This story was published in L'Anse Creuse High School'sVoices 2005

The sun was sinking behind the smooth skyline of fifteenth century Japan, the horizon breaking only for the occasional pine tree silhouetted against the amber-crimson sky. The modest Akimoto dojo stood at the edge of the small village where one could see this view. Even in the dwindling daylight, one could not mistake the approaching figure of Katsura Tetsuyuki, a legendary ronin, a samurai with no master, who had grown up in this village. He had been a ronin ever since he had killed the cruel man for whom he had worked many years ago. His features were dark, his stature tall and both of his swords permanently stained with blood.

As he reached the Akimoto dojo where he had trained, brief memories returned to him. He reflexively looked at the scar on his left arm from his first day with a real sword. It had faded with time, but it still served as a reminder or what his weapons could do. Leaving the trip through years passed for another day, Katsura sensed something that did not feel right. His attention was directed toward a small boy a few feet from the dojo. The boy’s simple clothing and worn sandals suggested that he was but a poor child. He looked no more than ten years old. Katsura started over to the boy since there seemed to be no parent or family around, but the boy saw his swords and got up to run.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Katsura gently. “Where is your family?”

The boy stopped and looked at the renowned samurai through deep blue-black eyes and a mane of long black hair that had a reddish tint to it as though it had been soaked in blood. Katsura had been wrong; this was clearly a girl.

“I don’t have a family anymore,” she replied, fighting back tears. “They’re dead. Slaughtered.”

“Slaughtered?”

“Yes, slaughtered!” shouted the girl, the tears now streaming down her face. “Some swordsmen came by and tried to rob us. My father tried to hold them off, but the only sword we have is an old sakabatou- a reverse blade sword! The swordsmen worked the reversed blade against him, and my father decapitated himself. After they killed my mother and brother, I took the sakabatou and ran.” She turned slightly and Katsura saw that the sword was at her side.

“Why are you dressed as a boy, child?” he asked.

“Defense,” she replied shortly. Her stature seemed to harden as she spoke.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Katsura. He had been many places and seen many odd things, but never a girl who had the audacity to dress as a boy.

“I think you do,” said the girl boldly as she stood up. “Men like you always come to this village just looking for girls they can take advantage of. I may be a girl, but I am not defenseless!”

Katsura no longer felt sorry for this insolent cross dressing child. She had just done a very stupid thing by shouting a samurai, especially a ronin. The offender being newly orphaned, Katsura decided he would just give her a good scare, rather than the usual punishment of death.

“Go ahead and kill me with that sword,” said the girl before Katsura could completely draw his Katana. “The men that killed my family may as well have killed me, too. I am shamed for living when my family cannot. At least let me die a warrior’s death.”

Katsura could not decide whether to kill the girl or take her to the dojo for training. The girl had undeniable skill, but there was a strong independent streak that made her incredibly unpredictable and potentially dangerous. She drew the sakabatou and stood waiting for him to strike. He noticed that she, unlike her father, knew to turn the sword so that the reversed blade was toward the opponent. He sheathed his Katana as he replied to her request. “Your death would be honorable, that it would, but I do not wish to kill you.”

The girl slashed at him furiously and yelled, “You must! Nothing is left for me, and I insulted you!”

“This is all true,” replied Katsura, easily avoiding her attack.

“So attack me!” she shouted again, stabbing with anger.

Katsura reached around the slashing blade and grabbed the dull end. The hilt fell out of the girl’s weak grip and into Katsura’s. He whipped around once and stopped when the blade just barely touched her skin. He pulled it away and flipped it behind his back, ending with the hilt pointing toward the girl and the blade under his arm.

“NO!” screamed the girl and she sank to her knees. She threw her head into one hand and the other went to her lightly bleeding neck.

“Your attack, though flawed by aggression, showed great skill,” said Katsura, explaining his observances. “Where did you learn?”

“My brother, Akira, was a student at this dojo,” sighed the girl, her tears subsiding. “I asked him if I could learn as well. Since we only possess one sword and the dojo won’t take women, he taught me in secret. Now he’s gone…”

She began sobbing again. Katsura waited for her to calm slightly before voicing his next idea.

“What is your name, child?” he asked very gently.

“Daishi Jiruan,” she replied softly.

“You are very luck, Daishi Jiruan,” said Katsura. “Not many grown women ever make it as far as you have in any formal fighting techniques. You must have great dedication to your art.”

“So?” Jiruan demanded.

“Since you have nothing left for you, come with me.” replied Katsura. “I shall complete your instruction.”

“I can’t kill anyone,” whispered Jiruan. “I don’t ever want to.”

“That is no problem with that sword,” said Katsura. “A sakabatou is meant for defense. You will learn how to use that sword to keep what happened to your family from happening to anyone else.”

Jiruan looked up at the aging ronin. He offered her a hand up, and, after small hesitation, she took it. Katsura handed her the sakabatou and she sheathed it. This new master and his apprentice surveyed each other and silently agreed to try the arrangement.

“Come, young one. I know a place here where the food is as good as the Emperor’s,” said Katsura.

“Where you go, I shall follow, Katsura-sama,” replied Jiruan and they ascended the few stairs to the Akimoto dojo.