A Measure of Peace
Sakura was like a stone in the stream. The water slipped by, on course to the river and then to the sea. She had no past and certainly no future. She could hope to be no more than she was now.
When he had finished with her, the brutal invader took a fistful of her hair and hauled her outside. She scratched at his thick, scarred hands. Her kimono in disarray, her scalp burning and her knees scrapping against the wooden floors. They were laughing, the seven of them. Sakura thought of children who pulled wings off butterflies and when they pierced little Izuko’s hands, Sakura struggled harder, trying to relieve the pressure on her scalp, to free her mind from the pain. To think clearly enough to focus.
Then there was a sudden roar, a battle cry that was distinctly Japanese, and a horse thundered into the yard. A giant samurai in black and teal armor sat the saddle. His eyes hidden beneath his helm, his face behind a mask of Umibōzu. He sliced into the man tormenting Izuko. The invaders scrambled, releasing the women.
Two more samurai entered the courtyard then. Smaller than the first. Their helms lost. One in green and white and gold. His face clean shaven and so comely it almost hurt to see him. His strokes as smooth as falling leaves. The strikes more devastating than an axe blow.
The third was sundered, his armor in shreds. His forearms bare and bandaged and his silk underrobe stained with his own blood. His eyes found her, black as wet coals in the soft light of morning. His gaze fixing on the hand in her hair, then to the brute that held her. He charged.
The captain released her and drew his great, wide blade. The katana was a shard of delicate silver in comparison. He swung for the samurai’s unprotected shoulder, for the vulnerable neck. But the katana flashed upward, swift and sure, a howling wind racing up the cliff. Blood spattering like sea spray. The captain staggered back, uttering some indignant curse in his foreign tongue.
A girl in the red and white trappings of a miko entered the courtyard behind the Japanese warriors. A curious point of calm in the storm. With a sprinkling of salt, the ringing of a bell, Sakura heard her sincere plea to Hachiman; “Bless our aim, O Divine Protector! Bolster our resolve!”
Sakura’s rapist charged forward, ugly blade connecting with Japanese steel with a sharp clang. Sparks flashed. The graceful man’s arm shivered under the weight of the strike the instant before he deflected the blow and spun away. Unharmed.
Sakura did not know anything about this young samurai, save that she wanted no harm to come to him. Make them suffer, she thought. Kill them all! Her will concentrated on the sole thought that the invaders deserved all that they visited upon her. She dreamed of her rapist severing his own thick neck.
Then it happened. The wide sword slipped through. Connected with the opened collar of the samurai’s unprotected left with enough force to cleave collar bone and spine. The miko screamed, her arrow loosed too late.
The Captain fell to his knees, his own bones crushed, his torso cleaved. The young samurai left whole. He met Sakura’s gaze for a moment, stunned and blinking. Then he heard the battle, turned to find the handsome samurai outnumbered four to one and rushed to his fallen ally.
“We need you,” he said, pulling the giant samurai back to his feet.
There were two more Japanese warriors who joined them then and the fight was ended as quickly as it had begun.
The victors took stock of the courtyard, of the women they just saved. The young samurai in the shattered armor reached down and plucked a discarded robe from the dirt. It was cheap silk. He handed it to little Izuko, his gaze respectfully averted from her nakedness
“You are safe now,” he said.
The miko bandaged their wounds as the samurai watched the road. They saw that supplies were salvaged. That the girls are properly dressed for the journey.
“Our lord has decided in a change of plans,” the monk explained. “We are escorting you all to the Golden Temple. Come. Who is the youngest? You may ride my horse. No, you need not know how to ride. Lord Sakai will lead you.”
And for the first time in her sorry life, Sakura felt a measure of peace.
Written by Christelle.
