AN: So enters Tomoe, stage right. (Otherwise known as Kei and Hayate's mother.) She's written to be mostly compliant with the Hemingway online editor.
The spar ends with the sound of wood hitting flesh and the thump of a body subsequently hitting the floor with a loud thud. I let my bokken drop to my side, in a null stance. My opponent, though, takes more than a few seconds to struggle back to his feet. His shoulders heave with exhaustion and pain, while I test my grip on my bokken's hilt and find that not even my palms have broken a sweat.
"All right, you're done now," I say, stepping over to help my opponent to his feet again. I grasp his good wrist with my hand and pull him upward as easily as if he weighed nothing at all.
"Ow. Ow!" My opponent, taller than me and broader-shouldered, rubs his forearm once I let go. "Cousin, could you take it easy on me next time?"
"No," I say, watching him shake out his stinging wrist and grumble.
"Not even when I'm older and I say so?" He asks, "Please? For your favorite cousin Tōshiro?"
I give him my most disapproving glare.
"Fine, fine; can't blame a man for trying."
Tōshiro slinks out of the dojo after another few minutes, leaving me to clean up after our spar alone. I wipe down the floors, our bokken, and our sparring gear shortly thereafter, before taking off my training gi and dumping it in the dirty clothes hamper. Within half an hour, the dojo is as though I never thrashed my thirty-year-old cousin up and down the length of the floor, twice.
As I leave, taking my bokken and my other personal equipment with me, I lock the dojo's doors and leave the key on a hook nearby. If someone wishes to use it after me, they may do so. I'm finished for the day.
"Are you coming to the meeting, Tomoe?" Takahiro asks as he passes me by in the hallway, the corners of his eyes crinkling in something like amusement.
"…I wasn't planning on it, but apparently if I don't I'll miss some sort of joke." I pause, scrutinizing his face for any kind of hint. "Brother?"
"Oh, you'll see," Takahiro says with a grin. Before I can snatch at his collar and drag him down to eye level to answer me, he's already bounding off and out of reach.
"…Hn."
I traverse the Uesugi clan compound without being stopped by servants or additional siblings. The covered walkway lets me see the beauty of winter in the Land of Iron without having to risk frostbite. The snow muffles the sound of people running to and fro inside the compound's various buildings. Though cold, I relish the chance to get away from the constant yammering of the crowd indoors.
But this does not stop me from being interrupted by an overenthusiastic sister-in-law.
"Tomoe-chan! Adorable baby sister! Wait for meeeeee—!"
I stop in my tracks and brace for impact.
Suzume barrels into my back and nearly knocks us both sprawling, but I anchor my feet to the wooden walkway with chakra. As it is, she makes me stumble somewhat, but I keep us both from hitting the floor.
"You should be more careful, Sister," I say reprovingly as Suzume stumbles back to her feet with a sheepish smile on her face. She pinches at the hem of her kimono and straightens its lines as best she can around her hugely swollen stomach. "Your child won't appreciate a tumble at this stage."
"Oh, I'll be fine. You were here, Tomoe-chan! That makes everything all right," Suzume enthuses, miming brushing dust from my shoulder as I turn around to face her. Then she grabs my hands in hers. "We need to get you dressed up properly for this meeting!"
I blink. "I don't understand. I have my formal armor in my room—!"
"Not that kind of dressed-up," Suzume interrupts. Her amber eyes are alight with mischief. "You have a furisode and Honorable Grandfather wants to see you at your best!"
"Armor is my best. It's stab-proof."
Suzume heaves a dramatic sigh. "Oh, Tomoe-chan…"
This had better not be another lecture on femininity.
"You need to be beautiful for this, Tomoe-chan." Suzume's hands squeeze mine. "Please, Tomoe-chan! You can't embarrass our family!"
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything. Suzume knew where my buttons were and could exploit them. She could be ruthless in a cheerful way. The net result is the same; I did what she wanted. Just like everyone else in the family did whenever she got the bit between her teeth.
"This is going to be a rush job, I see." Suzume spins my unresisting body around and frog-marches me toward the baths. "We have two hours to get this done, so you're going to Utane-chan right now!"
"Suzume—"
"Don't 'Suzume' or 'Sis' me now, Tomoe-chan! You're slowing us down! Honored Grandfather can only hold the floor for so long!" Suzume pauses as we arrive, letting go of one of my shoulders. "Come on, come on!"
Left with little choice, I let Suzume sweep me away.
"Much better, Tomoe-chan," Utane says in her steady way. She checks the sleeves of my furisode again, pinching at the silk when the inner layers don't show. Offense corrected, she stands back to admire her work. "You wear this well."
I don't agree. All forms of kimono are too tight to be practical if I have to fight. A summer yukata can be loosened and allow some katas, but the furisode sleeves are dead weights. Makeup will run into my eyes during combat. What weapons I can carry without being gauche—a tessen and tantō—are small and weak compared to the katana.
"You're being very quiet, Tomoe-chan!" Suzume shouts in my face, making me recoil from reflex alone.
With my family, it is often easier to accept the unknowable nature of the older generation and simply comply with their wishes. I have not been called upon to act in my clan's defense properly, so this may be a test of my ability to work within restrictions. I should accept my family's whims and obey.
Though perhaps not today.
"What is the purpose of this clan meeting, Sister?" I ask Utane quietly. She is the younger of my two sisters-in-law, though married to my oldest brother Koguma. Were it not for her sedate nature, I likely would have struck out for another clan as a ronin.
"I have been left out of the discussion, Tomoe-chan," Utane replies, before picking up a kohl eyebrow pencil. "But I believe this is matchmaking."
"…I see." I sigh, looking at my sisters-in-law, who are not wearing furisode or thick cosmetics. Suzume's eyes are still dancing with laughter, which I no longer share. Utane purses her lips and her dark eyebrows pinch together as she scrutinizes me. Her eyes are judging my reaction.
As the only unmarried Uesugi daughter, it would be too much to hope for another cousin being the subject of this meeting. I do not have any unmarried female cousins, either, and in any case I would have heard if they had arrived in the main clan house. Marriage processions and the like are not subtle.
Except my own, it seems.
"Oh, don't look so sad!" Suzume holds a tessen, instead of the usual paper fan that I would expect. She pokes me with it and says, "Takahiro was every bit as nervous when he met me, you know!"
I rather doubt that. Takahiro wore a katana and wakizashi to his ceremony.
"You can afford to be less defensive," Utane tells me, holding one of my hands between hers. Suzume tucks the tessen into the back of my obi in case I find a need for it.
Though I remember her knuckles swelling during her pregnancy years ago, my hands are larger. I have calluses that she doesn't and never will. My hands are not soft or kind.
In this furisode, I am pretending that they can be.
I am a warrior, born and bred. I have fought grown men since I was small, and I have defeated all who dared oppose me on the battlefield. I am strong, but I am not gentle. I am not kind. I do not know how to be these things except through mimicry.
"Meet him, at least? For your honorable grandfather's sake," Utane entreats in a soft voice.
I nod.
"Then let's get going!" Suzume cheers, pushing our group out of the room and into the halls.
My first impression of my betrothed is not the most diplomatic of opinions. I am not expected to air them in public, however, and so I do not speak.
The youngest—and newly-adopted—son of the Asakura clan is a waiflike thing. He has red hair that is nearly the color of blood, pulled back into a traditional knot at the back of his head except for the strands that frame his face. He is younger than I am, with a small build and narrow, unmarked hands that speak of lack of experience with the blade. His dark haori and hakama do not make him seem mature—he seems like a child playing in his parents' clothes.
His eyes meet mine—a flash of pale violet—before he ducks his head again.
I do not avert my eyes from the negotiations. I may be a pampered noble by looks, but I have a prideful warrior's heart beneath these formal trappings.
The Asakura clan's head is a woman named Murasaki, with her long black hair swept out into a shape akin to a cloak. She wears a multilayered kurotome, with a fur stole wrapped over her shoulders and an over-robe that sweeps back along the floor. Every aspect of her appearance is designed to show wealth and power.
My grandfather, Momotaro, is well into his seventies and is still as strong as he has always been. Straight-backed and severe, he sits beside my father and my mother like a guardian statue.
Murasaki and my grandfather eye each other like rival dogs.
One must not show weakness, or that weakness will be your undoing.
"Tomoe," Grandfather intones in his low, slow voice, "meet your future husband, Isshinta Asakura."
The just-named Isshinta looks up to meet my eyes once more. This time, he manages to match me stare for stare, despite the tremor I can feel in his chakra.
Murasaki Asakura smiles a smile like a blade and says, "And my son, Isshinta, meet your future wife Tomoe Uesugi."
In a way, it's almost a relief to have it spoken aloud.
"You will have one month in this complex to determine if you will marry." My grandfather meets my eyes. His chakra feels more resolute than mine, and I steeled myself for his secret verdict. You will marry this boy.
I bow my head.
If my grandfather does not want me to serve the clan as a warrior, perhaps I can still do so by securing the trickiest and least reliable of alliances. The Asakura clan will no longer be our rivals. Instead, our clans would rise together like paired hawks, stronger together than apart. We've done it before, with my aunt's marriage into the Takeda clan and the birth of my cousins. This will be simple.
If only I can make myself believe that.
The courtship, such that it is, begins in that room.
He exhales deeply as our respective families leave to give us a semblance of privacy, tension fleeing his frame. His eyes close, his lips move in something like a prayer, and I can feel his chakra devolve into post-battle shakes even from across the room.
This new Asakura son must be adopted, I think.
While many samurai clans will occasionally be seen with the odd hair colors more common in shinobi populations, the Asakura clan has long prided themselves in being of pure stock, as though it means anything. While it was possible that Murasaki could have adopted one of her retainers' sons as insurance against attacks on her heirs, she would have made certain that the extra child would be able to fight.
I see nothing about Isshinta—whether physically or in his chakra—that indicates he is a warrior. He feels like a merchant or a peasant, and his lack of confidence bodes ill for this marriage.
"Tomoe-san?" Isshinta asks, after regaining his composure somewhat.
I give him a level look, under my layers of courtesy and makeup. "Yes, Isshinta-san?"
There. Sufficient levels of tension for everyone.
Isshinta coughs. "Could you…perhaps we could leave this room? It's…you don't seem very comfortable here."
Projecting already? How attractive. And yet, I can't deny that I would rather be almost anywhere other than this empty meeting hall. "Perhaps, Isshinta-san. We will retire to the gardens." I stand first, because I know where they are. "Please follow me."
I feel him scramble to his feet and follow me out of the room. I push the screen doors aside without waiting for him to anticipate my movements—someone this young and green can barely read his own. It would be unfair.
The gardens are not far. We follow one lonely hallway before stepping out into the courtyard that holds them. Of course, they are deep in snow, but covered walkways make traversing them a simple matter. I head to the sheltered gazebo to one end of the icy gardens, silent.
Once we arrive, and I tease the fire-pit in the center of the structure back to life, Isshinta recovers his nerve again.
"Tomoe-san, m…may I ask a question?"
Or perhaps only a fraction of it.
I incline my head the slightest bit. "Ask."
"D-Do you like to fight?" Isshinta winces as he speaks, even as he holds his hands out over the newly-lit fire. He looks away and down, as though expecting me to immediately act upon his suspicion and clobber him. "I couldn't help but notice your hands…"
If this man is to be my husband, perhaps I should be honest with him. And it costs nothing to merely confirm an idle thought. "I am adept at wielding all manner of swords. Does that please you, future husband?"
Isshinta blushes almost to the roots of his hair. He stammered, "I-I…"
"How old are you, Isshinta-san?" I ask in a flat tone. No more jokes. How old is this boy?
"F-Fifteen…"
I look at him. I observe his formal clothes, his stance, his unlined face, his bright eyes. Small wonder I worried he was childish; he's barely a summer past his genpuku ceremony, if that. He is a man only by the barest of margins, and entirely untrained. They hadn't even cut his hair properly. It was one thing to let one's hair grow out differently after the ceremony, but this? This is a farce.
To wed this boy would be swallowing our clan's pride and honor for the sake of a political advantage. Grandfather must see that.
He must have a reason for letting this go on.
"And you, Tomoe-san?" Isshinta manages under my stern gaze.
"Eighteen," I answer. Eighteen is somewhat older than most samurai daughters when they wed their husbands, but my grandfather always arranges for matches to occur when his grandchildren are old enough to know our own minds. We understand our duties and our obligations to both each other and our clans.
"Ah," Isshinta says, and falls silent.
For a betrothal, this is not the most promising start.
After dismissing Isshinta for the day, I return to my rooms and fall into an uneasy slumber. What could the Asakura clan be planning, I wonder. What could be the reason that they had adopted this outsider into the clan? And why offer him to marry me?
I receive no answers from my sleeping self. Instead, I dream fitfully of ducking and weaving in the wake of an enemy I cannot not touch or see.
Which is what leads me to my poor mood in the morning.
"Tomoe? Tomoe, are you awake?"
I wake to my eldest brother, Koguma, calling my name through my bedroom door. I call back, "What is it, Brother?"
"Tomoe, you have to see this!" Koguma says it so cheerfully that I give the door a side-eye. Koguma may be thirty-four, but there are moments when I wonder if he forgets that.
Still, he won't let up until I agree to see this exciting thing, whatever it is. I stand and call to him, "Let me get dressed first."
"All right, all right, just hurry up!" Koguma's footsteps then pound away from my door, and I head to my closet for acceptable clothes.
One yukata later, and I head out the door to see what Koguma was talking about. My brother, for all his exuberance, is not usually awake before noon, and whatever had drawn his attention must be quite unusual.
I end up following my brother's path to the dojo, where the sound of laughter is unexpected but yet somehow right.
I carefully slide the door open, and am greeted by quite a sight.
My older brothers have a total of five children. Koguma's are the seven-year-old Takako, four-year-old Nobukatsu, and the two-year-old Yūki. Takahiro has two of his own, five-year-old Masako and four-year-old Junko. Three girls and two boys, all told.
And all of them except for little Yūki, who is in his mother Utane's lap, are shouting at my fiancé.
Nonplussed, I listen closer to their high-pitched voices.
Isshinta stands in a circle of children, dressed in a training gi and holding a shinai with both hands. He looks awkward at best and doesn't look up as I enter the dojo silently, concentrating on the children. And yet, he's smiling down at them.
Takako grasps his fingers between hers and is carefully manipulating his grip on the bamboo blade, chattering under her breath as Isshinta nods seriously to acknowledge her expertise. He was holding the shinai incorrectly, with his hands far too close together, and Takako knows that.
Masako, meanwhile, has her own shinai in hand and prods at his feet and knees, loudly correcting his stance and lecturing him on how he does not have his feet in the right places.
Nobukatsu, meanwhile, is speaking about why a bokken is far more interesting as a weapon than a shinai, child-sized or not.
It appears I may have taught my nieces and nephews all too well.
"Your little husband-to-be seems to want to follow in your footsteps, Tomoe." Koguma grins, nudging me as though to make a suggestive joke of some point. "Eh, little sister?"
I kick him in the ankle.
While Koguma hops on one foot and tries to avoid cursing while children are around, I stride across the dojo to my nieces and nephew and my husband-to-be.
Every one of them freezes in place when they realize I have arrived.
"T-Tomoe-san…" Isshinta stammers, before visibly gathering himself and trying to say, "I was only—"
"We were teaching Asakura-san how to fight!" Takako's pigtails bounce as she interrupts cheerfully, "He's not very good yet!"
Isshinta wilts.
I hadn't expected him to be much of a fighter after meeting him for the first time. But I suppose the children can be forgiven for expecting great things from their future uncle. Instead of saying any of that, I kneel down to the children's eye levels and say, "If everyone could please get their training equipment, we can get started early today."
The children give a collective shout and rush toward the hall where their sparring equipment is kept.
"If you wish to join, Isshinta-san," I tell him as the children rush about, "you will learn properly."
To my surprise, Isshinta flushes to the tips of his hair but manages a grin to boot. He says, somewhat out of breath, "I…I'd like that, Tomoe-san!"
Perhaps there is hope for him yet.
A week into the betrothal I embroider cherry blossom petals on my eldest niece's hair ribbons. It is not that I have nothing else to do—rather, I need a task to keep my hands busy and Takako happened to be around. So my niece and the other four children relax in the nursery with me and watch snow fall outside the window, content.
Or perhaps they sleep. Regardless, they are quiet while their parents are elsewhere.
"T-Tomoe-san," says a voice from the door. It is Isshinta, to my mild surprise.
For the first week of our agreement, he never sought me out of his own accord. I rather thought he was more interested in being a nanny than my husband. He even seems more talented with the former than the latter.
Still, he is no threat. "You may come in."
The door slides gently aside. Isshinta peeks around the frame, and his pinched expression softens when he sees the children. He steps through the doorway and closes it behind him without a sound.
I look up from my task as he sits down beside me, rather than sneaking glances. "Did you wish to speak to me, Isshinta-san?"
Isshinta twists the end of his long ponytail between his fingers, blushing again and casting his gaze toward the tatami floor. "Um."
"Isshinta-san?" I prod, placing my embroidery flat on my lap and stilling my needles.
"C-Could…could I call you 'Tomoe-chan,' instead?" Isshinta asks, "It's…it just feels formal, or distant? T-Tomoe-chan is…"
Better? Perhaps I should finally acknowledge that we are to be husband and wife? And yet, I don't feel quite comfortable enough to discard conventional terms entirely. Therefore, I respond with, "If I am allowed to call you 'Isshinta-kun' in return, then yes."
"Thank you, T-Tomoe-chan." Isshinta ducks his head again, then spots my embroidery. "Ah! Tomoe-chan, d-do you have any, um, other work?"
"Only this, at the moment." I lift the little ribbon so he can inspect it. The needlework is not my best, but Takako insisted on embroidered cherry blossoms despite the extra weight.
Isshinta carefully takes the ribbon and needles into his hands. "Oh, this is very good. Your stitches are very tightly controlled."
I pause, looking askance at Isshinta. He's finally stopped stammering, and is carefully turning my work this way and that. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he traces his fingertips along the stitch-work, nodding to himself.
Then he looks up and the spell ends. "I, um…"
"Go on," I say. "It's not a terrible surprise to hear that you are more skilled than I am."
"But I'm not, really…" Isshinta manages a deep breath before saying, "I just have more practice, m-maybe? I, um, I used to be a tailor…"
Being a samurai at fifteen is nothing special. But a tailor, a trade skill career where the master alone decides when you are ready to be something more? I have to admit to being curious. It's a life I do not understand, as clearly as Isshinta does not understand the samurai one.
"What did you make?" I ask, leaning forward in anticipation of an answer. I myself only bring technical skill to the table through many hours of practice. I do not trust myself to do more than repair what has been torn, and neither does anyone else.
"I…I didn't do a lot." Isshinta twists his hair again between his fingers, and just now I see the faint needle scars on his fingertips in the weak indoor light. Isshinta did bleed for his trade, as I have for mine. "Only a few formal k-kimono, when Hiko-shishō was too busy."
Fascinating.
"I d-didn't know you cared about that stuff…" Isshinta mumbles, looking up. His violet eyes are wider and brighter than I remember. "C-Could I…I could teach you s-some of it, Tomoe-chan? In exchange for, um, the kenjutsu."
I stay quiet for perhaps a little too long, because his eyes dart back to the floor after a moment. Then, nodding to myself, I reply, "Of course, Isshinta-kun."
Isshinta starts in surprise, as though remembering something important. "Oh! Um, you can have this back now, T-Tomoe-chan."
I take the ribbon back from him and resume stitching.
Isshinta only meets my eyes briefly before going back to staring at the tops of his knees.
"Do you have any family?" I ask, apropos of nothing.
"Ah, I…" Isshinta swallows hard, and I realize that I have sent him to a dark place in his head as soon as I feel his chakra shift. He doesn't respond at first, lowering his head so that his face is nearly obscured by long red hair. "I-I have three brothers, now. The Asakura clan—"
The Asakura clan history pours out of him all at once. Three elder brothers, all married and serving the daimyo in various fashions. One elder sister, and a plethora of aunts, uncles and cousins he cannot name. The clan head, Murasaki, features prominently in the retelling, and Isshinta speaks without heat about the death of the previous clan head, Murasaki's mother.
Which, given the timing involved, would have required my grandfather's cooperation to come about.
I listen without interrupting, hearing his voice settle into the steady, droning cadence of recitation after the first glorious battle described, or the birth of one or another of the various children that all clans seem to have at once.
None of this means anything to me. And from the feel of him, it means almost as little to Isshinta.
Isshinta's voice doesn't rouse any of the children, but he is still breathless by the end of it.
As he recovers, I say in a mild voice, "…You are not a blooded member of the Asakura clan, however. They do not slack on martial training."
Isshinta squirms in place, looking down. "Well, no, but…"
"I was asking after your original family, if it is not too uncomfortable," I clarify.
"It is, T-Tomoe-chan. I'm…" Isshinta shakes his head, stands up, and leaves before I am able to pull any more information from him.
I will need to be kinder and more circumspect in the future, I think.
Another week, and I am no closer to uncovering the mysteries of Isshinta Asakura.
Oh, I have found that he is good with children (being not much more than a child himself), and that he can cook to some degree. Upon discovering his hidden talents for tailoring, my sisters-in-law have both asked him to see what he can do for them as far as new kimono go. Never mind that he is not my husband yet. Never mind that he is, by his own words, an apprentice. Never mind that Suzume is pregnant and nothing will fit properly once the baby is born if she gets her measurements taken now.
From the outside, it seems as though my entire family falls in love with him aside from me.
"You value your warrior's heart too much to compromise for a man," says my mother, Kuroko. As she sits behind me, she teases my hair out of the twisted mass it always becomes by morning, tugging it back into shape.
My hair is long enough to touch the ground if I sit with it unbound, so she has plenty of time to think and speak.
I heave a sigh and close my eyes. "I can't be anything else, Mother."
"Nonsense." Mother pulls on one errant knot and quickly sorts it out. "All people wear many masks, but to add a little to yourself does not mean your self has changed. You are always a warrior, my daughter, even when we insist you dress and act as a different sort."
"He's too young for me, Mother," I say, rather than arguing her point. My mother is in no way a lesser woman for having never learned to fight. She raised four children and raises five grandchildren with more on the way. My siblings and I will be forever grateful for her.
"Your father was also younger than I when we wed, Tomoe," Mother replies, pulling another tangle apart. "That has not changed." This last is said with a touch of dryness, and she adds, "Your father and I have nonetheless managed to remain happily wed for forty years."
"You were both full adults by then," I argue, but without heat. "But Isshinta is a child. Fifteen is not adulthood for merchants or foreigners."
"The Asakura clan has claimed him as their son, Tomoe." Mother's tone is warning me, with just a touch of annoyance at my persistence. "He may have become one of us late in life, but he can learn. I have already heard from your brothers that he is an eager if untalented student."
"In kenjutsu? Easily." I have to acknowledge Isshinta's efforts, but I still resent the marriage. I do not dislike Isshinta himself, which would be like kicking a harmless cat, but in my head he is tied quite closely with the role of husband and my role as wife. Perhaps I am not being kind as a result. To him, or to myself. "I also found his talents with thread impressive, though I don't know much about it."
"There is a difference between learning for a trade and learning for one's family," Mother says, even as her comb pulls sharply on my hair. "Quiet, now. Unless your grandfather declares Isshinta unsuitable, then you will have to grow. I know you only too well, my daughter, and I know that you can become anything if you wish to. How else could you surpass your elder brothers so easily?"
I purse my lips, acknowledging the truth of her words but not appreciating it.
"In stories," Mother continues, "people from all walks of life may marry for love. We, however, do not. But I believe that you can grow to love Isshinta-kun, if he treats you with the same respect and kindness he has shown for our family. If he does not…well, you would not be the first widow among the Tojo clan."
"Mother!" I turn and stare accusingly at my mother, who covers her mouth with one hand and hides her laughter.
The Tōjo clan, my mother's old clan, had not been known for particularly happy marriages. But it had been known for the unfortunate number of widows amongst its members. None of the stories I had read ever spoke about the specific fates of the unworthy husbands, but it was a reminder done in poor taste.
Everyone, after all, knew that the Tōjo clan had once claimed shinobi—pulled from the remnants of their shattered clans in the wakes of clan wars—among their membership. But even the daimyo could not render judgment on the basis of peasant whispers.
"Isshinta-kun is not a bad person, Tomoe," my mother placates me. "Love does not bloom in a month. Or perhaps even a year. But friendship can. Can you be friends with him, Tomoe?"
I purse my lips again, thinking. While I still can't see Isshinta as a proper husband, I can admit that he could easily be a friend if I let him. Friendships were safe. And I suppose that love has to start somewhere, if it does at all. "I…I believe I can, Mother. I'll try to give him a chance for that much, at least."
My mother nodded, saying, "That is all we can ask of you, then." She held up the comb. "Now, let me finish with your hair."
The silence after that is more comfortable.
It isn't until week three that I come to understand more about Isshinta. Friendships require trust. And until that night, he did not trust me.
Winters in the Land of Iron are dark and deep. Snow falls in a great silent blanket, muffling sound across the country. The sun rarely shows its face in winter, hiding behind clouds for the few hours it can, and the nights are long, and full of terrors for those who dare stray too far from home.
But this night is not.
It has not snowed in three days and nights, so the sloped roofs across the Uesugi clan complex have all been cleared. The snow drifts in the garden and along the ground are therefore unnatural and far deeper than they should be, but hold no dangers for me.
I venture out into the dark with a thick haori over my kimono and a scarf around my neck, eyeing the sky above with curiosity. Tonight, for once, the sky is clear of winter clouds.
Out there, in the silvery half-moon's light, I see the glow of a lantern in the garden.
Trusting my ability to feel energy, I venture off after it without fear of the dark.
The garden's pathways are clear, so I quickly move from stone to stone without the crunch of snow to give me away. My kimono and haori are mostly black, white, and gray, so I don't stand out in the dark against the background colors. Whoever is in the garden should not be able to see, hear, or feel me heading their way.
I hear the faint whisper of a voice before I can feel the person it belonged to. While the words are unintelligible, I can still understand enough to hear sorrow. Grief.
I reach into a nearby bush and snap a half-frozen branch.
The occupant of the gazebo gives a gasp and there is the sound of fabric rustling in the dark.
"W-Who's there?" a shaky voice manages, but he doesn't lift the lantern. He doesn't want to see.
I step out of the night and let him draw his own conclusions.
Isshinta sits alone in the gazebo, shivering in the dim orange light of his lantern. I have not seen him since dinner, but he changed into a plain white sleeping yukata at some point and yet still wandered out into the garden. He looks even smaller than usual, like a little red-haired ghost child.
"Ah, T-Tomoe-chan." Isshinta bows his head, but I've already seen the spots on his sleeve and his damp eyes. "Good evening."
"Good evening, Isshinta-kun," I respond, just as quiet. "Are you all right?"
"No, I-I'm not." Isshinta dabs at his eyes with his yukata sleeve again, sniffling. "But I'm s-sorry for causing any tr-trouble, T-Tomoe-chan."
"You haven't caused me trouble," I say, perhaps sharper than is appropriate, because Isshinta seems to wilt. I try again in a softer voice, like my mother would have done for me, "But I would like to know if there's anything I can do to help you feel better."
"Nn…maybe?" Isshinta doesn't elaborate, instead hugging himself and shivering. I can see his breath forming clouds in the lantern-light, and think that he may have made a few silly mistakes in coming out here.
I reach up and untie my scarf from around my neck. It's not the thickest or most durable creation, but I did make it to keep off the cold.
"Tomoe-ch—oh!"
Isshinta freezes as I loop the scarf around his neck, tucking the ends into the neckline of his yukata. He looks up, purple eyes wide with surprise, and I shed my haori to drape it around his shoulders, too.
"Y-You don't have to…" Isshinta trails off, and I sit down beside him. He swallows and, after a moment, says, "Thank you, T-Tomoe-chan."
"You looked cold," I tell him, looking at the lantern rather than his face. I'm ruining my night vision, but I don't want to make him any more uncomfortable than I already have.
What a strange thought. I don't remember caring about his feelings before deciding that we might become friends.
Isshinta draws a shuddering breath, and then there's a weight against my side. Startled, I look down to where Isshinta is hiding his face against the edge of the borrowed haori, but is still leaning against me.
I loop my right arm around him, feeling him shake. "Isshinta-kun?"
"Sh-Shinta. Not Isshinta." Is—no, just—Shinta looks up and meets my eyes, and I see how red his face is from crying. "I-I…you were right, before. I was adopted by th-the Asakura clan."
I nod. He needs to have room to talk, and not all opportunities are physical.
"I…my home village. A few months ago—it's not there. N-Not anymore." Shinta takes a shaky breath, hides his face again, and says, "Y-You've probably never heard of it, T-Tomoe-chan."
I stare at the top of Shinta's head, horrified. "Shinta-kun—"
"N-No, you sh-should know." Shinta leans into me, trembling. "T-Tomoe-chan, the Asakura clan saved me from wh-what happened after th-that, s-so I am grateful. It's…it's just that they're not family. M-My family's gone."
How long ago did this happen? Where did the Asakura clan get Shinta from, if they changed his name and history? What did he go through before he came here?
I almost can't understand how such a thing could happen. How Shinta, despite his nerves and his tears, can still be so strong when the world flipped on him not long ago.
"I'm s-sorry to burden you, T-T-Tomoe-chan." Shinta hiccups, still sounding miserable. He says, "I-I know you wanted a strong husband, and the c-clan's counting on me, but I can't. I can't be that person."
"It's not a burden," I tell him firmly. I reach down and lift Shinta's chin so he can face me, despite himself. "You are not a burden, Shinta-kun."
His violet eyes are dark and dim, despairing. "Th-This isn't what you asked for."
"I didn't ask for a husband at all," I correct him, but gentler this time. At Shinta's reflexive wince, I continue, "But in this, I'm not asking for you to be something you can't. Instead, please, consider me a friend."
Shinta blinks, uncomprehending. "Wh-What?"
"It's something my mother told me. That perhaps I wasn't ready to be a wife." I offer my left hand to him. "Shinta-kun, please. I…haven't been kind to you. But I want to apologize. For that, and for…I don't know. But I do know that I want you to be happy."
Shinta stares. "Y-You do?"
"Yes. Perhaps not as man and wife, but you seem to be a kind person." Unlike me. "You are well-liked in my family, so if you were to stay, I don't think there would be too many problems. I…don't know if I could be happy as a member of the Asakura clan, but perhaps we could be friends for now. Whatever else happens will be for the future. Possibly a distant one."
"I… I'd…" Shinta grabs my hand with both of his. His eyes are welling up. "Th-Thank you, Tomoe-chan. For listening."
"I haven't done a good job of that, yet. Shinta-kun, do you want to talk? To…vent?" I'm not quite sure what word to use. Perhaps I'm going too far.
Shinta leans his head against my shoulder, mumbling, "N-Not right now. Please, T-Tomoe-chan…" He still feels fragile, but he's relaxing against me. Perhaps that's enough.
I let my cheek rest against the top of Shinta's head. "All right."
It feels like we sit there, holding hands, for a long time. I don't regret any of it.
The wedding occurs after another week of getting to know one another, and of perhaps growing closer as friends.
Given that my family seems to believe in the wonders of alcohol, I don't remember most of it.
I do remember my white wedding kimono and the veil, and Shinta's Asakura clan family members. I remember my brother Koguma arguing with my cousin Tōshiro and the second son of the Asakura clan head, but nothing about the specifics.
The first thing I remember from that night is blood.
First blood in my mouth, then lightning in my veins, then I smell smoke and jerk awake.
"T-Tomoe-chan, we need to get out of here." I almost don't recognize the voice, too busy fighting the sudden dizziness that wracks my body. What happened to me? I can't remember anything other than fragments of the wedding itself.
And yet I'm in bed—or at least a bed—and still wearing my wedding clothes, with Shinta on his knees next to me. I must have been unconscious for hours, because it's dark outside of my room, and yet fire flickers in the distance. I can see chakra lights moving in the dark and hear the rattle of steel on steel.
I need my katana. Now.
My red-haired husband is clutching his bleeding forearm next to me, his head bowed.
I pause, staring at him in disbelief as I bring my fingers to my mouth and feel warm liquid dripping down my chin. I wipe it away with the side of my hand, and my hand comes away dark with blood. "Shinta-kun…"
"It's…it's something I can do." Shinta's head remained bowed. "I'm sorry I d-didn't tell you before."
"Shinta-kun, what's happening?" My voice is flat and cold, making him flinch. "What did you do?"
"Th-The clan. The Asakura clan—" Shinta swallows hard. "Th-They're attacking! I didn't know. I swear I didn't!"
I shove Shinta aside, scrambling to my feet. Where is my sword?
"T-Tomoe-chan—" Shinta's voice isn't relevant.
I dive into the closer and snatched up the tantō and katana pair under the linens. I did not store my armor in this room, a fact which sets my heart pounding, but there's nothing for it now. I will have to make do.
I turn, even as I place my tantō inside of my wedding kimono's neckline. I draw my katana as I approach Shinta, who stares up at me in frozen terror.
"Shinta-kun." I feel my face go masklike, cold and unresponsive. "Please tell me what is happening."
"The A-Asakura clan, th-they drugged us," he cowers, his violet eyes wide. "I r-recovered but—but your family—!"
So the Asakura clan are backstabbing snakes. I can't muster any rage over the half-expected betrayal, when I hardly expected any less of their behavior. But Shinta, whom I know and have considered a friend, is still here. Isn't attacking. Or defending.
I step closer, looming over Shinta. "Give me one good reason to let you live."
Shinta…bows. Not like a martial artist or a shinobi, or even a husband to a wife. Shinta, still on his knees, leans over far enough that his forehead touches the floor and his hands are flat on the floor. The sheer unexpectedness of this deep bow throws me off. I am no daimyo. But Shinta clearly believes I need to be apologized to as though I was.
This boy has been beaten into shape.
My anger goes cold. It's still there, lurking beneath this surface, but not aimed at Shinta. Not actively hunting.
That will change.
"Shinta," I say in a heavy voice.
He doesn't respond.
I kneel down, placing my hand against his shoulder. He's trembling. "Shinta, get up. We don't have time for this."
Shinta looks up, and his pupils are still almost large enough to blot out the purple in his eyes. "T-Tomoe—"
"I forgive you." There was never anything to forgive, I think. Shinta doesn't know what's happening. To strike him would be an insult to everything my family does—did, says a little voice in my head—stand for. "Will you help me save my family?"
"I-I'll try, T-Tomoe-cha…Tomoe?" Shinta hedges.
We have more important things to worry about.
There's an Asakura soldier down the hall from my room.
He's dressed in full samurai plate, the sort that prevents him from climbing walls. Someone must have opened the gate to let this helmeted monster inside. His armor is scuffed, not torn, and blood drips from the blade of his sword. He's killed tonight, and I intend to repay that evil with his head on the tip of a spear if I can manage it.
The Asakura soldier looks like he is prepared to find more warriors, or perhaps the house guards. I don't know if he attended the wedding—in full plate, he would have been turned away or shot to pieces long before.
He is not prepared for the bride.
I cut him down where he stands. Long experience with samurai armor has taught me where to strike.
The eye-slits of the helmets are always a good place to start.
Blood gushes across the hallway as my target slumps over in death, though his heart continues to beat. It splatters my wedding kimono as well, but I don't care. No, were it not for Shinta following me and acting as an extra pair of eyes, I would have been far messier about it.
My hands don't shake. I've trained too long and hard to allow myself to show weakness.
His chakra is erratic and terrified as it follows me down the hallways, but he keeps pace with me due to strength borne of fear and the fact that I am still wearing a formal kimono.
"I can't feel my family's chakra here." I…I don't know if it's because there's too much flying around from the invaders, or because they're dead. "Maybe somewhere else…?"
"I-I don't…" Shinta pauses, going still behind me.
I turn slowly to face him. "Shinta?"
"M-Maybe we should go away from the soldiers?" Shinta's eyes dart around the hall, fearfully. "Th-There may be someone they missed? Concentrate, T-Tomoe-chan."
As much as I am not interested in hearing platitudes, the idea has merit. I flick my wrist and blood splatters across the floor to join the rest of the enemy samurai's bodily fluids. Once my katana is no longer dripping, I bring my left hand up in a seal, with two fingers raised in front of my nose and the others folded inward toward my palm.
I close my eyes and concentrate. Is there anyone left?
My chakra does not usually work at range, not without devoting more effort than open combat allows. I always need to be still and careful, deliberate in my search. I can't afford to be distracted.
And occasionally, I am rewarded for my diligence.
A little spark of life, in the direction of my oldest brother's quarters. And it is alone.
"Follow me, Shinta." Without waiting for him to reply, I stalk past the dead Asakura soldier and stride down the hall. I sheathe my sword again, in case I need to perform a quick-draw while my opponents are in front of me.
"Tomoe?" Shinta asks from behind me.
I don't answer him. Instead, as I approach the little lost chakra spark, I pick up speed. First I am walking, then I begin to run full-out as I feel yet more chakra signatures converging on ours.
When one can sense, they can be sensed in return.
There's a place not far ahead where the halls intersect. It leads to Koguma's quarters, but it also runs near the enemy. We'll just have to live with that.
I skid to a stop just as the enemy barrels into the intersection, pursuing my chakra. "Shinta, get down!"
Shinta throws himself flat to the floorboards as I rip through the air at waist height. My katana's edge glows blue, and then the entire blade seems to be engulfed in unearthly fire that trails after my swing. The fire spreads, reaches out from the physical blade and extends another three meters past what might have otherwise been the outside edge of my attack.
The enemy, on both sides of the hall, collapses in pieces.
So do parts of the wall.
"A ghost blade…" Shinta whimpers from the floor. "I-Is that a samurai jutsu?"
"It is." I sheathe my katana again and stride past the human wreckage. Jutsu? So Shinta is shinobi-born?
Shinta scrambles to his feet and after me, as I turn into the next hall and continue to track the wayward spark of life.
Bodies carpet the hall.
Some, I recognize. Servants, guards, but no members of my family thus far. Though I know I will find corpses eventually, I just…try not to think about it. I will deal with the inevitable pain once I see for myself that my suspicions are true.
Some of the bodies, I stab. Just to work out my frustrations. My clan will never go down easily, as the evidence suggests, but it doesn't change how much I hate the enemy for what they've done.
"T-Tomoe…" Shinta begins, just as I slide the shoji aside and get a good look at Koguma's rooms.
There's blood everywhere.
I breathe in slowly, through my mouth, and examine the spatter. And the bodies.
Koguma may have died, but he took three Asakura warriors with him. His head isn't attached to his shoulders anymore, and his formal clothes are so dark with his blood that I can only recognize the body by the scar on the palm of his left hand. The enemy is thoroughly mangled, in pieces across the floor, but one of them managed to embed a spear in my brother's side.
I have no idea what blow actually killed him.
"T-Tomoe?" Shinta's voice quakes. His hand comes to rest against my arm.
I can't…I can't let this affect me. I need to find the life here, retrieve it, and leave. The clan is dead. The clan is never going to recover. The Asakura are probably going to burn our homes to the ground, and if we don't leave before then there will be no witnesses to their treachery.
No one left to make them pay.
"Forgive me, my brother," I murmur, clamping down on the rage that threatens to overwhelm me and expose us to the enemy. While Koguma can't hear me, I can. Perhaps he may be listening somehow, through me. The words need to be said. "I will avenge us."
Before Shinta can comment, I head to the next room.
The smell of blood is so thick in the air that I almost can't tell where one grisly scene ends and the other begins.
Utane and Suzume are both dead on the floor, surrounded by the bodies of four more Asakura warriors and a wreck of a corpse that might have been Takahiro, though it is difficult to be sure. In the back of the room, behind an overturned table, I see one pale arm lying motionless in a pool of dark blood. It's too small to be an adult's arm.
Behind me, Shinta throws up.
I close Suzume's glassy eyes, my jaw clenching. She's dead, and there's nothing I can do for her, but…
Oh, the Asakura clan will pay. I will kill every last one of them. I don't care how long it will take me, because I can be patient, but I will kill them all in the end.
I move over to Utane, intending to perform what last rites I can. She is lying face-down on top of a—oh! I place my katana on the floor and lift Utane's cooling shoulder, pushing her body aside.
While his hair is plastered to his face with blood and he's barely breathing, my youngest nephew is still alive. I pat his cheek, smearing blood across my hands. I don't know how badly Yūki's been hurt, but I can at least try to see if he'll wake.
He doesn't.
I lift Yūki with my left arm and tuck his head against the side of my neck. I bow my head to Utane, who died protecting her children and to Suzume, who did the same. To Takahiro, who fought for the same cause. I will remember them.
I will avenge them.
Shinta coughs behind me. I turn my head to look at him, as he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.
Shinta ducks his head and says, "I-I can carry Yūki-chan, Tomoe. I can't fight, b-but…"
For a moment, I contemplate the idea. Shinta has had all too many opportunities to kill me since this evening began. Of all the living people in this castle, I can trust him alone. Can't I?
"I c-can heal him, Tomoe. Please."
I hand Yūki to Shinta, who kneels on the floor and rolls his left sleeve up with my nephew in his lap. He opens Yūki's mouth, and I have the briefest glimpse of his baby teeth before Shinta pushes his jaw shut on the meat of his arm.
Shinta winces when blood starts to flow, and I can feel the chakra flow from Shinta to Yuki, filling my nephew's body. The closest metaphor I can think of involves a sky full of stars, but I am not seeing the chakra move and settle.
Yūki stirs.
"We're leaving," I tell Shinta, over Yūki's head.
"How?" Shinta picks Yūki up as though my nephew is his, without hesitation.
"There are ways out of even a burning castle." I pick up my sword and stand. "Follow me."
Move.
Another Asakura soldier, another sword in the back of the neck where the armor is thin. If they get in my way, they're dead. They just haven't stopped moving yet.
I carefully ease the corpse to the ground, to prevent his armor from making noise. Quite aside from how little I want to deal with the entire Asakura force, Yūki is asleep in Shinta's arms and I have no interest in waking him.
To show him what our clan's holdings have become would be crueler than any blow.
I duck behind a storehouse with Shinta in tow, watching shadows flicker in the torchlight as we go. The enemy is more careless here, more sure of themselves. I can't afford to be as stupid. While I would easily be able to scale the castle walls on my own, I would not be able to do so with a child in my arms and a noncombatant husband on my back. Therefore, our method must be secret and swift, and provide no opportunities for enemy archers to fire on us.
This storehouse is key.
It gives me exactly half a second of warning as snow on its roof shifts—wherein I jerk my leading foot back—to avoid having my leg impaled by an arrow.
Shinta's back meets mine, and I feel his chakra rising in panic. I steel mine, waiting for either the second shot to confirm heading so I can kill the archer, or—
"The blushing bride. We'd wondered if you'd attend the after-party." Murasaki's voice is perfectly devoid of emotion, as she and her armored retinue seem to seep into reality. Genjutsu? But I've never— "Come out of there, Tomoe."
We're surrounded. It has to be a shinobi trick of some kind. There's no way I could miss such a large force within barely ten meters of us! She must have—she…
With a platoon of samurai at our backs, Shinta, Yūki and I are herded away from the exit tunnel and toward the main courtyard. Shinta holds my left arm with one trembling hand, his face nearly white with fear, as we are led to the killing ground.
The courtyard is gravel and sand, kept free of snow by servants in most years. But today, it is occupied. Besides the Asakura warriors, and us, I can see bound people sitting in the center of a vast ring of dark sand, flanked on all sides by logs.
The hair of the back of my neck stands up.
Mother. Father. Grandfather. And all of us, being prepared for the funeral pyre.
Murasaki turns when she reaches the center of the courtyard and her guards surround us with a ring of blades. Her long dark hair flares out like a trail of ink—or the darkness of deep winter gloom, flickering with firelight.
"I knew we'd missed one." Murasaki smiles without a trace of amusement, examining her long nails. "Isshinta, give her the child. This will be over soon, my son."
Shinta shakes his head, still clutching my arm with one hand and Yūki with the other.
"Oh? This is your last chance, boy." Murasaki's eyes seem to narrow. "Live with the dogs, and you will die like one."
"You wanted me to marry her, M-Mother." There's just the barest hint of hesitation as Shinta speaks, and his voice is almost inaudible even to me. "Th-That means she's of our clan, right?"
"That new wife of yours has killed many of our clansmen before," Murasaki growls. "How naïve to think that there would ever be peace between us. Our blood burns, Isshinta." She tosses her head, irritable. "But not yours, it seems."
My grandfather's head remains bowed, as he sits amidst the corpses of his children and his clan's future. Oh, Grandfather, how could you be so blind? This woman was never going to be pacified by a political marriage.
"I should never have brought you into this clan. Once a shinobi-born, always, or wasn't that what your clan used to think?" Murasaki snaps, "The flesh-peddlers would have kept you if I had known you would betray our family like this!"
Shinta wilts, dropping his gaze to the ground. His grip tightens on Yūki, but he lets go of my arm to clutch my nephew with both hands.
"You. Uesugi bitch. Look at what your clan's scheming has wrought." Murasaki throws a hand out, drawing our gazes to the rest of the clan holdings. "Your castle burns. Your eldest brother and clan's heir is beheaded. Your parents are soon to follow, and I will personally raise the pike that carries your grandfather's skull for the crows. You, young warrior, are nothing. Your strength means nothing. You will all die like the dogs you are."
Murasaki's voice takes on a sardonic lilt as she says, "So, kindly drop your sword. I'd like this to be finished before dawn."
"D-Don't," Shinta pleads, his eyes wide. "Please, Tomoe."
"Speak again and I will have you killed, Isshinta," Murasaki barks. She lifts a hand, and I hear archers lining up their shots. "You will not escape this castle alive."
Does she expect him to retain even a scrap of loyalty after being spat upon? Fear rules Shinta, often, but even a wounded dog has pride. A wounded dog will snap.
Shinta clenches his teeth, but does not go back on his words.
I am sick of listening to this woman talk.
I reach down inside of myself, into the core of power underneath all humans and hiding inside their bodies. I've only ever used this power a few times, and it may not be enough, but there was always a reason I held the title of the strongest samurai of the Uesugi clan.
Murasaki recognizes what's about to happen only after it already has.
There's no reason to hide anymore. There's no way out of this.
So I open the First Gate.
Murasaki's head goes flying across the courtyard and lands in the arms of her eldest son. Then the night devolves into darkness, fire, and screams.
I cough blood onto the snow, limping badly as I make my way back to the courtyard.
The Asakura warriors are dead. The archers are dead. The head of their clan is dead.
My family is dead. My parents were dead before I even saw them, and my grandfather refused to abandon their bodies in the pyre. Though if he'd been younger, maybe he would have been able to.
I'm going to die. Every breath pulls at the ugly slash wound on my right side, filling my body with agonizing fire. Breathing out is nearly as painful, because I am counting down until I have no more breaths left.
I sink to my knees, watching my blood paint the snow red. My hands are cracked from the intensity of the chakra I used, while my arms shake as I grow weaker and weaker.
Shinta, hardly an arm's reach away, wheezes. There's an arrow in his stomach. Or two arrows. There are two holes, so one must have passed through, right? His blood coats the ground at his front and his back, dying the ground red, while he lies on his side.
Yūki still sleeps through the bloodshed, sheltered under Shinta's arm. Now he can freeze to death with the rest of us.
Well. If Shinta and I don't bleed out first.
I summon my strength and crawl over to them. I clasp Shinta's hand with one of mine and cupping Yūki's cheek with the other.
"T-T-Tomoe…" Shinta gasps, looking over to me. His violet eyes are dazed with pain and shock, and I know he won't last much longer.
"I"—and here, I stop to cough a fine spray of blood across the snow—"am h-here, Shinta."
"G-Good…" Shinta's hand tightens on mine, just for a moment. His right hand twitches against his stomach, near the shaft of the arrow. "O-Oh, it h-hurts…"
I nod, feeling my body tremble with pain and exhaustion. "S-Sorry, Shinta…I couldn't protect a-anyone…"
Shinta's left hand twitches feebly. "You d-did what you could…" He coughs, dribbling blood down his cheek. And yet, even with his teeth dyed red, Shinta manages to force a smile. "S-So…let me do…wh-what I c-can. T-Tomoe…"
I stare at him, uncomprehending. "Shinta…?"
"Take…m-my chakra…please…" Shinta's eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. His breathing is shallower than before. "Before…" Shinta struggles, tugging on the hem of his left sleeve, where I know he's already forced Yūki and me to bite on his arm. But if I do that now—
I know that look in Shinta's eyes. It doesn't matter to him. I don't have the capacity to heal him, and he knows what he offers may give me a chance to escape with my nephew.
There is no choice.
I lift Shinta's arm to my lips.
"Maybe…th-this time," Shina wheezes, "I'll s-see…them…"
I bite down, with tears welling in my eyes.
My wounds itch, ripple, and close as Shinta's remaining chakra surges through my body. Even before he goes still, I know there is not going to be enough to heal me completely. Still. It's enough for what I have to do. I will not waste Shinta's gift.
I leave a bloody kiss on Shinta's forehead, before carefully scooping my nephew out of his arms.
I gather my sword, a spare, bloodied haori, and a scarf before fleeing into the night. If I am going to ensure my nephew's survival, I need to be as far from the scene of this madness as I can go. If I am not mistaken, my sister Sumomo has a winter home in the Land of Rice Fields. Perhaps I will go there. I will see what can be done.
And then, when my nephew's safety is assured, I can begin avenging the clan as it should be done.
I can see the Uesugi clan holdings burn for miles.
Land of Rivers
One year later...
"—And they have hot-pot!" I crow, as we troop into the roadside restaurant-and-inn, immensely cheered by the idea. Honestly, it's been a long day and my fingers smell like ink and explosive residue and everyone is so tired that a good meal will do us good.
Ginmaru Kiyotsato breaking his leg put all of us out of sorts. Sure, he's being transported back to Konoha, but it's still a blow.
I'll grab any scrap of happiness I can get at this point. I think my team feels mostly the same.
"Can you try slowing down, Wataru?" Junpei gripes, even as he follows me and I follow the smell of food. His customary mustache got a little scorched in our last fight, but at least now he has enough breathing room to, say, shave the rest to match.
The rest of my team—the teenaged Ryusei and team midget Honoka (okay, so she's actually just ten)—troop in afterward, trailing dust and acrid smoke-stink. They don't look any happier than Junpei, though Honoka immediately zeroes in on the scent of food and goes for a table.
"The decision's out of my hands, Junpei," I tell him cheerfully, "since Honoka-chan beat you to the table. I can pay if you're still worried about it."
Junpei groans. "Fine, fine. Just don't order anything with leeks!"
Ryusei scoots past Junpei and me, making a beeline for Honoka's chosen table. I hear him say, "You can't eat all the meat before the soup gets here!"
"Watch me!" Honoka replies.
Junpei sighs. "Okay, okay, you win. You and the kids. Always thinking with your stomachs…"
The restaurant in the inn has a good dozen tables with four cushion seats at each one. The area under the tables is lined with tatami mats, which are clean of road dust and other grime. Each table is isolated from the next by rice paper and bamboo screens, to form multiple booths. There are windows, but the restaurant is mostly lit by paper lanterns.
At our table, where blue-haired Ryusei sits across from Honoka and the two of them silently fight over a scrap of uncooked beef, there are already four placemats set and enough chopsticks for everyone.
Junpei takes the seat to the left, while I sit closer to the door and ignore Honoka's audible growling by my right elbow.
I hope the broth pot shows up soon, or else the youngest two members of the team are probably going to kill each other with chopsticks.
"Give it," Honoka snaps at Ryusei, her eyes flickering red in frustration.
"You already ate three!" Ryusei argues, "And they're raw!"
"So what? Had worse on my last mission, and I'm hungry!" Honoka's eyes are definitely Sharingan red now, and yet Ryusei is unintimidated.
"That's enough, kids." With his own chopsticks, Junpei easily snags the scrap of steak out of both kids' grip and drops it on his plate. "Now, you wait for the next round and we'll cook it properly. There's no reason to eat badly when there are better choices."
Honoka drops her chin to the table and pouts.
"You're not going to get food any faster like that." I click my chopsticks with an air of smug superiority to emphasize the point, drawing myself and puffing my chest out. "No, instead you should demand faster service and curse those who would leave you hungry! Life is too short for long waits!"
Honoka snickers, but my other two teammates give me exasperated looks.
Ryusei complains, "You're weird, Gekkō-san."
"Do his job for a week and see how normal you are, Ryusei-kun." Junpei shakes his head.
So what if mine-creating is a seriously exclusive specialty? And not because people don't try. Really, it's the kind of job that kills practitioners nearly as often as the enemy, especially if they're dumb and don't sweep for bombs before planting new ones. Survivors still tend to walk away with bits missing, unless they've got a knack. Or years of experience supplementing dumb luck.
I'm not dumb. I'm eccentric, as people tend to say. Sure, they say it about Dai, too, but Dai's the world's most overblown genin and I blow things up for a living. Or make sure important stuff doesn't blow up. Pulling double duty is fun.
I mime clutching at my heart in shock. "I resent that, sir! It's an insult to my honor! I demand a duel at dawn!"
Junpei rolls his eyes. "And this, kids, is why you get concussions treated by a medic-nin. Too many knocks to the head."
I stick my tongue out at him.
Fortunately, lunch arrives not long after that in the form of a boiling pot of soup and a parade of ingredients to cook in it. It forestalls any more arguments and maybe keeps Junpei from murdering me for overacting.
But I can't help it, really. Honoka and Ryusei are still kids, though they're also blooded genin at this point in the war. It's depressing to think that Honoka even needed her Sharingan so early in life, and Ryusei's still recovering from tearing a tendon in his back someplace from when somebody kicked the hell out of him.
So, as an adult, it's my job to make sure they laugh every once in a while.
Just not where the enemy can kill us.
"So, Honoka-chan, what do you do for fun?" I ask, as Honoka swirls a long strip of meat around in the soup with one hand and dumps half a bottle of soy sauce on her rice with her other hand.
"Trying new things." Honoka's tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on her multitasking. "Tried carving things. Out of wood. Made a flute once."
"Ryusei?" I ask, since Honoka doesn't seem to want to talk.
"I mostly look after my younger sister." Ryusei is watching Honoka like a hawk from behind his ever-present shades, to keep her from stealing the chicken he put in the broth. "But I like visiting the hot springs, I guess."
Hm. Can I tease him for that? Because while everyone knows Jiraiya of the Sannin is a raging pervert who peeps on the bathhouses, he's never really been caught. And Ryusei's thirteen. He's not really secure enough in himself for stupid teasing, and besides, the implication is inappropriate anyway.
"How old's your sister?" I ask instead.
"Eight. She's in the Acade—hey! That's mine, you brat!" Ryusei snarls, nearly upending the table as Honoka shoves all of her stolen food into her mouth.
"Soooo…Junpei, handle this for me!" And I'm out of the booth before he can stop me.
Junpei needs to learn to handle kids sooner or later. I want to take a look around the restaurant for security's sake.
We aren't the only ones here. (Besides the staff, anyway.)
Over in the corner booth, there's a woman sitting alone with a tea set. Fascinating, but also kinda-sorta weird when you get down to it. There's a whole pot of green tea in front of her, plus a pair of cups and two small bowls of anmitsu jelly and fruit. While it's not unusual to find someone with a sweet tooth, I'm still surprised that she's eating alone.
Isn't it lonely?
That's probably presumptuous of me, though. I just need to know she's not from Tani or Suna.
I imagine they want to ask somebody about that whole minefield problem they have now. Especially me. Because I may or may not have been in the alleged kill-zone the night before in order to turn it into one. Even if my alibi says I was really fifty kilometers away on a different front.
As I finally get a look at her booth past the screens, though, I freeze up a second in surprise, because of two details.
The woman looks up as I pass, and I see heaven. Dark, soulful eyes with a touch of dreaminess or cool disinterest! She has high cheekbones, a noble's complexion, and the swan's curve of her neck is so graceful. Full lips, too. Her hair is long and as dark as a moonless night, falling down her back in an inky cascade. She's wearing a modest, rough-hewn kimono, but there's no mistaking this woman's beauty.
The second thing I notice, which keeps me from falling entirely to her siren's sway, is the sword across her knees.
"May I ask you about your katana, stranger?" I try, and my eyes keep shifting between her sword and her face. She's as beautiful as the moon, and that sword is, just from the way it sits, one of the most finely engineered tools of war I have ever seen.
Her expression remains blank. "My…sword?"
"Yes! Even from here, I can tell the balance is beyond perfect. And is that genuine shark-skin for the wrap?" I'm gushing, aren't I? I'm gushing. Oh, no.
It's happening again.
"It's not for sale," she says sharply, apparently baffled by my attention.
"I don't want to buy it!" I insist, waving my hands as though to stave off the thought. "I just want to bask in its glory. Because this weapon is glorious."
"…It's a katana." I think I've lost her.
"Do you have any idea how shoddy modern mass-forging can be?" I make a sweeping gesture, pointing out my new friend's dress. She isn't wearing standard shinobi equipment that I can see… "Maybe you don't? I've snapped a blade or two and I've never been a kenjutsu specialist. That shouldn't happen. Please, tell me your name, o vision of moonlit kenjutsu mastery."
Yep, I've definitely lost her.
But at least it's not a hostile sort of blank expression. She is genuinely baffled.
"Um. Maybe I should introduce myself?" I sit back on my heels and extend a hand. "Wataru Gekkō, of Konohagakure."
She doesn't take my hand to shake it. Instead, she bows her head—samurai?—before saying, "Miyako. Of wherever."
So, maybe not a samurai?
"Well, Miyako-san, I'd really like to pick your brain about swords. I've used a few, but you're probably better than I am if that's your primary weapon, so…" I trail off, hoping. I clap my hands together in front of my face and hold them together, in a silent appeal. "Please?"
She takes a long sip of her tea. Then, "It would be…acceptable."
Yes! "Oh, that's wonderful! I have so many questions!"
And if I hear Junpei's voice drifting across the inn, saying, "He's at it again!" I don't care all that much.
AN: And after that, a fight with Suna-nin. But you already know this story. So ends the Uesugi clan.
And so begins the legacy of Wataru, whose personality was passed down to his daughter (or so everyone seems to think). With some clear differences. Any questions, comments, or just idle musings can be directed to the review box here, to the cyb-by-lang tumblr, or however else you need to contact me. The blog also has new art, new questions answered, and so on and so forth.
(This is the other thing I've been working on for ages. So it's chock-full of references to Japanese history, other characters in CYB, and so on.)