Morning arrived with gentle bird song and it ought to have been comforting. It should have been a pleasant morning, with the light trickling in high through the arch left open for the exit of wood-smoke, with the pleasant aromas of the country side, the buzz of insects, the surety that life endures even the greatest of hardships, that here there was still a pocket of vibrant defiant life. Not so.

Sai woke not with a headache, though with a sense of foredoom. His teeth were a little cotton like from the drink, but the night prior had otherwise unaffected him in any physical sense. His impulsive action was out in the open, that was for the best, however that did not assuage everything. There was still impending consequence. It may have been better to march himself off to the castle, to stand trial alone, not to drag his family into the punishment, if that could possibly be avoided. Knowledge that each would stand with him was bitter-sweet. To know that he had a place, and he had damned it. Beneath this vacillation there was also in Sai an excitement he did not want to acknowledge. Had he gone off to the dead tract to earn a wage, a self obvious pragmatic action? Or did he simply want to fight? Slaying the Hanged Man, removing that official's hand, these were actions that brought him satisfaction.

This ran counter to Miyo's teaching and it made Sai feel worse. Pretense of self defence in the removal of that officials' hand was very slim, he could have acquiesced, he could have joined the castle's retainers. Surrendering his swords, however, was out of the question – had Miyo been in better spirits, had Sai not been so worried, perhaps he would have joined. Or he would have sought out some other way to start the fight he wanted. Laying in bed running scenarios of doom and gloom was not productive.

Sai sat up. Yabona was absent her bed, she would already be fetching fresh water for the day. When she returned she'd start breakfast, after that she would return again to the creek to wash their clothes. More things to feel guilty about. Sai often thought he should help more with the daily chores, and always failed to do so. Miyo was still asleep, his expression was not so pained. Perhaps his dreams had cleared. Though the supernatural nightmares had ceased a year on now, that giant gone quiet, even mundane ones could erode a person's spirit.

Outside Sai met Yabona just returning, two buckets of water hung from a stick that was placed over her shoulders, she was sweating from the effort and the top of her garment was loosened.

This he would not look at.

He was in control, he could be in control. No more outbursts nor defiant eyes and thoughts. He jogged over to her, and he grabbed the buckets off the end of her stick. She looked on the verge of protest, but kept quiet.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Will you join me?”

“Once I've gathered some wood.”

“I'll help.”

She looked at him side long, wry smile on her lips. “What's gotten into you? You never help.”

“I am repentant.”

She laughed.

The morning chores were completed in short order, and they set to their practice. They had finished their warm up, the excruciating slow martial dance that was Yabona's invention, during this it was hard to concentrate, not to stare at her, to admire. The routine had initially struck Sai as foolish, but he had to admit there was merit to the dance, it was difficult to maintain the slow pace, exhausting, it stretched ones muscles in unfamiliar ways. Once it was completed he felt limber, as though he could compel his body to any feat and it would obey.

“You owe me another bout,” Yabona said, glistening with sweat.

Sai grunted.

“Don't tell me you're afraid? Peerless Sai afraid to loose his lead?”

He was not, he was fearful of his temper, of loosing himself to that emotionless centre, to enter into a mode in which it would be nothing to cut or kill a loved one. He was afraid of loosing himself, and Yabona insisted on real steel, she would practice with sticks no longer. He was a little afraid of loosing his lead. He was up two, now. The furthest lead either had gotten since they began keeping score, four years ago. They no longer kept a total tally, the number had grown too large, now it was only who was leading, and who was trailing. This shifted often.

“I will officiate,” Miyo said from the door, he looked as though he had just woken up.

What a relief the sight of him was, his temperament last night seemed to be taking. He was himself. Enough this relief to erase Sai's fear of his own self, he looked at Yabona, and he could see the relief plain on her face too. They smiled at each other, took up positions, bowed.

Round one was lightning quick. Yabona got her edge along his neck in an opening manoeuvre so text book Sai had disregarded it as an option from her. Round two went to Yabona, again. This one lasted longer, they ended in an agonizing and embarrassing sword lock, and it was this proximity to each other that gave her the edge, she took advantage of his distraction and managed to flick his sword down harmlessly. Miyo looked like he had some words about this, but Sai already knew them, and so the Master remained quiet. Yes, he never should have let himself get so drawn in. You have all the distance granted by a blade and a pair of arms, why give it up? Sai knew, but it looked like she had left him an opening that she had not, and she stepped in. An infuriating tactic, she knew he would get flustered. She was kind enough only to use it to earn a tie in the overall game.

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Round three, the tie-breaker, did not get to happen.

Koji had arrived without ceremony.

He was there at the head of his honour guard, and with a dismissive gesture bade them to remain several paces behind. He held the sword of the man Sai had removed the hand of, and in the other hand a coarse bundle dyed dark red.

Sai's first thought was of Miyo. The Old Man had gone white.

“I have words for the man who removed the hand of my retainer,” Koji said, and his tone betrayed nothing of his intention. It was flat, and his face was placid.

Miyo was shaking now, and Sai stepped between them. Koji regarded the young man, looked at him from shoulder to foot. Met his eye.

“Was it you then? You fit the description.”

Sai nodded, he could think of nothing to say. He was tense.

Koji tossed the bloodied bundle at Sai's feet, and he parted the red handled sword from it's scabbard a few inches, examined the gleaming steel in the day light, and nodded. This too he tossed at Sai's feet.

“It is of fine make, and was recently owned by a fine swordsman. It is yours now.”

Sai did not make a move, he heard behind him shuffling.

There came an agonizing pause.

“Do you balk at a gift given by your Crown General?”

Sai looked down at the sword, returned his gaze to Koji. Hard and grey, piercing.

“No, General,” Sai said and bowed. “But I have my own.” He gripped the plain sword at his hip.

Koji flashed his teeth.

“I understand the attachment. Be at ease. You are in no danger from me, I am not in a position to overlook competent fighters, even if they dishonour my house. The man you disfigured was among my best, I need him replaced.”

Sai glanced behind him, saw that Yabona was now close beside Miyo, and that the old man was trembling. It filled him with ire, and when he returned to look at Koji his eyes were alight.

“Is this old man your instructor?”

Sai nodded.

Koji craned his neck to look past Sai.

“You've trained him well, Master. You have my thanks, and a position in my court. What is your name, have you a school?”

“Yoshitaka,” Miyo said, and he was barely audible.

“I have not heard of it, pity.”

The hard indifference of that voice broke the taut string keeping Sai's temper in check. He would humble Koji. He unsheathed his sword.

“You will learn to remember it.”

Koji did not react. His honour guard did not react. The crown General flicked his eyes to Sai, to the tip of his brandished sword, and now the smile he wore turned into a full on grin and touched his eyes.

“What a fiery rebel I have!” Koji shouted over his shoulder, his guard laughed. He shrugged, drew his own sword in a slow and casual movement, he held it down and to his side, inviting, daring a strike. “If this is how you will have it-” He cocked his head, implored a question.

“Sai, of the Yoshitaka school.”

“Sai. So be it.” Koji closed his eyes, his free hand held away from his body in open palm, his chest open and out.

Sai did not sense this was any opening at all.

He circled, wary.

The trees rustled in the wind, Koji was still.

Sai shouted a feint, and stopped mid step. He had drawn no reaction.

Koji cracked one eye, bemused. “You are not giving me much to remember, Sai of the Yoshitaka School.”

This would be it then, everything he had. He charged, brazen, sword held high. No cut came close, though Sai strained every fibre of every muscle in his body. Where Koji could step away, he did, no more than was necessary to avoid the sharp edge of Sai's sword, where he could not, he flicked the blade away with his own as though swatting a lazy spring time fly. The amusement from his face slowly drained, as the anger in Sai grew. Koji did not go on the offensive, until he did. A single, casual, upswing.

The air grew quick in front of Sai's nose, and his cheek felt a hot pin prick. He bled, body stretched as far back as he could make it without loosing his balance.

“O-ho,” Koji said, “you are not so bad after all. Have you anything else?”

Again a roar, and a flurry of blows. A frenzy, each blow more reckless than the last, more savage. Sai was dead, he knew it. He could not help himself, all composure was gone. Fighting Koji was to fight the wind, you can not cut that which flows so easily, that which is everywhere and no where. At any point, Sai knew, Koji could skewer him. Just one, just one strike landing true. That was all Sai wished for.

And he got it. Pure luck, amazement stamped on his face. On Koji's shoulder the crisp and clean fabric of his garb separated, and blood began to leak.

Sai did not have long to savour this small victory. He found himself suddenly on the ground, Koji looming, blotting out the sun. He had been tripped, Koji's foot hooked around his calve. That deadly sword an inch from his head.

“A shame I have to put you down, wild dog. With time I would have made you without peer, but I do not have time now.” Koji said, near snarling.

Sai closed his eyes.

“Stop!” Urgent, distressed, shamefully cracking came a shout from Miyo. “Stop, please!”

Koji turned his head.

Sai considered taking a swipe at the mans' legs, thought better of it. He was beaten, let him die with grace. Please let him die with grace, do not prolong this shame. Do not beg, Miyo, do not cry.

“I beg you, I beg you. He is headstrong but he will serve, I swear it. I swear it on my ancestors, on everything! Let him live!”

Koji sheathed his sword, he stepped away from Sai.

“I will grant this last mercy.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Miyo blubbered.

Sai could see Miyo now, on his knees, clutching at the foot of Koji who kicked him away.

“When we march, he will be at the van. He has earned this honour by landing a blow.”

Koji strode away, he leaned in to speak to one of his guard, and when he left down the wooded path a number of his men remained. They approached. Sai had stood up, Yabona had come over and had placed a hand on the shoulder of a still trembling Miyo.

“You are to gather what things you wish to bring, we will escort you to the castle,” said one of these guard.

In the cold wash of defeat Sai felt very little but numb, he would not allow himself to think of the further dishonour he wrought.

Too embarrassed to meet Yabona's eyes he set to gathering his armour silently.