Right: I've started the death scene. Yaori's about to attack the Mongol leader...
~
The summer night was full of song as crickets chirped in the trees outside Hitoma Shrine. Uketai Yaori, soon to be Tomoe Yaori no Michieru, sighed contentedly as the warm air flowed through the open paper shoji screens that covered the doors and windows, carrying with it the scent of the outer garden’s crysantheums.
It wasn’t only the tranquil mountain night that eased her nerves – it was the peace which had finally come after seven years of warfare. During these times, the hordes from the western mainland had dared to desecrate the Land of the Rising Sun. Michieru had travelled to the westernmost island and fought several battles against them.
He had barely escaped with his life, he had said, having fought their leader to a standstill and cutting off his arm. Yaori closed her eyes in nostalgia.
Oh, Michi… she thought, using her affectionate nickname for him. Please return soon… He had gone into Yedo earlier in the day to see that the last-minute preparations of their wedding were in place.
She stood, looking herself over in the mirror demurely – the blue kimono she wore clung to her hips, which had, due to getting proper nourishment, developed a little more in the summer since Michi had been away. He would likely approve. The two of them had not yet pillowed, having not had time, but Yaori was feeling the beginnings of womanly instincts within her. She rubbed a hand on her stomach and smiled longingly, as if there were a child already there.
The adjacent screen slid open, and Mariko, who was one of the shrinemaidens and Yaori’s closest friend, stepped through.
“Yaori? Is everything all right? Is there anything I can do for you to ease your worries?” she asked, leaning forward in concern.
Abruptly Yaori burst into tears, falling forward onto her knees and burying her head in her hands. The stoicism she felt she had been expected to hold suddenly had dissolved…
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” she wailed as she shook with suppressed sobs. “Every night…I worry whether Michi will come back whenever he goes out, whether or not he’ll encounter some challenger and be caught off his guard!” She stopped short, severely damning herself for allowing her emotions to show this clearly.
Mariko rushed over to Yaori, wrapping her arms about the other woman’s shoulders. “Come now Yaori – we both know Michi’s the strongest warrior in all the world, no one could defeat him so easily. He’ll be safe, just have patience. Here, I’ll bring you some tea.” She hugged Yaori more tightly for a moment, then released her and withdrew into the kitchen.
Several minutes later, as Yaori sat trying to dispel the mental images of Michi’s body lying amidst of a pool of blood, Mariko returned with a black laquered tray laden with two teacups and a pitcher of green tea. She poured the two of them cupfuls and they sat drinking in relative silence, but Yaori couldn’t stop rocking nervously to and fro. Mariko apparently sensed this.
“Do you want me to go out and look for him?” she asked quietly. “If it would ease your mind, I’ll take one of the monks and go searching.”
“Yes, thank you so much…” said Yaori, sipping her tea slowly. Her heart swelled in gratitude for Mariko – she knew the girl normally was very reclusive and didn’t like to venture out of the shrine’s walls, but that she would do so for her sake…
Mariko smiled faintly, releasing Yaori. “We’ll be back as soon as we find him,” she patted the elder woman’s shoulder and withdrew from the room. The door softly closed behind her. Yaori took several deep breaths to steady herself – a technique Michi had taught her in her early training those seven years ago…
“Now, Yaori,” the boy said, “the first thing to learn in kenjutsu is that you have to keep a firm balance on the ground.” Michi placed his hands on her hips and pressed down to cause her to sink slightly. She complied, but wobbled on her feet. The polished wood floor of the dojo creaked softly as she shifted her weight trying to stay upright – the stance Michi had had her take wasn’t one she was used to.
“Close your eyes and breathe – imagine two tendrils of chi extending down through your legs and rooting you to the Earth.”
After doing this, she felt her balance steady and her weight was focused lower than it had been. She also felt more at ease.
From behind her, the frame of the door splintered harshly with the snapping of wood and ripping of the oiled paper. Immediately she dashed to the far wall and retrieved one of the shrine’s sacred swords. She was out of practice, but it was certainly better to have it than nothing.
Unsure of what she expected to see, she turned slowly, unsheathing the sword and pointing it directly forward at arm’s length.
In the shattered remnants of the door loomed a tall silhouette – a man, obviously, but it certainly wasn’t Michi. Something about the shape of the right arm seemed a little out of place…
The figure casually broke off a section of the wall, stepping into the room. The dark fabric vest and pants he wore glinted a dull red, almost as if there were a hint of blood. What caused the woman’s resolve to nearly break wasn’t the eyes, though she did cringe a little at them – rather, it was the ‘arm’ that hung eerily from his right shoulder. It wasn’t even an arm, but an arm-like device made of metal, only with wicked claws and a chain at the end of it.
Yaori’s breath caught in her throat as she nearly dropped the sword in shock and grief – she knew exactly what had happened, drawing from what Michi had told her.
The gorge in her stomach fought to come up, and would have were it not for the hot lump of pain in her throat and chest. With a final gasp and tightening of her muscles, she found herself lunging at the intruder with a shrill scream, sword raised high. Her love…
Sounds like some good drama. (I have a weakness for that sort of drama, LOL.)
