The Descendant

3.

Wei Lin awoke to darkness. All about her was shrouded in a swirl of differentiating tones of grey and black. From somewhere behind her she could feel the heat and hear the pop of a small fire, but she could see no light by it. Then, as she crawled her way back to consciousness, she felt the course cloth over her eyes. Its fabric seemed to match the one that was knotted and rested firmly in her mouth. Beyond the crackling of the fire, she could hear the sound of rain and sleet pattering against a slate roof over her head. Beyond that was a deep and continuous thump-thumping like she was in a massive chest and the giant's heart were beating next to her right ear. However, outside of the room, she could make out the unmistakable sounds of running water made fat and rough by the driving weather and colliding, being gathered into and draining out of the never ending run of a water wheel. She was in a mill; that much was certain, the heartbeat coming from the heavy pace of the wooden hammer against the grinding stone. However, from the smell of mold and dust she knew that this mill had long since seen its useful days.

"It's alright," a gruff voice very near her face came alive, the strong smell of sake washing over her; her drunken attacker had finally partaken of his bottle then, "she's awake. She's only faking."

With a hard yank, her assailant pulled the cloth from her eyes, then again from her mouth. He was not kind in his actions. Wei Lin found herself yanked to her feet and only then realized her hands had been tied as well, and long ago judging by the numbness in her wrists and fingers.

"What do you want," she demanded, as she was pulled closer to the fire. She turned her head to the side to look into her kidnapper's face, but was met only by black cloth covering all but the dark, heavy eyes; the hood of a ninja. A burst of fear shook her resolve. By all appearances, the men who had attacked her on the road were ninja, legendary assassins of yore. If that were the case, then she realized her life was forfeit. If only she could find out what they wanted her for.

At some unseen signal, their progress stopped and Wei Lin found herself pulled upright by her bound wrists until she watched the cleverly knotted rope placed over a low hanging hook. At a signal from the large man beside her, the other man, similarly garbed, came around her, approached the far wall and began to pull at the rope hanging there. Within seconds, Wei Lin found herself dangling precariously on her tip toes; her wrists already numbed by loss of blood from the constricting rope, her hands beginning to burn with pain.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded. "Why are you doing this?"

"Look at her eyes, Toth," the ninja tying up the rope had approached her now and, gripping her chin to lift her face toward the fire light, took a long look at her. "They're green like jade, but so wide. She must have gaijin blood in her. Is that true, whore? What, was your mother another whore who didn't care who rutted inside of her, or was she a barbarian slut who spread for every yellow man she could see?"

Wei Lin could not help the anger that raged within her at the dishonor this fiend brought upon the spirit of her mother. She spit in his face. Before he could react, the geisha had retracted her head back in full preparation of butting him squarely on the nose with her forehead. However, once again, the other man, now similarly clad as his compatriot, was faster. He gripped her head as she reached back, locking full strands of her hair in his grasp. She cried out slightly in pain.

The first ninja cleared the spittle from the corner of his eye. "Gag the bitch again, Toth, mouth and eyes. Her foreign gaze offends me."

The thick knot of the rag was replaced between her teeth, but before the blindfold could find its way back over her eyes, the first ninja, who Wei Lin was coming to think of Sake after the stink of him, reached out and ripped open the front of her kimono, exposing her breasts and torso to the cold air. She looked at his masked face, her own face full of alarm.

"Oh, don't worry whore. We won't abuse you...that much. It's just, my silent friend and I have some important questions to ask and before we can accept your answer, we need to make certain you are in the proper frame of mind."

With an evil, deep laugh, Sake pulled the fabric of her kimono downward in a rush, exposing her to the waist. Stepping back, the ninja allowed Wei Lin to clearly see his laughing eyes before the heavy cloth was reset over her own. She hung there in silence for a handful of heartbeats, wondering what they had planned, what they wanted from her.

Then the first lash lay into her back setting her skin ablaze with pain.

4.

The bath had been sent from her blessed ancestors. Wei Lin found herself floating along its surface far longer than she felt proper, but was completely unable to remove herself from its enticing warmth. Finally, when she did summon the energy to break free of the steaming elixir, she felt completely revitalized. She found the new kimono exactly where Lee Jin had told her it would be and marveled at how splendid but simple it was. There was little decoration on the white silk, save for the same wren insignia across the left breast, set in sky blue against a white background instead of Jin's white against a charcoal sky. Wei Lin took time to fix her hair and set the gown as she had been trained to do. She was disappointed to see no make up here, thereby allowing her to complete the picture she had set before, but she reminded herself that her new danna had obviously known exactly what would happen to her upon her arrival and so he must not wish to see her made up so extravagantly. It certainly fit with the simple tastes of the dojo she had come through and helped to paint a clearer picture of the man himself. Once she was certain everything was in its proper place, Wei Lin exited the bathing room and proceeded to the main hall as Lee Jin had requested she do.

There, directly in the center of the tatami floor, steam issuing out in subtle puffs, sat the most extravagant tea setting that the girl had ever seen. Her body's training immediately took over and Wei Lin began preparing for a tea ceremony. After the pot was set to steep with the aromatic, green leaves powdered and nestled within, Wei Lin sat and prepared herself to match the perfect setting she was hoping to bring to life. Sensei Miyamoto Kojiro entered the room with all the effortlessness a man could hold; yet even from her kneeling position, Wei Lin could feel his presence even before the door opened. The sensei kicked his straw zori from his feet and then drifted slowly over to his place on the far side of the serving table, opposite Wei Lin. He answered the bow the geisha had adopted as soon as he entered the door, lowered himself to the floor, and then knelt in a traditional style, his hands resting lightly upon his thighs. Wei Lin slowly unfolded herself from her bow, a flower whose petals were only opening to the radiance of her guest, before beginning the traditional movements of preparing and serving the tea in the Hakobi Temae style. She moved fluidly from one practiced move to the next, neither she nor Miyamoto speaking or moving unless tradition demanded it. Neither spoke until the sensei's tea bowl had been served, its contents tasted and the bowl formally placed on the tatami before him.

"Superb," it was the first word he had ever said to her and Wei Lin was certain, without ever really knowing why, that she would never forget it.

"I am grateful to you, my lord. I am so glad you enjoy the tea."

Miyamoto's posture never wavered, not even a creak when he bent back to the bowl to drink again and Wei Lin was mindful to keep her own as perfect, even refusing to cast her eyes from her own hands in her lap to see the man's face.

"Oh, it is magnificent, have no doubt," the sensei flattered. "However, I was referring to your technique. Your every motion is superb."

"Arigato, my lord," she thanked the older man, "I have trained hard to become so."

"Yes, it shows," he commented, and Wei Lin could feel a smile lighten the words. "Yet, at some point, you have moved beyond the stiffness of continuing recitation of movement and allowed the purpose of the movements to enter you, to allow yourself to become one with the ceremony. This is the mark of a true master."

"You flatter me, my lord." Wei Lin could feel the blush deepen the natural color of her cheeks and allowed herself a practiced dip of her head so her right hand could rise and hide the offending blemish. "However, I have been told by my honorable housemother that I still have much to learn."

"It is true," he agreed somberly, "we all have much to learn in this life, or else we would no longer need to be here."

"Are those the words of the Buddha, my lord?"

"You are not familiar with the words of the Buddha?"

"Only in general terms, my lord. Housemother teaches us many topics of discussion; politics, weather, religion, but only so we can be better conversationalists for honored guests."

"Well, if you would permit me Wei Lin, I would be only too happy to introduce you further to the way of the Buddha."

Wei Lin bowed deeply. "I would be only too honored to learn all you would have to teach me, my lord." At this, the maiko could feel a sudden heaviness enter the room as if all of the convivial air had been sucked through the cracks in the tatami beneath them. Terrified she had said something to offend the revered gentleman, but uncertain what that could have been, Wei Lin added; "Does this mean you would still like to become my patron, my lord?"

The samurai sat a bit longer, still as the dead. Then, his shoulders lightened and a small laugh escaped him. "Oh yes, little flower," he said playfully, "I believe I would. I believe I would like that very much. For now, let us drink this fine tea, share each other's company, and talk of not so important things."

Wei Lin was confused. She could not think of any part of their previous conversation that had seemed so important, but that mattered little. As she continued kneeling, feeling better for the sudden break from the tension, she allowed herself a quick look upward through her eyelashes. Miyamoto Kojiro was a middle-aged man, thick shouldered and muscularly built like many men who practiced every day at the art of war. His face was round, topped with a short crop of graying hair. His eyes appeared almost to shift between grey and jade, the color altering seemingly of their own whim. His nose was wide and seemed to settle heavily upon a mustache and pointed beard in which the grey of his head had grown to a nearly snowy white. His mouth was small, barely extending beyond the shadow of his nose, with full lips that smiled evenly. Wrinkles had long settled about his eyes and the corners of his mouth, but where she had usually found older men laughable or, at best, distinguished; this man wore his age like a badge of honor and his features seemed strong and more masculine than any of the men her age.

With their tea complete, Miyamoto-san asked Wei Lin to rise and walk with him. He led her through a long hall at the back of the dojo's main training room and out into the veranda. All about her a wonder of ash and bamboo surrounded a marvelous garden path wherein sat a simple, stone bridge spanning the length of a kidney shaped, koi pond. The fish occasionally broke the surface of the still, pad-covered water; a splash of orange and yellow seen all too briefly before descending beneath the surface again, leaving only the too-brief ripples to mark that they had ever existed at all. The cool air brought a chill over Wei Lin and all at once she felt small and insignificant.

"Are you well, little flower?"

Wei Lin fought to regain her practiced composure. "Excuse me please, my lord. I am simply overcome with the beauty of your home. It appears all at once simple yet elegant."

"I am glad you enjoy it. I ask that you stay and be my guest for the evening." Wei Lin felt a touch of concern at this request. Her onee-san had told her that many danna will look upon the artist as their personal servant, or worse concubine. It had long since been accepted behavior that geisha would not sleep with the men they served, but it had been known to happen. Still, even then it was only to be done at the geisha's request. But Wei Lin was not yet a geisha and had not thought she would be faced with the difficult task of setting clear boundaries with men; was not even certain she had it within herself to do so. Her shocked eyes sought out her feet and from there darted back across the landscape before them, anywhere she could look so as not to look into his eyes or upon his face and strong frame. If he wanted her, could she simply say 'no'? Would he allow her to? And if he attempted to force her, would she even be capable of stopping him? In her mind, she called out for her onee-san, demanding she magically appear and answer for her.

"Are you well, child? You look..." In her peripheral vision, Wei Lin could see realization dawn upon the face of the samurai. "Oh! No, my dear, please. Accept my apologies. I did not mean to have you think I was going to...that I meant for us to..." Wei Lin looked back to the face of Miyamoto only when he burst out in uproarious laughter. She stared a moment at the way his head tilted back, his mouth gaped as the loudest, most sincere laughter she had ever heard issued forth from his barrel of a chest. Instantly she felt foolish and couldn't stop herself from joining his laughter with his own; soft and airy compared to his bellow.

"Oh please, my lord. It is I who should beg forgiveness. I meant no offense..."

"Not at all," he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "It is simply that I had thought your housemother would have informed you that I had already made arrangements with her for you to spend the night in one of the guest rooms here." He gestured back into the dojo. "I wanted to speak with you more this evening. I believe we should take time to get to know each other and to discuss what the future holds for you."

"Thank you, my lord," she bowed, "I would be honored to spend time with you and to stay in your beautiful estate this evening."

"Excellent. Then let us repair inside. I believe this cool air has my old bones begging for more tea. We will sit and drink and speak of that most delightful of subjects; ourselves."

Still laughing, the pair moved back into the dojo.

5.

Rough, gloved hands pulled and stroked over her breasts and locked painfully into her hair. She thrashed, a fish on a tether, but could not remove the offensive hands. Once or twice a thumb or finger would brush over her nipples, causing the sensitive glands to swell in response. She could hear Sake's jeering laughter as her struggles caused her breasts, much larger than other, full bred, Japanese girls, to flop, jiggle and sway. Again and again he would play with her attentive flesh until, inevitably, he would pinch and twist the hardened buds sending searing pain throughout her body until she cried out, cursed and screamed in impotent fury against the gag in her mouth. With his amusements ended, Sake would step away from her once more, only to have the other, Toth he had called him, flay at her back and shoulders again and again with the length of wet leather. The strap lay into her skin again and again, replaying over the same welted flesh until the raised, red surface would crack and she would feel the warm blood flow. For hours they had played at her this way. For hours she would resist and rail against their tortures. But, finally, her protests turned to sorrowful mewling as the strength left her body and she sagged, held aloft only by the chain at her wrists. Her nostrils flared for want of air and as Wei Lin's mind struggled to find a reason why this was happening, her query came loose of her lips as a pathetic sob.

Then, inexplicably, she felt two strong hands undo the knot at the base of her skull and the gag was pulled from her mouth.

"Why? Why?" she asked weakly.

"Aw, poor fancy whore," Sake taunted, his rancid breath causing her to wretch in the back of her throat. "All trussed up and punished within an inch of her life and to have no idea why. It's a travesty, I tell you. What do you say, Toth, should we let her in on our little secret."

Wei Lin could make out no sign of a reply from the enormous presence at her back.

"I agree," Sake intoned. Fiercely, his gloved hands gripped her by the throat, up under the bone of her jaw until she could feel the beat of her own blood eager to pass the obstructing digits on its march to and from her brain. "You see, fancy whore, we don't really want to continue punishing you like this, no matter how fun we may find it. No. What we really want is to know the whereabouts of the descendant of Miyamoto Musashi."

Wei Lin gasped more in shock than for want of a breath. "Sensei?" she croaked.

"Yes. That's right. We're looking for Sensei Kojiro. We know he's your benefactor, we know you and he were...close...now, we want to know where to find him."

Wei Lin's mind roared. Her every fear had come true. Something had happened to her sensei and now these horrible men, and worst the men they worked for, were looking for him. He had been forced to leave his dojo, forced to flee and had hidden himself so well these fiends were left with no other option but to seek her out. It had all happened just as he had said it would.

6.

Before ever coming to the dojo, Wei Lin had, of course, been made fully aware of the esteemed lineage that Miyamoto Kojiro had hailed from. His direct ancestor, Miyamoto Musashi, was a samurai straight out of legend. Musashi had grown to be one of the greatest swordsmen throughout Japan, having supposedly learned all he needed to know about the art of the sword through countless duels. It was said that, at the age of only 13 years, Musashi had partaken in his first successful duel, defeating a traveling sohei, a master less samurai, who had wandered to the front door of Musashi's father's dojo and posted a written challenge for anyone in the school to face him. Musashi, supposedly half the man's age, accepted. When the combatant discovered the truth behind the young Musashi, he demanded a public apology. Meeting together in the public square in front of his father's dojo, Musashi refused to apologize and, instead, drew his weapon and attacked. The battle was short and, at the end, the legend of Miyamoto Musashi had begun. For years he traveled, training when he could, more often battling duels against other men who thought themselves powerful. Always Musashi won and always he would take something of his winning with him into the next duel. By the time he had reached his twentieth year, the great Musashi had developed a technique all his own, fighting with a weapon of equal size and strength in each hand, and, to further the legend, his chosen weapons were not made of steel but of solid wood; bokken, the simple practice swords children trained with when they wished to grow up to be samurai...

It was said that Miyamoto Kojiro was a direct, blood descendant of Musashi and that he knew all of the secrets of his ancestor. However, when Wei Lin asked after the family history of her danna, instead of hearing more of the fantastical tale, she was met with more laughter.

"Oh, heavens no," the samurai laughed, "to be precise I'm the direct descendent of Miyamoto Iori, Musashi's second adopted son. They traveled together for some time until Musashi decided to become a hermit and Iori became a vassal under a wealthy samurai. It's his blood that runs in my line, not the actual blood of Musashi. And, furthermore, I never studied the form of his except to read his manuscript; The Book of Five Rings. No, I teach a classic form of kenjutsu and iaido. But that is only the fighting arts I teach. I also teach the teachings of the Buddha and Bushido."