by Walt Mussell
“He’s brought me peace, Nobuhiro. He has strengthened me inside, to face the trials of life. They have been great of late.”
Her faith was amazing. Haru had carried the same conviction.
So had Jiro.
He went back to check the fire and coughed at the smoke. Then, grabbing a rag, he wiped his face and grabbed his cup for more tea. “Would you have faced these trials had you not believed in this God?”
She paused and shook her head. “Hard to say. No one knows what life will bring. The servants still in Haibara may be facing more difficult trials than I am. I have heard no news.”
He smiled. “On that we agree.”
Sen ran her fingers through her hair and the red strands poked through again. From now on, he would always look for them. They were rare, just like her. She tilted her head. “May I ask you a favor before I go?”
Nobuhiro’s face and back straightened. “You are Master’s daughter. I am at your service. You need not request permission.”
“You are samurai born. It is I who should show deference.”
“I rejected that heritage when I became your father’s apprentice. What do you need?”
Sen inhaled and then let it out slowly. “I want to clean the grave. Would you escort me to the cemetery and assist me?”
A hole of shame opened in Nobuhiro’s gut. He had not brought food to Jiro and Haru in over two months, hardly a show of respect for someone to whom he owed much. Still, Funaki was out there. If he found them, would he desecrate the holy site?
Nobuhiro had embarrassed Funaki. Nothing would be sacred.
He bowed to her. “I will. Thank you again for breakfast.”
“Thank you again for what you have done for my family.” She bowed to him. “I must go and look in on my parents.”
He nodded and remained silent. She turned and headed to the door. Her steps slow.
He watched, entranced, not that he could have moved.
She closed the door and he heaved a sigh, rubbing his palms together. This faith had brought nothing but trouble. It had killed Jiro and Master Goami’s older daughter. It had brought attacks on Sen and her parents. Continued belief meant continued suffering.
He had to find a way to tell her.
She would hate him for his words, but it must be done for the sake of the family. He had to ignore his feelings and dissuade her from finding others.
But did he have what it took to tell Sen?
Chapter Twelve
Kaiken struck Funaki across the face, sending him to the floor, and then kicked him in the head. Foot struck bone with a crack. “You fool. What were you doing there?”
Funaki hacked up blood and spit on the floor. “I was nearby. I knew she was there. I thought to listen at the house. Our previous attempts to discover anything had failed. We needed something new.”
“That was not part of my direction. Then you lost a fight with that lame simpleton. How could you let him defeat you? He’s not even samurai.”
Funaki rolled to his knees, placing his face on the floor and keeping his eyes down. “I have no excuse.”
“There is no excuse for you. You are pathetic.”
“I am deeply sorry. I regret my actions.”
Kaiken kicked him again in the face. “Your worthless apology accomplishes nothing. Your usefulness to our mission is finished. By now, Tokoda knows who you are. He will find you.”
Funaki nodded slowly. “Then I have a duty to perform. If you will grant me permission?”
“Granted.”
Funaki rose and sat back on his feet. He pulled at his kimono, loosing it from the belt.
Kaiken’s rage exploded. “Not here, you fool. Someplace else. By yourself.”
“Why not here? It is my right. I am—”
“Boar snouts! You are not worthy of a second. The prolonged pain is your punishment.”
“Hai.” He knelt back on the floor, bowing low, and then crawled to the door. He bowed again and left.
Footsteps shuffled outside and then disappeared, followed by the low sound of birds chirping. Quiet then filled the air again.
Kaiken tasted the salt and copper of blood. The blood of punishment. “I must have hit him harder than I thought.”
Michiba stepped forward. “Blood is a good sign. It can signal death. It can also signal rebirth. Funaki’s death is necessary, but what if he’s caught before he can complete his duty?”
Kaiken mulled Michiba’s words. “He will only be caught if he tries to be dramatic about it. He was clumsy. It cost him this life. His future actions will be a chance to redeem himself. Do it well and the gods may one day allow him again to be a samurai.”
Michiba nodded. “If he does it proudly, then it may pull others to our cause. Our numbers dwindle. Once we were seven, a proud band. Now we are three. We need more to continue.”
Stepping forward, Kaiken grabbed the necks of Michiba and Kitayama. “Even small numbers can wreak great damage. Soon others will join us. We will survive. For now, we can recommit. Michiba, by chance, are you carrying anything to eat?”
Michiba reached under his kimono and produced a rice ball. “Yes.”
Kaiken smiled, took out a small piece of cloth, then laid it on a nearby table and nodded to Kitayama. Kitayama pulled out his short sword slightly, cutting his thumb on the blade and then allowing a drop of blood to fall on the piece of cloth. Michiba followed and did the same. Kaiken completed the ritual. The rice ball was broken into three pieces. The cloth was then burned and ashes sprinkled on the rice. Handing pieces to Michiba and Kitayama, Kaiken then raised the remaining portion in the air. “We will see this through. Our master will be proud.”
The ash of commitment tasted sweet.
###
Sen brought her hands together and bowed before the grave. The sun warmed the back of her neck as she bent down, holding the position.
Haru, I wish I’d made it home in time to see you. I miss you very much.
The scent of cedar and dirt drifted on the wind. Crows cawed as if watching from above, adding to the prayers. She rose and stared at the stone marker in front of her. The name Goami was carved deep.
Female voices closed in from the left as two women carrying rakes, other small tools, and a bag approached a grave marker two rows away. More family remembering family. Duty combined with love.
Dragonflies buzzed around her. One alit on the marker. Even insects paid their respects as well. How often had she come here as a child with Haru, with her mother and father, to take care of this marker? Many generations of Goamis had been laid to rest here, cared for by their descendants. The last time she had come here, Haru had been with her.
Now she was cleaning it for Haru.
A clunk of wood sounded behind her, and she turned, her breath in her throat before her nerves then relaxed. Nobuhiro had startled her. Had she forgotten his presence?
No, she had lost herself in thought. Once again, she had forgotten Lord Akamatsu’s admonition for vigilance.
He looked solemn, almost upset. “I’ll start with the weeds around the marker and then rake the area. Do you want to work on the grave itself?”
Sen nodded and began the process, grabbing a cup of water from the small bucket they had brought with them. She poured the water over the stone and applied a brush. Loose dirt and dust, now moist, streaked the stone and she wiped them away. She applied more and repeated the process, pouring water on the characters, pushing brush and cloth through them.
Sen looked back at Nobuhiro, who was on his knees on the ground. “Have you come here often?”
“I came once a month after they died, though it has been two months since my last visit. Jiro was my best friend. He is the reason I came to be with your family.”
She grasped her chest. “How did that happen? How did you know him?”
“He was the one who found me on the street. He remembered me from deliveries he had made at the castle. He gave me food and brought me back to your house. W
ithin a week, I was your father’s apprentice.”
Sen wiped her hand along her sleeve, glancing at the area around the plot. Nobuhiro had been on the street by himself? He was so young and all alone. At least when Sen had left the castle, she still had friends to support her. Lord Akamatsu gave away his own resources to support others. Who did Nobuhiro have when he left the castle? How long would he have survived? What job would he have found?
“It is kind of you to look after the grave. You care for my parents very much.”
“I would die for them. I would have died for Jiro. I would have died to protect your sister. I would have done anything to spare your parents this pain.”
Sen’s chest warmed at his words. “I know you would. I would do the same.”
Nobuhiro inhaled sharply. “If that is the way you feel, then why do you not come home? You do your parents no good at the castle.”
“I have to stay at the castle. Lord Akamatsu commanded me to be there. He said it was for my protection.”
“And yet you take chances like visiting that cross.”
Sen paused. He was right. She’d gone there alone, always alone. Leaving herself open to attack. Why had she done that? She rubbed at the scars on her neck, feeling the thin line. Did she regret the shame of survival? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Then you attacked Funaki,” he continued. “Don’t you understand? You must live, for the sake of your family. Nothing is more important than that. Do you wish to die?”
She closed her eyes to hold the tears. She had tried to help him, but he was right. She had nearly gotten herself killed. Why had she done that?
Haru?
Had she done it for Haru?
The samurai who had attacked the house was connected to Haru’s death.
Had she wanted revenge?
Possibly.
Revenge for the killings in Haibara. Revenge for Haru.
It was not the Christian way.
“I understand,” she said.
She glanced back at the stone, staring at the etched name. A tribute to generations of swordsmiths.
A line that now rested with her alone.
Nobuhiro handed her a brush to continue cleaning. His hand touched her palm, sending warm shards up her arm. His touch, like the first time at the castle, was gentle again. His skin was tough, the effect of years of hard work. She felt his strength, saw it in his eyes. He cared about her. He would do anything for her.
Those who tried to hurt her might hurt him.
She couldn’t allow that to happen.
###
Nobuhiro’s chest expanded as Sen pulled her hand away from his, her delicate fingers as soft as her features. Her long hair was tied at the top, held by a red lacquer comb. It suited her face and hid the red strands within her dark hair.
He had watched her work earlier. Industrious like her sister and caring like her mother, Sen brushed the base of the grave, scraping away the dirt and twigs that covered it. The afternoon sun reflected off the comb. He tried to look away, but the light brown kimono she wore hugged her curves. He licked his lips.
“Nobuhiro, do you have something you want to ask me?”
He shook his head as the blood rushed to his face. She had caught him staring, another example of the simple-minded person he was. “I was just looking at the marker. I still can’t believe it. They were both so young.”
“Yes, they were.” She paused and shook her head slowly. “Now, they keep my grandparents company.”
“Your grandparents?” He stared at the stone. “I did not think about them. Master Goami has never mentioned his parents. They were not around when I was here.”
“My grandmother died when I was nine. My grandfather died two years before I left. He trained several swordsmiths, including my father. My father told me he used to spend his days watching my grandfather. They worked together for years.”
Nobuhiro stepped forward and traced the etching in the stone. A great line of swordsmiths. Attention to craftsmanship and detail. A gift to receive and a style to carry forward. Was he worthy? Could he ever repay the debt he owed?
Did he deserve this family?
###
Sen watched as Nobuhiro traced the lines of her family name. As a child, she had traced them herself. Never had she touched it with the depth of feeling that Nobuhiro had just showed.
She reached into her bag and brought out two incense sticks, placing them in a small bowl carved into the base. She lit the sticks, using a stone lantern nearby for the fire. The smell of sandalwood reached out and soothed her nerves. She stepped back. “Nobuhiro, would you say a prayer with me?”
Nobuhiro sidled next to her, his arm brushing against her sleeve, the warmth of his touch flowing through the kimono. He reached in his kimono and brought out a rice cup and dried fruit, laying them next to the incense. A fitting complement to what she brought. Not a Christian but no less an offering. “I do not know a Christian prayer. I would not feel comfortable saying it even if I did.”
“You honor your beliefs. I will honor mine.”
He raised his eyebrows but did not respond, instead turning to face the marker, clapping twice, and then bowing. She clapped twice herself and bowed her head, keeping her hands together at her waist as she prayed.
After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and looked at Nobuhiro. He seemed to be waiting for her. “Again that look. What is it?”
“You do your sister proud. I am just nervous. My father charged me with your safety. Yet even he has no idea what is happening. Maybe Lord Akamatsu was right. You have more protection at the castle.”
“Your brothers can’t stay with me all the time.”
“Not just them.” He paused. “Omi protects you, too. She is also a samurai.”
“Omi’s a samurai?”
“Yes, and she will look after you, too.”
Nobuhiro’s face grew calm. He trusted his brothers. He trusted Omi. Yet, Nobuhiro had shown himself to be capable.
Now the only thing he showed was that he didn’t believe in himself.
Chapter Thirteen
Sen greeted her last morning at home with mixed feelings. Heading back to the castle meant she and her mother were both healthy. For that, she was grateful. She had been away for too long. People might suspect favoritism. Jealousy would make her life more difficult.
A change of scenery would help her concentrate on the clue about the local church. She had thought about it ever since her mother had told her the clue. Nothing had come to mind. Leaving, though, meant she would leave home, the place she had wanted to come to originally when she first returned to Himeji.
She would miss her parents greatly.
She would miss Nobuhiro more.
Separated, she could pray that he would reconcile with his father. Allowing her time to care for her family meant that Nobuhiro’s father had a good heart, if only he would show it to Nobuhiro.
Away from Nobuhiro, she could keep him away from her heart.
She headed toward the kitchen, stepping softly on the smooth wooden floor. The warm smell of miso soup flavored the air as her mother finished breakfast preparations.
“Good morning, Mother.” Sen bounced toward her. “Let me help you with that.”
“Sit down,” her mother said. “This is your last day here. Let me take care of you.”
She seated herself as her mother put her breakfast before her, then bowed her head and said a quiet prayer. The steam from the rice rose to meet her face, warming her as it had when she was a child.
“A simple itadakimasu would have been sufficient, I think,” her mother deadpanned. “By the time you’re finished, your deity must be starving.”
“Oh, Mother.” Sen gently shook her head and smiled anyway. Christianity scared her mother. Sarcasm likely hid her fear. Sen glanced up as her mother sat to join her.
“You’re going to look for it, aren’t you?” her mother asked.
Sen had hoped to avoid this t
opic. Still, she couldn’t lie. Especially to her mother. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“What? You’ve been attacked. Spied on. Yet it’s me you’re afraid of?”
Sen tried to avert her gaze. It didn’t last. “Yes, I will look for the church. I will find it. God will protect me.”
“Your deity will do no better job of protecting you than he did your sister.” Her mother flung her left hand outward, as if tossing something away. “How do you know He’ll do a better job this time?”
“Why must we fight when it is time for me to leave?”
“If you weren’t so unreasonable, maybe we wouldn’t have this problem.”
Sen sighed and rubbed her fingers on the worn bamboo plate in front of her, trying to clarify her thoughts. After what happened to Haru, Mother wasn’t open to talking about it.
How would Sen feel in her mother’s position?
The door slid open and Sen’s father walked in. “Excuse me, everyone,” he said, his smile brighter than Sen had seen since her arrival. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Nothing,” her mother said. “We were just spending a last few moments catching up while we can.”
“Good to hear it.” Her father wheeled slightly and looked at Sen. “Are you ready to leave? Nobuhiro is waiting outside. He is prepared to escort you back to the castle.”
Sen shook slightly and gulped. She had forgotten Nobuhiro was going to walk back with her. Her body quivered at the thought of being with him for the trip.
She bowed to both her parents and stepped outside. There stood Nobuhiro. Though she had seen him nearly every day, he looked different. Polished. He hadn’t worked at the shop this morning.
“Good morning, Sen. Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you for agreeing to accompany me.”
She turned and said one last goodbye to her parents, who had followed her out the door. From there, Sen and Nobuhiro were off.
Despite the early morning, the humidity draped over Sen like a heavy coat, bringing sweat freely. She glanced skyward. Storm clouds were growing. Along the road, many men worked in the rice fields. Soon they would irrigate in preparation for planting. The heat would only get worse. The men’s faces and chests were covered in dirt. The rain would be welcome to both her and the workers. Somewhere nearby, women must be tending the rice seedlings, preparing them for planting. The pit grew in her stomach. She should be with those women. She should be serving her village, not the castle.