Chapter 11: Inner Turmoil
Tora sat on the hill watching the first golden rays of sunlight appear and listening to the chatter of the birds. For the third night in a row, she had barely slept. Whenever she closed her eyes, she found herself reliving the battle, and though it was fleeting, she felt that sudden, frightening surge of power and strength. Her hand moved to her chest and her fingers traced where the wounds had been. There was not even a faint scar to mark them, just her own memories, and this troubled her.
She was a hanyō.
The concept was difficult to grasp. One of her parents was a yōkai, and she knew without a doubt that her father had been human – a skilled samurai, but a human nonetheless – which meant that it was her mother. The mother who had supposedly died giving her life. The woman whom her father continued to love, though he rarely spoke of her, until his last breath. Had her father known?
His detached demeanor did not encourage many discussions between them. Their interaction was usually limited to the hours he trained her. Looking back, she realized that he must have known. There was no other explanation for why a man of his stature would have raised a young daughter on his own instead of sending her away to live with relatives. Or why he insisted upon teaching her the ways of the samurai.
Tora gazed thoughtfully at her hand and then curled it into a fist. Her skill with the blade, her ability to focus her senses, her speed and agility. It all was the result of having a yōkai for a mother, and deep inside her even greater strength had laid dormant, waiting. Waiting for...
She shook her head. She did not know why that inner power had burst forth during the fight against the yōkai. Why did it not come to save her before, when she was about to die at the hands of Ura Kotoku's men? Or even five years ago, shortly after her father's death, when she had been forced to flee from her home? Why not then? Why now?
There were too many questions crowding her mind and sitting alone on the hill was not solving any of them. Tora sighed as she watched a pair of birds swooped down from the brightening sky and listened to their cheerful prattle fade away.
It was quite possible that the daiyōkai had some or all of the answers. Yes. She was certain that he had known the truth all along. The words that the miko had spoken so carelessly still plagued her. What would a hanyō being doing with Sesshomaru? He hates them. Saving her life, the sparring sessions, and being sent out to hunt down the gathering yōkai had been for what purpose? To test her strength? To force her yōkai blood to response? Why would someone of his distinction be interested in her, a half-breed who was neither yōkai nor human?
Neither yōkai nor human.
What exactly was she?
That strength. A power that filled every part of her with such strength and speed. With one swipe of her hand, she struck down five foes. She felt so weak without it, and the world seemed quieter and duller, as if slightly out of focus. Though she strained with all of her might, she could not see, hear, smell, or feel as sharply as she remembered from that moment. If that was the power of a mere hanyō then the ultimate strength of the daiyōkai was something unimaginable.
Tora took hold of the sheathed katana that lay before her in the grass and held it for a moment in one hand. The blade was a part of her. She had been raised to wield it, but for what purpose? To fight for a selfish daimyo out to conquer land for glory and greed? No, she had decided at her father's death that she would never again use her sword to shed blood for some pretentious warlord.
What was the daiyōkai then? She did not know his intentions or destination nor could she determine even a hint of his thoughts, hidden so well behind his apathetic attitude. Any sane individual would realize how dangerous he was and hasten away. He had never once actually ordered her to stay, and if she chose to leave, he probably would not even give her absence a passing thought.
Strange. She had no desire to leave. No, there was something that prevented her from leaving. She could not walk away, not after what she experienced four days ago. She needed to learn more about whatever lay deep within her. Would she be able to tap into that hidden strength the next time she needed it? Or would she find herself completely powerless?
Her hand tighten around the wooden sheath until it began to shake. She was weak to be entertaining such troubling thoughts and allowing them to circle endlessly in her mind. This was not like her. Not like her at all. Where had her resolve disappeared to? Had it been so easily shaken?
Tora closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. She emptied her mind of all disturbing thoughts, letting them wash away into oblivion. A gentle breeze touched her face and tussled her short hair. With the hint of a smile, she slowly opened her eyes.
A new day.
The lady samurai stood, faced the east, and slid her katana through her sash. How long has it been since she did her morning routine? Too long. Closing her eyes, she took her stance, hand hovering above the hilt of her katana. Calm. She drew the blade and fluidly moved into the first move. Slowly. She stepped to one side and brought the katana across, slicing the air. Controlled. Each movement was precise. Foot. Wrist. Step forward. Cross. Arm. Step back. Block.
Her body could perform the familiar routine without a thought, and gradually the speed of her movements increased. Breathe deeply. Clear the mind. The blade hissed as it swept across and the grass crunched softly beneath her feet. Her movements grew faster until only the sunlight glistening off the blade allowed the eye to glimpse it.
The young woman appeared to be dancing in the early morning. Turning, dipping, lunging, blocking, and dodging. This was her own style, which utilized her speed, agility, and senses. Every elegant flick of the wrist and graceful turn of the foot had a purpose in creating a shield around her. She lacked only a wakizashi to complete the protective barrier. Without the secondary sword, there were openings for an enemy, as had been the case in the fight with Ura Kotoku's men.
But she was not an ordinary human any more. She was a hanyō. Certainly she could muster the energy to complete the shield without a wakizashi. Steeling herself against the growing aches throughout her body, she forced herself to increase the speed of her movements. She had to improve and to surpass her limit. Sweat formed on her brow and her breathing grew laborious, but she continued.
Faster. Just a little faster. Swing the katana across. Side-step. Turn. Katana up. Block. Faster. Just a little faster. Just a little more...
Clenching her teeth, Tora knew she had reached her limit. Her arms burned from the exertion, and it took the last bit of her strength to keep each movement precise. One wrong move would be dangerous. With even more care, she began to slow. Decreasing the speed and maintaining the accuracy of each movement while exhausted was the most difficult part of the routine. Her brow creased against the heaviness in her arms and the strain on the rest of her body. Deep breath.
Tora leaned forward and swept the katana smoothly in front of her, halting when her arm was fully extended to the side. The final stroke. She froze in that position for a moment before straightening up and returning the katana to its sheath. She opened her eyes. She was faster and strong than before. Perhaps a small portion of that hidden strength had given her an added boost. Maybe, given more time and practice, she might even be able to bring that hidden power under control.
Satisfied, Tora turned and retraced the path she had taken hours before when her inner turmoil had prevented her from sleeping. Unlike before, she felt at peace with being a hanyō, and determination to discover her full strength filled her.
