Journey Through Fire (2 page)

I
could hear my brother whispering a prayer as we waited. A bead of sweat ran down my temple and into my ear. But there was no more sign of the soldiers. Perhaps we had been lucky. Perhaps a divine wind had saved us from a brush with Uncle's samurai. I dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

Then the door screens were ripped down and Moriyasu jumped beside me. My own back went rigid as I tried to control the emotions that flooded me.

Men ran into the room and I heard Sakura cry out as the table in the corner was turned over and clay pots slammed against the walls. I could imagine how easily the modest furniture was being smashed to pieces. Our home for these few days was being obliterated.

“Pull this place to pieces!” a deep voice ordered. “These people will not hide anything from us. Get the girl out of the way!”

Feet paced across the floor.

“Please, no! I beg you; do not harm my daughter.”
Yoshiki's words rang out. He'd forgotten to keep his voice low and respectful. There was a dull thud and a small cry as thick leather smacked against small ribs—then a crash. I knew that Sakura had been kicked into something above us.

I bit my lip hard to stop myself from shouting out in anger. The iron tang of blood filled my mouth. I could not stand that we were the reason for all of this suffering. I heard Yoshiki being dragged across the room and then could see him being hurled to the floor.

“Stay out of our way,” someone said, before spitting on the floor beside him. Yoshiki's humiliation was complete and it was all our fault. He turned his face and his eyes met mine through the sliver of space that had become my window on the world. His gaze remained steady for a moment, then he turned his face to the floor and whispered a prayer for mercy.

“Look!” someone cried out. “The fool's given away his hiding place. He was looking over there!” Heavy feet stomped over, then the mat was tossed aside and the rickety floorboards above our faces shuddered and bounced on the joists.

“No, you misunderstand,” Yoshiki tried to protest. “There is nothing here; I promise you.” I could hear the desperation in his voice. So could the soldiers. Someone paced across the room and slapped a hand across Yoshiki's face, making him cry out in pain. I
hoped that the innkeeper would say nothing more. He was in danger of being killed.

Dirt rained down on us as a soldier grappled with the corner of a floorboard and I heard his gasp of satisfaction as the board came up and he threw it to one side.

He thrust his face into the space beside us. The man squinted and blinked. We had become accustomed to the musty dark that surrounded us, but after the bright midday sun, this samurai could see nothing. Blindly he thrust a hand into the cavity, grasping at the empty space. His calloused hands felt the air in front of my face, and I pressed my lips together. I could not let him feel even the whisper of my breath on his fingertips.

Impatiently he reared back and tore at a second floorboard. I held my palms flat against my thighs and pressed down, hoping that the pressure would stop my trembling. I could hear Mother whispering a reassurance to Moriyasu. Beside me, Hana continued to stare straight up, her eyes unwavering.

The second floorboard broke in two as it gave way. The soldier's head and shoulders lunged down, but this time he had shifted his position and faced away from us. He craned his head around, coughing and spluttering.

“The rice must be here somewhere,” he grunted.

“Enough!” roared the same voice we had heard before. I guessed this was the captain of the samurai. “There's nothing here. We'll tear this village apart, and take the children, too. They will make fine recruits for the
Jito
's army.”

The samurai acknowledged the order and footsteps thudded out of the inn.

I gasped. I felt my blood heat up. Hana guessed at my emotions and reached out to take my hand. I had already seen my own family torn apart; I could not let them do this.

Then came the sound of Sakura gasping in pain, and Yoshiki pleading again. I heard a dragging sound and could clearly picture the poor little girl being pulled along by her hair. My anger was hotter than fire by now.

“You say you have nothing for us?” bellowed the samurai. Silence fell, sliced by the sound of sword sliding out of its scabbard. “Bid your little girl farewell, innkeeper!”

“No!” I cried, tearing my hand out of Hana's.

Above us, everything went silent. “What's that?” asked the voice of the captain.

“No, Kimi! I beg you!” Mother hissed at me. But I closed my mind to her voice. I leaped out of our shallow grave, landing in a sideways stance, hands up. I had no weapons, but I had my spirit.

The samurai captain's eyes shone with eagerness to fight. He was many hands taller than me. He tossed Sakura aside, and the little girl scrambled over to her father; then the samurai set his feet wide apart as he faced me.

“You!” said the samurai. The innkeeper was right; they had come back for us.

I jumped to the side and reached out, grasping one of the broken floorboards. I swung it low and knocked his feet out from under him. The captain sprawled on the floor. He looked up and his face was twisted with anger.

“You little fool,” he spat. “Do you think you can take me on?” He called out to his men as he picked himself up off the floor. But I could see he was off balance. I kicked him hard in the chest and he fell again. A sense of victory coursed through me, though I knew the fight wasn't over yet.

Behind me, I could hear Mother, Hana, and my brother scrabbling out of our hiding place. I looked over my shoulder to see my family standing in a row, ready to fight. Even Moriyasu. Yoshiki gently put his daughter down—and then sprang to his feet, just as a soldier ran into the room.

“Aaiii!” My mother's voice rang out as she darted past me and swung her sword's blade through the gut of the soldier, using a strength I didn't know she
had. He fell heavily to the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head. Yoshiki raced to relieve the dead soldier of his sword.

Three more samurai rushed into the room. They hesitated, shocked at the sight of their dead friend.

“Get them!” shouted the captain, struggling to get up. “Do whatever it takes.”

But before the last words left his mouth, my family was upon them. My mother sent a swift kick into the face of one of the soldiers. Blood shot out of his nostrils and his face contorted in pain and surprise.

Hana turned on her right heel and kicked out her left foot as straight as an arrow into the stomach of another soldier. With the air knocked out of him, he staggered to one side. Moriyasu delivered a swift push to knock him to the ground.

The third samurai lunged toward Yoshiki.

“Father!” a warning voice called out. It was Sakura.

But Yoshiki had already spotted the soldier coming for him. “Get back!” Yoshiki called out to Sakura. She scrambled behind an overturned table. Yoshiki raised his sword high above his head and swung it around to bring the blade across the man's cheek, scoring the flesh so that his face poured blood.

The samurai captain was back on his feet, and he threw himself at me. I stepped slightly to the side, and his hand moved the air in front of my face. But
he was fast and struck out again with his other hand, knocking me against the wall and into the standing torch.

It clattered to the floor. The tinder-dry mats caught immediately. Flames were soon licking up the walls of the inn. The fire showed my sister's face in a golden light that looked almost beautiful—until I smelled the smoke. Shreds of flaming straw fell down on my head, and I realized the straw roof was alight. I brushed them away frantically, dreading that my hair might catch like the straw.

“Get out!” I called to Hana, but a samurai was behind her. The breath caught in my throat as I saw the long arc of his sword glisten in the light of the fire; he was about to kill her.

“No!” Yoshiki rushed under the raised blade, grabbed the hilt of the sword, and twisted, until the soldier's wrists threatened to snap. The sword clattered to the ground. The soldier fell to his knees, as the choking smoke swirled around him. The raging fire threatened to consume us.

“Kimi!” Yoshiki called to me. “Get out of here!” A wall of fire had appeared between us. Yoshiki pushed Moriyasu closer to the open door of the inn and my brother raced toward the only way out. Then Yoshiki grabbed the hands of Hana and my mother and they followed, crouching low to avoid the heavy clouds
of smoke. Yoshiki glanced back only once, past the narrow trail of fire that divided me from the others. “Get Sakura! Please!” he called to me.

Sakura! I had almost forgotten. My eyes were streaming and my lungs felt as though embers of fire were burning inside them. I swiveled around and spotted what looked like a crushed pile of clothes in the corner. Sakura! I threw myself to the floor and crawled on my hands and knees toward Sakura, the little girl who had never asked to become involved in my battle. Now I could see her face, the huge eyes shut tight in pain and the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She was smeared with soot and a small flame threatened to catch her dress.

Choking and gasping for breath, I reached her. Gently I lifted her in my arms. She weighed less than the cherry blossom she had been named after. But as I turned to escape, a burning rafter fell from the roof of the inn. I leaped out of the way and took a step toward the door, but suddenly the samurai captain, sword in hand, stepped into my path, ignoring the angry tide of flames around us. From the expression on his face, I knew exactly what this man wanted.

My blood on his blade.

P
repare to die,” the soldier hissed. Rivers of sweat poured down his cheeks but he stood his ground, as the hungry flames crawled up the walls of the hut.

“Captain! Where are you?” shouted the voices of his soldiers outside. He did not call back, and his gaze never faltered as he took a step closer.

Sakura shifted in my arms and burrowed her face into the crook of my neck. Loosening her grip from my shoulders, I quickly lowered her to the floor.

“Run, Sakura,” I whispered in her ear. I turned her around toward the open door and gave her a shove. She broke into a run toward the open doorway. The captain did not even glance down at her. She was small enough to duck past the worst of the flames and low enough to the ground not to choke on the smoke. I watched her hair bounce against her shoulders and felt my heart squeeze tight as she raced from the room.

The captain's gaze never left my face. As he stepped toward me, I looked around frantically and spotted a discarded sword lying on the floor. I reached across the searing heat and grabbed it.

Then I ran toward my enemy, forcing myself not to think about the flames that clawed at me. I brought the sword around in a smooth arc, slicing through fire and smoke. The soldier lifted his own sword to deflect my attack. The point of my sword uselessly pierced a wooden floorboard. I heaved to release it but my opponent was already bringing his blade toward my ribs. Instinctively I dropped to the floor and rolled out of the way, across the burning floorboards.

I sprang to my feet, unarmed once more, and patted away the few flames that had caught at the hem of my tunic. I was dimly aware of the sweat that poured down my back and the tears streaming from my eyes. The smoke and heat were oppressive, and the hut groaned and popped as its wooden frame burned. I had to get out of here—fast. But the soldier stood between me and the door of the hut. The panels of his armor caught the orange light of the flames as he raised his sword high over his head.

“I shall cut you into eight pieces,” he said.

Like Kagutsuchi, the god of fire,
I thought.

But before he could make his move, a cloud of smoke drifted past him. He doubled over in a coughing fit. When he straightened up, tears were running down his cheeks and he drew the back of his hand across his face. The sweat on his throat glistened.

I didn't hesitate.

I yanked my sword from the wooden board and swung it around to slash the soldier's waist between the ties of his armor. A gasp escaped his lips as his sword clattered to the floor. He gripped his stomach, blood spurting out between his fingers.

With one swift movement I raised my sword above my head. Then I brought it around and sliced through his throat. As I watched, his body fell slowly forward, into the flames. Fire danced up around him and I turned away.

Now I had to escape.

I cast my sword aside and tried to wave the smoke away with my hands. My lungs felt as though they were burning and I could not stop coughing and retching from the smoke. The heat of the flames burned my cheeks. I staggered against a timber post but leaped away again as the touch of the burning wood seared my skin.

“Help!” I cried out, stumbling toward what I thought could be the doorway but soon realized was just another burning wall. It was impossible to hear
if anyone called back an answer, as the crackle of flames had filled my ears. I tried to cry out again, but my throat burned as soon as I opened my mouth.

Despair flooded through me and my legs went weak. I crumpled onto the floor grabbing at my throat, trying to pull the neckline of my tunic loose in the hope that I might breathe more easily. My vision started to blur.

I was defeated.

As I lay on the floor I pulled my knees toward my chest and watched the flames. I was surrounded by a curtain of fire that was drawing ever closer. I thought of my mother, picturing her kind face. Tears rolled down my cheeks, cool against the heat. “Keep my brother safe,” I whispered into the parched air. “Let him finish what Hana and I began.”

I closed my eyes as the fire came to consume me.

Thwack!
From behind me, I heard the sound of wood splintering. A hole had appeared in the fiery wall of the hut, through which precious tendrils of fresh air unfurled. Flames jumped up eagerly, fed by the air. I tried to reach out toward the gap in the wall, but I was too weak.

A hand reached in and grabbed hold of my tunic, pulling fiercely. The hem of the cloth, charred by the fire, tore away. Then the hand grabbed again, hooking under my armpit. A shard of wood was angrily
pulled away and then another hand came through, hooking under my other side. My rescuer dragged me toward the small opening.

Whoosh!
There was a flash of angry yellow, as the hut was consumed by a massive fireball. The fresh air had brought life back to my lungs—but it had given the fire more life, too. Searing pain flooded my head and an acrid, singed smell filled my nostrils. My scalp felt as though it had been plunged into boiling tar. I could hear voices now. The noise and the pain overran my senses until I could stand no more.

My eyes slowly shut and my mind cleared.

It was a relief to leave this place.

 

I opened my eyes and found myself surrounded by darkness. I felt the cool touch of linen covers against my skin. I tried to raise myself up on my elbows but a restraining hand gently pushed me back down to the mattress. I didn't resist; every muscle in my body screamed with the effort of moving.

“Am I a prisoner?” I asked, wondering if my rescuer was one of Uncle's samurai. I blinked several times as my eyes slowly focused on a man's face. Brown eyes with green flecks in them. Smiling kindly, he reached out a hand to smooth away the frown that creased my brow. His touch was feather light.

“You're safe,” he said, pulling the covers tighter
around my shoulders. “Now sleep.”

“What about Hana? Where is she?” I asked. The monk shook his head.

“Now is not the time to talk.” As he walked away I felt my vision blur again. Sleep descended and I surrendered to it.

 

I slowly opened my eyes. Weak light flooded the room. I moved my limbs beneath the covers, testing to see how much my body still hurt. I could feel scabs on my back catching against the cover, and my head was filled with a dull, insistent throb. Ignoring the pain, I turned my head to look around the room.

In the corner stood a pile of bed linen; bottles of fluids were half hidden behind a
byobu
screen. Beyond the paper screen was another mattress with a small boy sitting cross-legged. I frowned as I tried to focus on him. Then I recognized the familiar face, watching me keenly.

“Moriyasu!” I said. He leaped to his feet and ran over to me, throwing himself into my arms. His embrace made me wince in pain, but the relief I felt that my brother had made it out alive was instant medicine. I quickly wiped my eyes free of tears as he pulled back to look at me.

“You're awake,” he said. His gaze wandered over my face and I noticed a frown start to form, but before
I could ask him what was wrong, he shook himself. “Aren't you hungry?”

My stomach did feel hollow.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“Too long,” Moriyasu said. “I've been lonely without you.” I tried to smile, but the skin of my face stretched tight. I lifted a hand to my temples, but Moriyasu quickly grabbed my fingers and entwined them with his own.

“Hurrah!” he said. “Someone to tease again. I have a lot of teasing to catch up on.”

I pushed him away gently. My brother was trying to distract me. But why?

“Help me get up,” I said, sitting up in bed. Moriyasu looked uncertain.

“You've been very ill, Kimi,” he said. “The monks have been looking after you.” A pair of kind eyes surfaced in my memory.

“I remember,” I said. Then I realized that Mother and Hana were missing. “The others?” I asked him, not daring to say my worst fears out loud.

My brother brought his hands together in a small prayer of thanks. “They're both safe. At least…” I reached out, despite the pain that shot down my back, and pulled Moriyasu toward me.

“Please tell me,” I said.

Moriyasu looked up into my face. “Hana is being
looked after by the monks, too.” He paused and his gaze fell to the tiled floor.

“I must go to her,” I said. “Take me.” Moriyasu glanced at an indigo silk robe that hung on the door, brought it to me, and helped me up. I felt weak, but I was determined. I straightened up, and could feel the cuts and scrapes shifting painfully on my back. I looked down at myself and could not see any burns; I had been lucky.

Moriyasu led the way as I took small, faltering steps across the room. My head throbbed, rushing rivers of pain that fell all the way down the back of my neck; I felt as though, at any moment, I would crumble to the floor like an empty shroud.

But I had to be strong. I had to see my sister.

We passed the ointments and potions of the sick room and the large bowl of water caught my eye. The bottom of the black slate bowl was carved with a phoenix stretching his huge wings. The bird of fire. But I knew that, in legends, this bird also represented the start of something new. Then, in the reflection of the water, as glossy and smooth as a dawn lake—the image of a face. The skin around the eyes was young and unlined, yet the eyes looked as though they had seen too much. Above them was a smooth forehead.

Looking closer I could see tufts of hair sticking
out at odd angles and skin puckering at the temples. I turned my head to look more closely and the reflection shifted.

My heart thudded in my chest. “It cannot be,” I said in a whisper.