D-Don't get any ideas, ok! I just happen to be showing you this, that's all!

Neko-Mimi and Twintails? まじきもい！

So, its not like I like you guys or anything, or wanted to show this to you. I just happened to have it and my hand slipped, so, like... don't read into it or anything, baka...

Awww who am I kidding, I love you guys! This was an assignment for my 3rd year Medieval Japanese History course. I had to write a short story that accurately depicted warrior life in the Kamakura period, and make it both entertaining as well as indicative of the period. I did pretty well on it, but personally I was a bit unsatisfied. It was shorter than I'd have liked, and a bit too shallow.

But the dialogue wasn't bad, and some of the scenes turned out pretty decently I think. Due to poor planning, I wrote it start to finish is just over a day >_>... not the ideal spot to be in, but hey, it worked out!

Never the less, Just thought I'd chronicle it here for the time being. Let me know what you think!

Also, in the not distant future I'll be writing another piece, hopefully longer and more fleshed out also from a similar pre-sengoku period. This time though it'll be rife with kami and all manner of spirits and speak to the heavy superstition among the people at the time - think mononoke hime! 楽しんでね～

悪党物語

Barely able to duck out of the way, a stray arrow bit into the warrior’s kabuto, striking against the facemask and severing the thick cord that strapped to the chin. The warrior’s horse, still barreling ahead along the rocky mountain pass jostled the injured rider, the now unbound helmet falling, crashing against the rocks and tumbling down the mountainside, finally finding a resting place among the freshly fallen corpses. Long silken black hair tumbled down the warriors back, tied tightly with thin white cloth. A deep cut ran across the cheek of the noble girl who paid it no heed, instead drawing back a fresh arrow as her trained eyes darted across the battlefield.

All around, war cries mingled with the moans of dying men, samurai and akutō alike. Their savagely fierce opponent outnumbered them at least five times over, a cacophony of mismatched colours, unkempt hair and all manner of crudely effective weapons. There was no glory, no honour to be had on this battlefield.

A fellow samurai fell backwards, his bow long forgotten, curved blade flailing wildly in front at the demon of a man that pursued him. Long hair like the mane of a great beast, face covered in the cowl of a mountain sorcerer, brightly coloured sleeveless war kimono now stained red with the blood of samurai – the rumours were right. These were no men, they were demons.

Without wasting another moment, the noble girl adjusted her aim as she guided her horse parallel to the beast-man and in one breath let fly, pristine shaft burying itself in the target’s neck.

Her horse galloped past her comrade, busy thrusting his blade into the now, surely dead opponent. However, no matter her success, no matter how many she killed… there was no end to them. These were not simple mountain men; they knew how to fight mounted samurai and were well prepared.

Trampling another under hoof, the girl reached for an arrow only to notice how few she had remaining. She cursed loudly, fear creeping its way through her words.

She spotted her leader, and old acquaintance, Muneyoshi, blood seeping down his grizzled face from an open wound above one eye. His left sode hung by a thread alongside the arm, limp at his side, simple wakizashi clutched tightly in front as the hellish bandits circled around him.

She cried out to him, goading her horse onwards, arrow at the ready. “Toyokuni Tokiko rides before you, face me cowards!” Her voice fell on deaf ears, her battle cry almost inaudible over mayhem.

Muneyoshi, perhaps more accustomed to her voice spun his head towards her. “Tokiko! Your right! Tokiko!”

Her eyes almost failed to notice the look of shock that had spread across the old warriors face, but just before she launched an arrow, her gaze darted up the mountainside.

Stout logs crashed down the rocky slope, bodies of friend and foe alike already tumbled in their midst, and before she could react, the hooves of her horse were swept off the ground and she flew from her saddle.

She could barely make out his voice, but she could see him mouthing her name as the demons closed in around him.

The old warrior slammed into his foes, crying her name with unrelenting vigor, as if it would grant him salvation. The tip of his blade cleaved in wild arcs, trailing gore in its wake. Even as rusted steel and sharpened bamboo pierced his body, he watched as Tokiko’s limp body disappeared over the mountainside.

“Tokiko! Tokiko!”

* * * * *

“Tokiko!”

Hearing her name suddenly ringing in her ears was enough to make the young girl jump from her soft tatami seat on the floor. She shot up straight and noticed her mother standing across the room, arms crossed sternly with furrowed brow.

“Would you get away from there and hurry up and ready yourself! How many times must I tell you – Oh never mind. It’s a wonder the gods didn’t make you a boy! Why they saw fit to waste such beauty on a girl like you I don’t…”

Tokiko watched her mother fume, and as always, let her attention wander. From a young age Tokiko had learned to ignore the servants as they fawned over her, did her hair or powdered her face, slipped on layer after layer of colourful silk kimono. Her mother was a different story. “Yes mother… I know… guests…and all that.”

Not even listening to the monotone mumbling of a girl not paying attention, her mother stomped across the room and stood next to her, sharply pulling aside the hanging screen that hung in the wall space her daughter was so fond of sitting beside.

Her lips curled in disgust. “Ugh, this is what you’re so intent on seeing? Filthy… samurai? Really Tokiko, I don’t understand how a girl like you – ugh you’re not even listening. Why do I bother!” The lady spun promptly and stomped across the room, issuing curt ordered to her female servants, their heads sinking lower to the floor with each sharply spat word.

While still within earshot of her daughter, Tokiko could hear her mother’s voice echo through the house despite her best efforts to avoid it. “There is no glory in the life of a poor, filthy warrior! You’d do well to remember that!

Tokiko loved her mother, she really did, but no matter what she tried, she never seemed to be able to please her. Truth be told, she understood why her mother was angry, Tokiko wasn’t like the other noble girls, who doted on noble boys and bragged to one another about the colour of their sleeves or the way they tied their hair. It all felt so… phony.

No, Tokiko was far more content sitting by a window, looking out at the men practicing their archery, or hearing battle stories whenever her father’s warriors would return to report to him. Today was such a day.

As fast as she could, she pushed aside the servants and adjusted her kimono, still in a state of half-dress, her hair still undone and face uncovered. She had counted the horses and noticed at least twenty. For the samurai to come in such number could only mean one thing.

Waving aside the unrelenting women that followed her, Tokiko hurried to her father’s room. She had become an expert at eavesdropping and knew the perfect spots to listen in on his conversations.

She shuffled her white tabi socks across the smooth wooden floor noiselessly, crouching beside a white paper screen.

On the other side of the wall, her father sat atop a thick tatami mat, adorned in robes that would make many nobles jealous. His face was stern, unhidden by the fan he clenched tightly in his fists.

Sitting before him, clad in full yoroi with curved blades lay at their side, full quivers slung over their shoulder, Muneyoshi, the man who fought in her father’s stead against the Mongol invasion before she was born, her father’s most seasoned warrior and his eldest son bowed deeply.

“My lord, we have answered your summons and are at your command.”

Her father sat stiffly, the sleeves of his great kimono rigid at his sides. “I presume I don’t need to inform you of the troubles that plague the West?”

“No my lord, word of the plight of your lands has already reached our ears.”

“Then why have you not taken action!”

“We simply wished to await your orders, we most certainly –“

“Then listen well, samurai! Take your men and ride west and quell this insolence, I will not have my land be held hostage by rabble such as these…akutō. Put them to the sword, I want none left to even remember their name!”

“As my lord wishes it!” Muneyoshi was quick to reply but Tokiko could hear it, a determination stronger than cold steel and a faint eagerness that yearned for the promise of battle flickering in his voice.

Tokiko cursed inwardly. Why had she not been born a son? Why couldn’t she ride out with the men, shoulder to shoulder and earn her father’s praise on the battlefield - A duel in the name of family honour, winning glory and land through single combat, what could be more desirable? She detested the thought of spending her days behind thinly veiled walls, composing poetry and music and being little more than someone to warm the bed of her future husband. Tokiko’s fingers were more at ease wrapped around the shaft of an arrow than the ink brush or flute.

Hearing her father take his leave, and the samurai brush against the dirt floor they sat on, Tokiko turned to leave but paused at the sound of Muneyoshi’s son, Munetada.

“Father… are you sure we have enough men?”

Muneyoshi rehung his scabbard at his waist and lifted his helmet from the floor. “Enough or not, we will do our duty as servants to our lord! Don’t forget that.”

Pulling the cord of his chin protector, the boy paused. “No… I didn’t mean to object, it’s just… these Akutō are no mere bandits, father. You should know that. They’ve raided the entire countryside, and to waylay tax collectors like this…”

“No… but the greater their sins, the sweeter the sake will taste when we toast our victory!”

The boy’s voice sounded in agreement, but his courage wavered. His father clapped a hand on his son’s armored shoulder and pushed him towards the door. Their straw sandals scraped across the dirt, beckoning Tokiko to follow.

* * * * *

Later that night, when the moon hung high in the cloudless sky, Tokiko slipped from her room and binding her chest, donned the armor of a man. She tied the cords of her breastplate tightly, tugging at the with fervor. If she wished her father, no, her mother to acknowledge her, she would accomplish nothing sitting from the shelter of this estate. She had to take action, and together, with her father’s warriors, she would drive these so called akutō from their land and with bow and arrow, win her honour.

Throwing her bow over her shoulder and mounting her father’s fastest horse, she rode through the tall thatched wooden gate of her family’s house, to the West.

* * * * *

The morning sun rose high above Muneyoshi’s camp, where little more than twenty men and horses gathered themselves for another day of travel.

Dipping a wooden ladle into the river, the seasoned warrior drank deeply, nearly choking when his son’s voice reached his ears.

“Father, Father! It’s the lord’s horse! And that armor!” The boy, not many years older than Tokiko waved a finger in her direction as her father’s horse slowed to a trot. She still wore her helmet, and in the bulk of her stolen armour, even she would have mistaken the rider to have been a warrior of significant caliber.

Gathering around her and crouching into a bow, the men parted on either side, Muneyoshi walking directly towards her before kneeling at the foot of her horse. “My lord, forgive me but why have you come so far? What news?” His words rang with alarming urgency, startling the female rider.

“O-oh, please rise! It is only I.” Tokiko pulled aside the hard facemask and tugged at the cord of her helmet, letting it fall down her behind her.

Silence fell on the men as they looked up. Her hair reflected the morning sun, the angle coupled with the soft ring of her voice was enough to render them speechless. A figure beautiful enough to have stepped from the most luxurious of silk screens, stood before them atop white steed. To some, perhaps they imagined her as a messenger of the gods, but Muneyoshi, unlike the others sat with jaw agape.

“T-T-Tokiko-sama!”

* * * * *

“Hah! That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever hear, eh Father?” Munetada gestured opposite him towards Tokiko.

She with her legs together, off to the side, leaning on one arm, surrounded by onlookers, elbows flared out and knees spread as they leaned in towards her. “D-don’t laugh! You of all people should know how good I am with a bow!” She turned to the boy’s father, sitting behind him with his eyes shut sternly. “Muneyoshi, you taught me how to shoot after all!”

“Straw targets aren’t the same as living men you know… look, I appreciate your feelings but the battlefield is no place for a girl of your stature, or any girl for that matter!” Munetada tried to soften his voice on her behalf, but Tokiko knew what he was trying to say. She didn’t want to hear it, from him least of all.

“No, Munetada! I won’t go back! I’ve decided to fight and I’ll win my honour just like you did, or your father or any of them!” She pointed from man to man, looking them each in the eye. She had seen the fire in their eyes as they trained together, as they rode together or as they drank and sung together. She could sense in them a feeling of camaraderie stronger than anything she had ever seen in the hollow eyes of the duplicitous girls hiding their lips behind gaudy paper fans.

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but his father spoke first. “If its reward you seek then reach out and take it!”

The men all turned to face their leader, stroking his chin as he spoke. “F-father, you can’t be serious?”

“Munetada, listen well. Your enemy will try to kill you regardless of what lies between your legs! Man or woman, kill or be killed – on the battlefield it’s all the same.”

“But father, these Akutō are no mere bandits! They’ve defeated samurai before!” The boy jumped to his feet in protest but was silenced with the wave of a hand.

The man’s face softened as he looked up at his son, the caring gaze of a father, but her words were not lacking in determination. “I looked her father in the eye and swore we would succeed. We will do our duty to him no matter the cost.” He turned to the noble girl and grinned. “Now then, we make West!” Although initially met with a pause, his men replied with a resounding cry of agreement.

Tokiko, throwing her leg up into the saddle clutched her gloved hand at her chest. The time had finally come. She was going to make her father proud, and have the name Toyokuni Tokiko immortalized in song.

* * * * *

Slowly regaining her sense, Tokiko opened her eyes and saw the grey afternoon sky staring back at her. Small black birds circled overhead, their cried surprisingly audible over the sounds of the battle that should have been taking place. And yet, as the girl slowly stat up, she heard nothing. Judging by her surroundings, she had fallen from the pass, but only tumbled a short distance. She grimaced as she noticed the broken body of her father’s horse, its pristine white hair almost unrecognizable amidst the grime and gore.

Unsheathing her sword and scabbard, she used it as a walking stick, pulling herself up the steep rocky incline. She proceeded with caution, not sure what to expect at the top.

Her gloved hand slipped up and over the edge of the slope, grasping the rock tightly. With a heave, she rolled her still armored figure over the edge and lay there for a moment catching her breathe. Slowly regaining her composure she scanned her periphery for signs of her fellow warrior.

As her eyes moved left to right, the sword she held in her hands slipped to the rocky path, clattering at her feet. She covered her mouth in horror at the sight. Never before has she seen so many dead men, so much blood. Faces twisted in contorted screams of agony, limbs severed and maimed. These were not the corpses of valiant men, enjoying an honourable end. This was a cruel joke. This wasn’t what she had imagined, not what she had hoped for. This wasn’t the field of battle depicted in the tales, or the glorious victories the noble lords bragged about. There was no divine intervention from the gods to save them. There was no pure land or salvation awaiting these men. There was only death.

In a daze, she walked the path, her feet avoiding arrows imbedded in the dirt of their own accord, taking the time to look each corpse in the eyes, as if still trying to absorb the situation around her.

Tokiko no longer felt like she walked the realm of the living. It was as if she had fallen from the mountain and landed in hell itself. Was this her punishment for acting so selfishly?

Her feet stopped as she approached Muneyoshi, a man now only identifiable by the armour he once wore. All manner of rusted sword, arrow or spear pierced his body, and now, propped up by shattered haft, his headless form stood as a parody of the living.

Tokiko broke down in tears.