by Travis Bughi
He thought for a second, lifting himself off his katana, and gave the stick a practice swing.
“You remind me of my brother,” he said.
Emily’s eyes fluttered. The rest of her frustration was drowned in the surprise that washed over her, and she closed her mouth when she realized her lips had parted. She wasn’t sure if she should take that as a compliment, but somehow it felt like one.
“How so?” she asked.
“Well,” he replied, “let me tell you a story. When Okamoto and I were in Savara, he set out to complete one goal: to get paid. He made it clear we were honorless sellswords, willing to do the most dangerous of work, but only for the greatest of pay. Sometimes we would guard, other times we would rob; it didn’t matter to him, and I was too young to voice any disagreement. He used those tasks as training for me, and he used part of the money we earned to feed us. The rest he saved for our eventual trip back and to pay the ninjas we would hide with to keep our presence a secret.
“I tell you this because I want you to realize that, growing up in Savara, I always thought Okamoto put payment ahead of everything else. The way he would charge several armed men at once showed me that, in his eyes, life was worth less than gold. Not knowing any other way to live, I mimicked him.
“One day, Okamoto took a maddening offer. Not the worst we’d ever do, but close to it. Two minor warlords, both allied under another, greater warlord, had a personal dispute over loot. I never did know much of the details, but essentially, the two bickered over a rare painting captured in a raid—some image of a phoenix rising with the sun. When one forcibly claimed it, the other hired thieves to steal it. Those thieves were successful, and in retaliation, the robbed one hired us to take it back and, as a message, slaughter any who got in our way. This was a private fight, of course. The negotiations were all done in the shadows, through third parties, because if the head warlord had found out, he’d have put both their heads on a spear.
“So Okamoto accepted the terms. We were to bring back the painting and get paid, simple as that. We snuck in as best we could, but the plan went afoul, and we ended up fighting for our lives. We had to split up, attack from the shadows, and set parts of the building on fire to keep reinforcements from getting to us. That night, I earned one of these scars.” Takeo used his stick to tap his back.
“So much blood fell on the floor, my own included, that we were slipping in the halls. There was hardly a room untouched by blood or fire by the time we reached the painting, but when we did, we saw that the remaining guards had sliced it up, destroying the ancient piece of art. I assumed they were under orders to do so, and I cursed in frustration. Okamoto, though, he laughed. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh, and it terrified me. We took what was left of the painting and limped away into the night.
“We returned to the warlord and presented him with the shredded remains. For some reason, he deemed this a success. He said he’d never asked us to bring it back in one piece, and we were to be paid in full. I was relieved, at first, but then Okamoto spoke up. He said, ‘We were hired to bring back a painting, not the remains of one. We will accept no payment.’ And then we left, and from then on out, when I saw Okamoto leap fearlessly into harm’s way, I knew it wasn’t for the gold.”
Takeo gave his stick another practice swing, and the air hissed. His eyes followed the stick as he flicked it, and Emily watched him, her grip loose on her wooden knife, until her eyes went dry and she had to blink to return moisture to them.
“So you’re saying I have a scary laugh?” she said.
Takeo looked at her then and grinned, “Caught that, did you?”
Emily adjusted her grip on the knife and then closed the distance between them, knees bent.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“When am I not?”
Emily did not hit Takeo that day, but it did take her longer to be angry about it.
They sat under a starry sky with a warm fire to dry themselves. Emily wrung out her hair, still damp from her dip in the stream. Takeo, opposite her, was twisting his hair back up into its queue. They had improved their sleeping arrangements by this time, each one claiming a spot and covering it with leaves and grass into as much of a bed as could be done. Emily was surprised to find it more comfortable than her old bed back home on the Great Plains, despite the lack of blankets.
Not that she had ever needed them. Every night had been just warm enough to sleep without sheets, just like Juatwa was now.
As Emily rested back onto her elbows, she glanced over at Takeo, who was carefully braiding his hair. He was nearly done, not that it took that long to begin with; Takeo’s hair was not that long, perhaps just a hand’s breadth or so past his shoulders, but it was longer than hers. Watching him now, Emily’s curiosity peaked once more, for though she often wondered about his hair and why all samurai had long hair, Emily had never bothered to speak up.
She considered doing it just then, asking him why he and his warrior type chose to grow out their hair, but somehow the words would not come. They felt locked in her throat, and instead, she brought up another question.
“It’s been almost a week now, Takeo,” she said. “Are you still certain the ninjas are coming?”
“I never said I was certain,” he said, fingers still weaving, “but I still feel it’s worth waiting. Can you wait another week?”
She pretended to mull over the question but, in reality, knew the answer before Takeo had finished speaking.
“Yes,” she said, “but what if they still don’t come? What will we do then? We have a war to win.”
“Literally,” Takeo added to her words. “I suppose our best chance will be to try and join with Lord Jiro. I wish there was a better way.”
He sighed and lay down on his leafy bed. Emily waited a moment, glancing up at the stars above, then lay down, too. A thought struck her just then, and she turned to the samurai, his face now partially blocked by the flickering flames.
“What if we don’t have to win the war?” she asked.
“Hm?” he mumbled.
“Well, I was just thinking, you told me that it is actually the daimyo who control the samurai. They are the ones who own the land, who collect the taxes, and to whom the samurai swear their oaths. Katsu is just a daimyo who sort of lords over the others, correct? They follow him because he’ll kill them if they don’t and reward them if they do, or something like that?”
“Well, yes.”
“And this plan to invade Lucifan,” Emily pressed on, “it’s all Katsu’s. It’s his ambition, not the others’. Or is it? Were Katsu to suddenly die right now, would another take his place? It’s not a full empire, yet, is it? Does he have children?”
“He does not,” Takeo replied, “though not for lack of trying. Heliena is his eighth wife. He does have nephews and nieces, cousins as well, but I understand what you’re saying. They might fall to infighting or assassinate each other for the right to rule. The daimyo beneath him may leave and join Jiro or the Old Woman, thus breaking apart all his hard work. Perhaps Katsu’s entire regime can be cut off with his head, but we’ll never know.”
“What?” Emily exclaimed. “Why not?”
“Put simply? We won’t be able to topple him before his army. He’s too well guarded, and we would never get close. You forget, Emily, about the ninjas, and what their presence means in Juatwa. When assassination is a profession, everyone is overly cautious. You can’t think other daimyo, especially Jiro, haven’t already put out large rewards for Katsu’s head. You can’t believe that Katsu has come this far without surviving an assassination attempt. He has an army of not just samurai, but loyal allies and informants to protect him. Even if you and I were disguised, with months to formulate a plan and years to execute it, there would be only a slim chance for us to get close to him. Consider this, when I was sworn to him, directly charged with guarding his new bride, I was granted a mere moment in his presence, and a rare one at that. I’m sorry, Emily, but i
f Katsu is assassinated, it will not be by our hands.”
“Well, damn.”
* * *
Emily did not sleep well that night, but she could not say exactly why. Perhaps it was because Takeo had so thoroughly rebuked her suggestion, or maybe it was because she was still upset over going one solid week without a sign of improvement. It could have been that she was beginning to realize that this situation, this centuries-long war in Juatwa, could be beyond her influence and that her task here could be completed without her. How could she—a young, foreign girl—hope to turn the tide of a nationwide war? What madness had possessed her to think that was possible? Was her faith in Quartus so zealous?
As Emily readied herself for the new day, the echoing words of the jinni came to mind.
Heliena is a queen regnant! Her husband leads many a legion of trained soldiers, nary a soul less measured than the men beside thee. They hath near conquered a nation stooped in war for hundreds of years, and thou trows to influence this course with thy mere presence?
Emily hadn’t fully understood the jinni’s words then, but she was coming to grasps with them now. She had been, and was still, a fool. A single amazon sent by a dead angel to defeat hordes of dedicated soldiers under a web of knowledgeable leadership. She smirked at how pathetic it all sounded. That thought plagued her and darkened her mood. When Takeo motioned for training to commence, she obeyed with a grudging scowl. He allowed no time for breakfast, and she felt too defeated to point it out.
Hungry and depressed, Emily spent all morning being beaten back by Takeo’s swings. She felt worse than before, sluggish and distracted. She tried to shake free of the pessimism, but it clung to her like windblown sand.
Thou art frail, liken to a single drop of water in an ocean storm, the jinni’s words rang in her head.
And before her was the cliff.
She leapt at Takeo again and again, trying to dodge his swinging stick or avoid the constant parries. She tried to drive him back, hoping a false step might distract him long enough for her to strike him with her little wooden knife. It was hopeless, though. Takeo was unmovable with a katana in hand, like a dragon facing down a gnome.
Rage clouded her mind.
You’re an idiot, she berated herself. How are you going to fight an army of samurai if you can’t even hit one!
The last part of that thought escaped her lips, and she turned the mumble into a frustrated growl.
“Calm,” Takeo warned.
“I’m tired of being calm!” she yelled, and her stomach growled. “I can’t take this anymore, Takeo! I’m sick of losing. You’re not even telling me how to improve! It’s like you expect me to figure it out on my own. This is pointless, and I’m hungry!”
“We’ll eat when you strike me,” he replied, still as an oasis.
“No!” she replied, irate he’d dare issue her a command. “I’m eating now.”
Emily stood up straight and took one step towards their collection of fruit before Takeo leapt in front of her, wooden katana pointed at her stomach.
“What? What are you doing? Get out of my way!”
She went to step around him, but jumped back when he made a swing at her. She looked at him, stunned, but then narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
“That’s the way it is?” she asked.
“That’s the way it is,” he repeated.
“Fine, then,” she said through clenched teeth.
She screamed as she charged him this time, launching off the balls of her feet and lashing out with her knife in both hands. Takeo dodged, tapped her wrists with the side of his sword, and shouldered her away from the food. She stumbled as she spun away, nearly losing her footing, but caught herself with enough time to dodge Takeo’s attack. He swung wide, aiming low, and she launched herself back as his katana passed a hair’s breadth from her stomach and then propelled herself forward.
One, two, three strikes sped through the air at Takeo’s chest, each a blur of movement that was somehow too slow to catch the samurai as he backpedaled. A split moment later, his katana was whirling toward her. She was too angry to move out of the way, and it caught her in the side, forcing some air from her lungs and pushing her back from the tantalizing fruit once more.
Damn his long, stupid katana! I could get him if weren’t for that! I’m going to take that stupid thing!
“That’s it!” she said. “I’m not playing fair anymore!”
“Oh?” he asked. “When were we—?”
Emily leapt at him midsentence, knife going high to bear down on him in a brutal blow. Despite her sudden assault, Takeo reacted with only a fraction’s hesitation. He went to the side, taking himself out of harm’s way, and then barreled his katana toward her stomach again.
Doing exactly what Emily had wanted.
She stepped, too, right into Takeo’s swing, dropping one hand to grab his wrist and yanking him to her. His swing went wide, swiping the air as she slammed her whole body into Takeo’s. He didn’t go down like she’d wanted, but he staggered, and she lashed out with a foot to sweep his knee. He threw the leg up, dodging once more, but Emily still gripped his wrist, and she wasn’t giving up. As he balanced on one foot, she pulled back and forced them both to the ground. They struck, and before he knew it, she was rolling on top of him and placing her wooden knife against his throat. Her other hand was still latched tightly to his wrist, and both his hands were still latched tightly to his katana.
Her teeth were gritted in anger while his lips were barely parted. Each breathed hard into the other’s face, and their muscles remained tense. Then a moment of realization dawned on Emily, and her anger dissolved into a bewildered astonishment.
“I . . . I did it,” she said through ragged gasps. “I . . . I just did it.”
Takeo’s lips turned up into a smile, then he chuckled, and at last, he began to laugh, genuinely and fully with the wooden knife still rubbing against his throat. It was contagious, and Emily began to smile and laugh, too.
Chapter 11
The food that day tasted far better than Emily expected, perhaps because every bite carried the flavor of victory. She had an apple, a peach, and the last of the kappa meat and then celebrated with a wonderful afternoon of cloud gazing. Takeo joined her, lying down by her side to gaze up into the beauty of Juatwa’s sky. With each passing day, more clouds had gathered. It had been nearly clear when they’d first arrived, but over the week, clouds had begun to congregate and fade to grey. They hypothesized about when it would rain, guessing perhaps within the day, and Takeo told her it would likely be a lukewarm shower of tiny drops. It was just like Juatwa: a pleasant act of nature to wash away the violent blood shed by men.
“I know it’s terrible to hear,” he said, “but it’s a reality I can’t shake from my mind. Somewhere out there—actually, many places out there—is a recent battlefield with ground painted red. In time, it will be a new field of flowers, but first the rains will come, and they’ll clean the place with a delicacy that’s hard to find elsewhere in the world. Honestly, I know nothing like it. The rain falls hard and cold at sea; while in Savara the rain comes rarely, but in sheer volume, creating flash floods that would be terrible were water not considered to be worth more than gold. I don’t know what the rains are like on the Great Plains or further west. It never rained when I was there.”
“It doesn’t rain often,” Emily said. “That’s why the land is so yellow and the trees so sparse. It rains sporadically for a few months and then goes for a much longer time with nothing at all. Not even the thunderbirds help. They may make thunderclouds, but they don’t bring rain. Worse, they clap their wings together and send down a bolt of lightning, starting grassfires that will burn for days and destroy entire plots of farmland. Thankfully, that only happened to my family once. We stayed with the Dylans, our neighbors, while we recovered. You don’t live long on the Great Plains without friends.”
“Hm, the same could be said of Juatwa.”
Emily too
k in a deep breath, expanding her already rounded and blissfully satiated stomach. Her back warmed against the soft grass while the slight breeze cooled her skin, now dry of the sweat she’d accumulated earlier.
“I knew it was only a matter of time,” Takeo said suddenly.
“What was? Until it rained?”
“No, until you beat me. It was only a matter of time until you used all your weapons.”
“I didn’t beat you,” Emily replied. “You hit me before I hit you, but I at least hit you this time. And what do you mean all of my weapons?”
“It’s something I noticed about you early on when we started your training with katanas on the viking ship. You were quick to learn anything I pointed out to you, absorbing it like a sponge and putting it to instant use. I was really impressed. You had improved so much since the time we fought each other in Lucifan, and your time with the pirates must have taught you subtlety, because your movements were more difficult to read.
“However, despite all of this, I noticed that you had trouble inventing your own solutions to problems. You would constantly fall for every new approach or parry, and I realized your former teachers had been superb in showing you what to learn but never how to learn. That was the only training I’d ever received from Okamoto. He never taught me how to swing and, instead, instilled within me the desire to adapt to new situations using wits and prior knowledge. I wanted to do this for you, but I knew it was going to be a challenge.
“I gave you two rules: stay calm and never drop your weapon. Everything else I was determined to have you learn on your own. It was frustrating, especially for you. I hated watching you internalize your failures, knowing you blamed yourself for every mistake, no matter the circumstances, but I had no other choice. I’m just glad you broke through and found a way. You said it yourself, ‘I’m not playing fair anymore,’ and then broke through your own barrier. You realized that just because I gave you a knife to fight with didn’t mean you were only allowed to fight with a knife. You grabbed my wrist, used your body, and lashed out with your leg. I lost, and it was the most glorious loss I’ve ever had. So, thank you for that, Emily. Truly, thank you.”