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She watches the fire consumes her hair with nary an expression. Her lips may wobble a little, but she’s quick to bring it under control as she watches the flame licks at the locks she roughly cut with a knife. Father has always praised her nerves. It is one of her prides. She is not going to flinch now of all times.
What she’s doing…
It is necessary, she repeats to herself, hands clenched in her lap.
She cannot… Her parents, her Father doesn’t need a useless daughter. He needs a son, now more than ever, and if she has to become that son, renounces to her femininity, then so be it.
It’s not even THAT big a sacrifice anyway, because what man would ever want an ugly, scarred thing like her, especially now the once faint marking has become a full-fledged horror, impossible to truly hide even under a thick layer of powder?
“With that scar, she can’t ever hope to make a good marriage,” her brother Kogôro once said waspily to Father. She had still been healing, but it had been clear there would be a mark. “She can’t even hope to make a good concubine either; she’s ruined!”
Father had slapped Kogôro for that, but… he hadn’t contradicted him either. She doesn’t think anyone had realized she had been there and had overheard them, because she had stood in the shadows, where she likes to lurk to listen on family gossip. It hurt regardless, and even now, her hand comes to trace the two scars that bisect her face just under her left eye.
Never had she imagined that she… To be marked so visibly in her flesh…
Kogôro was right, saying she’d interest no-one with such a marred face, she thinks wistfully. She has never been a great beauty, having too sharp features to be considered attractive, but… She’s a girl still, and she has been raised as such. She has never dreamed of marriage, but she hadn’t been set against it either. Marriage is just another duty a woman must fulfill, and she has been taught to always do hers. A husband to obey and lie with, children to bear and nurse and raise in the right way… it could have been nice. Maybe. At least if she married a good man, who respected her like Father respects Mother. The Sasaki Clan, or rather her branch of the family, isn’t overly wealthy, for the land is harsh, but Father is an honorable man, a renowned fighter, and a daughter of his should have been valued… if she had stayed pretty enough to warrant a glance.
Cursed be that Date vassal, she growls briefly. And cursed be her, for not being fast enough to dodge when he came at her with his saber, intending on subjugating her and doing… whatever he had been aimed for. She’s not too sure. She’s far from being mature enough to tempt a man; she has no curves to speak of and her moon blood hasn’t even come yet! Mother has barely started to whisper to her the secrets to deal with the pains and upset stomach that come with a girl’s ‘blossoming’ into womanhood, in preparation for that day, so her daughter wouldn’t be caught unaware!
Perhaps the man had been aiming at taking her hostage, a pawn to use against the Sasaki in the numerous skirmishes they fight in to keep control of the land, or perhaps he had just been a murdering asshole regardless of allegiance.
She got him in the end – notched two arrows in his throat, and then gutted him with the tanto she always kept on herself.
Just because she’s a girl and hasn’t been taught as much as her brothers, it does not mean she’s helpless, as the man discovered too late. The Sasaki women are as deadly as their men, else how would they ever survive?
But he… he got her regardless, she strokes her scars still, months healed now but still sensitive to the touch. Or perhaps it’s all just in her mind.
The last months have been… rough to say the least.
She used to be the last of a large set of siblings and now… now she’s the only one left to her parents.
It’s not fair, she can’t help but think, briefly closing her eyes, but it is what it is, and she has learned to make do with what she’s handed.
She doesn’t exactly expect fairness for herself anymore, but her parents… they had deserved so much better than to lost child after child, to sickness or to battle or to accident, until they were left with her, the unmarriable girl, and not one of her brothers, a man able to uphold the ie and to assist Father in battle.
She used to have eight of them. Well, technically, she should have had nine brothers, but… her twin never drew breath after he was taken out of Mother’s womb. Only she did, the daughter they hadn’t expected but that Father has always treasured, or so he often says.
She wonders, would things be different, if her brother had lived instead of her? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Her twin could have died at any point between his birth and now, just like the other boys. And even if he had lived… what sort of boy would he have been? Strong as Father? Witty as Mother? A mix of both?
She used to have eight brothers, though she can only clearly remember six of them, for two had died before she was old enough to clearly remember them. She also used to have a sister, but it’s been years since she last saw her. Sister is much older than her, and a married woman now, bound to another Clan, with children of her own to look after. Her husband will lend help to the Sasaki, of course he will, but there is a limit to how much he’ll invest himself in the dispute they have with the Date Clan, for his own family passes before his wife’s parents. It is normal, for all it stings.
She used to have eight brothers, and she has watched more pyres in the last two years than she cares to remember, and she has seen her Father’s shoulders drop with each one, has seen her Mother weeps and despairs a little more each time. Kogôro, gutted like a fish, Kenzô, struggling to breathe through every rattling cough until he couldn’t anymore, Kayohito, blood dripping from so many wounds, Kakusuke, who slipped on the wet stone and fell into the river, carried away by the torrent…
Their names and their faces are carved in her mind, slack features she has helped clear of grim and blood before preparing them for their pyres when Mother faltered and cried in her hands.
She used to have eight brothers, and now she stands alone, her hair cut short and uneven, her face a blank mask marred by enemy blade and her determination rising with each breath she takes.
She’s going to break Mother’s heart, doing what she does, but… better to break Mother’s heart and follow Father in battle to watch his back than to see him leave and never come back.
She knows she can do it. She’s strong, for a girl, always have been, and while she hasn’t learned as much as her brothers to use a saber, she knows her way around a blade.
The Clan needs her arms, and it’s not like she’d be of much use in the house anyway. She never had the patience for weaving, is only a marginally good seamstress, and the cooking can be done by the servants. It’s past the time she only uses her skills to forage and hunt in the wood for more food to put on the table.
It’s time for her to make a stand against the Clan’s enemy, and to be done with her old life.
In the brasier, no trace of her hairs remains.
She’s not a girl anymore, she thinks resolutely as Father pushes the curtain that separates her parents’ room from the main room, and he takes note of her.
She sees his eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in her appearance – her new hairstyle, her masculine clothes, the saber she has taken out from the wall and has laid out in front of her.
“Sa…” he starts to say in a choked voice, and she cuts him off before he can say her full name.
It’s the most impolite thing she has ever done, but she MUST speak before he does.
“Father,” she dips her chin, hands neatly folded in her lap. “Your obedient son wishes to learn more of the art of the sword from you.”
For a moment, there is only the silence. She doesn’t dare to rise her head, too afraid to see the expression on her Father’s aging face. She doesn’t want to see his sadness or worse, pity or horror in his usually kind eyes. She doesn’t think she could bear to see him cry silently for her and her choice either.
And she doesn’t think she could live with his refusal, if indeed he doesn’t access to her request.
Please, Father… Please, let me be a good child to you. Let me be the son you need, instead of the daughter you can’t afford to have right now,, she thinks desperately.
“… Son,” her Father finally breathes, and it’s a long, drawn out sound that pulls at her heart just as it must pulls at his. “Kujuurou,” he says more softly.
She looks up at him sharply, not daring to believe how he has called her. “Kujuurou,” he repeats, and her heart soars. “My last and beloved son,” he says, callous hands reaching out. “My dutiful child. My ninth and tenth son in spirit,” he says roughly, and she understands now why he picked that name for her. She’s not his ninth son reborn, nor is she a true tenth son. She’s a mix of both, now and forever. “It will be a pleasure to teach you the dance of swords.” He sounds like he wants to weep, but there is no moisture in his eyes or on his cheeks.
Father was always a strong man.
Kujuurou, since it’s now her name, can only hope she can become just as strong as he is.