The Tachi
ZACHARY HILL
Hatsu Kitanosho watched the severed head sail through the air. Its wide eyes stared at her in silent judgment. It alone knew that she was a lie.
The head hit the wooden floor with a wet, heavy sound before rolling down the stairs and out of sight.
Struggling to maintain her calm, she placed the butt of the naginata on the floor and stared at the men and women that surrounded her.
“No one else will bring up the subject of retreat. Understood?”
Retreat would be the wise course of action. The enemy was coming and there were more of them than she could muster. Looking around her she saw old men and young boys that weren’t fit for her husband’s campaign against the Taira Clan.
Her family’s old retainer, Seimu, stood straight and proud while his white beard poured over his red armor. He nodded to her as he had in her childhood training sessions. It meant that she had done well.
She didn’t glow with pride like she usually did at his rare approval. She had not done well. She had killed a man to silence her own misgivings. It had been done out of weakness, not strength.
Yet she couldn’t flee. This was her family’s manor and had stood for over two hundred years. She couldn’t leave it to be burned and desecrated by the Taira’s brigands. Her ancestors would never forgive her if she let their shrines be burnt without a fight.
In front of her were her men, loyal soldiers and retainers. They stood in a semicircle around her in the audience chamber. She stood on the raised platform with silk screens behind her that had been brought over from China.
It wasn’t as grand as their summer home in Kyoto, but it was a beautiful room. The dark stained wood was darker from age, and window shutters were propped open so she could listen to the cicadas outside. A banner of her calligraphy hung on the wall next to a rack of spears.
“Seimu, gather every able-bodied man and boy and organize our defense. Man our walls. Get archers ready.”
“Yes, Lady Hatsu.”
He gave a deep bow.
Kitanosho nodded her head.
She then turned to the captain of the guard, the closest thing to professional soldiers she had.
“I need you to follow Seimu’s instructions. You are now under his authority. Open up the armory and get a spear into every hand you can.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She then looked at the body of the man. Blood pooled over the dark wood of the floor. A glance to the two servant women was enough to get them to drag the body away and return with brushes and buckets.
“We will not retreat or surrender,” she said more to herself than to them.
She walked to the narrow window that looked over the courtyard and the fields that radiated out from the small village. Beyond her sight was the enemy and they were coming closer by the second. They were cowards to attack this place while the lord was out. They expected a quick and cruel victory against unarmed women and children. They would not find their victory quick nor their enemy unarmed.
Her slender hands gripped the window sill.
I wish Kotaro was here.
Her husband would know what to do.
It was all bluster. Like a raging sunset she put on a magnificent display but affected nothing.
I’m no general. I’m no brave warrior. I’m just a spoiled noblewoman with too few years to know much of anything.
She spoke in a controlled tone to hide the weakness in her stomach. “When will they be here?”
“Before nightfall, Lady Hatsu,” Seimu said.
She nodded and acted as if she were thinking. Really, she was only trying to get the whirlpool of her thoughts in some kind of order.
Seimu approached and stood just behind her.
“And the peasants?” he asked in a near whisper.
“Arm them? I think they would more be in the way,” she whispered so the others wouldn’t hear. Seimu knew who and what she was. There was no point in hiding anything from him. But the others needed to see her as an infallible goddess of war.
He said, “Then we need to evacuate them now or they’ll be killed.”
She knew the enemy would kill any peasant they saw. They were a part of her duty. They belonged to her family and had to be protected.
“Very well. Send some of your men and get them out of the village. Hide them at the temple near the river.”
“Yes, Lady Hatsu.”
He bowed and left in his stride that hadn’t slowed down after all these years. Many heroes fade as they grew older. Seimu only grew brighter.
Down below she heard her men shouting orders in that sharp cadence the military men spoke. If she hadn’t been raised around it, she would never have understood what they were saying.
The manor came alive with running people. Some carried bundles of spears, others carried water or food. The village on the other side of the field rang their bell. She could hear the familiar hollow sound. The bell had been a gift to her grandfather from a temple on a nearby island. She couldn’t see them but she imagined the peasants gathering in that dusty town square of theirs and listening to one of Seimu’s ashigaru telling them to pack their things and leave.
The peasants would continue to do their duty to her ancestors no matter how this night ended. The same ancestors that looked down at her with disdainful glares.
Kitanosho went down the narrow stairs that were more like a ladder to where the shrine of her ancestors stood. In a small alcove rested the armor that her grandfather had worn into battle. Every scratch and indent on it was known to her. Her grandfather’s straight-bladed tachi lay in its scabbard with the hilt pointing out. It had killed many foes in Korea. She had never been allowed to touch it and knew she still wasn’t worthy of it. The older-style sword had been forged by a master sword maker, a prize worth more than the manor and the village combined. The lacquered face under the wide-brimmed helmet stared down at her with its angry grimace. Another silent judgment.
She lit sticks of incense and bowed to the floor in front of the armor and her grandfather’s sword.
In silence she begged their forgiveness. She was an unworthy servant and could not meet the challenge before her, but she was all her clan had and so they all had to make do.
She listened but there was no answer. Either she was beneath their attention or they were ignoring her.
Outside she heard more shouting. It disturbed her thoughts but it meant the defense was underway.
She looked to the doorway and saw two of her ladies in waiting. They kneeled just outside, waiting for her permission to enter.
They were pampered ladies that weren’t important to their families. They could not help in the manor’s defense and would only be in the way.
“You two. Gather your things and leave. Go to my uncle’s fort in Maruoka.”
She noticed the relieved glances they gave each other. They bowed and left in too much of a hurry.
They didn’t think the manor was a safe place to be. At least they were smart enough to realize that.
Kitanosho dusted her knees off and went outside. Her hair trailed behind her, almost touching the floor. She squinted into the brightness of the noon day and waited for the pain to recede.
She didn’t go outside unless she could help it. The men liked pale women, and she’d do anything to please Kotaro. Also, her books and poetry were inside. What good did it do to be outside where the burning sun, insects and hot weather were? It was better to be inside with some good tea and better poetry.
She stepped down from the covered porch and as she walked out she looked back to the manor. The tiled roof filled the sky above her and sloped down to the windows of the second floor. It was a collection of buildings that all flowed together into one whole. Some were attached directly to the main house and others had covered walkways leading to them. The space underneath the raised house had been wonderful for hiding when she was a child.
There would be no hiding now.
Men filled buckets of water from the well and stacked them around the manor. If the Taira Clan wanted to burn her home down, they would have to step over the bodies of her men to do it.
Kotaro, I’ll protect our home for your return. If I don’t, please forgive me.
It had been a political marriage to keep the clan together and nothing more. At least, to everyone else. To her it was breath itself.
All her life she had stood off to the side, watching Kotaro. She had written countless poems about him and faded into dreams thinking of him. At first she had been afraid that it was one of her dreams when her father told her that she would marry him.
The manor was her family’s home, but he lived here now and so it was his home as well. She would protect his home for his return.
As she walked around the courtyard pretending to inspect the ongoing work, she wondered if Kotaro would miss her if she died this night. How long would it take for the clan to give him another wife? Perhaps not long. She had not given him a child yet and so would not be remembered.
One of my many failings.
When she escaped from her thoughts she realized that Seimu was standing next to her.
She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders.
“How goes the preparations?”
“Well. Or as well as can be expected, my lady.”
The white and blue walls of the fortified manor had been her life for the past twenty years. Only twice had she ventured beyond her family’s lands. The red tiled roofs would soon have arrows pouring down on them.
It was such a poor time to have a battle. The first pricks of cold had seeped into the air. The leaves would be changing soon and it would be a great pity to miss writing poems about the beauty that would surround her.
“You have that look in your eye again, my lady.”
“And what look would that be?” she asked.
“The one where you wish you were somewhere far away. I haven’t seen that look in a long while.”
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“I know. You don’t have to be a child to wish for better times.”
“Seimu, can we win?”
He replied, “I don’t know. I’d have to see what they brought. But if what our scouts say is accurate, then few of us will live through the night.”
“For once you may lie to comfort me.”
“But then I’d fail at my duty,” he said.
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Hardly.” He straightened his back and stuck out his chest. “Tonight you will lead us in battle. Live or die, you will do honor to our clan.”
For once, she didn’t believe him.
As the soldiers did their duty and prepared the manor for battle, she went back up to her room and sat down with hot tea and Chinese poetry.
The day passed with the sound of yelling soldiers. She tried to ignore the fact that the light outside grew gray and then orange. Her time was drawing to a close and soon her fate would be handed to her like a message from the capitol in Nara.
As the light blazed red outside, Seimu came in. He had polished his armor for what could be the last time. His beard and mustache went into perfect points. He seldom had time for such niceties, and the last time she had seen him so prepared was on her wedding day.
“It’s time to get ready, my lady.”
She put her book down and closed her eyes.
Ancestors, give me strength.
She stood as a lady should and followed Seimu downstairs where soldiers stood with her equipment. One held her naginata. Another held her breastplate and another held her headband and straps to keep her robes tight and out of the way.
Kitanosho stood as they worked around her, getting her ready for battle. Her sisters had learned the bow, but she had never shown promise with it.
“You lack patience,” her father used to say.
But with the naginata she had found her path. It made sense to her and flowed with her like a cool mountain stream. There were many similarities between poetry and the naginata. Both required her to know when to pull back, when to wait, and when to strike with everything she had. Despite being a large weapon, it required the subtlety of a poet to make its power effective.
Shouting came from outside.
With her robes tightened and her hair up in a bun, she gripped her old naginata and followed Seimu out. The soldiers by the gate were sliding the heavy beam into place. The other soldiers in simpler versions of Seimu’s armor stood by with their spears held tight in both hands. They cast looks to each other in silence.
“Report,” Seimu said as they approached the gate.
He didn’t shout but his voice carried like thunder.
“Our scouts reported armed men in the village heading our way.”
“Numbers?”
“I don’t know. Many. Some were seen moving in the woods, and a column of spears coming down the road.”
Seimu grunted and turned away.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. There are as many as there are.”
“When will they be here?” she asked.
“Any moment.”
She glanced over at the men standing in the courtyard. They gripped their weapons like a life line in a raging river.
“Are we ready for this?” she asked.
“As ready as we can be.” He turned to the men and stepped toward them. “String your bows. Fight with all your strength and you may live. But more important, you may die with honor. No enemy soldier gets into the manor. Not one!”
The men raised their weapons into the air and shouted out, “Die for honor!”
He turned back to her.
“Now, my lady. It’s time you get inside.”
“No, I’ll stay here. This is my home and I will fight for it.”
“But, my lady—” He hadn’t meant for her to take “lead” literally.
“No. I will not change my mind. I can’t do any good hiding like a frightened girl.”
Seimu let out a long breath and shook his head.
“Very well, but stay close to me. Very close.”
In another setting she would reprimand him for daring to give her an order. But now, as she felt her heart pounding inside her chest like a taiko drum, she knew she would need to follow every order he gave like she used to do during training.
As a girl she would hide in the wardrobe, listening to Seimu and her father telling stories of their past battles. So many seemed hard to believe, but even the lesser ones told her that this man had seen more fighting and death than almost anyone else. He knew what he was doing, and he knew how to kill.
She hoped she would learn. She knew how to spar. That was different than an actual fight to the death. Killing a servant or retainer wasn’t the same either. They wouldn’t fight back. She was about to face many men that wanted to kill her.
Her naginata grew slick from the sweat on her palms, and she tried to wipe them off on her robes without anyone seeing.
People are coming to kill me.
She stood there, trying to appear calm while everyone buzzed around her preparing for the fight.
A faint red glow over the walls marked the sun as it went out for the night. Torches and lanterns appeared as the stars mirrored them above. Now a comforting soft glow of flickering lanterns filled the courtyard.
She stood with her naginata in both hands and Seimu right beside her. She had done all she could. Now it was for the kami to decide.
A hundred voices yelled out at once. They were muted from floating over the fields and over the walls, but it was enough to shake every bone in her body.
“Get ready!” Seimu ordered.
Something flew past her head and landed with a loud slap. She turned to see an arrow sticking out of the wall.
Then arrows came down like hail, pelting everyone who hadn’t run for cover.
Seimu crushed her in his arms and threw himself into the doorway. More arrows rained down outside as she lay on the wooden floor with him on top of her. He scrambled off her and got to his feet. His sword was already in his hand.
His helmet had come off in his rush to save her and she picked it up as she got off the ground.
The shouting only grew closer as more arrows came down. One went through the wood slots of the window and stuck into the polished floor.
Someone would have died for that in peacetime. Someone will die for it tonight.
“Here they come,” one of the soldiers at the gate shouted.
Something heavy struck the gate with a force she felt in her feet. Her archers shot through the narrow slots in the doors. They kept loosing shafts without pause.
More arrows came down into the courtyard. She heard the harsh thunks of the ones that hit the roof.
The gates moaned under another violent impact. She assumed they had some kind of ram. Perhaps a cut-down tree. The pounding continued as people shouted orders and glinting arrows filled the dark sky.
Already cracks appeared in the gates. The wooden doors that had stood for over a hundred years were being broken down in so short a time. It felt as if her life were measured in the life span of that gate. Once it broke the enemy would swarm in like a flood.
Seimu shouted and waved his arms. Spearmen got into position in a half circle around the gate. Archers took up position between each spearman, ready to unleash a volley as soon as the doors gave way.
There wasn’t long to wait. The hinges of the mighty gates broke away from the walls and the heavy doors slammed to the ground kicking up dust around them. Arrows flew from bows into the dark and open gateway. Before they could loose another round, dozens of men, followed by dozens more, poured through the gate. Spears were leveled out as they rushed in.
Seimu shouted and his men charged forward. In an instant the courtyard filled with the furious sound of men trying to kill other men. Spears plunged into exposed necks and arms. On both sides bodies fell down to be trampled by their brothers.
“Hold the line! Don’t let them break through!” Seimu called out over the chaos.
The push of men moved toward the gate. It was a tide like the shallows near Oshima island. A heavy, unstoppable force surging forward at an almost lazy pace.
“We’re holding,” she said.
He didn’t respond. His eyes remained locked on the fight. There was no happiness in his eyes. They weren’t winning. He saw something she didn’t.
“I must move in. Follow but do not engage,” he said.
Without waiting for her response he charged forward with his sword in the air. Hefting the naginata that now seemed twice as heavy, she followed after him. In front of her was a mass of lethal spears where death could come at her from any angle.
Seimu rushed into the fray without slowing down. His long, curved blade moved in short, fast movements. No effort was wasted. One swift downward swing and an enemy soldier’s face split open. Another swing and a man’s arm fell to the ground.
She stood and watched, not knowing what to do. This was nothing like sparring in the dojo.
Kitanosho readied her naginata in an offensive stance and looked for an opening. He had told her not to engage but she couldn’t stand there and watch while the enemy attacked her family home.
An enemy soldier wearing dark blue armor broke through the mob. He held his spear at his waist while he looked for a new target. The flickering lanterns cast half of him in an orange glow and the other half was dark shadow.
This is my chance.
She charged with the curved blade of the naginata just below her eye level. He looked up from under his wide-brimmed hat and saw her. With a shout showing all his yellow teeth he charged right at her.
In the dojo this had happened before but always in the back of her mind was the knowledge that the other person wasn’t trying to kill her. This man was. He had broken in here with the intent to destroy her home and slaughter her.
It was war, but it felt sharper than that. It felt as if this man wanted to kill only her.
“How dare you,” she shouted back.
His spear leveled at her head. In one motion she knocked the spear aside while bringing the butt of her polearm up to smash the side of the man’s face. The heavy wood shaft connected, sending blood and teeth flying.
The man stumbled and fell to the ground. He looked up in time to see her blade come down onto him. The bones of his spine offered a faint resistance as she severed his head. The momentum of the naginata did most of the work.
She stood there for a moment looking down at the headless body. Her first kill in real battle. That man had tried to kill her and she killed him instead. It was that simple.
I shouldn’t worry about this. It’s what I was raised for. Don’t look. Pay attention to the battle, fool.
She forced her eyes away from the corpse and back to the gate. Her men were being pushed back. Soon they wouldn’t be able to hold the gate and the enemy would break through.
Kitanosho charged in again and started swinging. Every opening she saw she swung at. An exposed arm, a face, a knee. Standing just behind one of her men she was able to reach in and cut the inner thigh of a blue-armored man. He howled in pain just before her soldier speared him in the face.
A half second later an enemy spear thrust into her man’s shoulder. She slashed the head off the spear but couldn’t get at the enemy.
A strong hand gripped her shoulder and yanked her back. Seimu stood over her. In the fire and darkness of the courtyard his face was a black shadow with red, flickering eyes.
“My lady, you must fall back to the house. Stay inside. It’s now too dangerous for you out here.”
“But I can…”
“No! Do as I say. Go inside.”
She tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing. He understood the situation better than she ever could. It wasn’t a cowardly act. It was part of the defense. She was too exposed out there, but inside she could defend with more efficiency.
She nodded and squeezed his arm before rushing inside. After sliding the door closed she stood and waited. She didn’t move in order to hear everything happening outside.
There were shouts, grunting, the sounds of metal on metal and screams. She didn’t know how long she stood there. It could have been a few minutes but it felt like all night. Every moment that passed she knew she was closer to death. Death wasn’t what worried her. It was if she earned enough honor to redeem herself in her ancestors’ eyes. Time was running out and she hadn’t done enough.
Blood splattered against the paper screen of the door. The jagged, staccato stain was unmistakable. The battle was now at her door.
Something heavy slammed into the wall. She felt the thud.
After taking deep breaths to calm herself, she readied her weapon out in front of her.
The door slid open with a sharp bang.
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit by the fires still burning in the courtyard. In one hand it held a long curved tachi. In the other was a severed head.
The figure tossed the head at her and it came to a rolling stop by her feet.
It was Seimu.
There wasn’t judgment in his eyes, only pity. The strongest man she knew was dead and all was lost. She couldn’t protect her home without him. Her ancestors would be disappointed and her husband would be shamed. Perhaps he would never speak of her and move on to a new wife with no more thought of her.
She looked up at the man who had killed Seimu. He was a large man in yellow and blue armor. His thick panoply seemed to cover every inch of him. Only his eyes stared out from the grimacing face mask.
Blood poured down his left arm. Seimu had at least wounded him. Even in death, Seimu had served her. The man that could kill him could kill her with little difficulty. But perhaps a wound could give her the chance to kill him as well. Her own death was assured. She would die regardless, and she would take him with her.
“I am Hatsu Kitanosho of the Hashiji clan. And I will end your life today.”
“You sound as though you lack conviction,” he replied almost casually.
She looked down at the head of Seimu that stared up at her. The sounds of fighting continued outside.
“You have conviction. But what you lack is honor,” she said.
“Honor is what grants me victory.”
“Then your honor will fall short tonight.”
He raised his sword in an overhead stance and shifted his weight on his feet. His stance made him ready to move forward to strike. It was pure offense with no regard to defense.
One lesson she learned from Seimu was that with the naginata, she couldn’t afford to be defensive. The sword was too fast. She had to take the offense and keep him at a distance. He was larger and better trained. She didn’t have a choice.
Ancestors, guide my hands.
Kitanosho made a quick slash to put him on the defensive. He bashed her blade to the side and moved in closer. Closer was where she didn’t want him, and he knew it.
She swept the butt of her naginata up but he blocked that as well with little effort. With her blade still moving she swung it down in an overhead chop that wouldn’t be so easy to brush aside.
This time when he deflected the blow he used both hands. She noticed the hesitation in his left arm. It was still bleeding.
No amount of training could compensate for lack of blood. If she could hold off and wait for him to grow weak she had a chance.
He struck, knocking her back. Her foot shot back to maintain balance, but just barely. There was a chink in her blade where his tachi had struck.
The man reached up and took off his grimacing mask.
He was smiling.
“Life isn’t like the dojo where your father’s servants are too afraid to hit you in training. I just want you to know that there is no dishonor in dying by my sword. Many better warriors have been bested by me.”
“Seimu was a better warrior,” she said.
He looked down to the head on the floor.
“Apparently not.”
“He had honor,” she said.
“Honor is found in victory. Dying and failing to protect his mistress is not honorable.”
She returned, “Neither is attacking the home of a noble warrior while he is away. Killing women and children is a suitable test of your abilities?”
“Don’t mock me, girl. My honor is in doing what my lord tells me. Do you always get to do as you wish? Did you choose your husband or did you marry him out of duty to your clan? Duty. That is the only real honor.”
“Then it is your masters that have no honor.” She should have felt angry. She felt nothing.
“For that, I will make you suffer before you die.”
“You won’t live to see that,” she assured him.
He laughed. It was a loud and genuine laugh and she couldn’t blame him. He was wounded but he didn’t seem concerned at all. He thought he could beat her with only one arm and he was most likely correct.
Then he raised his sword and crouched slightly into an offensive stance. She leveled her naginata out in front of her, waist high in a stance to counter his.
Survive and let him bleed out.
Even if she did manage to kill this man, her manor was lost. She didn’t hear anything from outside. The fighting was over, and all that was left was to let their leader gain the glory of killing the mistress of the manor.
All her life she had read stories about warriors drawing on the strength of their ancestors to beat superior foes.
She felt nothing. There was no score of ancestors watching over her. All she felt was the deafening sound of being alone. There was no Seimu to come rescue her. Her husband was weeks away fighting near Edo. In all likelihood, her men lay dead in heaps in the courtyard.
She was left alone to face this man who outclassed her in every way.
“Ancestors, guide my hand,” she pleaded in a whisper.
She jabbed with her blade and he stepped to the side.
He was fast. Faster than Seimu had ever been.
Using one arm he made two flashing strikes that she just managed to block. His third attack locked blades with her and pushed her back toward a support pillar. She couldn’t risk being pressed against it. It would give her nowhere to go.
Kitanosho sidestepped to avoid the trap and kept retreating away from him to gain distance.
The man kept pace and wouldn’t let her get out of reach.
He struck again and the blow was so hard that she felt the bones in her hands ache. As her curved blade veered off to the side from the violent impact, he stepped forward and chopped downward in a light but quick motion.
She brought her naginata’s shaft up to block it and angled it so it wouldn’t be a direct hit.
Still, his sword sliced halfway through the haft of her weapon.
He yanked his sword out and readied into another offensive pose.
Before she could settle into her own defensive stance he attacked again. His sword came down and she raised to block it, but in midswing it shifted direction and came down onto the same spot of the haft.
There was a crack and her weapon split in two.
She stumbled back as her balance was thrown off.
He didn’t hesitate and moved in closer.
With one last straining effort she swung with the broken naginata. The heavy blade was now clumsy and off balance. It was a desperate move and little more.
He swung his sword up. But instead of blocking he aimed lower and in one blinding motion he slashed up into the air.
A trail of blood, and her left hand, went sailing into the air. The pale, thin hand still clung to the broken haft of the naginata. For a moment she saw it for what it was, a weak and soft hand of a poet. She was no warrior and this man knew it.
She had failed. The hand sailing through the air in a lazy arc was the final judgment of her ancestors. She had failed and their home would be desecrated and burned. She had been too weak to prevent it.
Then the pain shot through her body and she stumbled backward, falling to the ground.
Kitanosho looked down at the bleeding stump. The blood was dark, almost black in the faint light of the lanterns. It was silly but she thought about how much trouble it would be to have it cleaned. And her silk clothes were ruined. Blood splattered all over her pink and blue summertime robe.
She scooted away from the man who stood over her, sword down in a relaxed pose. He could let his guard down because she was no longer a threat.
Kotaro, I’m sorry. I’ll never see you again, so please forgive me for failing you. I did what I could, but it was not enough.
“Praying to your gods? They won’t help you.”
He stepped forward and she backed away further until she hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go.
“I’ll bring your head to my lord. I’ll wrap it in your finest silk.”
“May I ask one thing?”
He nodded.
“Please have a poem written about this.”
“I don’t have time for such things.”
He stepped closer, raising his sword in his good hand.
Death was standing over her and there was nothing she could do. The blade over her head would end her life. She looked around for something, but the only thing nearby was her grandfather’s armor sitting in its shrine.
He was the last person she wanted to see. Her shame burned her worse than the jolts of pain from her missing hand.
“I’m sorry, grandfather.”
Then a figure burst into the room. It was one of her ashigaru. He was covered in blood and his wide-brimmed hat was in tatters. He panted as he struggled for breath. He raised his spear and yelled a wordless cry at the man.
The warrior turned to see the new spectacle.
Her soldier would die and the warrior would decapitate her. It was inevitable.
Soon, all I see will be in flames as the manor crumbles around my headless body. I’m a failure. Grandfather, forgive me.
She looked to her grandfather’s armor for any signs of forgiveness or reproach. Any scorn he had for her had now been earned in full.
The armor’s mask stared down at her with its shadow-filled eyes.
In that moment she knew he saw her. She couldn’t tell if it was with anger, disappointment or regret, but he noticed her.
“I’ve failed,” she said.
Her eyes fell on the hilt of his old sword and stayed there. It was as if he was offering his sword to her.
“I’m not worthy,” she said.
Still, the handle offered itself to her.
The warrior above her still looked to the stumbling ashigaru. Her soldier was no threat and was no longer a distraction. If she had any chance to do this, it had to be now.
With her remaining hand she reached out and gripped the sword she had never dared touch. The hilt felt cold and hard beneath her grip.
The warrior turned back to her, raising his sword in the air.
She grimaced in pain and yanked the sword out of its bamboo scabbard. It was heavier than she thought it would be and she swung with her whole body and all the strength she had left in her.
As the blade sliced through the air she got her first look at it. It was dark metal with rippling textures all along the surface. Growing up she had heard many tales of where it came from. Seimu had said it was forged from a rock that fell from the sky. Another one of father’s warriors said that it had been forged by a witch and was thirsty for blood. Her uncle said the metal was from a normal mine in Shikoku.
Wherever it came from, she was shocked by its beauty.
She didn’t have long to admire the delicate patterns before the thick blade struck the warrior’s side. It didn’t so much as cut through the warrior but tore through him. It smashed through his armor and carved deep into his belly. Pieces of lacquered bamboo scales flung through the air.
He staggered back, pulling her and the lodged sword with her.
His face went pale and his eyes went wide. He stuttered something she didn’t understand and raised his sword. Blood gushed out of the tear in his armor and covered her hand in warm, sticky liquid.
Despite dying, he would still kill her.
It didn’t matter now. She had killed him in return and avenged the desecration of her home.
No! I’m not going to let this honorless dog kill me.
She rose to her feet, pushing forward to drive the sword deeper in. He grunted and fell backward to the ground. She crashed on top of him as she kept pushing. As they struck the ground together, the blade of her sword snapped.
It was a singular sound like the funeral bell from the village. She fell off him and rolled to the side.
She lay there, panting for breath, staring up at the ceiling. In her hand was the hilt of the broken sword. A gift from her ancestors. Acceptance.
It was no longer cold. Now covered in the warrior’s blood, it seemed warm and alive.
There was no doubt that the ancestors hadn’t helped to spare her. She was just one of many. But they had used her to save the family home.
She had been honored. Despite all her failings, they felt her worthy of being a tool in their hands.
“Soldier, help me up,” she called out.
Her voice came out weak and unfamiliar.
The bleeding soldier stumbled over to her and helped her to her feet. Once she had wrapped a cloth tightly around the stump on her left, she went outside to the courtyard, leaning on him for support. She could admit to needing help now.
Bodies were everywhere. Blood splatters covered the white walls. A few fires burned, casting the whole scene in flickering orange.
A few of her men were still alive. They checked on the wounded and put out fires. It was a scene of devastation but one she knew they could come back from. The manor still stood and her husband had a home to return to.
“Get a spear ready. I want to mount that man’s head on the gate as a present for my husband,” she said through a wave of nausea.
“Yes, my lady,” one of the soldiers said and rushed inside.
The rest of them stopped and stared at her with wide eyes. Her hair was undone and she was covered with blood.
I must be quite the sight, she thought to herself with a laugh.
“Also, find me a sword maker. This sword will be reforged.”
It wasn’t just a weapon. It was a symbol. It was her ancestors’ will made manifest. It was a symbol to all that her family would always fight for honor.
I’m the weapon of my ancestors. Like this sword, I am wounded but will be reforged into something greater. Doubt no longer clouds my mind.
“Clean this mess up and prepare the manor for my husband’s return,” she shouted out with greater strength.
That forthwith Hatsu Kitanosho is to be jito over Sadakiyo Manor and Shigetsugo Manor within Katakata District, Ise-no-kuni.
The aforesaid person is appointed to the steward’s revenue of these two manors as a reward for defending her Lord Hatsu Kotaro’s castle in the tenth month of this year. Authority is to be exercised in accordance with precedent. In pursuance of the command, it is decreed thus.