Journey Through Fire (7 page)

“Kimi!” Daisuke said, climbing to his feet. He pulled me up after him. “Do you know what I've just seen?”

“What?” I asked. He pulled me over to the side of the pool and the two of us peered into the water, side by side. I could see our dual reflections; our faces glowed with happiness. Then I noticed something else. Daisuke brought a hand up over my head and as I turned my face to one side I saw what he had already noticed.

“My hair is growing back!” I breathed. Where once had been stubble and dead skin, now I could see the unmistakable glint of ebony hair catching the light. I put a hand up to my head and for the first time in so long, I felt soft hair.

There was only one thing that made my smile falter: A vivid streak of white ran from above my right eye to the back of my head.

W
hat's happened?” I asked as I turned my head from one side to the other, taking in the vision reflected back to me from the water. “That hair has turned white, like a moon bear's streak!”

Gently Daisuke pulled my hand away from my head and turned me around so I could not avoid the gaze from his intense eyes. “Your experience has changed you,” he said.

I turned back to the pool of water and bent over to inspect my reflection again. My brow furrowed as I thought about what Daisuke had said. I realized that he was right. I did not mind this snow-white badge of honor.
I have gazed in the face of death and did not turn away,
I thought to myself. I looked back up at Daisuke and smiled.

“Let's find that plant,” I said.

We strode through the long grasses on this side of the waterfall, pushing them aside until we emerged
in a small clearing. The space prickled with heat—it was a sun trap. I wheeled around, taking in this small haven.

“The
himawari
,” Daisuke said, pointing to tall flowers with huge heads the color of the sun. In the center of each flower was a fat, velvety heart full of seeds. Bright yellow, tapering petals fanned around each flower like a skirt of gold. I walked over to one of the tallest plants. It towered above me. I wrapped my fingers around the green stem. It was prickly under my touch and the stem was as thick as my upper arm.

I turned to Daisuke, but he was over by another of the plants—one that had suffered storm damage and now lay on the ground. He kneeled down and picked the seeds out of the flower's heart, placing them carefully in a pocket sewn into the inside of his hemp bag. He looked up at me and jerked his head to indicate I should help.

I reached up to my own flower to pry the seeds from its head, one by one. There weren't many seeds left; it was clear that the mountain birds had been here first. But I didn't mind sharing this golden treasure with the rest of nature, as long as there was enough left for my sister.

“The seeds contain goodness from the sunshine that we can squeeze out. We'll make an oil to apply to your sister's burns and it will help her heal,” Daisuke
explained, his voice low as he bent over his work. I gazed at the seeds that lay scattered in the palm of my hand. It was extraordinary to think that these tiny seeds could help something as ravaged as my sister's skin.

Once we had filled his pouch, Daisuke sat back on his haunches and looked at me. “One day, you may know as much as I do about nature,” he said. “And if you're very lucky, you might even be able to cure a sniffle.”

I laughed and shoved Daisuke's shoulder so that he fell back in the grass. “And if you're very lucky, perhaps one day you will be as nimble as me.” I sprang to my feet and ran through the long grasses, back toward the waterfall. I heard Daisuke chuckling as he gave chase.

As we walked back to the monastery, I felt more alive than I had for a long time. A hawk floated in the sky above us, riding the air currents. I raised a hand to shield my eyes and watched its streaked wings as it flew ahead of us—master of its own destiny.

“Do you wish you were as free?” Daisuke said, matching my stride as he walked alongside me.

I shook my head. “I'd rather have my friends with me.”

Daisuke looked down at his feet. “So would I,” he said. Then, as the monastery walls reared ahead of
us, we both broke into a run.

Back at the monastery, Daisuke led me into a small outer building. The smell of incense hung heavy in the air and there were rows of dark-colored bottles arranged on shelves on the wall. Daisuke and I took off our sandals before stepping inside.

Master Satoshi kneeled on a mat. Small bowls filled with powders and petals were aligned before him.

“You've been a long time,” he said, without looking up.

“Sorry, Master,” Daisuke replied with a bow. “We had to venture beyond the waterfall to find what we were looking for.” His face had gone serious and I knew we had left our joking behind. Master Satoshi frowned and turned sharply back to his work. I could see that he was displeased about something. Had we really been gone too long?

“This is where we make our medicine,” Daisuke explained in a whisper. He led me over to a shelf of ceramic bottles. “Where healing begins.”

“What can I do to help?” I asked.

Daisuke kneeled on a second mat, behind Master Satoshi's. I came to kneel on the other side. Master Satoshi glanced up and gave me a long, steady stare. I had no idea what he made of me. After a moment, he closed his eyes and brought his hands together in
front of his chest, bowing his head to mutter a prayer over the medicines he was preparing.

Between Daisuke and me stood a pestle and mortar. Daisuke took out the seeds we had collected and poured them into the mortar. Then he took up a few grains of rough salt, adding them to the small bowl carved out of granite. He pounded with the pestle.

“The salt helps to break down the seeds,” he explained, “and it draws out the goodness.” He nodded at the ceramic bottle on the table. “Can you shake out a handful of flower heads and add them to the mix?” he asked.

I pulled the stopper out of the bottle, and immediately a pungent aroma of crushed petals filled my nostrils and made me light-headed. I shook out a handful of the dried white flowers into my open palm. My skin felt as though it were being kissed by butterflies' wings.

“It's white lavender,” said Daisuke.

“So gentle you can use it on the youngest, most tender skin,” added Master Satoshi, his prayers at an end. The master climbed stiffly to his feet and went over to the shelves.

I reached over to add the petals to the mixture in Daisuke's mortar. I watched as he ground down the seeds into a paste. Then Daisuke reached for another, larger bottle and poured some oil into the
pestle. A few more vigorous turns of the pestle and we had a smooth, thick mixture. So simple! And yet, I was aware that Daisuke was sharing secrets with me that few others were privileged to witness.

Daisuke smiled at me as he dragged a bottle over the table toward him.

“Daisuke, I will speak with you,” said Master Satoshi. My friend shot me a guilty look and then scrambled to his feet and went to join his master beside the shelves. Their heads bowed close in conversation, and I could not hear what they were saying. All I could see were the two lines that furrowed Daisuke's forehead as he listened to Master Satoshi.

Daisuke walked back to me and I gave him a questioning smile as he sat down. But Daisuke did not meet my glance. His face had turned cold and formal.

“Now we wait,” Daisuke said as he poured the ointment into another bottle. “It will need to rest for a quarter moon. Then it will be ready to apply to Hana's skin.” He closed his eyes, fingering his prayer beads as he blessed the medicine. I bent my head low in respect.

He stood up suddenly and put the bottle on a shelf with several others. As Daisuke led me to the door, I wanted to say something to thank him.

“Daisuke, I…” Words seemed to have flown away
from me like swifts darting through the clouds.

“Thank you for your assistance this morning,” the monk said. “I hope your sister recovers swiftly.” I looked back up at him and searched his face. He was speaking as if we weren't friends at all.

What had Master Satoshi said to my friend to make him turn so cold and stiff?

“Good-bye, Kimi,” he said, opening the door. Sunlight flooded into the room, making my eyes hurt. I bent my head to walk through the low doorway.

“Good-bye, Daisuke,” I said. But when I turned back around, the door was shut.

 

Days passed. Hana gained strength with each passing dawn and my back was almost normal. Her arm was still in a sling, though occasionally she would slip it off and rub the feeling back into her arm. Sometimes she would even go a whole morning before putting it on. I knew she was definitely on the mend the day that she started teasing me again.

“Did you enjoy your trip out with Daisuke?” she asked one morning. “It wasn't too…tedious for you?” I looked up from folding my clothes and studied her face. I could just see the twitch of a suppressed smile.

“What do you mean? Why would it be tedious?” I asked.

“So it wasn't?” she asked.

I felt the blood rush to my face. “If you weren't still recovering, I'd pinch you on that tender spot on your arm. Remember how you used to hate it as a child?”

Hana pulled away from me, laughing. “I'm glad of my sling, then,” she said, quickly slipping it on. “It saves me from pinching sisters. It's okay, you know, to make friends.”

The laughter disappeared from my heart. A distance had grown between Daisuke and me since our afternoon gathering sunflower seeds. “At first I thought we were friends, but now I'm not so sure. Can monks have friends?”

“Of course they can,” said Hana. “They want to promote peace and harmony—exactly what friendship is all about. Perhaps it's just his other obligations that are keeping him busy.”

It was true. Every day, Daisuke would be in the infirmary tending to the people. And every day, when Hana and I went to help, he would see me and give a polite smile and nod—nothing more.

I focused on the work, and it gave me hope to see that some people were getting stronger with Daisuke's help. But for others the starvation had gone on for too long and there was no way back. I would feel the blood rush through my veins as a cover was pulled up over another set of sunken cheeks. Then I would have to go outside.

My own injuries healed neatly; Hana said that she
could barely see the scrapes on my back anymore.

And every day I practiced with my sword. The warrior monks became used to my joining their ranks, parrying invisible enemies. I learned much surrounded by these men—so powerful, yet so serene. They had cores of steel beneath their saffron robes, and I prayed that one day I would attain the inner strength that they had spent a lifetime honing.

One morning, I walked into our room, fresh from sword practice, to find Mother sitting on a black mat at a low table, her delicate features outlined by the sunshine. Beside her on the table was a small ink stone and a
fude
brush, the tip soaked in black ink. A scroll of
washi
paper lay before her, one end weighed down to stay open, and I could see that she was drawing fluid strokes across its surface.

I came up behind her. My mother's writing was beautiful. Each character followed the strict order of strokes, her brush was never too soaked in ink, and her movements flowed precisely across the paper. All of these things she had striven to pass on to me, but I proved a poor student.

“Good morning, Kimi,” Mother said. She didn't look up from what she was doing.

“Who are you writing to?” I asked. We had spent so long hiding from the world that it made me nervous to see my mother writing a letter.

“The Shogun,” she replied, putting down her brush. She looked up at me. “He is the most powerful man in Japan—he has the power to declare Uncle's title defunct. Your father always had his respect. I am asking for an audience with him, to put forward the case that Moriyasu's is the rightful claim.”

I looked over her shoulder so that I could read the paper more easily. I could see no mention of Uncle or his foul actions, about his taking over estates. Instead, I read snatches of “it would be my honor” and “devoted servant.” At one point, Mother had even said that she would be happy to kneel at the Shogun's feet! I glanced back up at her, but she had picked up her brush again and was bending over the paper.

“You haven't said anything about what's really happened—” I began.

“Shush, Kimi.” Mother cut me off. “This is a delicate matter and the Shogun is a very important person. I must respect the codes of good conduct and tread carefully. There are processes we must go through. There will be time for more…frank conversations later. Even then, he might not hear our case. And if he does, there's no guarantee that he'll believe what we have to say. We could be exiled. But because of your father's position we have a hope that the Shogun will see us.”

I scrambled to my feet. I wanted to tear the letter into tiny pieces! What was Mother thinking? Exiled? Only a chance he might see us? She stood up beside me and touched the place where the white streak grew in my hair. It was long enough now that it had started to curl around my temples.

“Your white streak is distinguished,” she said, smiling. “Just as a girl of your status is distinguished.”

I pulled away from her, feeling the anger well up inside me. “But exiled? How will we fight against Uncle if we are banished?”

“Kimi!” Mother said, her brow creasing. She did not raise her voice and she did not have to. I knew when I was being reprimanded. I was letting my anger take control of me, but I could not stop now that I had started.

“I mean no disrespect,” I said, struggling to control the trembling in my voice. “But we need action, not words! We have friends in some of the estates. We could go to them tomorrow and I know they would help us fight Uncle.” I flung a hand in the direction of home. “All we need to do is say the word.”

Mother shook her head sadly. She went back to the table and sealed the letter. “Your friends are not enough,” she said. “Uncle has been building his army and is even stronger than before. Only the Shogun's samurai with his allies can stop him.” Mother looked up at me and her eyes were brimming with tears.
“You have been so strong, my daughter, but your anger is not enough. This fight is bigger than you or I. We must take it to the Shogun.” As Mother ended her speech, her shoulders sagged and she drew her hands up to cover her face. “I admit; I never expected it to come to this.”

My anger was not enough. The words echoed in my head and mingled with Daisuke's. Perhaps my anger was preventing me from seeing that my mother was right. Our friends had done much to help us in the past. But now we needed the might of another strong leader—a leader who had the courage to fight for good. Perhaps the action would come from these words. I went to my mother's side and gently took the letter from her.