above the hilt.
“This is a fine weapon. I’d guess it’s at least three centuries old… maybe much older. Your father had it?”
“Yes. Mom gave it to him when they were married.”
A thin metal collar just above the hilt locked the blade into the curved scabbard, an impressive bit of craftsmanship. Drawing the sword required a subtle bit of finger pressure. A braided silk sheath covered the handle as an ornament. He slid the blade into the scabbard until it clicked.
On one knee with right foot forward, holding the sword edge upward, he drew the blade as he rose to his feet, completing a sweeping diagonal downward stroke. The blade whistled as he moved it quickly through the air, three distinct notes, as if it had been tuned. It was a substantial blade, and yet it seemed light. Even more impressive craftsmanship. To move it required almost no effort.
He froze where he stood and held the sword out in front, balanced on both hands. After contemplating it in this pose for a few seconds, he quickly returned it to its scabbard, knelt down and placed it on the floor between them. Were those tears she saw in his eyes? He bowed until his forehead touched the floor and remained in this position for several seconds.
“Sensei, are you all right?” He said nothing, his shoulders trembling. “The same thing happens to me whenever I touch it. I feel this uncanny urge to honor the blade, to bow before it. And if I practice with it, I end up weeping.” When he still didn’t move she grew impatient. “This is getting ridiculous. It’s just a sword.”
“It’s not the sword I’m trying to honor,” he said in a surprisingly timid tone, still without lifting his head.
This was getting a little bizarre. What’s going on with him? She reached out to touch the back of his head, maybe bring him out of this strange reverie. It was a dry day, and he had just been swinging a long metal sword. Whatever the cause, just as she touched him, a little spark leapt from the tip of her finger to the back of his neck. It seemed to rouse him.
“Forgive me. It’s just that I’ve devoted myself to a code for all these years, and compromised it for almost as long, training one set of operatives after another at the naval bases. When I met your father it felt like redemption. I could devote myself to the code again, for him, and for his daughter. The two of you seemed to be such pure spirits. But only now do I finally see you for who you really are.”
“I think I’m flattered, but I don’t really know why. Let me put it another way: what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not exactly sure myself, Chi-chan. I know your parents gave you that name, but where did it come from?”
“Tenno? Mom said it was her maternal grandmother’s maiden name. Why do you ask?”
“You must realize it’s not really a name. It’s a title, the emperor’s title.” She looked puzzled. Where was he going with this? “There’s probably lots of ways it ends up as a family name. It might have been spelled differently generations ago, for example. Or perhaps when one of the ancient clans was discredited, the families and retainers would be scattered, left with no name. Some of them might well take a title like Tenno as a name to remind them of their former position.”
“That all sounds a bit inglorious. I had hoped for something better.”
“Does your mother know what the family name might have been before it became Tenno? I’d really like to know how this sword came into your family.”
After her own experiences with the sword, Emily had pressed her mom for more information about it when they first return
ed from New Zealand. She didn’t know very much. The family history had been scrambled by the wars of the previous century. One old wives’ tale stuck in her mind: her grandmother used to joke about her own father’s absurd fascination with an ancestor he claimed was a samurai named Minamoto Nobu, or something like that. No one took him seriously. They were peasant farmers, had been for as long as anyone could remember. And he was nothing but a bitter, disappointed old drunk whose body had been broken by a lifetime of grinding poverty and hard labor. And yet the family clung to a moldy old sword with a broken scabbard, faithfully handing it down to each successive generation long after anyone remembered how to take care of it.
“Someone must have restored it, at some point,” he mused. “Because it looks like it was forged yesterday.”
“I know! When my dad gave it to me, he apologized for its condition. And my mom still talks about it like it’s some dingy old thing. But it’s like so beautiful it practically glows.”
“When I saw you in the meadow you glowed so brightly it was almost painful to look at you at first. Once my eyes adjusted I could just barely make out your eyes. Is that how it feels to you?”
“It is bright there, isn’t it? But hardly painful. The light is warm, it feels like it’s caressing me the whole time, until I enter the cave. Then the darkness welcomes me, wraps me in a cool embrace, cushions my fall through what seems like an endless abyss. I always feel safe there.”
“I think you’re right about your parents being there. I felt George’s presence in the meadow. It was like he’d never left. And you’d know your own mother better than me.”
Emily thought about this for a moment. In fact, she had lived with Yuki most of her life without knowing who she really was. That was certainly food for thought.
“But I think there are other forces, other personalities there too, with them,” he continued. “Do you know the story of Amaterasu and her two brothers?”
“Well, yeah. She’s the goddess of the sun. Who doesn’t know that? And Tsukuyomi, the moon god, and Susanoo, the god of sea and storm, and pretty much all the dark and dangerous elements. You’re not going to tell me a fairy tale, are you Sensei?”
“Maybe… who knows? The meadow and the cave may just be how you imagine the place your meditation takes you. But you seem to be reenacting some sort of resolution of the ancient feud between Amaterasu and Susanoo. You imagine yourself as loved by both of them. I think Susanoo is who lives in that cave, welcoming you, caressing you, protecting you. But you, when you walk through the meadow, and along the stream, and behind the waterfall, you might as well be Amaterasu: blinding but not blinded by your own light.” He paused to catch his breath, then continued. “According to the story, Susanoo makes peace with his sister by giving her a sword he found in a dragon’s tail, the sword Kusanagi-no-tsurugi.”
She stopped him and thought about this for a moment.
“Now let me get this straight. In my meditation, I’m imagining myself as Amaterasu reconciling with Susanoo, and when my dad gives me a dingy old family sword, I can’t help perceiving it as Kusanagi. I get the part where I’m delusional and think I’ve got a magical sword. But why the hell are you seeing it as Kusanagi? That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what any of it means, Chi-chan. But the life forces you feel inside you, in the meadow and the cave, they’re real and they’re immense, like nothing I’ve ever felt in myself. And this sword, whatever it is, it’s real, too. Take good care of it. Don’t let it get lost or stolen.”
“Well, if it really is a magical sword, then how can I lose it?” she said with an irreverent laugh.
~~~~~~~
“Can we do something real now, like that new kata you wanted to show me?”
Sensei snorted and got out the protective gear and the shinai, bamboo practice swords that didn’t hurt nearly as much as heavy ash bokken. They spent the next hour working through all the permutations of attack and defense hidden in the kata. Emily was a quick study, picking up the basic pattern in just a few minutes. She felt like a dancer. The rest of the time was spent pointing out subtleties in body position, hand speed, eye direction. Where to look, where to expect the next attack to come from, when to be strong, when to parry, when to take a life.
Sensei put the gear away and let her go through the pattern by herself with a bokken as he watched cross-legged from the side. Occasionally he barked out a criticism or called for an adjustment. He was silent after the second time through. Finally she put away the bokken and took out the sword. The pattern felt the same this time, but somehow different.
“Try it with your eyes closed.”
She knelt on the floor for a moment to catch her breath. Two sets of eyes peered in through the glass door. She ignored them, breathed past them. She seemed almost made of stone as the two men sat on the bench by the window. Sensei nodded at them. An uncomfortable silence held them in its grip as they watched her. In a fluid, subtle movement of her hips and legs she was suddenly on her feet, sword swinging diagonally downwards across her body. Their eyes were wide now. A few deft, quick moves, the sword never seeming to stop even as it reversed direction. The entire kata lasted about a minute and a half, clearly very strenuous exercise, as both men could see. Swords are heavy. But she was breathing normally as she returned to her kneeling position and slid the blade into its scabbard, not even perspiring. Sensei raised a finger to the two men, commanding them to remain quiet a little longer
She sat with eyes closed, visualizing her movements, watching herself in her mind as if from above. The whistling of the blade still echoed in her ears, a sweet melody, unresolved, no reason to stop. And best of all, no tears left on her face. She had gotten through an entire kata without weeping. What did that mean? Did Kusanagi finally approve of her?
They were seated directly in front of her when she finally opened her eyes, expectant looks plastered across their faces. What were they doing here, Will Parker, the martial arts instructor from the Academy, and Captain Creighton, the admissions director? She got up and made the introductions. Parker was in awe of Sensei Oda. He’d never heard of him until a few months ago. But if Emily was any indication of the kind of teacher he was, well, Parker was impressed in advance.
“We haven’t heard anything from you, Miss Tenno,” Creighton began. “It’s way past any deadline, but Captain Jefferies has given me permission to hold a spot for you even this late.”
Parker looked at her over Creighton’s shoulder, full of hope.
“Please accept my apology, Captain. I’ve decided not to enter the Academy in the fall.”
Parker was crestfallen.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” replied Creighton.
To be polite to the daughter of an old friend, he asked her why.
“If I can speak frankly, sir,” she paused and he nodded. “I didn’t think it would be safe if I came.”
He looked surprised.
“Oh, if that’s all it is, I can assure you base security is very high. You would definitely be safe with us.”
“I’m not worried about my safety. I can take care of myself. But if I came there, I’d be afraid for everyone around me. I don’t think your security arrangements are adequate to keep out the people hunting me.”
Creighton was stunned. He looked at this enigmatic girl with his jaw hanging open.
“Who on earth do you think is hunting you?”
This conversation was growing stranger by the second; she knew it, but decided to press on anyway.
“Also, I think you have a mole on your staff.” He was now completely flabbergasted. “My family was attacked recently, and we think it couldn’t have been planned without some information I shared with your staff in the interview. I suspect if you examine the records of the people around the table that day you’ll find one who sticks out. You might start with Carver. So, no, I don’t have confidence in your security.”
Creighton looked almost as crestfallen as Parke
r. At first he might have dismissed this as the musings of a vain girl. But the more she spoke, the more he felt how solid her resolve really was. This was no vanity she was indulging. He would have to look into her allegations, though he sorely hoped she was mistaken.
“There’s one other thing, Captain. I don’t think I’m officer material. I’m pretty sure Captain Jefferies suspects it, too, though he never said anything. I know how to lead, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure I can be an officer.”
She went silent after this, though in her heart she thought: this must be what Amaterasu is trying to tell me.
Finally she turned to Parker and said: “I’m sorry, Will. It would have been nice to work with you, to talk over sen, all those good things. I know it’s a disappointment to you, and in some ways it is to me, too. I wanted to belong to a corps, to find a different form of friendship. But that is not where my path must take me just now.”
She reached out and touched his shoulder as she said this.
The two men left a moment later, one still crestfallen, the other puzzled. Creighton looked forward to discussing her with Jefferies. He was sure to be dumbfounded too. He’d gloat a little over the whole ‘officer material’ thing. But the fact is, she understood him better than he would be comfortable with. How did she do that?
“Is it time to reopen the dojo, do you think?”
“Maybe,” replied Emily. “But you should come out with me to Michael’s place in Charlottesville first. There are some young people I’d like you to meet. We can decide what to do after that.” Sensei nodded, happy to be guided by his student.
~~~~~~~
That night Emily brought the dingy old family sword to bed with her. It’s not that she feared losing it or having it stolen. She just wanted to make up for lost time. It had been there, with her for so long, and she’d never paid it any attention. It needed to become a bigger part of who she is, that much was clear. She slept heavily, blankly, probably for several hours, until a dream of uncommon intensity seized hold of her. She walked through the glade and the meadow, the familiar sound of the stream burbling. Two shapes awaited her in the distance, one warm and bright, the other barely a shadow. As she approached, the light grew brighter, shockingly bright, but didn’t seem to hurt her eyes. The shadow grew dark and huge, like a hole in the world. She wasn’t afraid.
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