Tale of the Warrior Geisha (5 page)

“If I had any fine paper, I would,” Wada said. He slumped on his horse. “When I am rich, Tomoe, I shall write you poems every day on the most beautiful paper. Epic odes to your beauty.”

“When you're a lord, you'll have to spend all your time writing important papers, not silly poems to me.” Foolish Yoshimori Wada. He reached for the moon and came up with a handful of air. She moved back the way they had come. “This way.”

“I'm telling you, they're inside this way.” Wada refused to move.

The plume of smoke turned ostentatiously black and thick. They
wanted
her to notice it. “Trust me.” Tomoe mounted Yuki and pressed her heels into the horse's sides, making kissing noises. She galloped around the perimeter of the forest, back the way they had come, the imprints of Yuki nearly matching her fresh ones. After a moment, Tomoe heard Wada's horse hooves catching up. Good.

The horse saw them before she did. Under her thighs, Tomoe felt the horse tense, slowing almost imperceptibly. There. Hiding ahead. Not by the smoke, but under branches in a pit. She saw the whites of their eyes flash amid the brown. They held bow and arrow, the arrowheads practice ones their father had fashioned out of round stones.

Tomoe reached back and pulled out her own bow and arrow in one smooth movement. She selected a real arrow, not a practice one. At a full gallop, she turned to the side and pulled back the string. She saw, as though the world had slowed to a crawl, the boys' concerned expressions, a tree branch right above their heads. Kanehira and Yoshinaka with their bows drawn. She released hers.

Two arrows hit her shoulders. Each shoulder. They weren't sharp, but the blunt force knocked her off the saddle. Yuki slowed. Tomoe grabbed for the saddle, but her stubborn hand still held the bow. She fell, rolling into a ball, falling the way Kaneto had taught her to, absorbing the shock with her whole body and not just one part of her.

“Tomoe!” she heard Yoshinaka yell.

She tried to answer, but her breath was knocked out of her. She waited for her diaphragm to recover. She swallowed, her throat dry and lumpy. The world moved about as though she was still astride Yuki. Where was that horse? Had she run off? No, she felt vibrations as Yuki returned.

The sky spread out above her like a coverlet. Tomoe blinked. Funny how she had never noticed these scudding white clouds. They reminded her of eggs dropped into hot broth. Yuki came and nudged her face, wetting it with horse saliva. Tomoe wiped it off, reaching up to cup Yuki's chin and stare into the horse's doleful brown eyes. She blew into the horse's nostrils. Yuki threw back her head and whinnied.

Her brother Kanehira reached her first. His face was red, furious. He panted. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Kanehira held out his hand to help her sit up. Then, out of nowhere, he drew back his hand and slapped her soundly across her cheek.

“Ai!”
She clapped her hand to it, her neck aching from the impact.

“That's for shooting at us!” Kanehira knotted his hands into fists. “You want us to die before we get to a real battlefield?”

She scrambled to her feet and shoved her brother as hard as she could. He fell onto his bottom. “If I'd really wanted shoot you, you'd be dead.” She spat at him.
“Baka-tare.”

Yoshinaka caught up next. He glowered. His recent growth had made him taller than even Kaneto, though his body had not filled out to match. Nobody in Miyako would call him handsome: with his lean face, no ladies would flutter their eyelashes at him, but he had a strong jaw and a well-shaped nose and lips that were quite full for a boy. Tomoe thought he looked more masculine than was popular. “Stop it. Both of you.”

Wada galloped up, holding the fired arrows. He got off the horse and held one out. “I couldn't get Tomoe's. It was stuck in the tree branch.” He clucked. “You are crazy, Tomoe.”

Yoshinaka grinned and touched the top of his head. “I felt it whoosh through my hair.” He was the only one who wasn't annoyed. “Hell, I'd trust Tomoe to hit a dragonfly between the eyes from the back of her horse.”

She blushed again, then turned away, disgusted with herself. She did not need Yoshinaka's approval. He was only her little brother. Little foster brother.

“There's no need to hit a dragonfly.” Kanehira brushed off dirt from his clothes.

Wada went to Tomoe and touched her cheek with his fingertips, the handprint she still felt. “Who did that to you?”

She stepped back, aware of the sudden jealous glare from Yoshinaka. She did not want trouble. “I'm fine.”

Yoshinaka stepped forward, and now it was he who touched her face softly, his roughened fingers stroking down toward her jaw. She shivered pleasantly and he smiled, letting his hand rest briefly on her neck. “
Ai
, Tomoe. Your face is swelling. Let's go to the creek and get some cool water for you.”

But Wada was in Yoshinaka's face. He threw down the
naginata
. “I don't care who your family is, you cannot hit a woman. Especially not this one.”

“Yoshinaka didn't hit me,” Tomoe protested, but Wada ignored her.

“You have no claim to her,” Yoshinaka's newly deep voice grumbled.

“I've more claim than you.” Wada pushed at Yoshinaka's chest.

Yoshinaka smiled, and his eyes lit with a strange kind of enraged excitement that sent a burst of fear through Tomoe. Like he enjoyed being violent. Like he wasn't the Yoshinaka she knew anymore. “First hit, eh? Good. I've wanted to smash in your pretty face for a long time. Your ancestors will be weeping by the time I'm done.”

“All talk. Just like the rest of your family.” Wada tore off his outer kimono.

“Stop!” Tomoe tried to step in between them, but Kanehira pulled her back.

“It's not about you,” he said. “It's between them.”

“It's foolish.” Tomoe saw Wada's large muscles flexing. He could beat up Yoshinaka easily. “Stop, Wada! Please. That is my brother!”

Yoshinaka's expression changed. It startled her. Hurt.

“I am not your brother!” he said.

Wada punched Yoshinaka's nose. Blood spurted out in a fountain.

“Yoshinaka!” Tomoe cried.

“Noses bleed a lot,” Kanehira said, but he paled.

Yoshinaka touched his bloody nose as in disbelief. He stared at his reddened hand, then lunged at Wada, his hands wrapping around the older boy's throat as his momentum took both of them downward. They fell into the pit, crashing down five feet on top of a mess of leaves and branches. Yoshinaka leapt on top of Wada and tightened his hands around his throat.

“Yoshi, Yoshi! Stop!” Tomoe scooped up her
naginata
. Wada fought back, striking Yoshinaka repeatedly in the face and neck even as he turned red then blue under Yoshinaka's grip. Tomoe turned the
naginata
around and tried to shove the stick between them, as she would with fighting dogs, but Wada threw Yoshinaka over and got his own hands around Yoshinaka's neck. Now Kanehira jumped in, trying to separate them. Wada's fist struck him in the chest and Kanehira glanced off the bigger boys like a fly. Yoshinaka wheezed in a breath.

“Stop it, right now!” Tomoe searched for something to distract them. She swung her
naginata
around and connected with a beech tree. Her blade sliced through it as cleanly as it would through a melon. Like slicing through a neck. “Stop!” She shoved the tree down with her foot, hard. It tilted, then began falling.

“Watch out!” Kanehira shrieked. The boys all froze. The tree smacked into the pit right next to them, Yoshimori pulling his leg out of the way just in time.

A cloud of dust and debris rose. When it cleared, Tomoe looked down on them from on top of the severed tree trunk. “Now. Pay attention.”

—

They trudged slowly back,
leading the horses. The sky finally lived up to its promise, sprinkling them with light rain. Tomoe carried her
naginata
in one hand. Blood and dirt and rain mixed on Yoshinaka's face, his nose swollen, his eyes black and blue, making him look like he had a grotesque
oni
mask on, ready for villagers to chase this demon away. He lifted his head, mouth open, tongue sticking out, to the sky, licking out the drops. “Fresh spring rainwater. Delicious.” He smacked his lips.

“Are you sure it's not a bird flying over?” Wada said.

Yoshinaka ignored him, turning to Tomoe. “Lift your face. It will help.” He peered at her. “It looks better now. Less red.”

Tomoe tasted the rain, too, her eyes closed. Yes, water only slightly heavier than air, putting her in mind of grass and flowers. She smiled, feeling the drops on her eyelids. When she opened them, both Wada and Yoshinaka were staring at her, making her uncomfortable. “Do I have something on my face?” she asked. Drops clung to her long lashes, falling onto her cheeks.

“No.” Wada hastened his pace, a flush spreading up his neck.

Kanehira would not let things rest. “My father will kill you, Wada,” Kanehira said. “You wait. You can't hit the future leader of Japan.”

Wada barely controlled the snort escaping from his mouth.

“What?” Yoshinaka demanded.

“Tomoe has a greater chance of becoming shōgun than you do,” Wada said. “You have too many Minamoto cousins ahead of you.”

Tomoe could see the rage making its way into her foster brother's eyes as they reddened even more. “Quiet,” she hissed at Wada. “I will have no more fighting.”

Wada shoved her
naginata
toward her and broke away from them, leading his horse to his farm. “See what I mean? She's already in charge of you lot.” He walked away without a backward glance.

“Wada, wait. I thought . . .” Tomoe trailed off. She didn't know what she had thought. But it was clear Wada's feelings were hurt when she stopped him from defending her. She appreciated his efforts. They were just unnecessary.

It did not matter. Wada wasn't serious about her. He was too set on leaving this place. Tomoe would never fit into his plans. Besides, he shouldn't be so easily dissuaded by a comment from her. She put her chin high, a single tear mingling with the rain.

Their father, Kaneto, stood on the perimeter of the fenced yard near the house, arguing with a well-dressed bald man on horseback. Behind this man were three big men with a horse harnessed to a carriage. Tomoe recognized the man on horseback as the tax collector of the local governor, the
shugo
. Every year, the tax collector showed up to collect the rice owed the governor.

“That's three times as much as last year!” Kaneto's beard seemed to stand on end in his agitation. “I will barely be able to feed my family, let alone have any left to sell.”

The tax collector stared off into the distance. “You would do well to adhere to the law. Some of your neighbors haven't had the wisdom.”

Tomoe stopped where she was. He had to be talking about the Wada family. Wada's father had long complained about the rice tax, and their crops had been poor this year. They'd hardly had any goods to trade for the rice.

“How many do they owe?” Kaneto asked.

“They are fifty pounds short.”

Kaneto made a slicing motion through the air. “But perhaps the Taira can see fit to repair our roads? The one to Miyako has been nearly impassable for two years. It's still covered in fallen trees from last winter! Why do we pay for things we never see or use?”

“There are many things to govern besides roads.” The tax collector frowned. The three big men moved imperceptibly forward. Tomoe thought of the swordmaker, and her stomach tensed. She and the boys spread out, eyeing the men. Yoshinaka glanced at Tomoe, then at the smallest man. She would take that man on.

“Feeding the fat bureaucrats in the capital.” Kaneto saw Tomoe and the boys. He paused at the sight of Yoshinaka's face, but said nothing except, “Boys, go to the barn and get twelve more bags of rice. No. Thirteen. To help cover our neighbor.”

Tomoe's heart lifted. Wada's family would not be in trouble after all.

“Thirteen, Father?” Kanehira's eyes darted from his father to the man on horseback. “We only have twenty at the moment. Can we get through the rest of the year with only seven?”

“Do not question. Go!” Kaneto barked.

Kanehira and Yoshinaka ran off.

Tomoe began to walk past with Yuki, intending to put her horse away. She hoped the rice would be enough and the Wada family wouldn't be punished.

She felt the strangers watch her as she went by. She kept her eyes on the ground, treading carefully on the muddy path, stepping over a steaming pile of straw-studded horse dung.

“I didn't know you were training
onnamusha
, Kaneto-san,” the tax collector remarked from the back of his horse. Tomoe's nostrils flared. The hand that gripped the
naginata
tightened. With one movement, without much effort, she could behead this man. But what good would it do? They'd send someone else in his place.

No, she had to cut off the head of the snake. Not this powerless minion.

“Let me look at you.” The tax collector stuck his muddy foot in front of her chest. She froze, trembling. An outsider would think she was afraid, but she was fighting the urge to lop off this appendage. She cast a pleading look at Kaneto. He did not look at her, but his eyebrows knitted. She felt him thinking,
Calm.
She bowed her head and forced her shaking to stop. The tax collector tsked. “You'd get more use out of such a beauty by sending her to the dance house. I know I'd pay a bag of coppers for her.” His cohorts chuckled.

Tomoe went cold. She bowed, her eyes glittering. “I would love to spend the night with you, sir,” she purred, “but you might find yourself leaving with less than you came with.” She tossed her
naginata
high in the air, flipping it in a dangerous circle, toward the tax collector. The men gasped. In one movement, she jumped in front of the tax collector's horse and atop of Yuki, catching the long sword by the handle, just before the sharp blade came down on the man's bald head. His horse whinnied and reared.