Chapter 25: A Mother's Gift, A Father's Treasure
The moment the door closed, Tora's golden eyes snapped open and she sat up. Her canine ears twitched as she listened to the heavy footsteps of the samurai fading. Her fist clenched tightly, causing her claw-like nails to dig into the flesh of her palm. Feigning unconsciousness and allowing such a man to carry her into a small room had been insufferable. If indeed he had been a man at all. Even when she was in his arms, she had not sensed any yoki emanating from him yet his strength and ability to mask his movements were inhuman. Shivers ran up and down her entire body. It had taken every ounce of self-control and all of her years of strict discipline to keep her hot yōkai blood from lashing out.
She put a hand to her forehead and bared fanged teeth in frustration. Without the inuyōkai blood flowing through her veins, the moment she lost her katana and was struck, her life would have been over. She was no stranger to death. She had witnessed many die on the fields of battle, and so many have died by her own blade that she no longer kept count. She came close to experiencing death herself a handful of times – more so since she met the daiyōkai. What disturbed her was not the thought of an honorable death in battle, but that Ura Kotoku had been tricked so easily.
Or had he? The daimyo was a yōkai of unknown powers and strength, and she had no way of knowing for certain if he had fallen for her act or not. It was equally possible he had seen through her deception, which meant that he had a different reason for sparing her life.
The lady samurai stood and moved across the small room to the single window. Peering out into the night, she could only see a small portion of the castle courtyard and wall. With the thick cloud cover, it was quite dark and only a few lights could be seen scattered around the castle. Her gaze continued passed the silhouettes of soldiers patrolling the wall to the forest. Somewhere beyond that line of trees, two powerful daiyōkai were waiting and, mostly likely, watching. The kodama would soon make contact with her, though she had no idea how, and she needed to have something of worth to give him.
Tora wanted to complete this strange mission quickly and be gone from this eerie place, but she could not afford to act carelessly. It would be foolish to forget that she was in the heart of the enemy's lair, out-numbered, and weaponless. However, there was one way to search the castle without leaving the confines of the room. The young woman sat down on the tatami, one leg tucked beneath her and the other knee raised in front of her. She wrapped her arms around her raised knee and leaned her back against the wall beneath the window. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths and relaxed her shoulders. Once she was calm and focused, her senses were able reach their full capacity.
The sounds and smells of the castle flooded her mind with the force of a typhoon. A deafening confusion of muffled voices and sounds. A jumble of smells so strong that nearly gagged her. Concentrate! Find one thread and focus on it. Focus. Sweat dotted her brow and her breathing labored painfully. No matter how hard she tried, she could not isolate a specific scent or sound from the mess. Every time she came close, a wave of new sensations would overwhelm her. In everything and everywhere draped the heavy, malicious yoki of Ura Kotoku. It was of no use. She may have been able to keep the hatred and lust for blood from boiling over, but she had in no ways gained control over her yōkai blood.
How did the yōkai keep from losing their minds? How did they keep their extraordinary powers and wildly intense emotions under control? Sesshoumaru, Katsutoshi, and even her mother... they welded their power naturally and effortlessly. Would she ever be able to rule her abilities? Or was this the punishment for being born neither fully human nor fully yōkai? Though it pained her to admit, Ura Kotoku's words haunted her. Would her sanity eventually be destroyed and she would be reduced to a mindless monster? Surely, if it were true Sesshoumaru would have told her...
No, he was under no obligation to tell her anything, and she had never asked any questions regarding her condition. Just what was she to him anyway? Something interesting he had come upon by chance and decided to observe until his curiosity was satisfied? Why had he bothered to save her from Ura Kotoku's men in the first place? His indifference hid any thoughts and emotions behind a wall that she could not penetrate. He had never demanded her fidelity, but... he had also never indicated that her presence was unwanted either. Had she, a samurai without a lord, merely transferred her ingrained sense of loyalty on to him? Or were these feelings something else?
Tora sighed heavily and rested her head on the top of her knee. Allowing herself to be agitated by unfounded worries and her mind to wander down the paths of uncertainties was unlike her. Feelings of loneliness and foreboding were swelling up inside of her, and she was finding it difficult to ignore. Never before had she felt such tumult of confusion, not even when news of her father's death had reached her.
Her hand curled into a fist and she slammed it against the wall beside her. The tingling sensation spread out across her hand and up her arm nearly to the elbow. To allow the absence of his presence to impact her so was a disgrace. She was a hardened samurai, not a weak-hearted little girl! This was not the time or place to lose herself.
Her golden eyes opened, and Tora shifted into the more formal seiza-style sitting. She placed her hands palms down on the top of her thighs and breathed in deeply. She needed to purge her mind from all of these useless thoughts and prepare for whatever tomorrow might bring.
The sound of approaching footsteps woke Tora shortly after sunrise. Sometime during the early morning, her yōkai blood had receded and she had fallen into a deeper sleep then she had intended. She hastily sat up and reached for her katana, only to grasp empty air. The door to the room was thrown open, and the samurai from the night before entered. The tachi he wore was the one that had shattered her blade. In the early morning light, he looked like any other samurai, but Tora's skin tingled. He was fully enshrouded in Ura Kotoku's yoki, like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and she still could not distinguish whether he was merely a man empowered by that yoki or a yōkai himself.
"My apologies for the intrusion, Lady Tora. I see you are back to... normal." The samurai inclined his head slightly as he spoke, but there was no emotion in his monotone voice. "Ura-sama has sent garments to replace your damaged kimono. These slaves will assist you."
Behind the samurai followed two timid young girls in old, faded kimonos. They carried carefully folded clothing in their hands and kept their eyes on the floor. Their fear was nearly tangible, and it was clear that they were terrified of the samurai. She wondered if they were girls from the castle village. The war-torn land produced many young girls that looked just like them with pale faces, slightly dull hair, thin bodies, and wide eyes that have witnessed too much violence.
"That is not necessary."
Tora stood. Not a sign of the previous tear could be seen in the flawless spider-yōkai silk cloth, and the wrinkles from having been sitting in the same position for hours vanished right before the samurai's eyes. If the samurai was surprised, he did not show it on his face.
"Then you are to come with me."
Tora quietly followed the samurai from the small room, keeping far enough behind him to avoid a surprise attack. Now was the time to be cautious. She was overly conscious of the void that her missing katana had created. Since she was old enough to hold a bokken, she had never been without a weapon of some kind at her hip. Not that she could not handle herself without a weapon. She could hold her own against a handful of opponents if they were men, but in this castle blanketed by Ura Kotoku's yoki, she could not discern who was a man and who was secretly a yōkai. With that thought permanently in the back of her mind, she knew she was far too tense than she should be.
No doubt the samurai had already noticed.
"Where are we going?" she demanded.
"Samurai of Ura-sama are never weaponless in battle," the samurai replied. "We are going to the armory."
Battle? Ura Kotoku must be planning to send more men out to whatever land he had his sights set on. The last thing she needed was to be sent away from the castle to some obscure battlefield. She would need to find some way of staying close to Ura Kotoku, but her first priority was to secure a weapon.
The castle armory was larger than even Tora had expected, and there were weapons of every kind. Among the wooden racks, there were bō, nagamaki, naginata, yari, bisentō, nunchaku, sanjiegun, and more. She quietly followed the samurai to the back of the armory to where all manner of short and long swords were kept: tantō, wakizashi, ninjato, kodachi, katana, tachi, zanbato, and many others. There were so many different swords, created by different masters, that it was almost breathtaking.
"Am I to simply choose a sword from among these?" she inquired.
She paused by a particular tachi. It was longer and most likely heavier than her previous katana, but the craftsmanship was similar. Someone from her homeland had made it. That meant that these weapons – perhaps all of them in the cavernous room – were spoils from battles. It was possible that this very weapon had been taken from the hand of someone she had known. The thought was unsettling.
"That was the intention," the samurai said shortly. "That one would be too heavy for a woman."
Tora chose to ignore the comment. She could handle the weight of the large tachi with ease; however, it was foolish to choose a weapon in haste. She slowly browsed the racks, occasionally taking a sword from the others to test its balance and weight. Nothing felt right. Then as she passed a particular weapon, the skin of the back of her neck tingled. She paused. Among the pile of sheathed swords was a weapon emanating a familiar yoki. She pushed the other swords away and found the source: an old katana and wakizashi pair.
The lady samurai froze and her heart beat sounded unusually loud in her ears. Scarcely daring to breathe, she reached out and took hold of the weapons. Her fingers ran along the smoothed wooden sheaths and up to the neatly wrapped hilts, worn smooth from years of use. She would recognize these blades anywhere, and a flood of emotions began to well up inside of her, emotions she thought she had dealt with years ago.
"Found something?" the samurai said impatiently. When Tora did not move, his eyes narrowed. "Maybe a naginata is more suited for a woman."
The insult fell on deaf ears. The young woman's focus was completely on the weapons in her hands. How many nights had she watched him clean and polish this sword? How many times had she watched him put on the weapons while suiting up his armor for battle? She could scarce draw in breath as her chest tightened painfully. This pair of blades had been her father's most treasured possessions.
And there was definitely a yoki within the blades.
Why had she never noticed it before? As a child, had she been insensitive to yoki? She did not have to guess at whose yoki was infused into the weapons. After the fight in the field, she could never forget the feeling of her mother's aura. Which meant Kasumi had left two things behind when she disappeared: a hanyō infant and yōkai swords.
Pushing back emotions, she slipped both sheaths into her obi. The added weight was comforting and natural, almost as if the blades had been made for her. She could not help herself from running a thumb over the worn leather wrapping of the katana's hilt. This katana and wakizashi had belonged to her mother, used by her father, and ended up in the armory of Ura Kotoku. It could not all be coincidence. Ura Kotoku. This yōkai was definitely plotting something, and Tora had the sinking feeling that she was far more entangled than even she realized.