The katana in my hand was a familiar and constant weight. I cut through the air with all the skill and technique that had been instilled in me over the years. Today, I was alone in the small wooden house that sheltered five other children and teenagers like me. None of us knew who our real parents were, but we all knew that Onyokupo treated us like one of his own.
Onyokupo was a middle-aged man, around 57 years old, a former samurai who had deserted and devoted himself to training "youths with no future," as we were known. Now, Onyokupo carried the title of Ronin and was the master of orphans and abandoned children.
From what the Master had told me about my past, I had been left behind when my village was attacked and massacred—no one, except for me, seemed to have survived. I had no desire to visit that desolate place. Some of my brothers had decided they wanted to try to meet their real parents, but none of them were welcomed, and they returned deeply hurt. I always kept in mind that if our parents wanted us, they would never have abandoned us in the first place.
I skillfully cut through a few more bamboo stalks with the katana. I wasn't the Master's best student, but I wasn't too bad either. I could handle the sword and dodge attacks with agility, though my physical strength, compared to my brothers, was much less. However, I had the advantage of speed since my body was small and slender.
We lived on a hill where only cattle herders and a few merchants, traveling between nearby villages, passed by. It was the fastest route between Gughu and Kuiko. It was also a great place for training, full of trees and hiding spots that we used when armed with wooden oranges. The Master would ask us to "kill" each other. Anyone hit would have to pretend to bandage a wound, limp, or bleed out. It turned out to be a useful exercise, as we often used our knowledge of herbs and bandages to treat a "wounded" arm and apply healing paste made from the plants we found on the mountain. At the end of the day, the Master would search for each of us, and whoever had the fewest injuries would earn a medal and get to choose the meal.
I had never been that lucky, but one day, I would get there. And I would choose a rabbit stew to celebrate!
I sheathed the katana and picked up the bamboo stalks; we used whatever we could for burning or making utensils for our mountain life. All our training was as beneficial for us as it was for the environment and the mountain around us.
"Sister, we're back!" Keku, one of my older brothers, waved from the start of the road that connected our house to a small orchard belonging to Onyokupo.
"Welcome back! How was the harvest?"
I saw Keku and then Minory, both carrying large sacks of fruit. We would have something juicy and sweet to eat for a few days. We could even make jam and eat it with the bread we baked when we bought grains from traveling merchants.
"Let me help." I ran over and offered my arms to help them; the sacks were filled to the brim with peaches and apples.
"This time we got a lot of fruit. The Master is going to sell some of it, and we earned a bit of money. Maybe, just maybe, we can start fixing up our house."
It wasn't that we were poor—Master Onyokupo had quite a bit of money—but he refused to raise us that way. He always said he had worked for his money, and we should work for what we needed too. None of us minded, after all, we owed our lives to him and wanted to honor his wishes.
"Yes, I'll start peeling the peaches at the bottom of the sacks. They're a bit squashed; we can make jam."
"That's exactly what I was thinking!" I replied to Minory, who gave me a bright smile.
We climbed the stairs to the kitchen, left the sacks near the door, and sat in the chairs. The climb was tiring, and the weight of the fruit had left us breathless.
"Do you think they'll take long?" Keku asked as he grabbed a glass of water.
"They shouldn't be much longer; they left some time ago."
The three of us sat and talked. Minory was two years younger than me, and Keku was five years older—I was sixteen. I had already seen older brothers and sisters leave as samurai to other villages and cities. Sometimes, we still received them for special visits during festive seasons. Some of us, especially the older ones like Keku and Mayura, exchanged letters with the siblings who had left.
We had also lost younger brothers and sisters, but not exactly for good reasons. Some of the children had been taken back by their biological parents when they became "useful." Others, like Tokito, were attacked by wild animals in the forest and died from infections.
I had been very close to Tokito—we came from the same region, though different villages, and we were the same age. When it came to birthdays, we celebrated another year on the day Master Onyokupo took us in. Except for the older ones that Onyokupo adopted later, who had some idea of time, none of us knew our exact age. I might even be older than I thought.
"What's for dinner?" Keku asked as he uncovered one of the pots.
Since I had stayed home all day, it was my turn to handle the household chores, like cleaning and cooking. I had made a beef stew with some meat that was starting to spoil. We didn't have any way to preserve food other than salting it, and that didn't last very long.
"Beef stew," I proclaimed proudly.
"Oh, that sounds great!" None of us were picky with food—we didn't have that luxury.