Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(47)

I grabbed for it, but caught nothing but a couple of loose feathers.

The assembled women—and even, I think, the Little Brothers—all burst into raucous laughter as the hen, newly liberated, decided to make the most of its newfound freedom and half-flew, half-scurried away from us and toward the stable.

I ran after it, trying not to think what I was going to do with it if I caught it. Emi trotted off to my right; at first I couldn’t think what she was doing, but then I realized she was trying to keep the bird from moving toward the still-open gate or the storerooms.

Our audience was calling out what sounded like what was meant to be encouragement. “Don’t let it get you! Vicious beasts, chickens!”

I wanted to climb to the top of the hemlock tree and hide.

Instead I kept on after the chicken, gaining on it. Trying not to think of Masugu riding down the white-cloaked rider. I lunged, trying to grab it by its tail, but it swerved away to the left.

“The great hall,” panted Emi, and I could see that she meant that we should herd it toward the largest building in the compound, where it would have the hardest time escaping us. We sprinted after it, me to one side of the creature and Emi to the other.

The chicken squawked madly as it tried to stay away from us, but eventually it ran out of room—the great hall loomed before it, blocking any flight in that direction, and Emi and I stood like hunting dogs, cutting off any escape back toward the courtyard. Poor chicken, I found myself thinking. If only you could fly. Mad eyes glared at us as it sought a fresh chance at freedom.

Emi lunged, trying to grab the hen by its head—trying to keep from getting pecked as Toumi had—but of course that left it free to scratch with its feet, scoring Emi’s grasping fingers. Before the bird could get away, I pulled off the winter jacket that I was wearing and threw it over the bird, dropping my weight on top of it so that it couldn’t escape once more.

A cheer went up among the watching crowd. “Well wrestled, Risuko!” shouted one of the women, and the rest hooted and cackled.

I lay there panting. The bird was struggling beneath me, trying to find its way out of the jacket. I looked up at Emi, who was sucking at the cuts on her fingers. She didn’t seem to have any suggestions for what to do next. Picking up the bundle, holding it tightly, I looked for someone to give it to. It fought in my grasp, and its head poked out through the neck of the jacket, desperately looking for something to peck at.

They all stood there, grinning and laughing, even the men.

I stared down at the chicken, which was squawking again, loudly and furiously. This could be the soul of someone I know, I thought. At that moment, Toumi stepped up, grabbed the bird’s head, and twisted it so that the neck gave a dull snap.

I dropped it; the chicken’s body struggled for a few moments, trying even then to run out from under the jacket, though its neck hung limp.

I backed away until I slammed into the wall of the great hall. I turned, and emptied my stomach against the stone foundation.

As I stood there, retching, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Turning, I saw that Mieko was holding out a handkerchief. I took it and wiped my face.

I tried to hand it back to her, but she stood there, her face still. “All that lives dies,” she said. “All that lives, lives on the living.”

I gawked at her. Mieko-san smiled sadly, and walked away.

—

Once we had killed the remainder of the birds, we brought them to Kee Sun, who informed us that they should be prepared for him to grill them. As we cleaned the chickens, my hands trembled, and my gorge rose and rose again.

I had been plucking and butchering chickens for long enough that I hardly noticed the mess or the smell. Why was this any different? The other animals had been just as dead.

And yet their deaths had been somehow distant. Another person’s actions, another person’s dream.

Perhaps it was watching those two men die. The blood. The shocked expressions.

I looked up, swallowing back the bitter taste of my own discomfort.

Toumi was standing, still as the table against which she was leaning. Her face was white. She saw me looking at her, clenched her jaw, and went back to dismembering the carcass.

I glanced over at Emi. She had been watching too. Her forehead was shiny with sweat. She nodded, and we both went back to cutting up the meat for that evening’s meal.

Kee Sun announced that he was going “to visit the King,” and wandered out into the snow, which had begun falling heavily once again. No sooner had the door closed behind him than Toumi turned to me and pointed up.

For once I didn’t feel like climbing, but when Emi too pointed up toward the grate, I sighed and scampered up into the rafters. I had no sooner started to tiptoe my way toward the grate, however, when I heard a howl of anger from the hall, and I leapt back down. Feeling as if I must have been caught, I tensed, ready to climb again.

The howl sounded again, and Emi and Toumi were both staring at the door to the hall, their mouths open.

“Get everyone, in here! RIGHT NOW!” shouted Chiyome-sama.

A muffled voice answered her, but she didn’t wait for it to finish before bellowing, “I DON’T CARE! Someone get the three little wretches in here, and Mieko, stop simpering at me and tell the boys to get in here at once!”

The three of us stood frozen, gawping at each other.

“Did you let someone see you, Mouse?” hissed Toumi.