by Travis Bughi
“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling.
They finished their cloud watching but did not return to training that day. It wasn’t so Emily could bask in glory, but more so they could both enjoy the evening and prepare for rain. Takeo explained that when the rain came, although it wouldn’t be a downpour, it would drizzle for days. So, they started by building a shelter on higher ground, hoping the slopes would deter the running water from flooding it—the frame was made of branches, lashed together with vines, and covered with leaves—and then they added makeshift beds and packed away their food before briefly hunting for more. Next, they situated the fire right at the shelter’s edge so the smoke could escape but the rain wouldn’t drown the fire. That done, they cut and covered additional wood, which was more important now than ever because wet wood would be difficult to get burning, as would new wood cut during the rains.
“The wood here absorbs water well,” Takeo spoke as they took turns chopping wood. “I think that’s why these forests are so lush.”
“It could be why the trees aren’t tall, either,” Emily pondered out loud.
“They aren’t tall?”
Emily laughed. “Not at all. You should see the trees in Angor. They’re like mountains! Taller than a colossus, you can’t even see their tops on a clear day. Some grow so wide around that elves make their homes inside of them. Really, I’ve seen it. Anyway, anything that big would have to be extremely solid. If the trees here really do absorb water so well, perhaps that’s why they don’t grow as big. They’d fall over.”
Takeo blinked. “Huh, I suppose that makes sense. Trees tall as mountains, you say? I think I’d like to see that someday.”
“Well, maybe one day I’ll take you,” she said.
The words escaped her lips before she’d thought them through. Her mouth shut tight, and she glanced at Takeo. He held her gaze for a moment and then looked away to begin cutting once more. They didn’t speak on that subject again, and Emily cursed herself for breaking their unspoken rule: never talk about the future.
Night brought a pitch blackness that touched everything except what the fire lit. Beyond the flickering, orange light, Emily couldn’t see more than a pace in front of her, which she found to be unnerving. When she looked out into the night, all she could think of were shadowy ninjas stalking around, knives in hand. She couldn’t picture them for she had no idea what a ninja looked like, but their reputation alone made her uneasy.
If Takeo felt the same way, he did not show it. He was braiding his hair again, preparing for another night of sleep, and Emily found the confidence that had evaded her for months.
“Takeo?” she started, voice light and tense as she spoke. “I don’t mean to offend, but why do men in the East grow their hair out?”
He looked to her, but his fingers never stopped. Over and over the strands went until the end came into place and he tied it together.
“I’m not offended. We do it because it’s a sign of honor, I guess.” He shrugged. “I never really questioned it, to be honest, though I’ve always noticed how different it was, especially when I was growing up in Savara. I wanted to cut my hair because of the heat, but never dared float the idea for fear of shaming Okamoto. The vikings are the only other warriors that grow such long hair, though I’ve heard of dwarf beards, but I don’t think beards count. So yes, I’ve noticed, and I’m surprised it took you so long to ask. I guess it’s my turn now. Why do you cut your hair short? No offense, of course.”
Emily balked and then frowned. She should have known that question was coming.
“It’s for, um, eh,” she stammered. “Actually, I have no idea, either. I just do this because it’s what my mother did, and I continue to do it because that’s what all amazon women do. There was a time I thought it helped in combat, but after seeing samurai and vikings, I don’t think that’s the reason anymore.”
She laughed nervously, and Takeo smiled.
“Is that why you haven’t cut it in a while?” he asked.
Emily put a hand to her head without thinking, running her fingers through her brown, wavy hair. It was long, the longest it had ever been, close to a finger’s width beneath her shoulders. She should have cut it a week ago, but had not, which was strange because she had had all the time in the world to do so. No excuses plagued her mind, and she could not even blame forgetfulness because she had specifically avoided the urge to cut her hair.
“I wanted to,” she said. “I wanted a change. My hair has always been short, and I just thought that maybe I’d grow it out, see what it looked like. Does it look bad?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I think it looks great, beautiful even.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling heat in her cheeks.
A silence came afterwards, and they both looked away, but found nothing worth watching in the shadows. Takeo’s gaze returned first, and he cleared his throat.
“About the hair, it’s just samurai who grow it out,” he said. “Not all men do it. Ninjas, even the women, keep their hair shorter than yours so they can wrap it better. They wrap their whole heads, minus slits for the eyes, in black cloth so no one knows who they are and so they’re harder to see at night. Even villagers, at least the men, cut their hair. And Ronin, especially, always cut their hair—or they have it cut for them—so none will think they are samurai.”
“So it’s for status, then?” Emily said, turning back to meet Takeo’s dark eyes. “Like a gunslinger’s spurs?”
“You could say that.”
“Well then, shouldn’t you cut yours?”
Takeo’s eyes popped wide open, and his hand flew to the newly braided queue. Emily jumped, too, fearful she had misspoken, but a slow look of understanding began to dawn on Takeo’s face.
“I am supposed to be a ronin, now, aren’t I?” he asked, almost in a whisper.
He ran a hand slowly down his black, straight hair, fingers touching every braided curve. Emily watched his movements and searched his eyes. Ever the window to his soul, they showed heavy contemplation and a fear of loss.
Fear, she thought. Have I seen fear in those eyes before? It made her want to reach out and take his hand, but she dared not.
“You serve no lord now,” she whispered. “You haven’t for months. I’ll even cut for you, if you want.”
He stayed still for a few moments, his face turned to stone. The flickering firelight cast small shadows along his thin lips, and Emily waited with admirable patience. The silence was broken when the light patter of falling water began to drum on the leaves over their heads. A moment later, a sudden chill swept through the shelter, and the firelight dipped.
“Do it,” he said.
Emily drew her pesh-kabz, the steel scraping softly against its leather sheath. Takeo ran both his hands down his queue again and then turned around to put his back to Emily. She scuttled forward on her knees, unable to stand in the low shelter they’d built. A half pace from Takeo, she stopped and sat again, folding her legs.
“Lean back,” she commanded.
Takeo glanced behind him and then did as instructed. He lay back, resting his neck on her crossed shins, and closed his eyes. Emily paused for a moment, feeling the warmth of Takeo’s skin on her exposed ankles. The knife was motionless in her hand until she finally found the breath to speak.
“You have to come up,” she said. “I need to reach your hair.”
His eyes flew open, and he bolted upright.
“Oh!” he stammered. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I . . . I’ve never had someone else cut my hair before.”
“It’s okay. It’s alright. Just lean back on your palms.”
He touched his queue one last time and then leaned back again, this time with arms straight back. His hair fell down, and Emily slid her fingers into the base of the queue. Around them, the sound of rain grew louder.
“How short should it be?” Emily asked, having to raise her voice above a whisper now. “You know, for a ronin?”
“Cut
it like yours.”
Emily nodded her understanding, even though Takeo couldn’t see it. She ran a hand down the queue, feeling the bumps of the braids, and stopped at a length that would be just above his shoulders. She went up three more notches and then placed the knife on the braid above her hand.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
She sawed the knife back and forth, cutting all but a few strands in a couple of thrusts. Those last remaining strands were gathered up and cut, as well, and the queue fell lifelessly into Emily’s lap. She picked it up in her other hand, but didn’t know what to do with it.
Takeo leaned forward and turned around to face her. His hands went to his hair, which now hung on either side of his face and parted in a perfectly straight line at the top of his head. The longest strands rested on his shoulders, right at the base of his neck, and they flowed like water as he moved. Emily felt her lips part and her throat go dry.
“How does it look?” he asked.
“It. . .” She searched for the right words. “Good, it looks good.”
It took Emily every ounce of strength not to kiss him.
Takeo nodded his acceptance and ran his fingers through his hair again, the fingers always coming short. He looked at his queue in her hand, but her gaze was still on his eyes.
“What should we do with it?” he asked.
“What should we do with what?” she replied. “Oh! Your queue, yes. Um, I don’t know. What do you want to do with it?”
She offered it to him, and he accepted it, stared at it for a moment, and then frowned.
“What do you do with your hair?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I just throw it away.”
Takeo’s frown turned to a smirk, and he tossed the hair out into the darkness.
“Works for me.”
Chapter 12
How Emily could have gone this long without realizing her attraction to Takeo, she might never know. She could have blamed the constant distractions of running for her life and trying to exact a long-sought revenge. She could also have blamed the fact that they were once enemies, and some form of lingering animosity might have masked her feelings. Either way, she stayed up for hours that night, listening to the rain falling hard all around her and Takeo breathing softly just an arm’s length away from her.
This was not the first time she’d cared strongly for someone. She’d known a knight in Lucifan once, a man named Gavin, who had been the object of her desires. He’d confessed his love to her and begged her to stay, but she had rejected him. Now, with Takeo by her side, those same feelings were returning, and she began to compare the two of them. Her eyes searched blindly for Takeo in the darkness while her mind began to picture clearly all that had once been obscured to her.
She saw his confidence. It was not like Gavin’s, which had been cocky and overbearing, almost childish. No, Takeo’s confidence was like that of her father. Calm and controlled, backed by knowledge and strengthened by discipline. He did not boast. He remained humble. His confidence lay not within his personality, but within his abilities. Takeo did not fear the unknown because he saw in everything the opportunity to learn and better himself. That was why he was such a strong fighter. That was how he could stand up to a vampire, slay a minotaur, and charge an oni. Emily had not fully realized it, but his confidence was contagious. She felt safer near him, not because he was there, but because he inspired her to greater things. He made her confident in herself.
She saw his strength. He’d once lifted his entire body in the air, on one hand alone, defeating a legendary viking in a challenge of physical prowess. His chest and stomach, which she had felt when he’d carried her to Juatwa’s shore, was hard with the muscles of a dedicated warrior. His strength lent him speed. He could swing his sword faster than her brother could draw his pistols or Gavin could swing with his fists. Beyond that, Takeo was strong of mind. He had an indomitable will and a wit that saw the solution to every problem they’d encountered, even in the storm of battle. He never hesitated to charge a rakshasa or wasted time trembling before a full-grown minotaur. Fear seemed unknown to him, and Emily wondered if it was because Takeo had known no greater fears than he’d experienced in his childhood.
She saw his kindness. Despite his harsh upbringing, Takeo had somehow chosen a path of enlightenment. He loved his brother, he understood the needs of others, and he even felt strongly for those he’d known briefly. Emily remembered the way he had avenged the villagers of his old home, shouting their names despite years and years of separation. He was also kind to her, never dismissing her suggestions out of hand, like Gavin always had, even when they were hopelessly wrong. Warmth touched her heart as she realized that Takeo trusted her. Gavin had never trusted her. That knight from Lucifan, with all his charm and grace, had shaken his head when she’d said she’d heard Quartus speaking to her and then later berated her for coming to his rescue.
How could I not have seen that? she pondered. Was I really so blinded by his smile?
Before now, she’d never been so happy to have left Gavin in Lucifan. He’d wanted her to give up her life of adventure to become his housewife. It had been tempting at the time, strongly so, and the kiss he’d given her had made the deal seem impossible to decline, but she had moved on, deciding to continue to better herself and take the journey she’d always wanted. As Emily lay awake, staring into the night, listening to Takeo breathe, she sighed in relief that she’d made that choice.
Somewhere amongst the rhythmic sounds of falling water and Takeo’s sleep, Emily drifted off into a long-awaited slumber. It came as no surprise to her that she dreamed of the samurai, and in her dream, she ran fingers through his new, short hair as it cascaded down around her and their lips touched again and again.
Emily would have kept on dreaming, too, had morning not come and her bowels not ushered her awake. When her eyes cracked open, she became aware of the soft patter of rain and the harsh crackle of a fire.
“Good morning,” Takeo said.
“Good morning.” She smiled and stretched.
She rose up from her leafy mattress to find the ground around their shelter had turned muddy during the night. Small puddles were everywhere, splashing and rippling with each new rain drop. The air was damp, yet not unpleasant, like she was wrapped in a lukewarm, wet blanket. It reminded her of Themiscyra, and her mind drifted to thoughts of her grandmother.
“Will we be training again today?” she asked.
“We probably should,” Takeo said, slicing up fruit with her dagger. “We haven’t practiced in mud before, so it would be helpful. We can’t expect to fight every battle in good weather.”
She touched the sheath at her waist, wondering if she’d put it back. She had, she was sure of it, which meant he’d disarmed her without waking her. Somehow that didn’t bother her. It seemed considerate, actually, and she smiled again.
“You’d make a better thief than a pirate,” she said.
He finished cutting and handed her both the knife and her breakfast.
“Is that a compliment?” he asked.
“It could be. Where did you learn those sleight of hand tricks, anyway? From the ninjas? I remember how you stole that map from Eisa, but I never bothered to ask you how you could do that. Oh, also just came to mind, in Lucifan, you wore those strange shoes—”
“Geta,” he interjected. “They are formal shoes. I expected to meet with rulers, not fight in battle.”
“Well, anyway, they looked like they make a lot of noise. You, though, were able to sneak up on us while wearing them. Did you also learn that from the ninjas?”
“Right on both accounts,” he said between bites of his apple. “I’m assuming you want me to teach you those skills, too, and have the ninjas give you further training if we find them?”
“Right on both accounts,” she repeated.
They finished their breakfast and stepped out into the rain. As promised, it was pleasant. The drops fell on
Emily often enough that they never felt sudden, yet rare enough that it was not distracting. The mud clung to her feet, oozing between her toes, but did not grind like the sand of Savara. Emily found a slight effort was needed to lift her feet, just enough so that the chance of slipping would be negligible.
She laughed. “Even the ground is pleasant when it rains. Is there anything ugly in Juatwa, Takeo?”
“Just the inhabitants and the war.”
“I don’t know about that. You’re not so bad.”
“Thank you.” He smiled.
He drew his wooden katana and took a ready stance. Emily, though she already had her wooden knife out, couldn’t bring herself to hold it up. Her arms hung to her sides, and she struggled to find the desire to charge and strike Takeo. She wondered how he’d react if, instead of putting her knife to his throat, she put her lips to his.
“Ready?” he asked.
Emily realized she’d been staring and shook her head. Idiot! He’s not going to fall for a gawker. She scowled and readied herself, sliding her feet through the mud until they found purchase. He saw the move and bent further at the knees, prepared to backpedal from her charge. Seeing this, Emily felt a thrust of confidence, acknowledging that she was getting better at reading her opponent.
And then Takeo’s head snapped to the right, he let his sword drop, and his jaw went limp while his eyes went wide. Emily tensed, too, surprised by Takeo’s sudden movements. Her grip on the wooden knife tightened instinctively as she watched him scan the distant forest.
“What is—?”
Takeo’s open palm flew up, facing towards her, and she went silent. Must you make that same mistake again, she cursed herself.
Emily saw that Takeo was listening carefully. She changed her focus to do so, as well, but all she heard was the tiny patter of rain that fell about them and the soft crackle of the small fire at their shelter. Then she heard the sound of a tree snap, not a branch, but the entire tree. The thunder of a large trunk cracking in two came from the north, from within the forest beyond the edge of their clearing. Emily gasped but didn’t lose her wits. Takeo’s dark eyes went wider still, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Emily’s grip went white-knuckled tight on her wooden knife until she gave it a disgusted look and tossed the useless thing to the ground. She turned to run back to their shelter for her real weapons, but Takeo whirled back to her and held up both hands. Emily froze.