Young Writers Society

The year is 1874, and Japan is under siege. American troops desire the island nation as a trading outpost, but Japan has refused all requests from them to use it as such. American President Millard Fillmore declares war with Japan, and they largely outnumber the small country's military force. Yet, skirmish after skirmish, Japan takes victory. Backup takes more than two months to cross the ocean, meaning America is at a severe disadvantage.



In order to turn the tides of war, they aim to claim a small island off the south coast of Japan, Okinawa. Okinawa is in the perfect location, because it can be defended from Japanese troops, and a base could be set up to store supplies and house troops. The war could turn to their side.

Okinawa Prefecture contains Higashi Village. Higashi Village is the town American boats need to land on, due to riptides and wind paths. The citizens of Higashi Village have no defense from the troops, so America expects an easy claim of land.

However, a group of eight citizens are not prepared to give up the island, knowing it could mean the downfall of Japan's precious isolation. They are prepared to set aside their differences in order to save their homeland.



侍 The Samurai 侍 (warrior)
- Male
- Wields a katana
- Assembles the group
Reserved by @Sheyren

侍 The Shèshǒu 侍 (archer)
- Male
- Wields a recurve bow
- Hails from China
Reserved by @Lael

侍 The Geisha 侍 (female entertainer)
- Female
- Wields no weapon at the start of the storybook
- Is skilled at lying
Reserved by @CoffeeCat

侍 The Shinobi 侍 (ninja)
- Female
- Wields a variety of assassination tools
- Keeps her name a secret for most of the storybook
Reserved by @Synnoev

侍 The Soldier 侍 (soldier)
- Male
- Wields a flintlock pistol
- Defects from the American troops
Reserved by @Wolfical

侍 The Sōhei 侍 (warrior-monk)
- Male
- Wields a naginata
- Is of the last remaining sōhei
Reserved by @soundofmind

侍 The Rōnin 侍 (warrior without a master)
- Female
- Wields a katana
- Does not serve Emperor Meiji
Reserved by @XxXTheSwordsmanXxX

[b]侍 The Wakō 侍 (pirate)
- Female
- Wields a cutlass
- Captain of a ship and crew
Reserved by at @Leekeer

In addition to the main eight, there are four other, more minor roles to be fulfilled.
First is the American General. He will be a male character.
Second is Emperor Meiji, who is also male.
Third is a spy for the Eight, who will be female.
Lastly is a spy for the American troops, who will be male.

• Sex is only allowed in implication, but I doubt you'll need it.
• Minor language is allowed, such as 'damn' or 'crap'. Certain exceptions can be used.
• High activity may be required, but if you want to participate and have a busy schedule, we can make allowances.
• No posting order will be in place, but we will aim for a post every two weeks at least.

Character templates are below.

“Well, well. If it isn't Watanabe, the Meiji scum,” said a threatening voice behind Watanabe. He turned around to see, further down the dusty streets of Higashi Village, a familiar figure donning the typical samurai attire. At his side was a single blade, a katana. Naturally, his hand hovered over the handle, and he looked at Watanabe through messy black hair.

“I've told you before, Kobayashi,” started Watanabe, long tired of explaining, “that I'm not currently aligned with Emperor Meiji. I left his forces so I could return here, and marry my fiance.”

“That doesn't excuse the things you've done for Meiji before! How many innocent humans' blood stain the hands you wield your katana with? It's not the samurai way to kill unprovoked!” Kobayashi passionately explained, hand carefully wrapping around the red and black handle.

“I kill when I am told to do so, and I don't question why, or what will result from it. Welcome to war, Koboyashi.”

Kobayashi's grip tightened on his katana, and he shouted an indistinguishable threat at Watanabe before lurching forward. Lunging, he drew the weapon and slashed at the air where Watanabe had been seconds prior. But by then, Watanabe had sidestepped so delicately that the sand hadn't even been disrupted. No footprints were below his feet.

“So that's the legendary sidestep you're known for. How appropriate, a coward like you famous for a retreat,” taunted Kobayashi. “Fat lot of good that'll do when you go on offense!”

Watanabe silently drew his katana, grip tightening on the handle, a white fabric embroidered with gold silk. On the end was a metal cap designed like the head of a dragon, and the handpiece was made to look like the dragon's tail curving around the blade. He held it up over his shoulder, pointing at his adversary's neck. Kobayashi held up his sword, meant as a desperate attempt for self-protection. Watanabe smirked, knowing how pointless it was. A single step forward, and Kobayashi stiffened up. “You know, a stiff posture is the first step to loss,” Watanabe said from behind him. Frantically, he searched where Watanabe had been, but by then, Watanabe was already clear of that side of the street, and stood behind him.

Kobayashi felt something warm running down his torso. He looked downwards, face paling as he caught sight of the blade end piercing his stomach. The katana was pulled out sharply, and Kobayashi's eyes rolled back into his head. Falling backward, his mouth fell open, and he hit the ground with a sickening thump.

Watanabe looked down at his defeated assailant before swinging his katana through the air, clearing it of the blood trickling down the surface. He slid it delicately into one of his three sword sheaths, the only empty one. The inhabitants of the street which set the scene for the battle saw what occurred and avoided watching. Watanabe noticed one watching what went down, a foreigner of some sort, probably American, but he ignored their gaze. Turning, Watanabe continued his interrupted journey down the road.

Finally, Watanabe arrived at his destination. It was a small house built into the busy streets, and the building had a stairwell running up the side. It was a small structure with a mediocre roofing job, and the walls were peeling. Yet, Watanabe loved the house. Less for the building itself, but for the inhabitant.

“I'm home,” Watanabe said, knocking on the door frame. He pushed aside the fabric door and entered the small, one room living quarters. On the far left was a rolled up straw mattress, laying on a wooden platform. To the right of it was a kotatsu, a checkered tablecloth draped over it. There was also, by the door, a countertop consisting of cabinets and cooking stations. At it stood a woman of twenty-six. She was deep in thought, reading a book simply titled Tempura. Watanabe snuck in unnoticed.

He sat down by the kotatsu, watching her study the book. She put her finger to her lip as she considered the contents, something he noticed she did whenever she was thinking. It was one of the many quirks she had that made him love her more. “So, Masumi, you still can't cook tempura without a recipe book.”

She turned around in surprise and saw who was there. Her dark brown eyes went from shocked to warm and kind, the gaze he so adored. “Yes, you caught me. I expected you to arrive later, so I wanted this dish prepared by then. Let's just say I may have taken a little longer than I anticipated.” She giggled, and Watanabe laughed in good humor.

“You don't need to make me anything. We can go out.”

Masumi dropped the book in relief. “Thank the Lord. I hate cooking.”

Watanabe looked her in the eye, and they stared at each other for a silent moment. Finally, he spoke. “So, how have you been. It's been, what now, three months? I've missed you.”

“The three months have been long without you, but I was sure you were off fighting for the greater good.” Watanabe avoided her gaze as she said it, but she didn't notice. “I've been counting down the days until you get home.”

“I was counting too. Anyway, I've got a surprise for you. An announcement,” Watanabe looked up at ceiling, saying nothing so as to build up the suspense. Masumi waited patiently, but as he drew it out, she finally got restless.

“Spit it out! What is it?”

“I've quit Emperor Meiji's army. So I can come home and stay home,” he said. A smile crossed his face. “So I can finally marry you.”

Masumi's face lit up, and she rushed over to him, embracing him in a tight hug. They stayed like that, in each others' arms, for some time. Finally, Watanabe spoke. “I'm hungry. How about we go get some tempura?”

She let go and grinned. “Sure, let's do that.”



The couple sat at a cracked wooden table, on fragile benches. While it wasn't the prettiest restaurant, they were happy to be in each other's company, and no one would argue that the food wasn't worth the cheap price. After a few minutes of waiting, their food came.

Watanabe finished his bowl of tempura and was satisfied, but Masumi wasn't content with just one. She ate at least three bowls. “My, someone was hungry.”

Masumi almost looked embarassed, but knew he wasn't serious. “Actually, I'm surprised you only had one. Usually, you'd have downed four” She winked as she teased him.

He purposefully ignored her, but made sure she was aware he was doing it. “Well, anyway. I was thinking we could hold the marriage ceremonies in the next few weeks. We'll have to save up as much as possible so we can afford it. Luckily, I'll get some sum of yen from the emperor, as a thank you for my services. Eventually we will have enough. Then we could start saving up for a better home. One more suitable for two people.”

“About that. I'm ready to buy a home with you, but we may need to look for something bigger.” Masumi said, preparing to follow up.

“Why? You wanna live the life of luxury that badly?”

“Well, actually-” She was interrupted by someone calling out in English. Watanabe heard his name jumbled into the call, and he stood up curiously. The same foreigner from earlier, during the duel, saw him stand up and approached. He stopped in front of their table and muttered something in English.

“You urgently need to talk to him? About what?” Masumi asked. The foreigner looked at her in surprise. “I used to work as a silk trader, and trust me when I say there were Americans wanting a deal. I know the language.”

Watanabe looked at him in concern and beckoned for him to sit down. He complied, looking nervously from one new face to the other. Finally, he began to explain why he had come to seek Watanabe, and Masumi translated every word of it.

During the span of his military career, Peter had fought a number of enemies. First it had been the Yanks. Then it was the Comanches. Then it was the Mexican pistoleros. But, hah! What were any of them compared to this single Japanese man? What were bullets and axes and arrows compared to that glinting skinny sword with which he sliced the air, and the grace and speed with which he moved?

Peter wished his Ranger pards could have seen the duel, if you could even call it that - it had been grossly one-sided. He wished they could have seen it because most of them had thought they would never see something more formidable than a fearless band of charging Comanches. Just this one man, though, was terrifying on a different level. Part of it had to do with the way he looked. When he had drawn the skinny sword, Peter had thought that this would be the end of the fragile-looking young man, who looked rather sickly but held himself in a proud manner, as if he was already accepting his death and would take it honorably. But then he evaded the first blow, disappeared, and reappeared with his sword through the other man's gut.

Now here he was, standing before that same frail man who was still very much alive and contentedly enjoying a meal with his sweetheart. A smart sweetheart, too. Peter couldn't decide whether to be more bewildered at the woman's ability to speak to him or at the apparent fragility of the warrior, who especially up close seemed far from a fighting man.

Watanabe - with the help of hand motions, Peter had learned his name quickly from a passerby - gestured for him to sit. Peter obliged, and removed his hat in an attempt to show his respect. He glanced at Watanabe, then at the woman, and wondered who he should speak to. His words were for the former, of course, but it was the woman who would be translating everything. He thought back on parleys with the Indians for a moment, trying to remember who looked at who, but then decided that it didn't really matter and the silence that was strung between he and the couple had lasted long and awkwardly enough.

"I saw you kill that man," Peter said. "I ain't never seen a thing like that before, and I reckoned you must be someone important."

Watanabe didn't shrug or shake his head, so Peter assumed he had reckoned well.

"Just a couple of days ago I quit the American troops. I decided I didn't want to fight on their side anymore. I saw what they were planning to do to this village and thought it was mighty unfair. Y'see, they've got what's called a gatling gun - know what that is? Gatling gun?"

"No," the woman said.

"Well, it's a... It's got..." Peter was never great with words, and the pressure of having them rung through the translator didn't help. So he leaned back in his chair and tried to pantomime the shooting of the gun, moving his hand around in a circular motion. "It looks like a cannon, sort of. Very deadly. Shoots a bunch of bullets very quickly, very fast. It can mow down a whole army in a minute." He slapped his hands together. "Just like that."

Watanabe suddenly and justifiably looked very alarmed. "When?" he asked.

"I don't know when," Peter confessed, "but it takes a mighty long time to transport that thing, and to my knowledge the transporting part ain't even started yet. They've got to take it from the ships to the top of a hill over yonder, and I imagine that'll take a quite a while."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I decided I ain't fighting for anyone who'll do that to an innocent village like this one. It's evil. Whenever I've fought I've been mostly equally matched 'gainst the other. This just wasn't right."

"But you are willing to abandon your country?"

"Yes. I was never much fond of Fillmore, and his country neither. I'm a fighting man, Mr. Watanabe, and what they wanted me to do wasn't what I call fighting."

Watanabe's gaze wandered and he seemed to be pulled into contemplation. Peter waited patiently. Finally Watanabe said something, and the woman translated it: "We're going to need help. This isn't a job for just two men."

Peter felt honored that the man had already included him on his team. He nodded. "I agree. My name is Lieutenant Peter Lacy, by the way, sir." He added the "Lieutenant" even though it wasn't technically official because it made him sound more important. Anyhow, he wasn't an American soldier anymore, and there was no Fillmore to take away his well-deserved title.

"I can't believe you call yourself a Buddhist anymore. Not after what happened with..." Tsuda trailed off, looking past Shun'en, into the garden behind the temple. Shun'en knew it was because he didn't want to say, or perhaps, felt he didn't even have the right to say it.

Shun'en only nodded, and looked down at the steps. "You thought I was thinking of converting back then, didn't you?"

Tsuda released a small laugh, and shook his head. "We all did, Ueda. No monk ever talked so much with a foreigner, never mind a missionary of a western religion."

Shun'en gave a shy smile, and shrugged. "The past is the past, Umeko."

"The past is never the past, Ueda. The past stays with you forever." Tsuda retorted, but with a smile on his face, and his eyes crinkling up with laughter.

"Hah! Is this the truth of enlightenment I hear? That doesn't sound very Buddhist. What was it again? I thought it was: 'Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment?' Such sage wisdom, I see." Shun'en teased, though he knew Tsuda was both serious and joking in his reply.

Tsuda and Shun'en laughed elbowing each other with glee as they watched the sky turn different shades of orange and pink as the sun hit the edges of the hills. As their laughter died down they both observed in silence, enjoying the rays of light dancing over the hills and in the sunset's sky.

It was Shun'en who spoke up again. "So you'll be putting down the sword, then?"

"I'm retiring, Ueda. Yes. But I'll always be a Sōhei at heart." Tsuda replied, putting a hand on Shun'en's shoulder. "I'm getting old now, don't you think?"

Shun'en nodded, and gave a weaker smile. He let his gaze fall again to his feet - to his tabi socks and his geta. "There aren't many of us left."

Tsuda returned his hand to his lap and looked up to the sun. "Maybe not, but I believe you can carry our legacy with strength."

Shun'en sighed, lifting his eyes to the horizon. "...Just not to the next generation."

Tsuda bowed his head, and rose from the steps as he responded. "It's an end. But perhaps, Ueda, you will soon find for yourself, a new beginning."



Things had changed much since the dissolution of the monk order. The Sōhei had not dissipated altogether, but here, in the village of Higashi, they were largely, nonexistent. What was once a lively and populated temple situated on the hill at the edge of the village, became a solitary place populated by one.

It was at this temple, that Shun’en sat outside of, on the front steps, in meditation. With his eyes closed he remained in silence, attaining to peace of mind and soul. Whisps of a pleasant aroma flowed from the incense lit by the entrance, contributing to the peaceful atmosphere of the early morning. Around the temple were several bushes spotted with blooming flowers; each plant tamed by Shun’en's attentive care.

Shun'en's eyes remained closed as he heard two pairs of footsteps approaching, making their way up to the top of the lengthy stretch of stairs where he sat. When they pair had made it about halfway, he opened his eyes and gave them a calm nod of recognition and a warm smile. He stood up, giving a waving motion to welcome them to come to the top.

"Welcome, Watanabe." He addressed the samurai with a small bow. "Who's this with you? A friend?"

Watanabe returned the greeting and gestured to the foreigner. "This is Lieutenant Peter Lacy, an American defector."

Shun'en's eyes lit up a bit at the mention of Peter's nationality, and he gave Peter a friendly smile. He held out a hand for Peter to shake, having learned that it was a customary greeting for Americans to shake hands upon meeting. He spoke to Peter in English, though with a heavy accent. "Hello Peter! I am Shun'en. I know a little English. I knew an American long ago."

Peter's brows shot up in surprise, but he returned the handshake with eagerness. "Well glad to meet you, Mr.Shun'en!"

Shun'en smiled, letting go of Peter's hand and returning it to his side. He looked back over to Watanabe and, switching back to Japanese, addressed him. "So, what brings you here this morning?"

Watanabe wore a serious expression as he replied, "We come to you with urgent and pressing news."

Shun'en nodded, seeing even in Watanabe's face that his words were true, and gave Watanabe his full attention. "What is it?"

"Peter has informed me that the Americans plan to invade and siege Higashi Village with a powerful weapon that can take out many men in only a minute. This is a great danger to us all, and I cannot stand idly by and wait for it to happen. I have come to call you to action. We need help to face this threat, for we cannot do it alone. I know that you are both a warrior and a monk, and though it has been many years since you've had a thriving order and a community of others like you, you are experienced and skilled in combat. There is not enough time to gather forces from Japan's armies to support us. So for the sake of all of those in this village, and for the sake of Japan, will you join us?"

Shun'en listened closely, taking each of Watanabe's words seriously. "Mm." Was his first reply, as he stared out past them in thought, considering this call to action. It had been a while since he had a worth cause by which to wield his naginata. And perhaps... this could be his new beginning. It was a moment before he looked up and with a nod, replied, "I will help you defend this village, Watanabe. You have my word."

He then looked to Peter, and, speaking in English repeated, "I'm with you."

That morning Chikako watched the invasion.

The clear, spring weather above Higashi Village reflected on the ponds of the garden behind the geisha house, their shallow edges framed by low-hanging blossom trees and reed bushes.

It was Chikako’s duty to feed the koi fish each day, so she’d witnessed the development of the beehive at the far corner of the garden for almost two months now. It hung from a twisted black pine, curved and golden beneath the layer of fluffy, striped insects. Their collective hum traversed the breeze to the small bridge Chikako stood on, the sleeves of her floral kimono hanging over the water as she dropped breadcrumbs. Coral red and milky white shapes swam below the wooden bridge, the sunlight glinting off their mottled scales.

It was beautiful day in a beautiful garden occupied by a beautiful geisha; however such aesthetics were always designed to hide the unpleasant, just as glistening water hid mud, or military uniforms hid murder.

Chikako’s delicate, poised throws were interrupted by the sound of war. The gentle hum of the bees had crescendoed to an angry rumble. Curious, she descended the arch of the bridge and followed the garden path towards the beehive, her foot strides narrow and graceful.

Fourty Suzumebachi surrounded the hive, each hornet outsizing a bee by ten times. Chikako recognised the hornets from long ago, when two other geisha girls were stung by a couple; the strong venom had killed them both. Aware of the danger, Chikako stopped far enough away… yet soon regretted coming closer at all.

What appeared to be at least twenty thousand bees covered the hive surface in a defence wall. The giant attackers picked off the bees one by one at lightning speeds, decapitating them with their mandibles in thrashing motions. The bees stung the hornets among the chaos, but their venom seemed to have no effect on the Suzumebachi. One by one the bee carcasses began to fall from the tree, until the hive rained black and amber.

It was mass slaughter. The bees defended their home as best they could, but without the equivalent size and power they were utterly helpless.

Two months to build a hive, a few minutes to have it conquered.

A carpet of bee corpses littered the grass below the hive, dense and twitching with the fading remnants of life. Chikako stared at it with deep brown eyes.

Why would nature create something… so ugly?

“Chikako-san!” a female voice called from across the garden, startling the geisha by the hive.

“Yes?” Chikako responded, turning away from the massacre scene.

Katsue, an older geisha, gestured to Chikako from the back of the geisha house. “What are you doing over there? Come practice your dance for tonight.” Chikako saw Katsue mumble something else, but it was out of earshot. Katsue often mumbled when her bitter judgments of others arose. Ugly. Ugly.

Chikako arranged her red painted lips into a soft smile. She was a pure lily; a floating angel; a moving work of art. “Yes, Katsue-san.”


Her dance captured the attention of every patron in the venue. The plucked melody of a shamisen accompanied her slow, refined movements on the low stage. She danced with adornments in her hair, with white powder on her face, with a fan in her hand. She danced with elegance and mystery and flirtation.

Chikako was not a person, but a purpose. The geisha gifted beauty to a world that disregarded or devalued its existence. When a geisha spoke, she brought comfort and joy. When a geisha sung, she transcended time. When a geisha danced, she allowed others a glimpse into heaven.

The performance ended with her lowering to the floor in a distinguished bow, her hands placed symmetrically in front of her head, which touched her knees.

Afterwards, she joined the patrons at their long, low tables, offering light conversation and serving cups of tea.

“Wonderful performance, Chikako-san,” one of the regular patrons complimented, to which Chikako smiled with a shy façade.

Of course it was wonderful. She was one of the most beautiful geisha in Higashi Village, after all.

“Oh, Yamamoto-san, you flatter me.” She leaned across him to refill his teacup, exposing the alluring skin of her wrist. The man’s eyes followed its position in space—a fish on a hook.

There came a tap on Chikako’s shoulder. Katsue stood behind her.

“There are two men asking for you,” said Katsue, before lowering her volume to a whisper, “One of them is American.”

Chikako let Katsue lead her around the table end and over to the men, who stood by the venue’s paper screen doors.

She recognised Jinpachi Watanabe as an old acquaintance, his long, black hair nearly the length of her own. Beside him was the American, who she assessed with caution.

"Don't worry, Peter here is an American defector,” said Watanabe.

The man named Peter kept silent, his enchanted expression talking for him. American’s may be foreigners, but art and beauty were a universal language. His eyes wandered from Chikako’s kimono to the makeup covering her face, as if seeing a geisha for the first time.

“Chikako Saeki is your name, from what I remember?" Watanabe posed it as an opportunity to correct him.

"Yes. We've talked on various past occasions, Watanabe-san. What is it you requested me for?"

Watanabe hesitated before launching into an explanation of the looming American threat. "... We're forming a group to defend the village, and I believe your talents could be useful. A diverse range of skillsets is ideal for our sabotage operation."

Chikako hid her amusement. Us against the American troops? "I see," she said, keeping her impassive composure. "What makes you think I'll fight with you?” The fate of the other villagers did not motivate her in the least. She took care of herself first and foremost, and used the ugliness of others to her benefit. Lust, greed, envy, pride—whatever the flaw, she could manipulate it.

"I could tell by the way you moved onstage that you adore your work,” said Watanabe thoughtfully. “You belong to it, as I belong to my katana. If the Americans claim this island, the geisha house will be lost to greater concerns.”

This point confronted her. She hated to admit it, but he was right.

An image of the beehive from that morning crossed her mind—the futile defence, the chorus of bees quieting with each plummeting, dismembered body. “What makes you think we stand a chance? Why bother if our odds are as risky as you described?”

“Because unlike the American soldiers, we fight with higher stakes. Our stronger resolve and familiarity of the land will be our two advantages.” Watanabe’s tone shifted, “Chikako-san, have you ever fought for anything you weren’t certain you’d succeed in?"

The bees in Chikako's memory shielded the surface of the hive, not yielding even when only a handful remained. She wondered if the tables could have turned if the bees had possessed a group to match the attacking hornets.

Chikako had never been a bee—not even once, not even when something mattered to her, but perhaps it was about time to become one. Taking a deep breath, she announced her decision: "I'll fight."

The atmosphere in the geisha house was lively tonight, absent the pervasive anxiety that had swept across the village since the arrival of the Americans. The geisha house offered another world to its patrons, one where they could forget the troubles of the everyday. Nights when Chikako danced were always particularly good nights for Eiryu to prise secrets from targets—the glimpse of heaven they got from watching Chikako's performance made them even more susceptible to cups of sake and a pretty face.

As Chikako glided from the stage, Eiryu turned back to her current target, reaching across to refill his cup with a glimpse of her inner wrist. Umeda had recently arrived from mainland Japan, and the governor of the town had instructed the shinobi to find out more about his history in whatever way possible. Her main target of interest, however, had yet to be seen in the geisha house. Eiryu knew that an American had recently arrived to the village, and she was certain it was only a matter of time before he made his way to the most renowned geisha house on the island. As Umeda spoke, his voice slurred with alcohol, a voice across the room caught Eiryu’s attention.

“There are two men asking for you,” Katsue murmured to Chikako. Her voice dropped into a whisper. “One of them is American.”

The American. He was finally here. The Umeda job could wait. Eiryu smiled at her companion and hummed in agreement to whatever he had been saying, then leaned slightly closer, pulling her features into an apologetic expression. “I have to go now,” she said, “but you’ll be back soon, right? I need to hear the end of that story.” This last remark was punctuated with a momentary touch of the tips of her fingers to the back of the man’s hand. Umeda nodded, gaze fixed on where the touch had been, and Eiryu beamed.

Exiting the room smoothly without another word of farewell, she slipped past the entrance way where Chikako was speaking in hushed tones and made her way to the second floor. Directly above the entrance was Eiryu’s own private room. The room was compact, a futon lying ready on one side and a dresser on the other. Above the futon was a small window from which a gentle breeze entered the room. Eiryu closed the sliding door behind herself, standing beside the window to eavesdrop on the conversation happening below outside.


The conversation between Chikako and the others came to an end. Eiryu braced herself against the wall, mind racing. There were still too many questions. She had to follow them.

Pushing her fingertips into the hair at the base of her skull, she loosened the wig that had lain heavy on her head for most of the night, careful not to nudge the gold and green accessories that dangled down from the bun. Once removed, she placed the wig carefully onto its stand, then turned to removing her silk obi and kimono. Layer by layer, she removed the outfit, hanging the intricately decorated outer layer on its frame with care. Clad in only her underlayers, she moved to the dresser area, picking up a thin cloth soaked in camellia oil. The cloth was rough against her skin as she rubbed it against her face and neck, removing the thick white makeup hurriedly.

Makeup gone, the shinobi threw on a tattered navy and white yukata, tying it with a narrow undecorated obi. She turned back to the mirror, checking for last traces of makeup as she loosely tied back her long black hair. The beautiful geisha Eiryu was gone. Instead, the childlike face of Chiru stared back at her in the mirror.

Satisfied with the transformation, Chiru went to the window, squeezing her thin frame through the open space. She silently dropped down to the other side, bare feet hitting the ground with a muffled thump. Still crouched as she listened for the voices of Watanabe and the American, she slowly dragged the palms of both hands across the ground, lifting them up to smear the dirt over her face and neck.

The sound of conversation drifted closer. Chiru watched as the American, Watanabe, and Masumi walked briskly down the main road at the end of the alley, faces illuminated by a small handheld lantern. She counted to four after watching them pass by, then peered around the corner. Time to find out where the American was staying. Gaze fixed on the soft golden glow of the lantern, she began to trail them.


She had lost them. The trio had turned down this narrow path, but now were nowhere to be found. Chiru stood still in place, head cocked to one side as she listened intently for the sounds of conversation. Nothing but the faint trickle of the river and indistinct laughter from a restaurant several doors down. Where had they gone?

Frustrated, she took a step backward, but felt the cold steel of a katana press against her neck. Chiru froze, fear washing over her.

“You’ve been following us.” Watanabe’s voice rang out clear in the near silence of the night.

Chiru heard her voice tremble as she replied. “No, sir. I’m just walking home, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie. You’ve been following us since the geisha house.”

Chiru felt herself get spun around, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the lantern was brought close to her face. “Please, I just want to go home,” she begged, seeking out Masumi’s gaze with wide, scared eyes. Even when caught, Chiru was rarely suspected as a spy due to her childlike appearance. This time seemed different.

The lantern was pulled away, and a thoughtful look came over Watanabe’s face. “Hama?” he asked, a slight frown marring his features. The shinobi froze at hearing the name. Hama was an old alias, back from her training days. Had Watanabe known her then?

“I’m not Hama. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chiru replied, trying to pull away, but it was too late. A glint of recognition had entered the man’s eyes, a decisive expression settling on his face.

“Stop playing games, Hama! I know who you are, and we need your help.”

Chiru stopped struggling, though her gaze flicked between the two men like a trapped animal.

Watanabe continued, fixing her with a serious expression. “The Americans have a weapon. Huge and powerful, it will destroy our village if they ever get a chance to use it. We need your help to stop them.”

The shinobi looked down for a moment, sighing, then dropped the Chiru persona. There was no point pretending anymore at this point. Straightening her posture, she met Watanabe’s gaze and nodded. “I know about the weapon. I’ve seen it.” She gestured to the American. “He’s a spy?”

Watanabe shook his head. “A defector. Will you help us?”

“I want answers first. How did you know I was following you?”

Watanabe shrugged. “I knew one of the geisha was a shinobi, but I didn’t know who. I guessed that whoever it was would follow us after hearing the conversation with Chikako.” A wry smile spread across his face. “I didn’t know it would be Hama, though.”

The shinobi frowned. “Hama’s gone. Don’t call me that again.” A moment of hesitation, then— “You can call me Chiru. At the geisha house, I’m Eiryu.” That was all they needed to know for now, she decided. She looked from the American to Masumi, trying to assess their trustworthiness. “Okay. I’ll help you. Tell me what you need me to do.”

The village is so bright tonight. Almost as bright as the moon itself.

Wei Cheng stared at the moon's shivering reflection in his cup, a luminescent pearl in a dark and forbidding sky. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes and downed the liquid in one gulp before laying back against the thatched straw of his hut's roof.

It was on nights like this that he most keenly felt the loneliness pushing its way to the surface, as he watched the sky, the same sky that his brothers and sisters could see in China. He wondered if any of his friends still thought of him and hoped he was alive.

And yet . . . on those very same nights, Wei Cheng found his eyes wandering towards Higashi Village, which seemed to glow otherworldly by its many paper lanterns.

Of course his heart would attempt to find a way to fill the void inside of him, in the form of befriending the villagers. But his mind told him no, he couldn't become friends with the enemies of his people. It would be a betrayal.

Ah . . . but the idea was so enticing. Wei Cheng could almost hear notes of music floating off of the strings of an instrument.

"Stop it!" Wei Cheng sat up and jumped down from the roof, landing softly on the ground below. He would be able to resist the desire in him if he couldn't see the thing that tempted him.

That, and practicing his archery. It never failed to take his mind off his worries.

He tore into his house, scrabbling for his bow and a few handmade arrows like a drowning man. He didn't take a proper breath until he had run back out of the hut and shot the first arrow straight into the heart of a knothole on the nearby tree, where he had known it would be. Without aiming. Even in the dark.

Wei Cheng's heart pounded and his lungs heaved deep breaths, calm washing back over him. He could never deny the strangely therapeutic effects of the thousands of years of his family's tradition.

Now, he was fully focused. Quietly he stood, arrow nocked, and let his sense take over. His late father had always said that the greatest eye a man had was not one of physical vision, but one of all the senses, combined with knowledge. So Wei Cheng soaked in everything around him.

Quiet, except for a few pairs of footsteps. There are the faint smells of sweat, perfume, and--

In one fluid motion, he raised his bow and let the arrow fly into the shadows beyond him. There was the sound of someone being pulled out of the way and a surprised exclamation, accompanied by low whisperings.

Foreigner. Perhaps it was because their clothes were created by things called machines, in buildings which spewed acrid black smoke. Perhaps it was because the scent of gunpowder and smoke--of war--clung to their manufactured clothing.

But Wei Cheng could always tell when a westerner, or 'white devil', as some called them, was around.

"I shouldn't have done that," he muttered to himself. "It'll only lead to trouble." He quickly turned to walk back into the gates surrounding his hut.

"Wait! Is that Yang-san?" a voice called in Japanese.

Wei Cheng froze, at that voice. He had heard it before, though it had probably been years since then. It was probably too late to run without risking the creation of rumors in the village. (It was bad enough that these people would see his hair unbound in an undignified manner.)

He turned, concealing the large bow and his final arrow behind him as well as he could. He could still shoot someone through the heart, if he had to.

He called back in the same language as the stranger, "What are you doing out of the village so late, Watanabe-san?"

"So you remember me," the man replied, coming into view. He was soon surrounded by two women and him.

Wei Cheng couldn't stop his expression from changing slightly when his eyes fell on the westerner. He probably could be spotted several li away at night with skin that pale. And what was with his strange hat?

Wei Cheng took a breath and nodded. "Yes. I remember you. Now if you will excuse me, I believe I will return home." He turned away.

He refused to appear undignified in front of a westerner.

"Yang Wei Cheng. We need your help."

"What for?" said Wei Cheng, still with his back to the group. He could feel the skin over his knuckles straining with his grip over the bow.

"You are a skilled archer. We think someone like you could really help us to fight the Americans."

"Where did you hear that I am an archer? And what about him?" Wei Cheng gestured at the white man, who seemed to only glance at him curiously. Probably because he couldn't understand their speech.

Watanabe's voice sounded slightly amused. "I've seen you before, practicing here. Don't pretend that you didn't shoot that arrow at us earlier. And Peter"--the foreigner straightened as he heard his name--"is an American defector. He wants to help us fight the army off."

Betrays his own people? Why am I not surprised?

Watanabe continued, telling Wei Cheng of the conflict. At the end of the story, the only thing on Wei Cheng's mind was his motherland and his friends. Westerners--mainly the ones called the British--had destroyed nearly every last bit of dignity and pride the Chinese people had left in the era of a crumbling Qing Dynasty. The same thing could happen to the Japanese.

And perhaps it would happen to Wei Cheng's brethren again. Until there was nothing left of the Middle Kingdom.

"But why me?" asked Wei Cheng quietly. "I don't belong here."

"Peter's not Japanese either," countered Watanabe. "But it's convictions and heart that matter. If you're with us and willing to fight against the Americans, we will all have a mutual respect for each other, regardless of our backgrounds."

Wei Cheng pretended that he hadn't been compared to a westerner. "So who else is with you?"

"Well, here's Peter, my fiancée Masumi, and this is Chiru-san. She is shinobi, but when she is disguised at the geisha house she is called Eiryu. We also have another geisha, Chikako, and a sohei, Ueda Shun'en, who has agreed to fight with us."

Wei Cheng let out a short, derisive laugh. "That is hardly the army to defeat the foreigners."

"I still have other recruits in mind," replied Watanabe mildly. "There will be more of us. And besides, even though we can't compare to the American army, that doesn't mean we don't stand a chance."

After a long silence, in which Wei Cheng mulled over Watanabe's words in his mind, he nodded curtly. "Fine." But I will not be your friend.

This time, he turned and walked away, not even when he heard Watanabe softly call after him, "Thank you, Yang-san."

Fujikawa Kyoko, 藤川虚子

What am I going to tell him? Kyoko thought to herself. She was practically in her own world as she walked down the road. Just one more town and she would be home again. She would have to face her father and admit that while she did not disgrace herself...

She wasn't successful either.

She paused as she heard the tell tale signs of a saké shop. She turned her head slowly to the dull murmur that rolled out of the establishment. For a moment she considered walking away and finding a place to sleep that night, but she decided against it.

Stepping through the door she maneuvered her way to one of the few empty tables. Setting her katana to her side she waited quietly for her saké. When it was brought to her she could see the slight look that she was given.

Kyoko was used to it.

The looks were usually the worst that it got. As she poured the wine into the small saucer to drink, she knew that today was going to be worse.

"I have never found it natural for a woman to carry a sword," one drunken man said pausing by her table. Kyoko just gritted her teeth and attempted to ignore him. Both him and the man beside him resting a hand on their katanas.

"Not like she could hold it," another said beside the first. "Probably run if she were facing real swordsman."

"I guess that means that there aren't any real swordsman here," Kyoko responds curtly. "The two of you must be of an even lower skill than a woman."

"Watch what you say. I am Samurai."

"All I see are a couple of pigs masquerading as men."

With an enraged roar the drunken man drew his katana and stepped forward. Kyoko grasped her katana and struck over the man's shins, tripping him into the table and sending her saké to the tatami mats. Rolling to her feet she deflected the thrusts of the second man with her sheathed sword, hurrying to make her way outside.

Driving the kashira of her katana into the man's chin she stepped forward and doubled the man over with a sharp blow of her elbow. The drunken man ran out, sword raised above his head, before slashing wildly at Kyoko.

Dodging out of the path of the edged steel, Kyoko moved around behind the man and drove her sheath into the nerve of the man's back making him fall to his knees.

Pushing him over with her foot she held his chin up with her sheath. "Go sleep it off. By the morning, no one will remember who you dishonored yourself here."

Returning to her table she was surprised to see two men now sitting in the place across from where she had been sitting. One was quite obviously a foreigner. The other was an experienced Samurai. His eyes gave it away.

"I ordered you another saké," the Samurai said.

"I don't take charity," Kyoko responded.

"Not charity...payment."

"Payment for what?"

"For taking the time to listen to what I have to say. But before we get to that...you have a great deal of skill, why did you not draw your sword?"

"They hadn't earned the right to face my sword."

"And given the state of your clothing, you do not serve a lord. Why is that?"

Kyoko sighed as she took a drink of her saké. "Couldn't find a lord that was willing to have a woman as his body guard that didn't also want me as his concubine."

The Samurai nodded and proceeded to tell his story. Giving their names and the nature of the horrific weapon that was on its way. Kyoko had finished her saké as she mulled over the storm that was coming.

"We have been gathering warriors to face this invasion. We would like to invite you to join us," Watanabe said.

Kyoko sighed as she idly toyed with the Kurikata of her sword. She had been searching for something that would bring honor to her family name. But would this be it? Fighting as a rurouni to protect a small village.

"You don't have to give us an answer tonight but..." Watanabe assured before Kyoko interrupted him.

"I'll do it."

Watanabe nodded with a smile. "Meet us here tomorrow so that we can discuss the plan." He tossed a few yen on the table to pay for the two sake that had been ordered. Kyoko bowed to the two men as she began to finish the last of the sake.

The two men left and Kyoko found herself a room. She sighed as she let her hair down and gently combed her fingers through it. Disrobing she admitted to herself that she felt more feminine like this than when she was clothed in her kimono. She sighed as she got into her bed, a hand resting on her sword.

"Tonight is the night. They'll be moving the gun to the base of the hill right now, in the shadows of the trees, and then bring it onto the open hillside under the darkness of the night," said Peter, Masumi translating as he spoke.

Watanabe took another bite of his tempura before addressing the group who, some reluctantly, were sitting at the same table. It's a goddamn miracle I got them to sit together, He thought before scolding himself for using American slang. "They'll make their move, so we'll make ours."

Ueda raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is that move which you speak of?"

"Yes, what exactly is our strategy? I suppose we aren't running in there blind, unless we are. In which case, I think I'll be leaving you fools to die on your own," Wei Cheng said scathingly.

"Relax. He has a plan. Watanabe was known for nearly unbeatable strategies on the battlefield," Mihara claimed.

"I'll explain my plan if you people stop talking for ten seconds," Watanabe said, looking around the table and expecting a cease of conversation. Each member of the group went silent when glanced at. "There are currently eight of us, and Peter..?"

"200 American troops will be involved in the transportation of this gatling gun," Peter said immediately upon hearing his name, and Masumi translated the number.

Watanabe nodded. "So, we need to be smart about our actions. Here's the plan. According to a map Peter made me of their alignment, roughly 40 soldiers will be guarding the entrance to the forest where the gun is. Saeki, your job is to distract them. Dance, sing, do a cartwheel. I don't care how, but don't even let one turn his head. Got it?"

Saeki nodded arrogantly. "You couldn't have given me an easier job."

"Next, I'll sneak past the first defense, with Ueda, Kyoko, Wei Cheng, and Mihara. We'll use the the shadows to hide ourselves from the 100 or so guards along the path. Finally, we'll make our way to the gun. Wei Cheng, you'll initiate the attack from the trees, pelting them with arrows. Move from tree to tree, so they can't pinpoint your location."

"I know," commented Wei Cheng.

"Then I'll give the command, and I'll lead Kyoko and Ueda into the front lines. Scare them a bit, take out as many as we can, that's our role. As we do so, Mihara will circle behind them, and exterminate the soldiers directly by the gun. They should be scared off, since we'll have the gun. However, we won't fire it. Understood?"

They nodded.

"And that's our plan," Watanabe concluded, clearly satisfied with his plotting.

"Wait, what about me?" Masumi asked.

"It's too dangerous. You'll stay here."

"What?! I can and want to help too! Higashi is as much my village as yours!" She exclaimed, outraged.

"You have no combat training."

She glanced at Saeki. "Neither does she! I'll go with her, and get the soldier's attention. I can speak their language, after all."

Saeki looked slightly annoyed by this, but Watanabe agreed to it anyway.

"We should probably get moving," commented Kyoko, rising from her seat. The rest of the group also rose from the table, and Watanabe glanced at his unfinished tempura. Reluctantly, he got up and led the group out of the restaurant.

Leaving the restaurant, the group went their separate ways. Walking with Saeki and Mihara. She was mentally preparing herself for the battle that would take place once the sun went down.

Two women dressed as geisha and a third in a Kimono, Hakama, and katana at her hip. She got her share of whispering and pointing. It was rather normal for her. Men huffed to show their disapproval while women discussed their disgust with those near them.

"So do you really know how to use that?" Saeki asked motioning to the katana at her side. Almost blind-sided by the question it took Kyoko a moment to respond.

"Would Watanabe-sama have asked me to help if I didn't?" Kyoko replied gaining a look from Saeki.

"I can't say that I have seen a woman ronin," Mihara added.

"Not many have. It is not common for a woman to take up the sword," Kyoko answered.

"That must be difficult for you," Mihara commented.

"It can be. There are those that believe that a woman's place is in the home and nowhere else."

"Come to think of it, there were two patrons that came into the house last night. They were complaining about a ronin jumping them," Saeki mentioned with a glance to Kyoko.

"To say that I jumped them would be a misinterpretation. They chose to insult me and I gave them a lesson in manners." She could see the smirk on Saeki's face from the corner of her eye.

"I like that interpretation more," Saeki stated as they arrived at the Geisha house. "Please come in. I will get a private room for us to discuss."

Kyoko nodded as she entered into the house. The room was quickly given and Saeki excused herself to go get some drinks for them. Resting her Katana by her side she knelt down patiently at the table.

"The katana you wield is a little big for you. Does it belong to your family?" Mihara asked in the silence.

Kyoko looked to the sheathed sword gently brushing her fingers over the navy blue handle wrap. "It does belong to my family, but it is not an heirloom." Kyoko could see the confusion on Mihara's face as Saeki returned with their drinks. "It was made for my brother. He died many years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Saeki interjected before letting Kyoko continued.

"Before that I was learning to be a good wife beside my mother so that I could do my part to honor the family," Kyoko paused a moment taking a breath. "My brother was killed trying to capture a horse that had broken free. He was struck by one of its hooves and never awoke.

My father was heart broken. His only son and first born had been killed. While still learning my duties, I offered myself as a replacement and begged him to teach me Kenjutsu. My only request was that I be given my brother's sword so that I may honor him."

"So after learning all that, why are you ronin?" Saeki asked.

"For many years I have been seeking a lord that would accept my sword. But none would have me that didn't want me as his concubine. And so I wandered...nearly four years now. I was actually returning home to tell my father of my failure before Watanabe-sama asked for my help. I can only hope that by protecting the people, I can being some honor to my brother's sword and my father's house."

"You know," Mihara said leaning in a little. "You have very pretty eyes when you aren't holding up that warrior façade."

Kyoko blushed a little and took a drink to remove her attention.

"I am sure that your father will be proud of you for this," Saeki assured her with a smile.

I certainly hope so, Kyoko thought to herself as she finished the last of her drink.

Peter watched as the three women left together, then turned to the others who still stood outside the restaurant, yet to go their separate ways. He felt incredibly awkward. He didn't know what they were saying and didn't even know where they were in the village. He hoped he could find the same place where he stayed last night - an alley between two restaurants of sorts, where he could sift in the garbage for things to eat.

He noticed Shun'en watching him, and once they made eye contact the man walked over to him.

"Tonight. Place to stay?" he asked, in English.

Peter noticed the heated glare of another man - was his name Way Chang or something? - out of the corner of his eye. Peter knew he'd have to keep an eye on this one. He looked back at Shun'en, unsure of what to say.

"If not, you may stay with me in temple on hill," Shun'en explained. "There's much room."

"Oh, well uh... That's nice, but... That... That would be very nice. Thank you. Where is it?"

Shun'en smiled. "It is at edge of village at top of hill."

"I'm much obliged. I'm accustomed to bedding down in the dirt, but this'll... This'll be nice."

Shun'en chuckled and motioned for Peter to follow him down the path. "I hope so. You sleep in dirt often?"

"Yes. When I was a Texas Ranger. There ain't many hotels in the wild parts of the country."

"What is a... Texas Ranger?"

"We're, uh... men hired on by the Texas government - Texas, that's a place - to protect the people from Ind—uh, enemies."

Shun'en nodded. "Hmm. These Induhs, are they like these Americans? Trying to take your towns?"

Peter looked uncomfortable. "Not quite. It's... it's the opposite, really. The Indians attack Americans because we're taking their towns. I'm not overly fond of us killing them all off, 'specially after I've seen some of 'em up close, all noble and powerful. I respect them. But it was my duty to protect my country so that's what I did."

Shun'en listened carefully, and patted Peter on the back once he had finished. "A man who serves his people is a loyal one. But why did that change?"

It was a topic he'd spent countless restless nights pondering: the morality of war. Which side was right? Who deserved to live? He got a bitter taste of it in the Civil War, especially when he was close enough to see the Union soldiers he was killing. They were just boys, like him. They spoke the same language, enjoyed the same pleasures, felt the same pain.

Then again it happened with the Native Americans, in a stronger way, which surprised him. They were supposed to be savages, massacring helpless white settlers, but even after everything he saw, Peter found that he never lost his respect for their noble bearing and honorable motives.

Then came Japan...

"When I agreed to fight overseas," Peter said, "I got the impression that I'd be fighting some big powerful enemy. I wasn't told very nice things about the Japanese, and, uh... it took me for a loop when I saw this village we were about to attack. Usually I couldn't figure out which side I should fight on, when it came to the Civil War or the Indians, but this time I knew that my side was the wrong one."

"Because we were... kind?"

"Yes. You were human. Not at all what I was expecting. I, uh... I felt it. In my heart, y'know? That I couldn't possibly allow the deaths of so many more harmless people, and be able to live on, myself."

"I am glad your eyes were opened to truth." Shun'en replied softly. "But not all of us are... harmless, as you say. We are only a people who wish for freedom to live our life with no Americans bringing harm to us."

"My apologies. Since then I've seen what some of you can do," he said, thinking of Watanabe.

Shun'en nodded. "I am glad you are fighting with us, Peter. But... you will also be fighting your people. That will be difficult for you."

"It will be," he said, nodding. "But at least, I guess... At least this time I can try to save a group of people, instead of kill them off. This time I'll deny Fillmore the pleasure." He spoke with bitterness.

"...Fillmore? What is that?" Shun'en didn't know the word, and looked at Peter with some confusion.

"The American president. The main who commanded us to come here."

"I see," Shun'en replied with a look of understanding. "I don't think I like Fillmore."

"I don't either. Never have."

Shun'en laughed. "It is like you were already on the path to fighting him."

"I was, literally. In the War Between States I fought his armies. Then in a few years I found myself fighting for him, like a coward."

"And now the winds of change have brought you here," Shun'en said with a small smile. "With a second chance."

Suddenly, poetically, the wind picked up. Shun'en and Peter both laughed, especially when Peter's hat was knocked off his head.

"I guess so," Peter said, tucking his hat under his arm. "I guess so."

As they approached the hill to the temple at the edge of town, they could see ahead the path getting steeper, until it met the bottom of the hill where a path of many steps wound up to the top of the hill. It was a very beautiful picture, with the sun setting just behind the temple, its light casting a shadow and highlighting the silhouette of the temple in contrast to the warm colors of the sunset. Shun'en looked up the hill with a pleasant grin, pausing to enjoy the view, before endeavoring to climb up the lengthy set of steps. Conversation ceased between the two as they made their way to the top, and once there, Shun'en looked over to Peter, who seemed a bit winded. If he could recall, Peter had a similar expression when he'd seen him there last time, when he'd come with Watanabe to recruit him.

"Usually my horse does the walking for me," Peter admitted.

He smiled in mild amusement. "Welcome to my home." He said warmly, with a small wave gesture to the doors of the temple.

"Thank you." He bowed his head awkwardly.

"It is my pleasure to welcome you here." Shun'en replied, opening the doors to the temple. They opened into the main room, revealing a simple and peaceful environment. At the end of the room sat a sizeable statue of Buddha, backed by an elaborately intricate background built into the wall with a golden pattern. Around the statue was an arrangement of beautiful flowers on small tables covered in colorful cloths. Framing that end of the room were two large red curtains draped on either side. On the floor, there were several prayer mats laid out in front of the statue, and lining the sides of the walls was simply an extension of the beautiful pattern on the back wall. As they entered, Shun'en lit some incense at the door.

Peter slowly turned around and around in circles, his mouth open in awe. "You live here?" he asked.

Shun'en laughed, putting a hand on Peter's arm to stop him from spinning so he wouldn't get dizzy. "Yes. I sleep in other room though. Here, I pray."

Peter was holding his hat in front of him respectfully. "What, uh... What is your religion?"

"I am a Buddhist," Shun'en explained.

"Are most Japanese Buddhists?"

Shun'en nodded. "And Americans, you are most Christian, yes?"

"Yes, we are. Do you know much about Christianity?"

"Yes, I learned much from an old friend." He closed his eyes in a small grin, to disguise his far-off expression. "She was a missionary."

"Is that how you learned English?"

Shun'en's expression brightens a bit and he smiles. "Yes! We learned from each other."

"How long was she here?"

His smile fades, and he looks to the side. "She did not stay long... the village... they did not like her. I know you see too, they... do not like outsiders much."

"But you're not like them."

Shun'en replies with a rueful smile, still looking off beyond Peter. "I am somewhat an outsider too."

"In what way?"

Shun'en motions for Peter to follow him through the temple as they keep talking, and closes the front doors, catching a last glimpse of the sunset. "Well... I live here alone. I am of the last Sōhei." They walk through the front room and pass through a hall, coming upon a shōji door. Shun'en opened the doors to a small, open room, that was lightly furnished. On the floor laid a sleeping mat, and as they entered Shun'en immediately went to grab another one and laid it on the floor as well. "This is why I welcome you here. I say 'plenty of room here' because I live here alone."

"What's a Sōhei?"

Shun'en looks up thoughtfully, having had to explain it in english before, but remembering it being much more difficult the last time since he knew even less of the English languange at that time. "Sōhei are Buddhist monks, and also warriors. We fought as... group. In unity. For our people, like you once fight for Fillmore. But our monk order is small now. We have become few in number. Winds of... change. Yes?" He looked up at Peter with a small smile.

Peter smiles, but tilts his head. "Where have the rest gone?"

Shun'en nodded at the question, but first took off his sandals at the door. "When monk order lost..." he paused, trying to think of the word. "...Inflence? Infence... what is your word?"

"Uh... do you mean influence?"

"Yes! That must be the word. When monk order lost influence with passing of time, many retired. My friend did so. Younger ones joined army. People like me... we stayed. But my way of life will not be the same. It has not."

"If you've stayed, why did your friend leave?"

"Hm... would you say... he got tired?" Shun'en smiled, though less at Peter and more because it was an inside joke. "But no. He met a woman! Wanted a family. That is difficult as a monk, so he left."

"He wanted the settled life," Peter said, nodding. "I saw that in the other men many times as a Texas Ranger."

"Yes. Not all of us are made for the same life." Shun'en agreed.



A much younger Shun'en traversed down a little-travelled path in the village to a house that was little visited. It was small, and the plants outside, though perhaps planted there intentionally at some point in time, were overgrown, spilling through the spaces in between the stone path leading up to the home. He stopped at the door with a bit of hesitancy, already considering what others would say of him for being there, and what they would think of him. In a small village like theirs, he knew there would be talk.

He knocked on the door anyway. "Miss Hill?" He asked, intentionally enunciating the name as clearly as he could, hoping not to butcher it.

The door slid open, and from behind it peeked out the woman's face. She was young, her skin fair but freckled, and her brown hair was pulled up in a simple up-do. She was dressed like she was Japanese but her western appearance betrayed her from blending in. She looked clearly surprised to see someone at her door, but pleasantly surprised. She smiled at the stranger, pulling the door open and greeting him with a small bow.

"To what do I owe this visit?" She asked in Japanese, speaking it well, but her accent still shining through.

"I wanted to welcome you to our village." Shun'en began, replying in Japanese as well, though a bit shy. He looked around at her front yard, noting how it hadn't been cared for in a long time, if, at all. "And... offer to help you with your garden." He added, though only coming up with the idea in that moment.

"My garden?" She looked at the mess of plant life that was growing in front of her house and laughed. "It's polite of you to call it that, but it's defintiely no garden."

Shun'en looked away, a bit embarassed. "I could make it one?"

Ms. Hill looked at him with amusement and awe, shaking her head. "Well if you insist. But how about you come inside for some tea first?"

Shun'en smiled, and nodded cheerfully. "That would be very enjoyable. Thank you!"

Ms. Hill only chuckled and stepped out of the doorway for him to enter. "Make yourself at home."

Masumi arrived at the geisha house as the sun began to set. Eiryu smiled warmly, gesturing to the table where the necessary makeup had been set out in preparation for her disguise. Kyoko remained close to the door, watching and listening for anyone who might enter. Beside her, Chikako sat with the elaborate kimono and obi she had brought down for the other woman to wear, inspecting it lightly for any trace of dirt.
“This is pointless,” Chikako huffed. “Dressing her up isn’t going to make her seem like a geisha. She has no idea about what’s required. We’ll be caught in moments when she trips over her own feet.”

Masumi flushed with embarrassment, but it was soon hidden as Eiryu spread the thick white paste over her cheeks. Glancing over at Chikako, Eiryu shrugged lightly. “It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t look like a geisha to an expert. The Americans don’t know what they’re looking for, so they’ll see what we tell them.”

This didn’t seem to calm Chikako, her scowl deepening as she inspected the kimono sleeve. “Of course I’d hear something like that from a second-rate geisha,” she muttered, brushing at an invisible speck of dust. “I’ve no idea why Watanabe even asked you to help. Everyone here knows you were kicked out of your previous teahouse. Hardly a surprise, given that attitude.”

Eiryu hesitated slightly as her brush glided carefully over Masumi’s neck. It wasn’t ideal that Chikako knew that she’d come from another house, but the cover story had seemed suitable to begin with. Now though, it would be inconvenient to maintain the lie. She lifted her gaze slightly to meet Chikako’s.

“You’re right. I was asked to leave. But it’s not why you think.”

By the door, Kyoko raised an eyebrow in interest, and Chikako’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Let me guess—“

“I was asked to leave because I killed a patron for money.”

Chikako recoiled slightly, a look of horror on her face. Her mouth opened once as if to say something, before she turned back to the kimono, hands sweeping over it too quickly. Kyoko leaned in, eyes narrowed. “For money?”

I shouldn’t have said anything, Eiryu thought bitterly, regretting having spoken. She met Kyoko’s eyes for a brief second and gave a sharp nod. The tension seemed heavy in the room, the only sound that of the wind. Eiryu set the makeup brush down on the table, then stood up abruptly. “I need to get some things for tonight. Chikako, please finish Masumi’s makeup. You’re better at it.”

With that, she glided from the room hastily, heading upstairs to her private room to gather equipment for the evening.



Some time later, Eiryu returned, her arms heavy with several rolls of fabric. The sound of low whispers abruptly cut off as she opened the door. Chikako was stood in the center of the room with a now fully-dressed Masumi, making small adjustments to the placement of the obi. As Eiryu entered, the other women remained silent, eyeing her somewhat nervously as she crouched down into a sitting position and laid the fabric rolls down.

“These are for you two,” she said, nodding toward the geisha as she rolled the first bundle out to reveal a set of slim daggers with ornately floral adornments at the ends. The second contained a several folding fans in a variety of colors. For now, the third remained unfolded. Chikako turned and looked over them with some confusion.

“…Kanzashi? And fans? I have my own,” she said, though her tone seemed less dismissive than earlier.

“Those are daggers, not… whatever you said,” Kyoko replied, looking at them suspiciously.

Eiryu shook her head. “They’re both,” she said, looking between Chikako and Masumi. “I don’t want you to get killed tonight. I’m going to stay with you for a while, until the men are drunk, but then it’s up to you.” She reached for a dagger, holding it out to show Chikako and Masumi. “These are tipped with a poison that should render a man unconscious.”

Masumi nodded numbly as Eiryu gently placed three daggers in her hairpiece. Chikako leaned in, arranging the flowers to dangle more elegantly, then removed her own kanzashi and pointed at another set with vibrant blue hydrangeas. “I’ll have these ones,” she asserted, brushing Eiryu’s hands away as she went to help. “I’ll do it myself,” she said archly, peering into the mirror as she arranged them.

Next, Eiryu took a fan and folded it open with two hands for the others to see. “This is tipped with a metal blade. The fan will hold its shape when open, so you can throw it or use it in close combat.” She closed the fan back up, holding it out to Masumi. “Ideally, I’d show you how to use it properly, but we don’t have time. Hopefully you won’t have to use it at all.”

Chikako nodded, then reached out to the fans, opening several to look at the designs before apparently being satisfied with a gold and midnight blue fan, which she tucked into her obi.

Eiryu sat back, hands hesitating over the last bundle before rolling it out. Inside were a set of small unmarked bottles, each tightly corked and filled with poison. With a cursory glance over the set, she reached out and took two bottles, placing them in her own obi, then rolled the fabric up again without a word.

“What was that?” Kyoko asked, eyes lingering on the now tightly packed bundle.

Eiryu didn’t answer for a moment, instead gathering and re-rolling the other bundles. “It’s for me to deal with. Don’t worry about it.”

Kyoko seemed unsatisfied with this answer, but didn’t press the topic. “It’s already sundown. We should be heading out soon.”

Eiryu nodded her agreement, quickly heading upstairs to pack the bundles upstairs before meeting the others at the front gate of the teahouse. Looking at the determined expressions of the other women, she slipped on her shoes and nodded firmly. “Let’s go.”

The moon was high in the air, and the path seemed mostly deserted, save for herself and Chikako beside her. Chikako had refused to speak with her their entire trip, save for quick suggestions as to how to draw the attention of the American soldiers. Masumi had quickly grown to dislike Chikako, who had displayed an arrogance Masumi was unaware existed, and seemed to forget that this was a mission about saving lives, not being the best performer.

Jinpachi was hiding in the bushes just off the road, with Wei Cheng, Peter, Kyoko, Ueda, and Mihara. They weren’t perfectly concealed, because the undergrowth was sparse, but it would be enough to prevent them from being noticed. Assuming Masumi and Chikako did their job, perfect concealment shouldn’t be necessary anyway.

Loud, organized footsteps suddenly were audible, increasing in sound to suggest they were getting closer. It was the American troops. Masumi took a deep breath and glanced at the group in the bushes, catching Jinpachi’s eyes for the last time before the battle. He gave her a reassuring and glanced at his katana. Matsumi knew exactly what he meant.

“My blade is yours.”

Chikako led Masumi “offstage”, to the side of the road. As the troops drew near, the two geisha walked out into the center of the road, pretending not to know that the Americans were there. Chikako mouthed the word “mirror” to Masumi and began dancing, spinning, folding arms, and flourishing her elegant kimono, and eventually Masumi caught on that she was to do the same. They faced each other, repeating thee other’s action. Chikako appeared to be unsatisfied that she wasn’t in complete control, but this was not the place to argue.

The Americans had stopped now, and appeared to have mixed responses. Some questioned the presence of these dancers, and others were totally mesmerized. Behind them, Masumi saw Mihara sneaking towards the gatling gun, going unnoticed. By now, most of the men had started questioning them, but it still successfully distracted them, because they were focused on figuring out the answer.

The gatling gun was unlike anything Masumi had seen before. It was on a wooden platform, with wheels attached, naturally. She counted six barrels, on a potentially rotating barrel. Only two soldiers had been guarding it, and Mihara took care of them swiftly. And then the arrows rained down. One soldier, two soldiers, three soldiers, hit in the head with perfect precision. Jinpachi, Kyoko, and Ueda hopped from the bushes directly onto the front lines, and Masumi became the mesmerized one, as she watched them eliminate dozens of soldiers in a short period of time.

One group of soldiers had targeted Masumi and Chikako, and the others were too far off to do anything. Masumi braced for the worst, drawing her eyes shut. In the blackness of her eyelids, she saw Jinpachi and his reassuring smile, and his katana at his side, and she felt herself smile. No matter what happened, she would have Jinpachi. Maybe this was her end, but at least she helped save Higashi Village.

And then she felt it.

Her stomach shifted, and she realized something. She wasn’t just fighting for herself, and she hadn’t even told Jinpachi. There was no way she could end this way, not yet, not now. She opened her eyes to watch the soldiers, but suddenly they were on the ground, blood pouring from their wounds. Peter hopped out of a tree, holding a smoking gun, and blowing its barrel. “Omae wa mou shindeiru,” he said to the corpses, and Masumi smiled at his use of the language.

She glance back to see how the others were doing, and they seemed to be winning. Mihara still had control of the gun, but the Americans didn’t seem to have intentions of retreating. In fact, backup seemed to be approaching from the south, a whole separate troop. They were just as large as the first, something which Masumi found odd. Why wouldn’t they put as many troops as they could on the gatling gun, to ensure safe transportation?

Maybe they were just confident that none would stop forces with an automatic gun. Or perhaps the second set of men arrived late. Or… Crap. Masumi yelled above the roar of the gunshots. “Mihara, watch out!”

The gatling gun Mihara had stood by, and was protecting with her life, was suddenly pumped full of holes. She leapt up to avoid the same fate, grabbing and overhanging branch and pulling herself up further. Suddenly, the gatling gun exploded in a ball of hot flame, catching to the forest around. Smoke filled the air as the brush fire began to catch onto trees, bushes, everything. Meanwhile, everyone ducked and began rolling off the road to avoid the spray of the bullets coming from the second set of troops.

The individual soldiers were firing at the rebels, but from the rear of the patrol came much more frequent shots, something a regular soldier could not accomplish. Masumi felt a hot liquid trickle down her leg, and she looked down to see a bullet hole. Had the situation not been what it was, she may have screamed, but in the moment, she felt no pain.

Her leg gave out, and she slammed into the ground, bullets raining down from above, targeted at her. Several hit her, and she felt everything but her right arm go numb. Suddenly, someone lifted her into the air, likely taking a bullet or two, and pulled her into the woods, which were now in flames. Masumi looked up to see Chikako holding her. “What are you-?”

“Shut up,” she said with a grimace, not looking down at Masumi in her arms. “I don’t need to be distracted by you right now.” They went deeper into the woods, trying to escape the fire. It limited them, and they were unable to stray too far from the battlefield.

The gunshots stopped eventually, but the troops didn’t move, clearly waiting for the assailants to return. No one other than Americans lay on the ground, Masumi noticed with relief from her vantage point in the woods. Chikako laid her down on the ground, and turned to the footsteps behind them. It was Peter and Ueda. Everyone else must be on the other side of the road, Masumi realized.

“What on Earth just happened?” Ueda asked, looking visibly disturbed, as did the others.

“You tell me,” Chikako said.

Peter groaned in pain, removing a bullet from his hand. “No I see,” he said in broken Japanese.

“I saw,” Masumi started. “it was the second patrol. They...” She hesitated. “They have a second gatling gun.”

Hizuru Yonemura stood at the helm of her ship, with eyes looking ahead of her out to sea. She was hoping that their stop at Higasaki Village would be short one, since her and her men were only in need of a few essentials to restock up on.

It was a quiet trip to the island, with weather that served their ship well to bring it to the ports, and as the Island came into view, Hizuru called to her crew member in the crow's nest.

"Osada! Look ahead for us. Are any other ships docked?"

Osada nodded down at the Captain for a moment as he reached for his small telescope, and locked sight on the image of a boat at the harbor - and then, the American flag. And worse, he saw a growing stream of smoke rising from the forest near the boat. Osada stuttered for a moment, before yelling down below. "Higasaki is being invaded by foreigners! The forest is catching fire!"

Hizuru stared up at Osada with wide eyes and drawn brow. "What?!"

"There's a ship docked with the American flag, Captain!" Osada yelled again.

Hizuru looked out at the island coming into view, and as they got closer, could in fact see that Osada was right. She could see a small black cloud of smoke rising into the air. With determination in her eyes, she gripped the helm.

"Everyone to battlestations! Open the cannons! I want everything we've got pointed at that ship!"



A second gatling gun.

Ueda gripped his sword, feeling the warm blood trickle down his arm from a few bullet wounds. Now this, they hadn't anticipated. Was it possible, that Peter had his information wrong? Or that the Americans anticipated retaliation like this? There was no way to be sure. And there was no chance that they were going to get back to the second gun like this. Not after their failed first attempt.

The four all exchanged similar looks as the reality of the situation sunk in.

"We... we can't break through to the soldiers as long as we've got the second gun on us," Peter said grimly, in English.

Though Chikako couldn't understand what Peter was saying, and Ueda had some delay in understanding, they didn't need to. They knew what he meant.

They stood in a few seconds of silence - though it felt like an eternity - as the fires burned around them, drawing closer and closer to where they were. They heard a brief burst of gunfire, which made them all duck down again.

"Was that...?" Chikako began to ask.

"Jinpachi?" Masumi whispered. "The others?"

Ueda peered through the brush, trying to get a look across the road, but he couldn't see anything. He turned back to the two women, feeling sweat gather on his brow.

"You two need to get away from the fire," he said, looking at the wounded Masumi as Peter craned his neck around, looking for an opening for them to make a break for it. But there was none. More soldiers began to come out from the ship and the gunman at the gatling gun had his eyes set on the village.

How were they going to escape this alive? If they ran, they'd get caught. If they fought, they would die.

"We'll have to-"

BOOM! Canon fire. All heads jerked to look to the shore.

"Is that -?" Chikako started again.

"The distraction we need!" Peter exclaimed.

BOOM! Another canon shot, and this time, they could hear the chaotic chatter from the American troops as they scrambled their men and resources to face this new threat.

Ueda looked through the trees with more boldness to get a better look at what was going on. And as his head popped out he could see - they were turning the gatling gun around... to target the attacking ship.

Ueda pointed from Peter to the injured Masumi. "Pick her up, now's our chance!"

Peter carefully picked up Masumi in his arms and Chikako got up, both ready.

Ueda nodded, ready to go before them and fight off any soldiers who'd come their way. "Now!"