FOREVER
“Monique.”
The sound of my name settled over my shoulders like a fuzzy robe. How long had it been since someone called me not by my title or familial address but by the name my parents gave me? It’s been so long I almost didn’t recognize it anymore. After all these years, I figured it would sound unfamiliar, but through the jazzy alto of Little Sistah’s voice, it felt like home.
“Simone,” I said in turn. I felt it when Little Sistah shivered with that same sense of awe. I referred to her as ‘Little Sistah’ because she was younger, but of course, we knew each other’s names. It was required to know all the names of your Sistahs. After all, who else would say them when you die?
I didn’t have much time to be foolin’ around, but Little Sistah was insistent that we take a brief second to wash the tacky blood out of our hair from one of the streams that fed into the river, which murmured a gentle waterfall down smooth stones. I was having an easier time of it than she was, as most of the blood had knotted up her braids. Upside down, the weight of my hair dripped bloody water into the stream as I combed through the stubborn mats. I couldn’t wait to get home, soak in hot bath water, and trash these clothes. I couldn’t imagine how filthy I smelled—probably of too much sweat and death. It has been a long day.
“I could do this later,” I grumbled.
“Girl, be quiet.” Little Sistah playfully splashed water that failed to reach me. “You haven’t changed much. Always running off somewhere. Always charging ahead. Always got to be doing something. You’ve got to take care of yourself sometime, and what would Sistah Sensei say?” Little Sistah modulated her voice to mimic the older no-nonsense woman. “A samurai must present themselves with dignity and honor at all times. Now, go take a bath you dirty heathens.”
I laughed with her at the memory. It was a marvel, really. I haven’t laughed in so long and now, unused muscles around my mouth ached. Her presence had knocked over a levee inside me, and I flooded with joy.
“I guess that’s as good as it’s gonna to get.” Little Sistah sighed as she studied her frizzy braids. They would have to be undone completely and the hair and scalp washed in order to be fully cleaned, nor did we have time for an eight-hour braiding session. Little Sistah plopped down onto a large boulder and indicated the spot between her legs. “Come on, at least we can take care of you.”
“I don’t have the time,” I grumbled, even though I plodded over without much resistance. I sat between her legs with a huff.
My thoughts couldn’t help but whirl over the concerns, worries, and everything else I had to do with the rest of my day. I needed to get home and renew the protective charms before sun-down, but I didn’t have any more ink left, which meant I’d have to stay up all night defending my home from potential demon attacks. I felt so much joy at having my Little Sistah back, but I was also drained by the bone-deep exhaustion and the anxiety of a long night awaiting me. It probably wouldn’t be tomorrow ‘til I got that bath.
“Don’t look at me like that. Just sit still and enjoy this, why don’t you?” Little Sistah demanded.
I shifted, unable to sit still. She popped me on the shoulder with her comb, and I looked at her with mock protest. I argued, “It’s almost sundown when the real nasties come out, and we are sittin’ not far from a valley filled with hundreds of fresh souls. We ain’t got time to waste, and I don’t know about you, but I’m done with all my killing for the day.”
“It’s five minutes.” Little Sistah rolled her eyes. “If we get jumped, you can blame it on me.”
“Oh, I will,” I grumbled.
I glanced at the waning sunlight. Oddly enough, carving my way through the valley had cost me less time than my usual paced stroll. What had felt like a battle stretching on forever had only lasted an hour. I was actually on time. I could make it home before dusk if I set my mind to it. It was the absence of ink that worried and pricked at my anxiousness.
And then, Little Sistah’s fingers massaged my scalp, and all those worries and concerns drifted far away as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the novelty of the moment. She parted my damp hair into sections and then began braiding my hair into neat rows along my scalp. Maybe Little Sistah was right—even as a child, I was always on the go—either studying, or running, or swimming, or prowling for trouble. The only difference between then and now was that back then, I also had time for stillness. I also had time for fun.
“What are you in such a rush for anyway? Got someone back home you’re protecting?” Little Sistah teased. “We’re not samurai anymore. We’re not at the beck and call of our daimyo anymore, but you wouldn’t think any differently the way you’re acting. Look at us, two rounin now.”
“No,” I whispered, head leaning on her knee as she focused on the left side of my hair. “My daimyo isn’t dead.”
The admission brought us too close to the one topic we were both avoiding. A thick stubborn silence gritted its teeth. I wanted to cherish this reunion a little bit longer without dredging up the past and all the unpleasant memories. But we were both grown women and unused to avoiding tasks just because they were unpleasant. Little Sistah broke the impasse. She clicked her tongue and said with a level voice, with fingers never stopping their pace as she braided my hair, “Your daimyo was there with the others at Edolanta. I saw him die.”
I straightened my head as Little Sistah began braiding down the center of my scalp and explained, “His son still lives.”
“Ah. You’re better than me, then. After . . . I was done with it all.”
My hands tightened into fists. My jaw locked up on me, but I forced the words out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I should have—”
“No,” Little Sistah said with steel in her voice. “If you had been there, you would have died like the others. I’m glad you weren’t there. I had always wondered if you had survived. When that guard mentioned another Sistah Samurai back in that village . . . I had hoped it was you. I am glad to have found you again, so don’t you apologize for shit.” I couldn’t see her, but I heard the tears vibrating her voice. “This here, it’s enough.”
I nodded. The feel of her fingers in my hair again. The ability to rest my cheek against her thigh. The rattle of her hair. Just to hear her voice and know that, at any moment, she could break out in song or crack a wise-ass joke.
This was more than enough.
Little Sistah finished with my hair, and we sat there, both unwilling to ruin the moment. I stretched my arms out over my knees and sighed. Then I finally asked the question. I cleared my throat first. “How? When I heard what happened, I rushed to Edolanta as fast as I could. I cremated the bodies and thought all the headbands were accounted for. I thought—I thought—”
“Mine fell off somewhere in the middle of the battle,” Little Sistah whispered distantly, lower than the wind rustling through young bamboo leaves. The waterfall hummed behind us. She rubbed at her forearm, the place where she used to wear her headband like a bangle. “I got separated. Dragged off into the forest beyond the gates. I managed to escape the demon, but I was wounded and found a small burrow before I passed out.” Then her voice went lower, deeper. “It didn’t go down like you think it did. It was a coup by the Empress’s uncle. The demons came afterward, once the dead had started piling up. But that was part of the plan too. They sabotaged the protection talismans and let the demons in to cover up the evidence. All for nothing, because that fool got himself killed along with everybody else. Now the rest of the world get to suffer the consequences of his foolishness.”
“All this death because some man didn’t want to give power to a woman?” I asked, almost in disbelief, but I’ve been living too long not to recognize the truth of it. The sad fact was that without the demons, there wouldn’t be a Clan of Illustrious Sistah Samurai to begin with. Before, when samurai clans were primarily male and hereditary, they had been ill-prepared when the demons first appeared. Those old clans were decimated and there was a need for more soldiers. The Sistah Samurai began on the backs of those women who stepped up.
“Be glad you missed all that bullshit.” Little Sistah shook her head. “It was a slaughter. I remember that you hadn’t showed up to the gathering, and I had always hoped you were alive out there. They said you were sick.”
“I was sick,” I confirmed softly. I couldn’t imagine what was worse: believing you were the last one left, or knowing another Sistah was out there and unable to find her. “What did you do after?”
“My duty—or so I thought. I went south to my daimyo’s estate to continue my service, but all I found was a bigger mess. The entire estate had been overrun. The family was dead. I had no master. No one to serve. I almost ended it—” she said, and I squeezed her forearm. “But my anger was stronger than my shame, and for a while, I did nothing but hunt demons in the south. Then I began doing a few jobs for the local warlords because hunting demons don’t feed you.”
“What about that geisha you were so fond of? Did she survive the attack?”
“No,” Little Sistah whispered, strangled. “She’s gone.”
“I’m sorry. I know you loved her,” I said.
Unlike the Brotha Monks who swore oaths of celibacy, Sistah Samurai were allowed to marry and have lovers as long as it did not distract from their duty or supersede their oaths. It was a legacy inherited from the OG Sistah Samurais who had founded the clan while holding down families.
“I’m on one of those jobs now. I’ve been tasked to deliver a relic to the Sacred Order of Brotha Monks. That’s why I initially came to the village. I never thought I’d find someone matching your description, and after everything that happened with that demon at the gate, I knew it was you. So, I volunteered to bring the relic further to one of their temples in the mountain.”
I nodded. “I know of it.”
“The Brothas told me you lived around here, and I figured why not? So, I went out looking for you. It was ridiculously easy. You certainly left quite the paper trail for me to follow. Good thing, too, someone needed to save your ass.”
“Excuse you?” I said. “I had it all under control.”
“Of course you did.” Little Sistah nodded sagely, playing along. But I didn’t have to pretend with her. I didn’t always have to be strong or resilient around her. I could be honest.
“Seriously, though,” I told her. “Thank you for saving me.”
“Anytime. After all, who else do I have to shake my ass with?”
I burst out with laughter, overflowing with it. Joyful tears jived at the edges of my eyes. Hopefully, we’ll be shaking our asses for years to come. We’re alive, dammit, and we’re gonna dance.
“Here, look.” Little Sistah reached into her obi and revealed a faded parchment with kanji comprised of that unmistakable gloss of tamashii ink. “The Brothas have been trying to design a way to strengthen the barriers between our world and the rest. From what I understand, it hasn’t been perfected. The southern order wants the northern order to see if they can figure out what is missing. I’m essentially a bonafide messenger.”
It was the first time I was hearing about such a thing. Suddenly, that confusing conversation back with that Brotha Monk made a whole lotta sense. He had mistaken me for her, and if I had just slowed down and heard him out, he would have told me about Little Sistah a whole lot sooner.
I squinted at the parchment when a difference caught my eye. “Wait, is that tamashii ink? Why does it have that blue sheen?”
“It’s a new type of ink. No name to it yet, and I’ve no idea what’s in it. They refused to tell me. It can be made from love, justice, and monk farts for all I know.” She shrugged.
“You think they’ll ever figure it out someday? How to strengthen the barriers?”
“Men hope while women carry the world.” Little Sistah scoffed, automatically. But then she took some time to think and shrugged. “The Brothas are usually nothing but pretty rhymes and hot air. When I took on this mission, at first it was just a job to me . . . But I haven’t had anything to really believe in a long time, and I certainly found myself protecting this thing more than I ought to. I dunno, maybe in the end, I’ll always be a samurai at heart—always needing something to protect—even if it’s just a little bit of hope.”
Little Sistah stood to her feet and wiped at the dirt that had printed onto her butt. With a resigned sigh, I stood up in turn. Look at me, now. The one dragging my feet.
“I know where that temple is. It’s not far from here,” I said. “I would take you there, I would, but I’m out of ink. I’ll be up all night protecting the house.”
“I received pretty good directions from the Brothas in the village. I can find it. I get it. Go. You’ve got a duty to attend to.” She dramatically fluttered her hand as if waving me off.
“Here.” I picked up a nearby stick and drew a map on the ground. “Come visit when you’re finished. Maybe then we’ll have time to really catch up. I might even cook you something.”
“Gross. There is a reason we never let you cook.”
“Hey! I could have gotten better over the years.”
She squinted at me. “I doubt it. You couldn’t have changed that much. Remember that time when you burnt a pot of rice? Rice! Who burns rice? You used a rice cooker.”
I laughed, with tears creasing my eyes as I remembered the incident.
Once she memorized the directions, I smudged the map with my foot. I didn’t trust just anyone with the directions to my home. There were too many people wandering about looking to steal ink off people. “You are always welcome. Don’t be a stranger.”
“You’re going to regret that when you can’t get rid of me. I still can’t believe . . . I look at you and I think this might be a trick; some demon possessing your face or something.”
“I know,” I whispered softly, with very much the same doubts and misgivings, but this time, this one time, I chose to believe in hope. Little Sistah grabbed the stick of her bundled belongings and swung it over her shoulder. That small action was so loud amid the murmur of waterfall and the chirp of cicada song.
“And here.” Little Sistah dug into her bag. She replaced the comb and pulled out a small vial of ink.
“Is that all you have left? Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly,” I said, unconsciously stepping back. Little Sistah chased me a step forward and folded my fingers over the vial.
“Take it. I insist.”
A knot in my throat swelled, and I felt myself choking, overwhelmed. I couldn’t remember the last time someone went out of their way to perform such a significant act of kindness on my behalf. Giving up your last vile of ink could be life or death, and she was protecting something important too, with also only a little more ways to go.
“But your scroll,” I told her.
“That scroll is nothing more than hopes and dreams. You have something more important to protect: a home.”
I almost broke into tears all over again, at how powerful that last word hit me. Some days, it was the sole reason that kept me going. It pushed my feet down the road and guided my compass. Sometimes, it was so easy to get stuck in routines, you forget why you are doing it.
“Thank you.”
“We’re family,” Little Sistah said easily in explanation.
It made me feel ashamed. She was here for me when I couldn’t do the same. “I should have been there. I know I might not have made much of a difference, but you were my sisters. My family. I should have stood with you. I should have been on the front lines with you. I should have fought with you.”
Little Sistah pressed a soft hand to my cheek. Her hoop earrings gleamed in the waning sun. “I know you would have been there if you could. But you’re standing with me now, Big Sis. Nothing else matters. Let’s get our shit done, and we’ll meet each other home.”
I nodded up. “Bet.”