by David Kudler
They stood, nose to nose.
She could feel his breath on her lips, her cheek.
The stallion Inazuma nuzzled its way under their straw shelter, and they both laughed.
Still close, though his face was no longer under the hat — he held it over hers — Masugu asked, “Is there any shelter close by?”
“No. The shrine used to have a roof, but it’s long rotted away.” She gestured at the rotten beams on either side of the stone.
“Ah.” He looked around, though Mieko knew there was nothing to see but trees and rocks and rain. “Let’s leave. Perhaps we could leave a note for… for Kuniko-san, letting her know we’ve gone to find shelter?”
It was not a terrible idea — though Mieko felt somehow as if she would be betraying Kuniko by doing so. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m waiting.”
“Waiting…?”
“Waiting for Kuniko.”
“Oh.” He nodded, his attempt at looking stoic as he continued to hold the hat above her head almost making Mieko want to laugh.
She chewed her lip and attempted to see the shadows of the trees — impossible in the rain. “Do you think it is the hour of the goat, yet?”
He shrugged, the water pouring down his face. “It’s hard to tell. But it is certainly past midday.”
Once again, she looked away from him — it was hard to think when he was so close. It was possible Kuniko herself was in trouble. It was equally possible that she and the two girls were waiting somewhere safe and dry. There was no way to know — and her getting soaked through wouldn’t help Kuniko, Sachi, or Hoshi, whatever the case. There was a farm just a few minutes away, with a barn where they could wait out the downpour.
“Yes,” she said, “that makes sense.” Then she felt in her sash, moving the small bottles of poison and pulling out a chunk of the limestone that she and Kuniko each kept for leaving coded messages for each other in the field. On the least moss-covered surface of the shrine she made marks that would be meaningless to most passers by, but would tell Kuniko where to look for her — for her and Masugu.
He continued to hold the hat above her head with one hand, even as the other continued to clasp hers.
As she tucked the stone away again, she dared to look back up into Masugu’s face, and was curious to see his eyes wide.
“In your sash,” he whispered, “those bottles —?”
She shifted close to him again, smiling now. “The tools of my trade.” She raised her free hand, letting the sleeve drop away to reveal the knife concealed there. “Like these.”
He gulped, and she found herself laughing, pressing closer to him. “You know, Masugu-san,” she said so quietly that even the forest god and the cat would have been hard pressed to hear her, “I could kill you a hundred and eight different ways.”
Now he grinned again, placing his hat on her head. “I’m delighted to hear it. I hope that you will show me every single one.” And he leaned closer to her — to her, assassin, spy, warrior — until she could once more feel the warmth of his breath on her lips —
“Mieko! Are you there?”
They broke apart. Mieko’s hands flew to her concealed daggers and Masugu’s to his short sword.
An orange blur and a rustle in the woods showed that the cat had decided to disappear completely.
The shadows of three figures were coming down the road from the direction of Tiptown — two tall, one small and slight.
“Sachi?” Mieko called back. “Hoshi? Kuniko?”
As the figures approached, they revealed themselves in fact to be Mieko’s friend and the two missing kunoichi.
“We’ve got news!” Sachi burbled, and then went silent when Hoshi hit her.
“Masugu-san,” said Kuniko. “You have a hard head.”
Sachi’s eyes widened — really, they were always wide when she was around men — while Hoshi’s narrowed.
“So I have been told, Kuniko-san,” he said with a wry smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you under better if somewhat wetter circumstances.” He bowed to the younger girls. “Bannerman Masugu, at your service, ladies.” Then he added in a whisper that barely carried through the rain, “Takeda Masugu.”
Sachi predictably tittered, and Hoshi rolled her eyes, but both of them bowed back. Kuniko grunted, which Mieko knew to be a sign of her amusement. But her eyes bored into Mieko’s.
“We were just about to try to come look for you,” Mieko burbled.
When Masugu began to say something — from his expression, no doubt to correct Mieko’s slight exaggeration — she squeezed his hand, and then at last detached her fingers from his. He blinked at her, but remained silent.
Fluttering her wet eyelashes, Sachi asked, “Would this kind gentleman be willing to accompany us back to the Full Moon?”
Hoshi groaned. “Haven’t you flirted enough, Sachi?” She turned to Mieko. “She was giggling and singing and playing that flute of hers non-stop, from sunset until nearly the hour of the ox, this morning. I swear, if it hadn’t been so overcast, we’d have seen the sun begin to rise before we finally sent those Uesugi soldiers off to bed.”
“Yes,” dismissed Sachi, “but it worked! I told you, Mieko, we have news! The Uesugi —!”
Kuniko shushed the irrepressible girl, scowling.
Mieko gestured down the road. “You can tell us as we walk to Highfield.”
As they all started down the road across the unmarked border between Uesugi and Takeda territory, Sachi shared what the drunken boys had spilled during the long night of besotted silliness: that the Uesugi garrison at Tiptown had added forty muskets to their armory — that the archers (which included two of the three drunk boys) had been training with them in secret out in the hills.
“Do you think the Uesugi are planning an attack?” Hoshi asked.
Mieko looked to Masugu, curious to see what he would say, but he was looking at Kuniko, who shook her head. “Not likely. Muskets are deadly but inaccurate. They are best used against a massed charge.”
Masugu nodded in agreement. “It seems probable that they are intended to reinforce the garrison at Tiptown.”
“True,” said Mieko, “but let us inform the Takeda commander at Highfield even so — and of course Lady Chiyome. Who would love to meet you, Masugu-san, I am sure.”
To which they all agreed.
As they approached Highfield, the girls flanked Masugu and his horse, Sachi skipping, Hoshi striding purposefully, both of them peppering him with questions about his travels, about battles he had been part of.
The soldier — not much older than they — answered them, though he looked thoroughly embarrassed by the attention.
Mieko walked beside Kuniko as the walls of the garrison appeared through the rain. “I’m glad you came. I was worried.”
Kuniko rolled her eyes, as Mieko had known that she would, and then peered at her. “Nice hat,” she said.
—
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White Robes — Mired in her own grief, Lady Mochizuki Chiyome encounters two young women who give her a whole new, much more interesting opportunity (now available!)
Silk & Service — A young Takeda warrior meets a servant who is much more than she seems)
Waiting for Kuniko — Mieko is waiting at a rendezvous behind enemy lines. In the rain. Without a hat. The person who comes up the road is the last person she expected to encounter.
Wild Mushrooms — A Hōjō commander is delighted when two pretty young shrine maidens enter his camp on the evening before a battle. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been.
Ghost — At a banquet to celebrate a new alliance, Chiyome contemplates murder, and discovers a new servant (now available!)
Schools for Talented Youngsters: Monthly Headmistresses’ Dinner — Three unique ladies get together onc
e a month to share the joys and challenges involved teaching young ladies with very particular… talents. (Historical fantasy/crossover)
Shining Boy — Plucked off of the streets of the capital, an orphan girl tries to figure out what story she's wandered into (Coming soon!)
Blade — Toumi doesn't want anyone messing with her business (Coming soon!)
Little Brother — Returning to the monastery turns out to be as hard as leaving it was (Coming soon!)
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Risuko
Seasons of the Sword #1
1—The Left-Hand Path
Serenity Province, Land of the Rising Sun, The Month of Leaves in the First Year of the Rule of Genki
(Totomi, Japan, late autumn, 1570 a.d.)
Spying on the lord of the province from the old pine was a bad idea. Risky. Stupid. That’s why I didn’t see what was coming. I knew it was a bad idea, but something about being there, high up in that pine, made me feel free.
And, of course, I was always fascinated by what happened in the castle. Can you blame me?
I watched where Lord Imagawa stood in his castle with a samurai, pointing at a piece of paper. Paper covered with splashes of color. Green, mostly. Blue and red shapes marking the edges.
It was a hundred paces away or more. I must have been squinting hard, trying to make out what they were pointing at. That’s the only way to explain how I didn’t notice the palanquin until it had almost reached my tree.
Below, two hulking men carried the shiny black box by the heavy bar between them. The thing scuttled like a beetle through the slanting morning shadows that darkened the woods. It was coming from the direction of the village.
Seeing it startled me—made my chest tight and my hands colder even than they already were.
I scooted to the top of the pine, hands chilled and sticky.
Half-way up the pine tree though I was, I had the urge to stomp on the dark, gleaming thing. Only nobles traveled by palanquin. And when had nobles ever done my family any favors?
I sensed danger in the steady, silent approach. Had they seen me spying on the castle?
“Risuko!” My sister called up to me. I could not even see the top of her head.
The black box crept closer, into the clearing below me. Then the palanquin stopped.
I scrambled to hide myself. The cold sap smelled sharp and raw as I pressed my nose to the bark. I gave a bird whistle—a warbler call, the one that I’d told Usako I’d use if she needed to hide.
I had actually been looking for birds’ eggs, though it was the wrong season for it. Hunger and the desire to do something, as well as my own pleasure in climbing, had driven me up the tree. Mother had not fed us that morning. Once the weather turned cold, she could not always provide us with even a small bowl of rice a day. Also, the castle had been bustling like an ants’ nest that’s been prodded with a stick, and I had been curious....
Someone below me began talking. An old woman, I thought, her voice high and birdlike, though, again, I couldn’t make out the words. Usako—my sister—stepped forward into view. I could see her head bowed, like a frightened rabbit. The old woman spoke again. After a pause, Usako-chan’s face, open and small, turned toward my hiding place. She pointed up at me.
“Risuko,” the old woman said, “come down now.”
She and her men were at the bottom of the tree. I considered leaping across to one of the other pines, but there weren’t any close enough and big enough to jump to. And I was worried that my hands were too cold to keep hold.
Usako scurried off on the trail toward home. Thanks, sister, I thought. I’ll get you for that later. I wish that she had turned and waved. I wish that I had called out a good-bye.
If I was going to be grabbed at the bottom, I decided that I might as well come down with a flourish. I dropped from limb to limb, bark, needles, and sap flying from the branches as my hands and feet slapped at them, barely breaking my speed. Perhaps if I came down faster than they expected, I could make a run for it once I reached the ground.
My bare feet had no sooner hit the needles beneath the tree, however, than a large hand came to rest on my shoulder. The two huge servants had managed to place themselves exactly where I would land.
“What an interesting young girl you are,” the grey-haired noblewoman said.
Somehow I didn’t want to interest her. The two men stepped back at the wave of her hand. She stood there, still in her elegant robes, her wooden sandals barely sinking into the mud. “Do you climb things other than trees?” she asked, her deeply lined face bent in an icy smile, her eyes lacquer-black against her white-painted skin.
I nodded, testing my balance in this uncertain conversation. “That’s why my mother calls me Risuko. I’m always climbing—our house, rocks, trees....” Her eyes brightened, cold as they were, and I started to let go and brag. “There’s a cliff below the castle up there.” I pointed to where Lord Imagawa’s stone castle stood on the hill at the edge of the woods.
“Ah?” she said, looking pleased.
“I like to climb up the cliff.”
“Oh?” she sniffed, “but certainly a skinny little girl like you couldn’t get terribly far.”
That stung. “Oh, yes, I’ve climbed all the way to the top of the cliff bunches of times, and up the walls too, to look in at the windows and see the beautiful clothes....”
I clamped my mouth shut and blushed. Noble as she clearly was, she could have had me flogged or beheaded for daring to do such a thing. I tensed.
But this odd old woman didn’t have her enormous litter-carriers beat me with the wooden swords they carried in their belts. Instead, she truly smiled, and that terrifying smile was what let me know that my fate was sealed, that I couldn’t run. “Yes,” she said. “Very interesting. Risuko.”
She motioned for the men to bring her palanquin. It was decorated, as were the coats of the men, with the lady’s mon, her house’s symbol: a plain, solid white circle.
They placed the box beside her, and she eased into it, barely seeming to move. “Come, walk beside me, Risuko. I have some more questions to ask you.” Then she snapped, “Little Brother!”
“Yes, Lady!” called the servant who stood at the front of the palanquin, the larger of the two men. He gave a quiet sort of grunt and then, in perfect unison with his partner, lifted the box and began to march forward.
“Stay with me, girl!” the old lady ordered, and I scurried to keep up. I was surprised by the strength of the two men—they hardly seemed to notice the weight that they carried—but their speed was what took my breath away. As I scrambled to keep up, the mistress began to bark at me again. “What did I hear about your father? He taught you to write?”
How did she know my father? “Yes
, he was a scribe.” I wanted to add, but did not, And a samurai too.
“He can’t have been much of a scribe,” she sniffed. “No apprentice, so he teaches his daughter to use a brush? What a waste. And the rags you wear?”
“He... died. Mother has struggled...,” I panted. “He was a good scribe... But there wasn’t much... need for one here... What do farmers need with contracts or letters?”
We moved quickly, speeding right past the path that led back to my home. Ah, well, I thought, we’ll join up with the main road and come into the village the long way.
“Yes,” she said, looking pleased with herself, “I suppose Lord Imagawa would be about the only client worth having around here in this wilderness. Don’t fall behind, child.”
I was beginning to sweat, in spite of the cold. The smell of approaching snow was sour in the air.
The rear servant—the one who wasn’t quite as enormous as the one the lady had called Little Brother—pulled even with me. Without turning his head, the man gave a low bark. Imperceptibly, the two men slowed to a pace that I could match. Grateful, I looked over toward the servant in the rear. I wasn’t sure, but I could have sworn that he winked.
I could see the bulk of Lord Imagawa’s castle though the open shutters of the palanquin. Banners flew from the roof that I’d never seen there before—blue and red. The old lady followed my gaze up the hill. “Yes, depressing old pile of rock, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t think of any way to answer that. I wasn’t sure that she expected me too answer.
“You really climbed all the way up to the windows?” She was looking at me closely. I nodded. “Yes, very interesting.” She clicked her tongue. “And today? I don’t suppose you could have seen anything of interest today.”
“Lord Imagawa,” I panted. “Soldier. Pointing at... drawing.”