She rolled to her feet, barely dodging her father’s blade, which sliced through the space where she’d been resting moments ago. The slick sound of the cut echoed through her mind, bright as a star.
She’d returned too late.
Last night, she’d tried to disappear after Lee fell asleep, but the door between their worlds had been concrete once more. She’d paced the yard, not wanting to wake Lee when she knew there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t until the sun broke on the horizon and the sea retreated that Sen was able to cross back over. She’d hardly slept, had forgotten to meditate before the sunrise, and now her father had come looking for her. He sheathed his sword, his eyes glowing gold with the reflection of dawn. Sen prepared to bow in apology, but her father spoke first.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We’re going into town.”
Before Sen could ask why, her father turned and headed back outside, slamming the door behind him.
Sen stared at the space where he’d been only moments ago, feeling strangely cold. Why would her father want her to go intotown? Ever since they’d come to Chiran, he’d said how important it was for the whole family to stay hidden. Sen’s world had shrunk down until it was only the house behind the sword ferns.
Slowly, Sen dressed and tied her hair up, standing far from the door to her closet, as if Lee could see straight through the paper. He would be confused when she didn’t return right away, but she couldn’t disobey her father.
When she finished dressing, she walked to the front of the house, past the sleeping servants, to where her father stood waiting on the front porch.
“Leave your sword behind,” he said, barely looking at her.
Sen stood frozen, unsure if she’d misheard. Ever since she was a child, her father had told her to bring her katana everywhere she went, to be ready to fight at any moment. Why would that change now? Her eyes scanned her father’s form, where his sword was missing as well. He undoubtedly had another weapon concealed in his clothing, but his usual katana was gone.
At her hesitation, her father turned to her, eyes dark with impatience. “Are you deaf, or just incompetent? I won’t repeat myself.”
Sen turned without another word, pulling her katana from her hakama with numb hands and setting it on the hooks on her wall. She tugged at her sleeves, unsure what to do with her hands. How did her father expect her to defend herself if they ran into trouble? Either he was certain there wouldn’t be trouble, or he didn’t want her to handle it herself.
She went back outside and followed her father through the main gate. The winds grew louder as they crossed the threshold, as if some invisible force had been shielding the house from the bite of morning air. Sen walked a few paces behind her father, trying to match his silent footsteps, but his stride was longer than hers and he did not slow down for her, for anyone.
Her father turned at the end of the road, heading toward thehorizon and the hazy silhouette of the town center cast against the early-morning light. It was the same way Lee had taken her into town.
She wondered, with a jolt, if her father had made her leave her katana behind because he knew she wouldn’t like wherever they were going. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to marry her off to one of the Shimazu sons and had found someone else who would pay for her, had decided that their family needed the money more than they needed a female samurai.
He wouldn’t do that, Sen thought, her legs numb as she followed her father through the main gate into the sleeping town.He needs me to fight.But doubt rang through her regardless.
In the pale morning light, the town looked similar to when she’d walked through it with Lee, so many years later. The streets seemed wider now, the roads made of dirt carved with tracks from rickshaw wheels rather than the smooth gray stone in Lee’s world. A few elderly people meandered through the streets and some windows glowed from within, but most of the town was still asleep. Her world felt like a hazy dream compared to Lee’s world.
The sun began to glare white across the horizon, and her father walked faster, as if afraid of what the light would reveal.
Sen smelled fire in the distance. The familiar tang of molten metal and crisp embers made her eyes water. Her father hurried toward its source, down a darkened side street. He drew to a stop in front of a blacksmith’s shop, where paper windows glowed red and flickered with the echoes of flames.
Her father knocked three times on the door. As they waited in silence, Sen wondered if she was being sold to the blacksmith as a bride in exchange for a sharper sword, and ignored the way her heart clenched as the door unlatched and an elderly man waved them in.
Sen stepped into the small shop, and the blacksmith closedthe door behind her with a resoundingthunkof the metal lock. An oven pulsed with fire in the far corner of the room, its heat waves blurring the shop in a dreamlike haze. Pieces of metal and heavy tools lay scattered across the table in the center of the room, boxes stacked on the opposite side. Sen could hardly breathe through the sudden heat, her eyes watering from the sting of smoke.
The blacksmith picked up a box and set it on the table. To Sen’s surprise, her father ignored the box and turned instead to her.
“Open it,” he said.
Sen remained still, sure this was some sort of test or trick. What could be in the box that her father didn’t want to open himself? At her hesitation, his lips pressed into a tight line, so she turned to the box and flipped the lid open.
Inside, she found a long, narrow package wrapped in fabric. She looked to her father, then the blacksmith, who watched her expectantly. Slowly, she untied the bindings and brushed the fabric cover aside.
A katana.
She lifted it from the box, holding it delicately with both hands. In the fire’s light, the blade glowed orange like the morning sun. The reflection of Sen’s eyes in the narrow blade stared back at her, her pupils red in its immaculate surface. Golden thread wrapped tightly around the handle, like the first breath of sun piercing the horizon at dawn. Sen admired the keenness of the blade, how light it felt in her hands. The blades she’d used for training were all hand-me-downs from her father, dull and scarred.
“Try it,” her father said.
Sen took a step back so as not to hurt anyone, then steadied the blade in her hands. When she closed her eyes, she could sense the shape of it, like it was an extension of her soul. She steadied her breath, then struck down.
The blade whispered through the air, the clean song of a perfect strike and an immaculately sharp blade. This katana could spear the moon and slice down each individual star.The sword is the soul of the samurai, her father had once said. Sen wished her soul could be this pure.
