The Samurai's Heart (The Heart Of The Samurai Book 1)

by Walt Mussell

  Sen sipped her tea and savored the bitter flavor. How to explain? Mother knew nothing of God’s word.

  “It’s important to me. Please tell me what you know or at least what you’ve heard.” Sen leaned forward, looking at her mother. “Please don’t keep this from me.”

  Her mother drew a sharp a breath. It was hard for her. Sen could see that. Sen reached across and grasped her mother’s hand. She turned to Sen. “Better that I tell you than for you to take chances looking on your own.”

  “You do know where?”

  “I do not know where a church is,” Sen’s mother said, glancing toward the window as if staring at Sen would melt a resolve to tell as little as possible, “but I have heard one clue. ‘Joy springs from burying your bitterness in the ground.’ I have no idea what it means.”

  Sen smiled as relief spread through her body. She wanted to hug her mother but sensed it wasn’t the time. Instead, she thanked her and then pulled a cushion over and sat back on it. “It’s a strange phrase. Who were the people you heard it from? I could ask them.”

  Sen’s mother shook her head. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

  Sen opened her eyes wide. “Why?”

  “I do not wish to discuss it. Do not go searching for trouble. It is dangerous, this religion of yours.”

  “What do you mean?” Sen asked.

  Her mother exhaled hard. The lines around her eyes deepened like the designs in a rock garden. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, as if trying to massage away a headache. “I have not looked this way for long. I know you haven’t seen me in many years, but my hair turned this gray only during the last few months. I am still a young woman. Your father and I still have years left, I hope.”

  Her mother’s voice trembled and Sen squeezed her hand. “I don’t understand. Why are you talking this way?”

  Her mother went silent as tears began to flow from her eyes. “It . . . is . . . impossible to ask the person I heard it from. The person who told me was your sister.”

  Sen’s mouth dropped open as she wrapped her thoughts around the news. Her legs shook. “Haru? Haru was a Christian?”

  “She was moved by your letters and your conversion to this new faith. She became interested in it, and her husband supported her. Soon, he also embraced it. Both were eventually . . . I forget the term. What’s that water ceremony called?”

  “Baptism.”

  “Yes, baptism. They were baptized as Christians. Once that happened, they couldn’t have been happier.”

  Sen rejoiced. Thank you, Lord. To know that she became a Christian before she died, I am humbled by your goodness.

  “Is something wrong?” her mother asked.

  Sen smiled at Mother, but the news still left her stunned. “I never imagined this. Haru never mentioned it in any of her letters.”

  “It only happened within the last year. She planned to write you about it soon. She did not know if you would ever come home, but she hoped to tell you in person if she could.”

  Sen refilled her own cup, then traced the rim of it with her finger, feeling the soft, smooth wood. Bringing the cup to her lips, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the street drift in. Sip. Savor. Swallow. Memories of Haru—of making mischievous footprints in the rock garden together, of sitting outside their father’s workshop hoping he could spare a few minutes to be with them, of Haru telling Sen stories so she would go to sleep—all flowed in with the breeze from the window. The distance of the last ten years erased.

  A twig snap broke her thoughts and she stared behind her mother at the window beyond.

  “What is it?” Mother asked.

  Sen hesitated to say anything, turning her head to focus on the sound outside.

  Silence.

  She glanced back at the window, expecting the wall to cave in, but it stood firm. She had lived day-to-day for months, serving the governor and his wife as best she could. A dutiful servant. After moving repeatedly, she thought she was safe at the castle.

  Then came the attack by the horseman.

  Now she was jumping again at the slightest snap.

  “Sen, what is it?” her mother repeated.

  “Nothing. I thought I heard something outside.”

  Her mother glanced back to check and then turned to her and smiled, the same smile she had used to soothe Sen’s nerves when she was a child. “I’m always hearing sounds outside. It’s just a squirrel, most likely.”

  “You’re probably right,” Sen said, accepting her explanation. She had been away a long time.

  A large thud from outside the house shook both the wall and the shelves, knocking plates and rings to the floor. Two plates cracked on contact with the floor while the tatami mats absorbed the impact of the rest of the items.

  Sen rushed to the window, looking over her mother’s shoulder. Her mouth went dry and she brought her hands to her lips.

  She saw Nobuhiro and another man were fighting.

  She recognized the other man from the castle, a samurai, but she didn’t know his name. Dressed in a blue kimono, he was shorter than Nobuhiro, with a flat face and nose.

  The man struck at Nobuhiro with a long blade. Nobuhiro parried with a pair of steel tongs used for folding swords. Steel met steel in a cacophony of clanging and sparks. No favor. No rest. Each man turned his weapon into an extension of himself.

  Sen balled her hands into fists and searched for something to help. She saw nothing. Grabbing at her clothes, she felt the belt tied around her kimono. She undid the belt and headed for the door.

  “No!” her mother screamed. “You mustn’t go out there! You could be killed. Find your father.”

  “Nobuhiro risked his life for me. I have to help him.”

  She slipped her feet into shoes and slid the door open, then stepped into the area beside her house, hugging the wall as she moved toward the fight. Her breath matched her pulse. Rapid, with quick gulps of air. She peered around the corner, hoping the man wouldn’t notice her.

  Good. His back is to me.

  Her fingers fumbled with the belt as she made a large loop.

  Slowly. I can do this.

  Afraid of making eye contact and distracting Nobuhiro, she focused on the stranger. Sen reached up and slipped the loop over the stranger’s head, pulling hard at his neck.

  The man brought his left hand to his throat and clawed at the belt, trying to shove his fingers between skin and fabric. Sen pulled harder and spread her feet to maintain her balance, but her straw shoes slid along the ground as the man pulled away. A loud ding followed as a piece of sword broke off and spun over her head before hitting the ground.

  Nobuhiro could take him now.

  Her grip relaxed.

  The stranger with the flat nose gulped air, then looked over his right shoulder and stared, eyes erupting with anger. His forehead wrinkled, then tightened. Like a stiff rope.

  Too late.

  The stranger pivoted and his right elbow struck her in the jaw. Sharp pain flooded her face as she fell to the ground. The attacker stood over her, his right hand clasping the broken sword. He reared back and raised his arm to strike. She flinched and tried to move away, but the ground had no give.

  Nobuhiro landed the tongs with a thud into the arm that held the hilt. The stranger grunted, his face contorted with pain and anger. He spun to face Nobuhiro. Despite his pain, he was still a samurai. His moves were graceful. His actions, disgraceful.

  “Not in my house. Not to my family. Not again,” her father’s voice cried out, as he emerged into view, followed by two other men.

  The stranger glanced left, his attention focused on her father. Nobuhiro swung down hard, striking the attacker’s sword hand. The broken remainder clumped to the ground. The man glared at Nobuhiro and then dashed past him toward the narrow path that separated the house from a neighbor’s. Nobuhiro swung the tongs as the man passed, missing him.

  The stranger turned toward the corner with Nobuhiro and Sen’s father in pursuit.


  Sen’s vision blurred as the pain redoubled in her head. She pressed her fingers into her temple, desperate to soothe it.

  A pair of soft but weighty footfalls soon returned. Her father’s measured steps, unchanged since her childhood. The other steps, heavy and light with a drag. They belonged to Nobuhiro. A slowness of steps with no struggle.

  “He’s gone,” her father said.

  “Gone?” another male voice asked. “He moves quickly.”

  “Yes, he does,” Nobuhiro said. “He should.”

  She rubbed again at her temple, shaking her head and trying to clear her vision. “Did you recognize him?” she asked in the direction of Nobuhiro. “I’ve seen him at the castle but do not know his name.”

  “His name is Funaki. I remember him from my days there. Other kids used to make fun of the way he looked, but he was strong and agile for his bulk. He was a good fighter when he was a child.”

  The blurriness receded and Sen found herself staring at Nobuhiro. “What was he doing here?”

  Nobuhiro shook his head. “I don’t know, but I have my suspicions.”

  “I know why he was here,” her mother spat as she stepped forward.

  “Silence,” Sen’s father said, his mouth drawn in tightly, his eyes brooking no reply. “We can discuss this later. For now, Sen, you must go to the doctor. My wife, please take her. I will be along shortly.”

  Sen’s mother circled behind her and Sen felt her mother’s firm hands under her arms. Sen placed her hands on the ground and pushed, looking for support on the soft earth. She didn’t have the strength. She rolled to her knees and rose slowly, her mother’s hands on her back. Sen licked her lips, catching a salty flavor.

  Blood.

  Father rushed over and took one arm, insisting again that Sen seek medical attention. She didn’t want to go but lost an argument with the pain in her face and the puffiness of her eyes.

  She glanced at Nobuhiro, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  For a man with a limp who left his home because he couldn’t please his father, you fought like a samurai.

  What did he think of her clumsy attempt to assist him? Did she just get in the way? All she seemed to have managed was to get herself hurt. If Nobuhiro hadn’t knocked the sword out of Funaki’s hand, she would be dead.

  She would have failed in her duty to her parents because of her own stupidity. She should have gotten her father, like her mother had said.

  “I should go to the castle,” Nobuhiro announced, looking around at everyone but directing the comment at her father. “My brothers should be informed of Funaki’s actions. They will know what to do.”

  “And what will you do?” Sen’s mother asked her father.

  “I need to extinguish the forge in the shop. It should take just a few minutes. I will see you at the doctor’s place.”

  “Master,” Nobuhiro said. “Please go with your daughter. I’ll take care of the forge.”

  “No,” her father said. “You need to go to the castle.” Her father turned to the two men. “Will you assist my wife in getting Sen to the physician?”

  The men nodded.

  Sen could barely make out the two men, much less remember if she knew them. Both were dressed like local merchants with simple white shirts and blue jackets. The man who spoke had white spots on his clothes. Rice flour? Likely a baker. The other man’s clothes were free of any spots to suggest what he did.

  Sen’s parents bowed to the two men. Each stepped to one side of Sen, taking control of an arm while her mother stepped away. Their firm hands gripped under her shoulders. She was grateful for the support. She would have been a burden to her mother.

  “One more thing,” Father said, placing his arm on Nobuhiro’s shoulder. “Thank you, again, for protecting my family. We are in your debt.”

  Sen’s father and mother bowed low to Nobuhiro. Sen did the same as best she could, fighting the pain that throbbed in her head.

  ###

  Nobuhiro stared at Sen as her mother and the two men escorted her toward the road. He wanted to help, but his duty lay elsewhere.

  She tried to assist me and nearly died for it. Poor Sen. If I could only move like a normal person, I would have defeated Funaki. Instead of capturing him, I let him escape.

  He cursed his limp and his limited abilities. There was nothing he could do. He appreciated Master Goami’s kind words, but he would have to admit his shortcomings to his father and brothers.

  His brothers would have succeeded.

  He had failed.

  But why had Funaki been here at all? Was he the man behind the arrow attack? He was never a great archer. It would explain why he missed. But nothing explained the attack.

  Nobuhiro recalled the arrow incident. The rider had appeared taller and more muscular. The body type was different from Funaki’s. However, it was difficult to be sure since the rider had been seated. Funaki was one of the four suspects his brother had mentioned. Still, if the rider wasn’t Funaki, then who could it have been?

  That left the three other suspects. Kitayama. Michiba. Nishioji.

  Nobuhiro vaguely recalled Kitayama. He was older. Uji’s age, with Uji’s height and Toshi’s build. He could have fit the rider. Michiba? His brothers had praised Michiba’s skill with a bow at the archery competition. If he was as good as his brothers said, then the shot wouldn’t have been high.

  How about Nishioji? His brothers had mentioned him as a possible suspect. Nobuhiro’s childhood tormentor was also good with a bow. He would have missed on purpose just to laugh at Nobuhiro, like he did as a child.

  He had eventually stopped.

  One day as a youth, Nishioji disappeared for a week. When Nobuhiro saw Nishioji again, he had a black eye and a long scab running down his right cheek.

  He claimed he had slipped.

  The scab had healed into a thin scar.

  Had the rider had a scar? Had he worn a mask to hide a scar as much as to hide his actions? Would it be as visible on him as an adult as it had been when he was a child?

  “Nobuhiro.” Master Goami’s voice cut through the speculation.

  “Yes, Master?”

  Master handed Nobuhiro the two halves of Funaki’s blade. “Take these with you. You can show them to your family as evidence.”

  “I will.”

  “A very interesting experience, this attack.”

  Master Goami had questions as well. He crafted swords for many samurai, but Funaki had never been a customer. “How so?”

  The old man’s eyes lit up like lightning, hinting at the thunder underneath. He exhaled sharply with a huge sigh.

  Pride laced with disgust.

  There was more here than just the attack.

  Master Goami scratched his chin. “A sword carries the spirit of the one who crafts it. The glaze on the metal is from another swordsmith I know. The sword is cheaply made, like the soul of its craftsman. It’s good that this man switched to producing guns. He is not worthy to fashion a true sword. Even my tools bested it.”

  Master Goami smiled at Nobuhiro. “My tools and you,” he added.

  Nobuhiro again basked in his master’s praise, though he doubted whether it was deserved. Best to focus on the attack.

  “There is some food in the kitchen,” Master Goami said as he walked toward the workshop. “You should eat before you go.”

  Nobuhiro nodded, placing the hilt half in his belt. He was not hungry, but the feeling from the battle that sustained him would soon pass. “Please take care of Sen.”

  And please forgive me for how much I’ve failed.

  Nobuhiro slipped out of his shoes as he entered the house, grabbing two seaweed-wrapped rice balls and a cloth to wrap the blade pieces. The trip to the castle would take an hour or so, less if he hurried.

  More time for Funaki to get away and hide.

  How I wish I could run. How I wish I could even walk properly.

  Chapter Ten

  Nobuhiro’s trip to the castle too
k less time than he expected. It was still the hour of the snake when he arrived and it would be some time before midday. He had spent most of the trip worried about Sen. Each step, as quick as he tried to be, still seemed slow.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow as he approached the gate. Fresh scents of grass and trees filled the air, mixing with the sounds of business that ringed the edge of the grounds. Thankfully, it was not hotter. It often warmed early in Himeji.

  He presented himself to one of the four sentries at the outer gate. All four men were dressed in identical blue kimonos and gray hakamas. Nobuhiro didn’t recognize any of them, proof of his time away. However, his name still carried recognition as all four raised eyebrows when he mentioned it.

  Everyone was familiar with the name of the runaway son.

  One of the sentries sprinted to the castle. A few minutes later, Toshi arrived, running as quickly as he could. His characteristic tooth-bearing smile evident. “Brother, the guard said it was urgent. What brings you here?”

  Nobuhiro stared at him and said nothing. He didn’t know where to begin.

  Toshi’s smile disappeared. “Come with me.”

  He knows.

  Nobuhiro followed Toshi, who headed straight for the castle. Both brothers gave a quick nod to the retainers at the entrance, men dressed the same as the ones at the gate, but older. One of them was familiar, but Nobuhiro couldn’t place him. The men knew Toshi and allowed Nobuhiro to pass.

  From there, they headed to the armory on the lowest level. The odor of oil mixed with powder pervaded the air. Uji was already there, giving instructions to several men. One glance and he dismissed the subordinates before walking over.

  “Brother, your face is as blank as an unfinished statue. What brings you here?”

  Nobuhiro bit his lip, then brought out the broken halves of the sword, displaying them on the cloth. “We had an intruder at the house about an hour ago.”

  Toshi’s eyebrows rose. He, too, checked his surroundings, though he was always aware of everything, and slid the door to the room shut.

  Uji’s face went ashen as he studied the blade.

  Nobuhiro expected questions and waited for them.