Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(58)



“Well done, Risuko,” said the Little Brother. “You have taken the first position. Good. Now, let us begin.”

And he led me through the whole of the exercise—the dance—and as always, I knew each move before the last was finished. After all, hadn’t Usako and I mirrored Otō-san in the mornings, each us holding a stick of pine or a stalk of bamboo as he swept his sword through each of the parries and cuts?

I can remember us standing in the shadow where the roof is low, by the kitchen, both of us mirroring him. I remember Otō-san pretending not to see us.

Soon, I had followed the Little Brother through the exercise four times—once facing in each of the cardinal directions: East, south, west, and north.

The Little Brother bowed, and I bowed back. I felt as if quicksilver were swirling through my innards. “This,” he said, “we call The Sixty-four Changes. Mastering these positions, you will learn to wield a sword in balance, attacking and defending while still remaining rooted to your center. Each position combines the five elements, the two energies. All flow from the first position, The Two Fields.” He took the initial stance, his feet spread wide and his sword before him. “You should feel planted, as if your legs extended deep into the earth.”

He walk around me, adjusting the stance with the tip of his sword—moving my feet further apart, making sure my knees were bent, but not too much, showing me how to hold the sword neither too high nor too low, but with the hilt just at my navel.

Finally satisfied, he stepped opposite me and took the pose again himself. “The next stance we call The Bamboo Bud.” He stepped to one side with his right foot, bringing his blade up to match the diagonal line from his left foot to the crown of his head. “This position allows you to redirect the force of an opponent’s downward cut with no harm to yourself or to your blade—like the young bamboo, you bend, shedding the attack, but do not break.”

If it hadn’t been for his size, and for the wooden sword in his hands, he might indeed have looked a bit like a shoot of bamboo sprouting from the forest floor.

I mirrored him, and once again, he adjusted my stances until I met his standard.

“Last for today is The Key to Heaven.” He stepped toward me, lifting his right foot and knee in exaggerated fashion while raising the sword high above his head, and then bringing leg and sword down with a thunderous bellow.

I blinked, staring down at the wooden sword, which he held a fingernail’s width from my chest.

We had gone through these movements while following Mieko-san. I had watched our father practice them. And yet watching them one by one...

I stood there, my hands once again shaking.

“Risuko,” said the Little Brother, stepping back and gesturing for me to imitate him, and I started to try to tell him that I couldn’t, but his big, kindly face shone on me, remorseless and relentless. I gulped down a whimper, stepped forward, and slashed down half-heartedly with my bamboo sword.

Why, I do not know, but as I did so, the image that floated through my mind was of the chicken that I had trapped, just before Toumi wrung its neck, its strange, demon eyes boring into my soul.

“Good,” said the Little Brother, smiling. “Again.”

I repeated the motion—the lunge forward and the downward slash of the blade—over and over until it felt more like working in the kitchen than anything else: chop, chop, chop....

“Good,” said the Little Brother again. “You have done well for today. Tomorrow, we will work on the next three forms. You may go to the kitchen now.”



I found myself some time later in the kitchen, one of the long, sword-sharp cleavers in my hand, chopping up daikon because although I needed to be moving, there was nowhere for me to go. I was thinking about the movements of Mieko’s dance. Of how they would feel with a blade in my hands. The Two Fields—balanced and ready. The Bamboo Bud—moving to the side and bringing the blade up to block an attack at one’s head. The Key of Heaven—a swift cut downward....

“That’s enough radish I think, Bright-eyes.” The voice surprised me, and my eyes suddenly took in what I had created while my mind had wandered: a pile of sliced daikon that flowed off of the cutting table like slabs of snow from hemlock boughs. Startled, I looked up.

Kee Sun was grey-faced; his scars seemed even paler than usual.

“Is...?” So much had happened that morning that I couldn’t even think how to finish the question.

“Masugu’s goin’ t’be all right. Be off his feet for a while, mind. But yeh and Serpent-girlie did good. And my tonic did the job, right enough.”

“Serpent?”

“Ayup. Mieko, as yeh call her. Beautiful as a snake, twice as calm, but just as deadly if yeh step on her, right?” He winked.

“Oh. Is she still...?”

“Nope. Off in the Retreat with all of the rest of them but you, the lady, and us menfolk.” I must have looked concerned, because he held his hands up. “Yehr friend with the moon-cake face, Aimaru, he’s watchin’ Masugu. Keepin’ him talkin’.”

The memory of Masugu’s fingers on my chin—of his babbling—flashed through my mind.

Kee Sun smiled. “Don’t think he’s asked Moon-cake to marry him yet. But yeh never know.”

I felt the blood rushing to my face.

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