The Blonde Samurai

by Jina Bacarr

  I cannot describe the exhilaration that filled me as I made my way up into the hills behind the foreign settlement on horseback following the old swordsmith. Smelling of tanned leather and sake, he remained quiet, never looking at me, careful to keep the side lanterns on our mounts from dimming the farther we went into the darkness. I had found my way along the alley to his shop, calling out to him in the native language, praying I wouldn’t hear the slice of his sword and feel the sharpness of his blade upon my shoulder. I told him I had an urgent message for Shintaro and he must take me to him. He nodded and within minutes we were on horseback, headed away from the settlement and up into the shadows lying over the mountains, but not toward the samurai village. No, up, up to the summit toward the sanctuary, where not long ago we had brought Reiko on a sunlit morning when the bees buzzed their approval and the birds sang the ancient prayers that lingered here. Sheltered by lofty pines, our mounts made their way over the terrain of cascading rocks with little light to guide them, but they were creatures of habit and seemed to know the way. I prayed Shintaro had not yet set out on the journey westward where his enemies could find him. I clung to that belief, hoping it wouldn’t fade away like a mythic dream into the mist.

  When we reached the sanctuary, all was quiet except for the gentle chirp of crickets mixing with the bells fringing the eaves of the black tiled roof and swaying in the wind. I noted the hedge of stone votive lanterns weren’t the only guards on watch. I spied Shintaro’s men hidden in the shadows, waiting, watching. The old swordsmith waved his hand in greeting and they remained in place. Dismounting my horse, I raced up the copper-tipped steps to the veranda of the prayer hall, nearly tripping over the sandals and clogs placed on the lower steps, and yanked open the double wooden doors. Only later did I remember the two crossed emblems embedded on the doors symbolized thunder, reminding the souls who slept nearby of the fatal power of the gods.

  “We shall break camp and travel east to the higher mountains,” Shintaro bellowed, giving orders, waving his arms wildly so his kimono sleeves blew about in a tempest, “where the streams are clean and pure and the land rich for planting until this matter is settled.”

  “It will never be settled, Shintaro, until you make peace with the mikado.” It was a delicate matter I broached with him, something oft discussed at London soirees, where the subject of politics created fodder for men in ill-fitting tails eager to make or break each other’s fortunes. A minor tragedy at best. Here honor above all disciplined the samurai soul and untruths were not tolerated and viewed as cowardly.

  “Why do you still not understand that we samurai are fighting for our survival.” He paused, his face filled with pain, his neck rigid with corded veins. I could see his anger challenged whatever feeling he had for me. I believe he knew then it was a matter of time before the end came, but because he was concerned for his people, he had scattered his clan into these mountains, taking refuge in thatched huts, abandoned shrines and here in the sanctuary at the summit hilltop.

  “Your fight is also mine, Shintaro,” I cried out. “Why can’t you see that?” I breathed hard, pulling in the strong scent of incense into my lungs, feeling at one here in the dim, mysterious light, the heady scent emitting from the lit joss sticks in honor of the gods. I discovered it was more difficult for me to exit this world than I had believed.

  “No, you must go back to your husband as your duty demands.” He cupped my chin, his eyes so filled with emotion they lay heavy on his heart and did not find their way into words. Instead, he said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  I saw the hurt in his eyes, as if he had accepted he would never see me again. “I had to warn you, my lord,” I said, explaining, “and to see you…and Reiko.”

  Without taking his gaze off me, he said, “Nami, bring the child.” He knew that she waited for his command behind the screen in the shadowy recesses of the room. She came forth with Reiko in her arms and for a brief moment I envied her, envied their relationship molded by centuries of duty and tradition. I imagined her kneeling with her own child in her arms, alone in a serene, quiet garden, breathing in the fragrance of blossoms. She had lost that peace, but I had given her back her place with my daughter. I could not take that from her.

  “The gods must have seen you riding up the mountain,” Shintaro said to me, “for the child awoke and started crying.” He looked at Nami with mock rebuke. “Or so I am informed.”

  She smiled, then bowed low. “She is hungry and misses her mother.”

  “I have missed her, too, Nami, but I know you have given her your heart.”

  I couldn’t resist the urge to nurse my child, my maternal instinct too strong to deny. My breasts were heavy with milk, liquid often seeping through my chemise and my bodice. I removed my riding jacket, my dirk, then unlaced my chemise and bared my breasts. Smiling, I tickled the baby’s lips with my nipple and when she opened her mouth wide, I brought her up quickly so she could latch onto me, her tiny mouth suckling, her small perfect head showing signs of light-colored hair among the dark. I ran my fingers through the soft strands, marveling at seeing me in her, her tiny hand holding on to my finger with a strong grip. The grip of her father, Lord Shintaro. I thanked him with my eyes. He nodded, then smiled, and I could see the fondness he had for our daughter gleaming on his rugged face clearly visible in the burning light of the chandelier cast with gilded copper and encrusted bronze.

  Then, a moment later, he was troubled. I ignored the warning in his eyes telling me I must be strong and bend like the bamboo, for bamboo was hollow inside. Empty. I could not have written a better description of my life without them. Leaving here would be the hardest thing I’d ever done, a fearful restlessness grabbing my heart, but I must, my duty shaped clearly in my mind.

  “My lord, is it true she is here?” I heard a male voice call out behind me.

  I turned to see Akira rush into the small antechamber where we sat upon threadbare brocade cushions where honorable monks had prayed for a thousand years. His handsome face beamed an intense brightness in the silvery-gray light filtering through the dark interior. I shivered, his beauty reminding me of the passion we three had shared together, his eyes like a mirror where I could see a vivid reflection of his feelings for me.

  He loved me, wanted me, why couldn’t Shintaro show me his feelings? What was stopping him?

  “I am so pleased to see you, Akira,” I called out, bowing my head. Reiko held fast to my breast and sucked harder, sending that private joy through me that I missed so much.

  He bowed low in respect. “To see you again is a gift from the gods.”

  “Lady Carlton cannot remain here, Akira,” Shintaro interrupted in a stern voice.

  Indignant that he spoke for me, I said, “’Tis true, Akira, I must leave and return to London.” I refused to weaken, though I was tempted to throw myself on Shintaro’s mercy and plead to stay with him, with our child. I turned to my samurai. “I beg you to think about what I have said, Shintaro. Meet with the mikado and do what is best for your people and our daughter.”

  “I fear she speaks the truth, Lord Shintaro.” Akira laid his hand upon my shoulder to show his support. “Our enemies will not give up trying to destroy us.”

  “I have made my decision. We are samurai and have fought long and hard for our cause. We must be treated with respect,” Shintaro snapped at me. “Until then, we will make our stand. It is our destiny.”

  He glared at his squire, his eyes glowing in an unusual show of emotion, but it was the jealous tone in his voice that secretly pleased me. I wasn’t in love with Akira, but I harbored passionate feelings for him, made more so by his courage to challenge his lord and provoke him to think in a way no one ever had.

  “They have guns, cannons,” I said hotly, “many will die, Shintaro, is that the way of the warrior?”

  Ignoring me, he turned to Akira. “You will take her back to the settlement, then return quickly.” He became the clan leader again, his demeanor changed, his min
d planning. “We must be gone from here before the night comes to visit us again.”

  Dawn broke with a fierceness, windy and cold high in the mountains. I nursed my child before leaving, capturing to memory how she smelled like sweet jasmine before Nami strapped her onto her back. I smiled, watching her bare toes sticking out and curling up in tiny balls as a ticklish breeze found her. I didn’t pretend to myself I would ever feel whole again, only that I would never forget that somewhere in thickly wooded mountains my child would grow up under Nami’s guidance, loyal to those who loved her, her samurai family, and for that I gave thanks to the gods.

  With hot tea and rice warming our stomachs, we began our journey down the summit, Akira in front, me following behind, my horse keeping a steady pace. When we reached the clearing, the shimmer of summer green hit me with such intensity I blamed that for the moistness in my eyes, for samurai do not cry. I looked up ahead at Akira, his youthful smile engaging me when he turned around to ask me if I wanted to stop and rest. I wasn’t tired, but I nodded. I had the feeling he wanted to talk, but we never had that chance.

  I cried out when an arrow shot past me and found its mark near his left shoulder where the armor didn’t protect him. I screamed, he grimaced in pain, then another arrow and another flew around us, missing me but striking his horse, the animal’s knees buckling and throwing him from the saddle. Wounded, Akira got to his feet, broke off the arrow embedded in his flesh, his eyes finding me, his face in anguish at not being able to protect me.

  “Take cover in the woods, my lady!” he called out, drawing both his swords from their wooden sheaths, his head swiveling from side to side, looking, waiting, challenging the attackers to show themselves.

  “Who—” I cried out, then I knew. Ninja. Raiders and assassins whose services were bought by anyone who paid them, most likely corrupt officials in the mikado’s court. They were everywhere at once, three, four, five stealth figures in black coming out of the woods armed with short bows, darts and spears springing into full length with a flick of their wrists, like night devils with sharpened claws and tails. They targeted Akira first, then me.

  “Go!” he shouted. “Warn Shintaro!”

  “I won’t leave you,” I cried, kicking my heels into my horse’s flanks and jumping him over a tree trunk to reach the young samurai. I chased after a dark-garbed assassin running toward Akira, my horse rising up on its hind legs, kicking him and making him drop his sword. The assassin picked up his weapon and tried to attack my horse, but I drew my dirk from inside my jacket, aimed and threw it…yes, I killed him.

  I jumped from my horse and grabbed the dead man’s sword then I took off after the two assassins engaged in swordplay with Akira. Strong, stalwart, his swords slicing, hissing, the clang of steel against steel, he held them. I came up behind the assassin going after Akira, swinging the sword in an arc and bringing it down between his shoulders, slicing through his dark clothes into his flesh and drawing blood. I saw the pride in Akira’s eyes, approving, his manly beauty glowing in the rising sun and pulling at something inside me I didn’t understand then, but I do now.

  He knew he was going to die.

  I had to help him. I grabbed the reins of my horse, the animal sweating, snorting but uninjured and, sword in hand, I mounted him quickly. I took off, but before I could reach the young warrior, more black-garbed men dropped from the trees. Ten, twenty, I couldn’t count. Swinging my sword, my mind swimming with fear, my heart pounding, I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t shake the terror taking control of me. Akira was surrounded, his sword flashing, the assassins on him all at once, surrounding him.

  “Akira, look out!” I shouted, bringing down the sword on the neck of an assassin then running it through him.

  “Leave me, my lady, go!” he shouted, his voice strong and commanding, his words cutting through the fiber of my existence. How could I abandon this honorable samurai? I turned to look at him, blood-smeared, fighting, his swords mounting a brave attack in a battle already ended. The whole scene seemed so ethereal, as if he existed someplace where I couldn’t touch him. Only by sheer willpower and strength did he keep from succumbing to his wounds. I heard Akira shout a samurai battle cry, the sound of his voice so powerful, something snapped in me. There was nothing I could do. I must save myself. I owed it to him, to Shintaro, to my child. I turned my mount sharply around and galloped off through the woods, arrows whizzing by my head, the sound of horses in the distance.

  I didn’t have to look around to know Akira was dead.

  As I write, I am holding the willow-leaf arrowhead Akira gave me, its sharp edges pricking my thoughts as well as my heart. If this were a romantic novel, and I dare say aristocratic ladies who have never read it will affix that label to my work, some will insist I should have allowed Akira to live. Still, I brood over his death, his strong body cut down, his courage enduring, his love for his lord without question, his love for me impassioned. His infectious smile, the dark lock of hair hanging over his right eye giving him the devilish look of a boy at play, yet his manly needs deep with desire, his firm mouth sucking on me, his cock finding its way into my dark hole, his hands clasped around my buttocks holding me tight while he thrust into me. To me, his maleness was without question and his final sacrifice was a gift I shall always treasure.

  “How many assassins did you see?” Shintaro asked, pacing.

  “Ten, twenty, all dressed in black with their faces covered.” I paused, fighting back heavy emotion. “Akira fought bravely, his swords cutting down many men.”

  Shintaro looked away from me, his face disguising his feelings as was the way of the samurai, but I saw him clench his fists so tightly the bones popped, his mouth set in a hard line, his eyes so sorrowful it was as if the last blossom had been torn off the tree branch by an angry and fearsome wind. He fell silent, leaving the chirping crickets to grate on my nerves. Why hadn’t I noticed them before?

  He turned to me. “Did they follow you?”

  “Yes, but I lost them when I crossed the stream and backtracked up the mountain.”

  “Good. That will give us time to prepare.” He paused. “Who knew that you came here last night?”

  “James.”

  He looked at me quizzically.

  “I’ve no doubt my husband had a man follow me up the mountain with the old swordsmith,” I said, berating myself for my mad impulse.

  Shintaro nodded, understanding. “I imagine the man who followed you is in the employ of my enemies. No doubt they tricked your husband into forming an alliance with them.”

  I shook my head in despair. “James played right into their hands. The fool.”

  “It won’t take them long to find us. We shall make our stand here rather than out in the open,” he said, thinking, planning. “Go with Nami and our child to the convent near the settlement.” He gave me a slight smile, his words gentle but a command nonetheless. “You will be safe there—”

  “No. I’m staying here with you.”

  “I forbid it!” he yelled. “It is too dangerous. You could be killed.”

  “Akira sacrificed his life so I may warn you and save the others.” I stopped, suddenly exhausted, but I refused to give in to my emotions, to shed tears. A passion for vengeance surged in me that I could not deny. “I’m not going to allow him to die in vain.”

  In the gloomy darkness, I could not make out his expression as he mulled over what I said, the beating of my heart loud in my ears. I had gained the fighting skills of a samurai, but did I have a warrior’s soul? Would I ever know?

  I jumped, my pulse racing when Shintaro yelled out an order to the retainer guarding him. Was I to be removed from his presence? What then? I fought back wild emotions making me tremble, my throat tighten when the samurai returned with dark clothes, two sheathed swords and a dirk. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. The long and short swords of the warrior.

  I thanked Shintaro, bowing low in respect, tears running down my face, their salty taste wetting my lip
s and reminding me of the price of duty.

  I changed into the dark clothes behind the screen, wrapping the heavy black jacket around me then tucking it into a pair of divided trousers. I pulled the black belt tight around my waist to keep the jacket secure, tying it in front, then affixed my trousers below the knee and at the base of my calves with ties so I could move freely and unencumbered. Bearskin boots lined with silk kept my feet warm and dry. I performed the task with a cold efficiency that helped me focus, though it wasn’t easy to put aside the emotional impact that wearing these clothes had upon me, my heart pounding, my throat dry. The jacket smelled of earth and sweat and blossoms all melded together and struck a chord so deep within me, I thought the ache in my gut would never go away. Nothing hidden or obscure in what I felt. I belonged in these clothes. I took the swords and tied the cords hanging from the sheaths to my belt, then opened my jacket and placed the dagger between my breasts. I bowed to my samurai and smiled, the moisture glistening upon my cheeks. He returned my smile, then bade me to warm my soul with hot tea and still my mind to prepare for the battle to come.

  “We must show them they are powerless against us,” Shintaro said, his breathing heavy, as if a great weight lay upon his heart. I would know why in due time, what sacrifice he was prepared to make to save his family and his men. He finished with: “We will fight them to the death.”

  “If we take prisoners,” I said, “we can find out who sent them.”

  He shook his head. “Ninja leave behind only dead men to question.”

  A shudder went through me as we lay in wait for them, Shintaro explaining to me how the assassins often penetrated the compound through hidden entrances, carrying roped hooks, ladders, hand spikes, and how they used surprise to cripple their target. To counter their strategy, the samurai lord stationed his men behind a concealed wall in the sanctuary as well as outside in the tall, lofty pine trees, where they could view anyone hoisting themselves up to the roof with ropes. They would first strike from above, he said, then when their victims tried to flee, they’d be cut down for the final kill by the raiders attacking from all sides with their star-shaped discs, knives and hooks.