Sisters of the Sword (10 page)

“I will be in a trance by the time we've finished here,” Ko grumbled quietly.

But I saw him refocus himself, clenching his jaw, and keeping his head down as he hacked and sliced through the moves, over and over. He was a compact little fighter, younger than Hana and me, but probably three times as tough. I tucked my chin down and refocused too, pretending to improve my technique. Choji noticed and gave me a quick nod of acknowledgment.

By the time the gong rang to signal the end of the afternoon's lessons, my legs ached and my arms were like jelly. Ko and the other servants were red faced, their foreheads damp with sweat. A few wisps of Hana's long black hair had escaped from her topknot and I prayed silently that no one else would see how feminine it made her look.

Choji grinned as he surveyed us. “You're tired,” he growled. “And judging by the looks on your faces,
I imagine that you hate me right now.” He shrugged and grinned. “You'd hate me even more if I didn't try to get the very best out of you. To be warriors, worthy of your place in Master Goku's school, you must learn to ignore tiredness, pain, the burn in your limbs. I will train you hard, sometimes beyond your endurance, but when you find yourself in combat, you'll thank me for it…because every move you make will come as second nature. And you will defeat your enemy.”

His words were still ringing in my ears later that evening as we followed Ko along walkways, the moon hanging high in the sky.

“It is customary for the entire school to attend meditation at the end of each day,” Ko told Hana and me. “We didn't have it yesterday because of the opening ceremony. Follow me; the meditation room is through here.”

We went down a series of wide, shallow wooden steps where small lanterns lit the way along the paths. At last we came to the meditation room. Large and airy, with serene paintings of waterfalls on one of the walls, the place reminded me of my father's working chamber at home. There was the same lingering smell of incense and the same sense of deep peace.

The students kneeled in a large circle around where Master Goku stood, his hands hidden in the
sleeves of his black kimono. Beside him, a low lacquered table was laid ready for tea making with bamboo ladles and small drinking bowls, and a cast-iron cauldron hung on a hook over a pyramid of smoldering coals.

The servants sat in a row along one wall, in the
seiza
kneeling position, facing the center of the room, and the three of us joined them silently. Nearby a candle flickered inside a lantern and a moth dipped on fluttering wings.

“Good evening.” Master Goku looked around, seeming to take in every face with his calm gaze. “For those of you who have meditated before, you know what is expected of you this evening. For those of you who have not, please allow me to explain. You will sit in silent contemplation, eyes closed, body relaxed as you focus on your breathing and open your mind. Slowly, very slowly, you will allow the conscious self to slip away, to dissolve, and become free of all thought.”

Master Goku began to walk quietly around the room, threading a pathway between the students. “You may begin,” he said, his voice low and almost hypnotic, “in your own time….”

There was a general loosening of shoulders among the students. I saw Ken-ichi rest his hands lightly on his knees. Tatsuya's eyes drifted closed. Beside me,
Hana kneeled, the backs of her hands resting on her thighs and her palms open toward the ceiling.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. Every bone, muscle, and tendon in my body seemed to ache. I squeezed my hands into fists for a moment and then let them relax, palms upward like Hana's.

“That's right, relax…,” Master Goku said. His circuit of the room had brought him close to me. I could hear the silken hem of his long kimono whispering as he passed by. For a moment it was as if everyone else in the room had melted away and he was talking directly to me. “Allow your tired muscles to soften and be still…clear your mind of all emotion, all thought, all memories….”

As his voice flowed over me, I tried to let my conscious thoughts slip away. A black veil began to cover my mind, until a glittering blade suddenly slashed an arc across it. With nothing physical to distract me, horrible memories came tumbling one after the other: my father, his face twisted in agony…Harumasa bent double, his face ashen with pain…Nobuaki being savagely cut down by Uncle.

“Keep breathing,” Master Goku's voice interrupted the torrent of blood in my mind. “Very slowly. Inhale. And then exhale. Try counting as you breathe in…two, three, four. And breathe out…
two, three, four. Think only of the breathing; that is all. Nothing else matters. You are safe here. You may relax, free from the cares of the world.”

I did as Master Goku said and slowly I felt my mind dissolving until there was nothing left except the breathing. Inhale…two, three, four. Exhale…two, three, four. I could no longer feel my aching bones. Memories faded away. Space welled within me and all around me.

Abruptly that space was no longer empty. Something was coming toward me. Blood began to pound in my ears and suddenly all I could think of was the scarred samurai, attacking us at the shrine.

No!
my mind screamed, and without thinking I leaped to my feet and yelled wildly as I confronted the intruder, hands hard as steel and positioned ready to fight.

I opened my eyes to see Master Goku standing in front of me—and the astonished faces of all the other students.

S
omewhere a boy sniggered and I flushed a deep red, knowing in my heart that it was Ken-ichi.

I covered my embarrassment by bowing deeply to Master Goku. “I am truly sorry,” I said. “I don't know what came over me….”

“An apology is not necessary,” the Master said. “I am impressed with your sharp reactions. It can take years to teach a student to move so instinctively, without thought. I am pleased to see that skill was born within you.”

Relief flooded through me. the Master had managed to turn my humiliation into pride.

Master Goku looked around at the gaping students. “Please return to your meditation,” he said quietly, and nodded with satisfaction as they all lowered their heads and closed their eyes once more.

When the meditation session was over, the Master kneeled down carefully at the lacquered table where
the tea bowls and ladles had been precisely laid out on a clean white cloth. “As you may know, tea from China is becoming popular among the noble leaders that we, as samurai, must serve. I have spent some time at the temples among the Zen monks and have observed that the process of pouring tea for one's superiors requires control, humility, and precision—just like the martial arts we study. This evening we are going to practice something called
cha no yoriai
, the proper way of pouring tea and showing respect,” he said, arranging the folds of his kimono around him. “Every evening of the
kenshu
I will select one student to make and serve tea. The care and precision shown while performing the ceremony will help reveal who among you is the most dexterous fighter and worthy to be called a samurai.”

Master Goku gestured for Choji to perform a demonstration.

Ken-ichi made a point of rolling his eyes while Choji explained each step to the gathered students. Our family had been pouring tea in this way for years, and the
cha no yoriai
was not new to my cousin.

“Now,” Goku announced when Choji had finished explaining, “one of you shall try to imitate Choji's graceful motions.”

I saw Ken-ichi straighten his back. He looked keenly at Master Goku, radiating eagerness to be
chosen, but Master Goku called on Tatsuya.

As Tatsuya took his place opposite Master Goku, I could see that he was trying to hide his nervousness, and my heart went out to him. Of course he would have made tea before; who had not stirred and served a bowl of
cha
for their parents? But I doubted whether a boy of his background had ever even seen a
cha no yoriai
before he came to the dojo, let alone taken part. I wished that there was something I could do to help him, but there was nothing to be done. Poor Tatsuya was on his own.

His hands shaking, Tatsuya put a little of the special ceremonial green tea powder into one of the bowls, carefully ladled a scoop of liquid from the boiling cauldron and transferred it into the small bowl. Steam rose in a white curl. I could see from Tatsuya's face that he was struggling to appear calm, to show tranquillity and grace. He whisked the tea in the bowl until it frothed. A whiff of the bitter scent reached my nostrils as he added a ladleful of cold water to make it the right temperature. Then Tatsuya bowed and offered the tea bowl to Master Goku.

Master Goku took the bowl with both hands. He sipped three times, rested, and then sipped three times more. When the bowl was empty he offered it back to Tatsuya, who placed it carefully back on the
table. They both bowed, and the ceremony was over.

“You did well, Tatsuya,” Master Goku said, after a long pause for consideration. “You understood the steps to pour the tea and you tried to observe the necessary tranquillity, but your inner emotions were plain for me to see. In a true
cha no yoriai
, everything must be perfect for the needs of your guest.” He folded his hands into his wide sleeves and narrowed his eyes. “In combat, Tatsuya, would you allow an opponent to see your inner thoughts?”

“No, Sensei,” Tatsuya said, shaking his head.

“Of course not,” Goku replied. “In all aspects of life, the self must be protected. You can never give an opponent an advantage he hasn't fought for. Do you understand?”

Tatsuya bowed low, clearly disappointed with himself.

I thought Tatsuya had done well, but later, after we had cleaned the hall and helped Ko with the dishes, Hana and I saw a sad-looking figure sitting on the steps that led down to the rock garden. His head was bowed, but there was enough moonlight for us to recognize Tatsuya immediately.

“Are you all right?” Hana asked, and reached out to place a gentle hand on his drooping shoulders.

Instantly Tatsuya straightened his back and tried to look as if he hadn't a care in the world. “Of course,”
he said brightly, turning to smile up at us. “I'm just admiring the garden before I go to bed.” There was a pause, and then his shoulders drooped again. “Actually, no. If you want to know…I wish I'd never come here!”

I sat down beside him. Hana sat a few steps below and looked up at Tatsuya, her face full of concern. “You had the privilege of being chosen first,” I reminded him.

“And I ruined it,” he said in a flat voice. “I was clumsy. I showed my emotions and I spoiled the beauty of the occasion.”

“It wasn't that bad,” Hana said.

“Everyone in this school has something he needs to improve on.” I glanced at Hana. “Silent Fist needs to practice more with the
naginata
. I need to work on my writing. And Ken-ichi needs to improve his manners.”

Tatsuya smiled at that. “It just seems that I have so much more to improve on than anyone else here,” he said reluctantly. “Sometimes I think I'll never be a samurai.”

“You'll learn, and you
will
be a samurai,” I told him firmly. “Master Goku wouldn't have selected you for training if he didn't see that in your future.”

“Sensei only chose me because of my skills as an archer,” Tatsuya said. “He saw me showing off with a
bow and arrow one day, hitting targets for money in the marketplace. After his invitation, I begged my mother to let me come here to train. Goku thought I showed potential…and maybe I do. Perhaps I
could
be a samurai, if it was just fighting.” Tatsuya sighed hopelessly. “But it's not just fighting, is it? There are so many other things that I have to catch up with—learning about tea, reading, and writing. All the other students are from high-ranking families, and it seems as though they were born knowing these things.”

“No one is born knowing about those things,” I said. “We all have to learn.”

“And I want to learn,” Tatsuya admitted. “But there's no one to teach me.”

“I can teach you,” Hana said gently.

Beckoning to Tatsuya, she stood up and made her way down the steps into the rock garden, where a few stone lanterns glowed softly. There, Hana gathered several small rocks and a smooth twig, and placed them neatly on a large flat stone that looked like a low table. She kneeled beside the flat rock and motioned for Tatsuya to take his place opposite.

Silently she showed Tatsuya how to serve tea. She held her sleeve back with one hand and elegantly lifted the twig with the other. She dipped the makeshift ladle close to one of the larger rocks as if it were the cauldron full of boiling water. Her hand was
steady, her movements graceful, as she pretended to transfer the liquid into the small stone that represented the tea bowl. I felt a lump in my throat as I remembered past occasions when she had performed
cha no yoriai
for our mother and father at home.

Tatsuya watched carefully, his eyes marveling at Hana's elegant movements. Then Hana indicated that it was his turn. He carefully held back his sleeve and lifted the twig. Hana reached out to place her hands over his, lightly guiding his movements.

“Like this,” she said gently.

A few fireflies flickered past, bright against the night sky, and I watched as Tatsuya poured tea with the twigs and stones again and again. Hana seemed to be able to connect with Tatsuya so easily, directing him with little nods and the tiniest touches of her fingers and hands. The sadness had gone entirely from his face, replaced by a determination to get things right.

At last they bowed respectfully to each other. Hana replaced the rocks in the garden, and the teaching session was over.

“Thank you,” Tatsuya said with a smile. “I feel as if I have improved a little.” He hesitated, and then asked, “How is it that you know so much about the
cha no yoriai
?”

“Well…I…” Hana floundered, so I broke in.

“It's very important for servants to be able to serve tea properly to important guests,” I said.

“And you will become even more skillful if you practice,” Hana added, recovering from her confusion.

“Would you help me?” Tatsuya asked.

“Of course,” she said. “We can practice together as often as you like.”

Tatsuya smiled. “And then next time Master Goku asks me to serve
cha
, I will be ready.”

“And when you have leave to go home, you can impress your parents with your knowledge of etiquette,” I said.

A shadow of pain flickered across Tatsuya's face. “My mother, maybe,” he said. “I don't know about my father. I haven't seen him since I was six years old.”

“Oh,” I said, and the look of pain on Tatsuya's face brought back a rush of memories of my own father. I swallowed hard. “My brother and I…we lost our father recently,” I said in a low, hesitant voice.

Tatsuya looked at us both. “I'm sorry,” he said gently.

Hana clasped her hands tightly in her lap and looked away across the shadowy garden. I could see that her eyes were bright with tears, but she had a
determined look on her face as if she would not let them fall.

“Tell us about your father,” I said to Tatsuya.

Tatsuya bit his lip for a moment, as if wondering where to start. Then he took a deep breath. “It's a long story,” he said at last. “Let's walk while I tell you.”

I nodded, and we all stood up and strolled along a sandy pathway that led through the rock garden. I could hear the light trickle of water somewhere, almost musical in the darkness.

“My father disappeared,” Tatsuya told us as we went through an archway and down a series of shallow steps. “One night he told my mother that he was going for a walk. ‘At midnight?' she asked him. ‘But why?' My father didn't answer. He just took his short sword and an old leather helmet that hung on the wall above the door, and walked out of the house. That was the last my mother saw of him.”

“Did he have an accident?” I asked as we crossed a low wooden bridge over a lily pond. Moonlight made the water gleam like silver.

Tatsuya shook his head. “There was never any sign of an accident,” he said. “Many moon phases passed, and there was no word from my father. No body was ever found. My mother thought for a long time that he had been set on by robbers, but there's only one
road in and out of our tiny village and there was never any sign of a struggle. Nobody heard anything. Nobody saw anything. It was just as if my father had never existed.”

“What do you think happened?” Hana asked.

“I saw what happened,” Tatsuya said quietly, pausing at the crest of the bridge and looking up at the stars. “I heard him leave, so I kneeled at the doorway and watched him walk along the pathway toward the old Shinto shrine at the edge of the village. I was curious, so I crept out of the house and followed him. He went to the shrine, kneeled for a while in silence, and soon…soon another man came. This man was dressed entirely in black, even his face and hands were covered.”

We stepped off the wooden bridge and onto a shadowy pathway that led through the gardens.

Tatsuya went on, “I thought he was going to hurt my father, and I was about to shout a warning. But then the man and my father bowed to each other, very formally. The man in black said, ‘It is time for you to tread the path toward your destiny, brother,' and my father nodded. Then I accidentally stepped on a dry twig, snapping it in two and both men looked toward the place where I had been hiding…and then the strangest thing happened. Something moved behind me, very fast. A hand touched my
neck, pressed once, very lightly.” Tatsuya reached up briefly to touch the spot, as if he could still feel the hand on his neck even now.

“The next thing I knew,” he said, “I was waking up in the dawn light, and my mother was scooping me up into her arms. She was weeping because she thought she'd lost me, when actually, it was my father she had lost.”

We had reached the moss garden, where smooth stones and boulders covered with velvety green moss were just visible in the moonlight. The garden was peaceful, the stones carefully grouped so as to harmonize the human spirit with nature. To our left was a sandy courtyard, and beyond that I could just make out the main gate of the dojo, half hidden by a sweeping maple tree.

“Did you ever see your father again?” Hana asked.

Tatsuya shook his head. “Never,” he said. “But I don't think he's dead, because every year on the anniversary of the day he disappeared, a bag of coins appears on my mother's pillow during the night. She leaves a candle burning, and sometimes she tries to stay awake to see who enters our house so stealthily—but she never catches them.”

“Do you think it's your father?” I asked, fascinated by the story.

“It could be,” Tatsuya said. “Or it could be the
man in black who took him away. Who knows?”

He would have said something else, but just then the peace of the night was torn apart by the pounding of horses' hooves. I could hear them approaching fast, at a gallop, and thundering along the road outside the dojo, coming to a sudden halt at the main gate.

“Open up!” yelled a harsh voice, and we heard the sound of hammering on the tall wooden gate. “Open up in the name of the
Jito
!”