Prologue

  Death. It was both instant and protracted, both painless and excruciating. One moment I was cowering in the mud and in the next rising to the heavens, like smoke on a windless day. Thoughtless and oblivious, drifting, no longer gravity’s prisoner.

  Thoughtless, until as I rose higher still, I surveyed the scene beneath me. A body lying limp, a headless corpse, fresh blood gushing and pooling on the boggy earth. A man standing over the body, his arms motionlessly extended, as though his body had coagulated. His two colleagues attentive at his side. The corpse’s head lay to the side, and as I gazed down, I saw a child edge forward, take the head in tentative fingers, and pull it close.

  And then, like an arrow striking my chest, all memory returned. My thoughts, my dreams, my misdeeds, rushing back in a stampede of despair. Execution. An unjust, inexcusable execution. My head cleaved from my body by a single sweep of a sword. Murdered for a misstep on the path above the quagmire. The executioner was a samurai. Naturally so, as who else would dispense such injustice? A man I’d never met before, our paths had never crossed, until they quite tragically did. He and his two young retainers.

  The child cradling my head was mine, whose life, without me to provide for, would undoubtedly spiral into poverty and beyond. As would the lives of my other three children and my wife.

  I rose further, and even though I clawed at the air, with no bodily mass behind me, I was unable to halt my assent. To paradise? Unlikely. Not for one in my trade. I had the blood of beasts on my hands. There would be no realm of gods for me. No resting at Buddha's side. I would refuse to be judged by the first of the ten kings and would turn down the ferryman at the River of Death. My soul would resist any rebirth until I could haunt and break the body of the samurai who had stolen my life and thrown my family into ruin. Only when I’d seen justice carried out, would I allow my soul to depart to the torment it was due.

  Revenge would be mine. Revenge: cold to the touch and unwavering in advance.

  1.1

  “Mama, where are you taking me?”

  “Child, please, no questions.” Asako’s mother renewed her grip on her daughter’s wrist and led her along. Her dark, wrinkled fingers wrapped around the girl’s thin, pale arms like withered tree roots. “But why?” Asako replied, not for the first time that day.

  Her mother led her along a series of planks surrounded by tall reeds, toward Big River. The sky was a listless grey, not dull enough to threaten rain, but not light enough for the sun to break through. At the river’s edge, they turned and walked downstream to a rocky shoulder where the waters slowed and pooled in the place where the outcasts came to wash, but at that moment they were alone. She lowered her child before her, picked a cloth out of a wooden bucket, and dipped it into the chilled waters.

  “Asako, I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. No more ‘whys’. You need to do as you are told. You need to endure. Endure your hardships. Now, let me wash you in silence.”

  She worked the cloth over her daughter’s face, exposed limbs, and up the sleeves and legs of her thread-bare yukata.

  “Your skin is so white, and your eyes pale,” her mother muttered, echoing the words that had forever haunted Asako.

  Asako studied her mother as she worked. Her back was hunched, her teeth were shattered, and her skin was so dark and blemished that Asako could no longer tell the moles she’d been born with from the sunspots. But it wasn’t her mum’s appearance that bothered her. It was the prospect of what her mother intended for her.

  Asako’s unease had begun the previous evening, when, following a meagre meal, she overheard her eldest brother muttering to their mother outside their hut. He, as head of the family’s affairs, seemed to be reluctantly accepting an issue that their mother was pressing on him. Then, on returning to the hut, as they lay down side by side to sleep, Asako sensed her brother was avoiding her.

  Although she’d slept enough to be visited by her recurring nightmare, she’d awoken that morning long before daylight seeped through the hut’s dilapidated walls. She arose on schedule in the first quarter of the hour of the rabbit, fetched water and tidied away the mattresses, only to be told by her mother that she wouldn’t be following her work schedule. Her two brothers had then bowed deeply to her from the entranceway and departed, leaving Asako alone with her mother.

  She tried not to squirm as the cold water touched her skin.

  “Are you sending me away to older sister?” Asako whispered, vocalising her fear. At the mention of her eldest daughter, her mother’s hands paused, as though her heart had stalled within her.

  “No, no, I won’t. Your brother wouldn’t allow it,” she replied, recommencing her washing of Asako’s right calf.

  “So, I’m staying with you?” Asako asked, suddenly hopeful of a reprieve. “Mama?” she asked when no reply was forthcoming.

  “Asako, my child. Please, don’t question me. I’ve no strength left, and if you break my heart, it will be the end of me,” her mother whispered.

  “But Mama, I can endure, like you say. And remember Papa?” she implored, again bringing a pause to her mother’s hands. “Remember what he used to say? Perseverance. I can perseverance. I can perseverance anything to stay with you. I work every day and never complain, just like you and Papa.”

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “To continue to persevere is power. Yes, your father said that, daily. Where did it get him? Asako, please, please try to forget your father. He ruined you with his words; giving you children false hope; the idea that hard work could change our situation; that we could leave our village. But he was wrong. We are what we are. We must simply endure.”

  “But we had food. I remember more food. Papa was doing well for us.”

  “Asako, please, child. Your father was a fool. Foolishly misjudging his lowly position for something more than it was. He showed pride when he should have shown humility, and look where that has left us. Please, Asako, my last beautiful child, forget your father.” She took Asako’s hands in hers. A trail of tears fell between the dark folds of her mother’s blotchy skin, down to her gummy mouth. “Asako, what must we do in this life? Please repeat it to me,” her mother whispered between sobs.

  “We must endure our hardships,” she replied.

  “Yes, we must,” her mother said, finally pulling herself to her feet. “I haven’t been able to feed you enough, so you are small and you sleep poorly, but you’ve been blessed with beauty. How, I don’t know,” her mother said, tying Asako’s hair back behind her head. Asako had most often observed the world from behind a veil of hair to hide her pale eyes, but today her mother had other plans. “Now, at least you are clean. Let’s go.”

  Retracing their steps, this time they walked hand in hand, Asako allowing her mother to lead her with no resistance. They returned along the planks above the quagmire that bordered Big River, until they rose to higher ground, where their village was situated. They passed the bamboo picket fence, went through a gate, and, bypassing their hut, walked directly to the far side of the village. Before them, two paths veered off to either side, both eventually leading up toward Edo town. The pair instinctively veered to the right, avoiding the more direct path to the left. They shared a brief glance, acknowledging the unspoken agreement that they would never again use that route. They followed the hard-packed soil path, raised above the reeds that grew in the damp ground on either side, until they saw the gate ahead, guarded by two samurai. It was then that Asako, who had never been into Edo since being unstrapped from her mother’s back, started to pull back against her mother’s lead.

  “Asa, please, trust me. They won’t hurt you. Bow low and do as I say. You can do that,” her mother whispered into her ear.

  “But Mama, what if it’s him?”

  “It’s not. That man was higher rank. These men are gate guards. They guard the entrance to Edo and no more.”

  Asako nodded her assent. She knew the guards were stationed solely for the purpose of preventing members of the outcast class from abandoning the village and absconding into the maze of Edo’s back streets. However, limited passage was allowed in both directions, for trade.

  They approached the guards, cowering beneath their scornful glares. Her mother spoke with the nearest, her back bowed; hushed words that Asako couldn’t make out. After a brief discussion the samurai nodded. The gate was thrown open and the two of them scurried through, muttering repeated thanks.

  Beyond the gate, their surroundings changed. Beneath their geta sandals, the path became harder and more trampled, and tall wooden buildings pressed in closely on the road. As they proceeded, the streets became more expansive and the buildings grander. Shops with elaborate signage and merchandise lined both sides of the road. Asako was soon utterly disorientated as Big River was replaced by numerous canals that appeared to crisscross before her. Their pace was laboured; her mother limping and Asako gawking at the unfamiliar sights.

  Eventually, they arrived at a bustling town square, surrounded by buildings. In its centre stood a large cherry tree. Its many limbs, having shaken off their blossoms, were bursting with new season leaves giving it an auspicious presence over the area. There were stalls on all sides with colourful banners and flags, and for each stall, there was a proprietor standing in front of the wares and calling out to prospective customers. It was a cacophony of sounds, sights and smells, the likes of which Asako had never encountered. She’d never seen a monkey, but from the descriptions she’d heard, she could identify it. It was on a lead, held tightly by a balding man in a grey yukata. She glanced sideways at her mother, surprised that the woman appeared unfazed by the commotion.

  Her mother led her to a corner of the square where other girls were gathered, all dressed in simple clothing similar to Asako’s. Her mother instructed her to stay put while she moved a few paces ahead. Men, wearing elaborately patterned yukata, swarmed around her mother, each one gawking at Asako and commenting on her pale skin and eyes. Asako turned away, trying to hide her unsightly appearance. To each approach, her mother shook her head dismissively.

  When she returned to Asako, she muttered, “I made a promise to your brother. Perhaps that was a mistake.”

  Asako stole glances at the other girls. They appeared to be of a similar age to her, but with the more regular dark skin and eyes that she craved for herself. Their minders were all dark-skinned with squat, sturdy bodies, as though they’d been born out of the earth. One by one, the girls would be picked off, departing the yard and leaving their minders behind. Asako watched them leave, some quaking in tears, and others walking stoically, appearing keen to move on.

  Asako’s mother had been drawn into a conversation with another man. He was different from the others, wearing a plain yukata. This time her mother’s head wasn’t shaking. As they talked the man squinted at Asako as though he couldn’t quite fathom what he was seeing.

  “Asako, please, walk to the other side of the square, proper walking, and then walk back to me,” her mother instructed.

  “What?”

  “Please, go,” her mother nudged her.

  She obeyed, weaving around the many obstacles, trying to imitate a strong stride. She was halfway back, when the man passed a small pouch to her mother, which she opened and inspected. “Mother?” Asako said, as she drew near.

  “Asako, I am sorry. I could not do the best by you,” her mother whispered, grasping her hands. “Mum?”

  “You need to go with this man. Promise me, Asako, promise me you’ll work hard.”

  “Mum?” Asako gasped, finally comprehending the situation, her hands flittering inside her mother’s grasp.

  “Work hard, my daughter, and you’ll have a life. You’ll have food. Do you understand? You are so small. Too small, but now you’ll have food! You are a good girl, a hard worker, my last born, wonderful child,” she stammered, and placed her hand on her daughter’s cheek. “You must go and work hard. Promise me that. Promise me, so that I can go from here and not die miserably.”

  “With this man?”

  “Promise me. This man can give you a future that I cannot.”

  “But I don’t want to. I want to be with you,” Asako replied, quivering.

  “There’s no choice. If you stay with me, you’ll soon die with me. I’ve not long left, and I won’t take you to the grave by my side. You must forget me. Forget your father. Forget the village. Now go, my dear. Work hard. Endure hardship as you have always done and find a new life. Promise me!”

  Asako looked down at her hands, tiny inside her mother’s calloused grip, and then back into her mother’s weeping face.

  “I promise.”

  “Goodbye, dear Asa,” her mother whispered, releasing her.