Memory’s Blade by Wen Wen Yang

It is past noon, after chores and lunch. A flash of metal shimmers in a field behind a two-room shack. A river runs through the woods beyond the field. Its sparkling water is no match for the sword’s deadly shine.

Kurren grips the wooden handle with both hands and brings the blade through the air before her. It sings sweeter than the birds. She moves from tiger form, to the crane stance, back to the offensive wolf position. Her left wrist suddenly locks, forcing her to drop the sword. Her heavy water bucket had fallen from the top of her head during stabilizing mediations before breakfast. Her attempts to catch it resulted in the bruised wrist.

Kurren turns to the forest, with its river and icy water. Her right hand clasps around her left wrist gingerly.

The wind carries a soft sigh, startling her. Swiftly pivoting while retrieving her sword, Kurren scans the field.

It must have been an animal, though she never heard of an animal sighing so much like a human. A rustling beside the wooden hovel forces her to advance. Why would anyone break into the shack? It stands in the middle of the outskirts of nowhere, with only herbs that one could get easily from the marketplace for pennies.

Rounding the corner, she finds herself face to face with the intruder. He is clearly not an animal. Though he is taller than she is, he seems surprised and fearful of her drawn blade. The wind shakes his glossy brown hair, while forcing him to squint to avoid the stirring dust. As the air stills, Kurren faces the soul-penetrating grey eyes. In contrast, Kurren sports common brown eyes and uncommon white hair, silvery in the sunlight. The premature purity makes her seem older, should you not see her face.

“What—why are you here?” Kurren stammers, her tongue and mouth weak from lack of use. Looking the male over, she determines that he is in his late teens, like her, with a sword but at his side.

“I saw you practicing.” He manages a grin, faking ease in the face of danger. “I was looking for a place to practice myself and I—”

“You watched me?” She advances. The grin is gone. The boy quickly raises his sword and softly bats hers away from his face. Moving away from the cabin’s wall, he spreads his feet to ground himself.

“It was only a moment.” He reasons, keeping both hands on his sword while Kurren manages only with her right.

“Get off my property and never return.” She hisses between clenched teeth.

“Of course,” he doesn’t move. “May I ask you where you learned those moves?”

“Leave. Now.”

“What school is your—” He can’t finish his question as she lunges at him with all her might. He blocks and counters. She wards it off with a grunt as she pushes back against his blade. He slips his blade across the tip of hers, and catches her underneath the ribs. By reflex, he extends his sword and turns it to the side.

Kurren gasps at the contact of cold steel against her insides. The boy quickly withdraws his sword, showing a thin strand of blood connecting his weapon to her wound. Her left hand automatically presses against the nonfatal wound while her right tries to fend off future attacks.

“I’m truly sorry.” The boy says as he jumps back from her half-committed attacks. Blood covers only the tip of his sword.

“Go.” She barks as she stabs the sword into the ground to keep herself standing.

“You should go back to town with me.” The boy edges closer, his blade at rest. “My father is a doctor and he should be able to treat you.”

“Leave now.” Kurren shouts as the blood seeps from between her fingers. “You’ve done enough.”

“The cut is deep.” The boy mumbles. “I can’t leave you to bleed to death.”

“It’s shallow.” Kurren narrows her eyes. “I can handle it. Leave my property or I will kill you.”

Both of them know the threat is a lie; she can barely stand much less kill. The boy hesitates, then takes a step toward her. Kurren unsheathes her blade from the ground and charges at him. The boy easily deflects it, and knocks the sword out of her hand. Kurren collapses onto the ground and feeds the earth her blood.

“Stop attacking me.” The boy urges as he places one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulder blades. He grunts as he lifts her. With a steady pace, he walks toward the overgrown dirt path back to town.

“Put me down!” Kurren shouts before a roaring fills her ears. Fire burns her insides, while her head feels the weight of a dragon at the base of her skull. While gasping for air, she reaches up to claw at his face. Before she can make contact, the blood loss knocks her unconscious.

---

“She should be done by the time she is fifteen,” her mother informed her father at dinner.

“That leaves three years until she can be married,” her father replied as he passed her the plate with pre-sliced meat pieces. Kurren takes one slice with her small pudgy fingers and nibbles on it.

“I can use that time to teach her housework.”

“What kind of honorable work is housework?” He grumbles as he starts on his own dinner. “She should be a teacher like me. Or a nurse. Or even a scholar’s assistant.”

“It would be practical for her to know how to handle life beyond her books.”

Kurren watched the talks over her head as she finished the meat and started on the vegetables.

“Use the chopsticks, Kurren.” Her father said before Kurren could grab a bean sprout with her fingers. “It’s a lowly peasant who eats with their fingers.”

“She’s six!” Her mother laughed, her black hair shaking as it rippled down her back. “What does she know about peasants and kings?”

“Peasants work the land. Kings work the money.” Kurren quipped before biting into a rice bun.

“Haha!” Her father clapped. “She will be a most honorable and pure politician at this rate. Incorruptible. Independent and fighting for the common man.”

Her mother smiled knowingly. “Perhaps we should have only her intelligence and wit as the dowry then.”

“No,” her father waved his hands around him. “This home, enough for sixteen instead of three people, will be hers and her husband’s. That will be enough to win over any high ranking official. Not to mention the other…aspect men want. Though, that will be easy enough to protect as she will be as able-bodied as you are, to handle unwanted attention.”

Her mother huffed and stood from the table. “You are speaking of dowries and chastity before she is even a full woman!”

“I am preparing,” her father stood and stood behind her mother. His hands rested on her sides while his chin touched her shoulder. “What kind of girl would she be without a dowry to attract the right men, the intelligence to brush away the wrong, and something for him once he has her?”

“A whore,” Her mother spat out as she pulled away from him. Taking Kurren’s hand, she led the child to the sink to help wash the dishes.

“Mama,” Kurren whispered as her father had gone to his room to review the day’s spending. “What’s a whore?”

“A most horrible class of woman. Lowly. Without pride or conscience.”

“Will I ever become one?” Kurren asked with tearful eyes.

“No, no,” Her mother kissed her forehead softly. “Your father and I will not allow that to happen.”