"Grandpa Kenta!"
"Chizuruchan!" The slight old man swung his ten-year-old granddaughter up in the air as she squealed with delight. "How is my favorite granddaughter?"
"I'm your ONLY granddaughter, and you asked me that YESTERDAY." she reminded him with the pure exasperation of a child. "But I'm fine. I'm so glad you're here. You're not going to play with Shinta all day, are you?"
"Well, he IS my new grandson. I should spend SOME time with him," the man said, setting the little girl down.
"Ugh, but he's so BORING. All he does is cry and poop," Chizuru made a face. "I'm so glad he's only my cousin and I don't have to see him all the time."
"Well, there was a time not so long ago you were just like him, princess."
Chizuru leveled an expression of disgust at her grandfather. "Grandpa? Why are you dressed so funny? Like someone in one of Uncle Soushi's manga? And why are you carrying a sword?"
"Ahh. Well, that's a very good question, Chizuru. And I'll be happy to answer it. But first I think we should find your older brother."
"Kenichi's out with his friends. He'll be home for the family dinner."
"I should hope so. It's his fifteenth birthday. Okay, I'm going to tell you a story but you can't tell anyone until after I speak to Kenichi, okay?"
Chizuru nodded, her eyes alight at the thought of sharing a secret with her adored grandfather. "Now, this is a story about my grandfather. His name was Himura, like ours. But his first name was Kenshin."
"Kenshin... That's a nice name." She grinned conspiratorially. "What was he like?"
Her grandfather grinned back. "I always thought so. I didn't get to meet him. He died before my father married my mother."
"Great-grandpa Kenji."
The old man's eyes misted over with memory. His father had lived to a great age; he himself had pushed past eighty. "Yes, your great grandfather Kenji." He smiled. His figure was slight but he stood straight as he took his granddaughter's hand and followed her to the couch. Her parents came in, sharing a smile; they had heard this story before. Kenshin put his arm around his wife's waist and they sat nearby.
"Hey dad."
"Kenshin. Michie." Kenta smiled at his son and his wife. "I was just telling Chizuru about the family history."
"Ahh. Yes."
"I do wish you'd chosen to pass this on yourself," he said, resting his hand on the blade at his side.
"Sorry, dad, but I never had the skill."
"Grandpa, please tell me the story!"
Kenta smiled apologetically. "Sorry, kiddo. Yes. The story. I can't tell all of it until your brother comes back, but it's a part of our family history. Perhaps you might be the one to pass the tale on in the future. It's the story of this sword, and the men who wielded it.
"As you know, your brother turns fifteen today. Back in Japan, in the old days, a samurai became a man at fifteen. He was old enough to become responsible for his own actions and his own life. Now, kids these days don't grow up nearly so quickly, but traditions are important. And your brother has been studying Kenjutsu since he was little. That's a family tradition too."
"Daddy doesn't know Kenjutsu," Chizuru said, looking bewildered.
"No, he doesn't. He chose to come here to America to study medicine instead. That's a different family tradition, but just as honorable." Kenta smiled. "Great-aunt Megumi would have been proud. Still, I'm glad my grandson seems to be interested. Who knows? Perhaps he'll inherit the dojo one day too."
"Not for many years, I hope," Kenshin smiled.
"Likewise, son." The old man returned the smile. "But that isn't something I'm worried about today. Today is my eldest grandson's genpuku. The day he inherits the sakabatou of Himura Kenshin."
"The what?" Chizuru's face scrunched up in childish confusion.
"Sakabatou. It's a sword with the blade on the wrong side. Here," Kenta said, removing the sheath from his belt. "Don't touch it, because it is dangerous, but this is the sword."
From the metal sheath, he withdrew more than two feet of beautifully folded, richly gleaming steel. There were definite signs of age and wear around the hilt and guard, though the blade itself seemed almost new. In the living room of Kenshin Himura and his wife Michie, in a suburb of New York in the early autumn of 2010, the blade seemed oddly out of place. Yet in the hands of Himura Kenta, dressed as he was in a deep grey kimono and white hakama, it belonged nowhere else.
"Most katana, most swords of any sort with an edge, have the edge on the front, where the blade would hit an opponent. This sword, which turned out to be perfect for my grandfather, has the edge on the inside of the curve."
"Why was that perfect for him?"
Kenta looked down at his granddaughter and smiled. "Ahh. That, my little princess, is the story. And that's the part that has to wait for Kenichi to come hear."
"Kenichi who?" A saucy grin graced the face of the young teenager who entered the room. Pushing his unruly red hair back from his deep blue eyes, he greeted the old man with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey gramps."
"Your grandfather is grateful for the honor of your presence," Kenta replied in formal Japanese with a sardonic grin.
"Forgive this one," the boy answered similarly. "It is ever an honor to be blessed with your presence, Grandfather," he said with a formal bow.
"That's better," Kenta said in English. "Come sit, birthday boy. I was just about to tell a story."
"Cool," the young man said and he dropped easily into a kneeling position at his grandfather's feet.
"Actually, more than cool. This is a story you should hear, Grandson. It is the story of this blade," Kenta patted the sword which now lay across his knees. "Today is the day you turn fifteen. In the days of the samurai, a man was tested on his fifteenth birthday. If he passed, he was acknowledged as a man among men, among the ranks of the samurai. If not, he remained as a child.
"In our family, the firstborn male child of each generation has also inherited this sakabatou." Once again he withdrew the blade from its sheath. A stray ray of sunlight glanced through the window and entangled itself on the antique sword.
"Why is the blade on the wrong edge, Grandfather?" Kenichi reached towards the sword but stopped himself.
"This was the very last sword forged by the hand of the master smith Arai Shakku. The Sakabatou Shinuchi, the truest and best-forged reverse-bladed sword. It was made to be dedicated to a shrine, but when its predecessor was broken in a battle, this sword was given by the son of Arai Shakku to my grandfather. The legendary Battousai, Hitokiri of the bakamatsu. Himura Kenshin. The story begins nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, in Kyoto."
Michie brought out tea and water as Kenta spoke. For nearly two hours he regaled his son and grandchildren with the story of the Rurouni, Kenshin. The kenjutsu teacher he had met, saved repeatedly, and married – she who had been his own salvation, Kamiya Kaoru. Their friends, who had been considered family from that generation on. Myoujin Yahiko. Sagara Sanosuke. Takani Megumi. Shinomori Aoshi. Makimachi Misao. Hiko Seijuurou.
"Actually, Hiko Seijuurou was more of an adoptive father to Himura Kenshin, as well as his master and mentor. He never married, so far as we know. He was the last master of the school of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu, save for Kenshin. But my grandfather wanted no part of passing on the art, nor of the name which was passed with the succession. Unfortunately, once he gained the succession technique, my grandfather quickly became unable to fight with the techniques he had learned; the sheer speed and force required were too much for his body. Like me, he was not a large man. You, my son, are built better for it. But the knowledge is lost." The old man bowed his head for a moment.
"I'm sorry, grandpa," Chizuru said softly, leaning her head on her grandfather's shoulder.
"No, it's fine, princess. Just an old man's meanderings."
"Not meanderings, Grandfather. The loss is ours." Kenichi rose. "I've been studying those techniques you sent me, though, the Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu methods, and I think I'm pretty good."
"This one is gladdened to hear that," Kenta said, again in Japanese, as he stood also. "Because it is time for a demonstration. Come to the backyard, and bring your training blade."
The entire family filed out. Kenichi Himura was much taller than his father or grandfather. His mother was not an exceptionally tall woman but her family had the height and breadth that her husband's lacked. Their eldest son blended his genetics well; his blue eyes and red hair seemed oddly out of place with his Asian features, though it was not an unattractive combination. His broad shoulders too were beginning to attract the girls at his school, though he wasn't really interested in dating. His passion, to his grandfather's great joy, was swords and the art of their use. His gentle manner and kind heart spoke well for the use to which he would put them, should it ever be required of him.
"Come at me. Give it everything you have."
Kenichi readied his bokken hesitantly. "Grandfather, I -"
The old man shook his head. "Hush. Forget for the moment that I'm your grandfather. Think of the sword in your hand. Think of the earth beneath your feet. Think of the air on your skin. Think of every battle in which you have partaken.
"And think of the people you are protecting." He slipped back into Japanese. "For this is what you have been working towards with your years of study. It is not for the sake of the sword you learn the art, but for the people you will protect with your blade. The lives of those under your protection depend on you. Such it has always been with the bloodline of Himura, and so shall it be."
"As it must be so," Kenichi answered. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. "This one is ready."
"Then in the traditions of our family, Michie, would you?"
The woman nodded. Raising one hand in the air, she made a chopping motion. "Begin!"
Kenta... vanished. Kenichi seemed to flicker briefly where he stood.
They reappeared exactly at the halfway point from where they had stood. Kenichi's ribs were pressed up against the sakaba blade.
Kenichi's wooden sword was resting lightly against his grandfather's chest, in a position that would have severed the man's torso at a sharp angle had he wielded a true blade.
But the wooden sword did not touch his skin.
"Your control is admirable, grandson," Kenta looked down at the boy who knelt before him. "I'd say you learned well. My own grandfather would be proud of you, as am I. Arise, Himura Kenichi." He still spoke in Japanese.
The young man's only response was a slightly wheezy "uurggh..."
"Kenichikun? Are you okay?" He reverted to English.
"You don't know your own strength, old man," the youth muttered.
At that, Kenta smirked. "Oh, I do. But you'll be taking far worse from me when I pass on the knowledge that was not lost..." Once more he spoke in the language of his fathers. "Though the school of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is no longer, thanks to the skills of the first true student of Kamiya Kasshin Ryuu, there are some techniques that survived. You can thank your Great Great Uncle Myoujin Yahiko, Kenichi. Though I have a feeling," he said as he helped the young man up, "You'll prefer to curse his name for a while." He chuckled as he removed the sheath from his belt. "Chizuru, come help your brother stand for a moment."
Chizuru, not understanding all of what was going on, sensed her grandfather's excitement and lent her strong young shoulder to her adored older brother. The blade gleamed in the sun as Himura Kenta sheathed it and held it out, horizontally, to his grandson.
"Himura Kenichi, you stand before me as a man of the bloodline. This is yours. For a while, it will be heavy and hard to use. But train yourself to use it to its full extent. And one day... surpass this one."
"Grandfather..."
"This blade is a family heirloom and a secret. Even today there are those who would come after our family for the deeds done during the birth of the Meiji era. Do not brag of its existence, or its use. I trust you, Kenichi." With a grin, he resumed speaking English; the entire family was bilingual. "Now come. Let's have dinner."
"You always did care too much about food, dad." Kenshin grinned at his father.
"What can I say? It's another family trait," Himura Kenta grinned back guilelessly.