Sanabaji Tara didn’t speak much of what she and Yohari saw in River province that night. The Hebi estate was burned. Tara knew because she had seen it, lying with Yohari in the rice fields. According to hearsay, the arsonists were Ginju who had somehow failed their attempted murder. To think those midnight black shapes flying past them that night were something hideous, monstrous. The thought of the sinister silhouettes sometimes set her in a daze. Quicker than a hare. So fast the wind broke beside them. By the spirits. Her Sovereign’s mercy. So close to death.

Life continued as usual, other than the estate’s reconstruction. Common Erru were summoned from the neighboring town of Kun to help rebuild. Planting would be slow this spring.

Added to her worries was her father’s health. His back was beginning to give out as he spent the long days tilling and plowing the terraced fields. She often caught him kneeling over in pain, a hand pressed behind him. Tara was there to help him up, tall at six feet and only seventeen years of age. Skinny with a narrow face, but still young and nourished enough to work the fields as efficiently as a man. Sometimes she finished his portion of work when he couldn’t go on. He hated when she did that, but at this corner of life the two of them made one.

This didn’t leave a lot of time for her and Yohari. Thinking back to that night made it worse. She couldn’t help but think back to it when she looked at Yohari, during the seldom chance she got to see her, since they worked on opposite sides of the fields. They’d lock eyes, Tara looking down at her. Yohari’s head would turn away, eyes lowered, short black hair draped around her ears. She had family duties of her own that stole her attention. When they did get together, they were left with a sense of unease, as if the events of their lives over the past two weeks were designed by the fates of heaven to wedge them apart, or as a dark warning to end that phase of their lives. They grew distant.

It was the fourth of Toma, the first month of spring and the beginning of the new year. The past weeks had been especially quarrelsome. Her father was hard on her ears, talking incessantly of the rewards of hard work. He was a middle-aged docile man of average size, but his effort matched the strength of Shijoo, Tohoda and farmer Yuusho combined. As some common Erru did, he found devotion in serving their noble lord and insisted Tara feel the same way. He approved of her hair, braided back and dyed red with squeezed berries, claiming it made her stand out as ‘diligent’ and ‘a hard earner’.

Lord Hebi Owa had been a military land governor, before he’d somehow eluded death and had the previous High Lord, Takasa Arusuke, executed in his own city. Her father, rejoicing, was filled with hope.

“Times will get better from here,” he said, content.

But the days were still long and the hours laborious. They were uneventful, routine. Sometimes, Tara wanted to scream from the painful monotony.

Dozens of Jodai soldiers roamed through and around the Hebi estate, often passing through Kun. Stories of roadside robbery became the topic of the town. Innocent travelers were having their wagons and belongings stolen by bandits. Sometimes, their lives were stolen in the process. Usually these were nefarious men exiled from their hometown or village. If one ran across a group of them, they prayed for mercy.

Jodai were fierce like wolves, strong and honorable, and courageous as the falcon. Ushin warriors were dependable in dangerous times like these, and most times didn’t charge much. They made their living as mercenary soldiers for hire against bandits and thugs. But Jodai warriors were sung heroes, saviors that appeared in many a tale. Noble and dutiful, they trained by the sword from birth. When they patrolled through town or bought food at shops in their shiny deep blue armor, they were a fascinating and humbling sight.

The people of Kun hoped they’d begin dealing with the delinquents of the roads soon too.

Yohari’s father, Jihto, was also devoted to the Hebi clan’s name. Although, he was not one to sit back while satisfied with scraps. He’d arrived at the beaten age of thirty-five, but still he set his eyes on becoming a merchant. Jihto proposed a venture to East River to purchase spices that were desirable goods in other parts of the province. If successful, they’d gain considerable wealth and could purchase a portion of the farmland they worked from Lord Owa. Seven men were convinced to travel with him.

“‘Spring weather is so nice,’” Shijoo heard Jihto say. Shijoo had a strong jawline and was a ripe twenty, with the beginnings of a family of his own. His wife, Uashi, was pregnant with child. While not the brightest, Shijoo boasted strength greater than that of any man his age in the town. “‘We’ll hire an Ushin in Kawanura, and another in Doanen. The reward will surely outweigh the risk’.” Shijoo laughed, lifting a bucket from outside his family’s home off the town’s dirt road. A mouse darted from his feet. Tara remembered how Shijoo would shove the tiny things in her face, scare her with them when they were younger. Nearby, two rabbits scampered towards the fields. The rodents wouldn’t get too far before the end of the day, and someone would catch them. “Must have done a fair bit of asking around to know the name of a town that far. If you ask me though, I wouldn't risk it. If I did, I’d get in the fishing business. With all those damn Kot riots, there couldn’t be a better time.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Like the rest of them, Shijoo hadn’t the first clue about fishing. It was probably a better option though.

Tara’s father was ten years Jihto’s senior and thought the man was still plagued with ideas from youth. One evening, while Tara overturned waterlogged soil, she gazed up at the setting sun while her father rested, watching it for a long time.

Jihto’s caravan returned eight days later, ten days earlier than expected. The traveling men came over the road facing both Kun and the elevated terrain on which the Hebi estate was half-built among dozens of tree stumps. The sun receded from a sky of fattened clouds on the twelfth of Toma.

Yohari’s father led the group, if barely, stumbling down the dirt road. It started with a single witness, then the entire town was rushing forward to his aid. The other men leaned on each other, hunched over with ripped, darkly smeared clothes. They were empty handed, even the single ox they had left with was gone. Of the eight that left, five returned. They’d been ambushed by bandits on the road and lost everything.

Yohari was devastated. Tara didn’t see her for the next two days. The men were nursed back to health slowly, Jihto foremost, but gloom pervaded Kun’s atmosphere. When Yohari reappeared, Tara and Yohari’s mother attempted to comfort her in any way they could. Yohari gave only a hollow smile.

Tara thought long and hard.

A week passed over, uneventful, into First Night in the last week of Toma. Planting was still slow. Tara sat inside their tiny thatched house at a worn eating table. She was criss-crossed on the wooden floor while her father sat in roughened robes opposite from her. Candlelight sputtered near them. It was quiet, as were most nights. Her father enjoyed his rice and barley to himself, not bothering to look up. He didn’t mock the sect of town dwellers who complained of their circumstances in Kun, didn’t tell her that hard work was all there was for people like them and that they should be grateful to have been given it, because presently in everyone’s mind, Kun was the safest place there was. Even if it edged closer to the precipice of poverty.

“You’ve barely touched your bowl,” he told her, breaking the cold silence.

Tara went back and forth in her mind. Her father was at peace, and she was not. She did not believe she had the right to disrupt him, but she had the right to make her intentions clear. He must see things for what they are, she thought. He wouldn’t understand. But she was seventeen, an adult.

“Father,” Tara began.

He chewed his food, eyes downturned.

“Father, look at me.”

He met her eyes, unassuming.

She hesitated, then steeled herself. “Father, I…we can’t do this any longer. We have little money and your back is suffering.”

He did not reply, instead continuing to fill his mouth with food.

“I understand it isn’t a great thing to you. But I can’t stand watching you through the day, in pain. You speak of our meager town as if it is a grand city, and Lord Hebi’s castle as the pinnacle of heaven. Yet his keep was burned and we continue to scrape for bits and pennies to get by. Even as High Lord, his lordship has not made life easier in Kun-”

“Life is not for getting easier,” he said gently. “Life is for living, tilling the ground. We see our path to the end and thank the heavens for it.”

“Yes, but is that all there is? Could we not hope for something more, a little better?”

“We work with what is given to us. Every Erru has their place.”

“And is our place to run ourselves into the ground, living our simple lives, hoping for nothing? To what end? What about when we die? Do we train our souls to continue plowing the fields for after we’ve passed?”

“Who knows what happens after death. Maybe we will join the storms and sing the Sovereign's praises while bad men suffer. But in life, we follow our path.”

Tara gritted her teeth. “If a path on the road is blocked, then you find a new one! There’s nothing better for us down this road, and I won’t stand for being trapped in this shithole town! I won’t stand to live our dead end lives any longer.”

“You will do nothing else but plant and eat rice,” he said sternly. “What else would you do? Do you want to be a merchant? Die by murderers and rapists in the countryside?”

Tara didn’t let go of her hold on him. Her conviction was too strong. Once she ended this conversation, there was no turning back. She took her path. “Not a merchant. I’ll become an Ushin warrior.”

Her father said nothing, staring at her. He shook his head incredulously, and snapped, “Have you lost your mind? An Ushin? You? You will do nothing but work your ass in the fields and bring wood for the fire! You will find a boy to marry and bear his children! You will honor me and your husband! You will honor the memory of your mother, and you will honor yourself!”

Tara stood from the table. “This is honoring myself, mother, and everyone else. I will learn the ways of the Ushin, gather riches, and become strong enough to protect the townsfolk.”

“You’re a fool,” her father said. “And a woman.”

It was true, female Ushin were a rare sight indeed, if not mythical. That didn’t change her mind. The life of an Ushin was not an easy one, even for those who gained wealth, not until they retired or died by the blade. Further, it would be a long way before she made any real progress. Her life now would be relatively comfortable compared to that. It didn’t change her course.

“For now,” she replied. “Soon though, I will be the greatest woman to hail from this town, an Ushin who has roamed the lands with a name feared by all.”