Though she was surprised to hear these sentiments uttered by this boy, Mariko was careful to conceal it. “Show me a warrior who believes that to be true, and I will endeavor to take the branch from you.”
A wry grin began to curl up ōkami’s mouth. “Be as swift as the wind. As silent as the forest. As fierce as the fire. As unshakable as the mountain. And you can do anything . . . even take this branch from me.”
Mariko snorted, catching herself before crossing her arms as her mother would. “Needlessly cryptic. Especially since mere words make all things possible.”
“I’m glad we agree.” He raised the branch again. “Take the branch from me, Lord Lackbeard.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Words do not make all things possible. Ideas are the seeds of possibility.”
“Without words, ideas are nothing but voiceless thoughts.” ōkami held the branch steady. Unflinching.
“Without ideas, words would never have come into being.”
“Fine, then. Without words, give me an idea.” Another slow, taunting smile. “Now take the branch.”
Her ire spiking, Mariko returned his unwavering stare. Though ōkami’s expression remained one of detached amusement, a flame sparked behind his eyes like a sun at midnight. The sight prompted her to make a final decision. One of dishonor. One she was sure to regret.
“I prefer to fight battles I know I can win.” With that, Mariko bent to pick up the log closest to ōkami. Just as he lowered the branch a second time, she shot to standing, ramming her full weight into his injured right shoulder. The one she knew still bore a fresh wound from the giant’s kanabō swing the night before.
The Wolf grunted loudly as they both fell to the ground in a tangled heap. Mariko landed on top of him—lunging for the branch—but ōkami flipped her onto her stomach, forcing every last bit of air from her body by leaning on her with unnecessary intensity. Damp soil trickled into her mouth, causing her to sputter and retch and flail.
Mariko tried to shove her elbow into his face, but was met with nothing more than wry laughter.
“I owe you an injury, Sanada Takeo,” ōkami whispered in her ear. “And I pay my debts.” He hauled her to her feet as though she were nothing more than a sack of air. “Now get back to work.”
Humiliation took root in Mariko’s chest, tugging at her center like a fishhook. She swiped the soil from her mouth and straightened her dirty kosode, hoping to pierce his resolve as he had hers. “This is a waste of time. If your glorious leader had granted me use of a wagon, I would have been done moving these logs hours ago.”
It was a sound argument. One he—of all people—should readily agree with, as the Wolf did not relish expending unnecessary effort.
ōkami paused to rub his shoulder. For an instant, Mariko thought he would agree. Especially when she caught a trace of humor on his face. Then he swept his black hair from his forehead, as though he was banishing the thought. “If this is the last task of your life, it’s never a waste of time to do it thoroughly.”
A cold current of fear overshadowed Mariko’s anger. “You—you don’t truly mean that. If you intended to kill me, you would have done it already. Why have you brought me here? To what end?” She focused the last of her fear into something pointed. Sharp. “And if this is indeed the last task of my life, I’d rather be doing anything else—thinking anything else—than this.”
“You’d waste your last day in thought?” ōkami stared down at her, unblinking.
“I would spend it thinking something meaningful. Doing something honorable.”
Like exposing the location of your camp.
Or bringing about an end to your band of bloodthirsty thieves.
“Thinking?” Ren interjected as he spat in the dirt by her feet. “Knowledge feeds no one. Nor does it win any wars.”
“I find your position on this matter unsurprising.” Mariko did not even bother glancing toward the boy with the spiked topknot.
“Honorable?” ōkami shifted closer, his hand still pressed to his shoulder. The coppery scent of fresh blood suffused the air. “Do you consider attacking a wounded man without warning an act of honor?”
Color flooded Mariko’s cheeks. She’d known she would regret that decision the moment she’d made it. Honor was a fundamental tenet of bushidō. And her choice to deceive ōkami and take advantage of his weakness was—without a doubt—a dishonorable one.
“I”—she swallowed—“was pushed to that action.”
“As many men often are.”
“I—”
“Don’t trouble yourself by explaining. Honor bears no weight with me.” The Wolf continued studying her. “And I find knowledge a poison to a weak mind.”
A litany of retorts collected in Mariko’s throat, but none seemed good enough. Wise enough. Instead she chose to defeat words with silence.
With an idea.
“Never doubt. Never fear. Never overthink.” ōkami watched her as he spoke. As though he was searching for something beyond her. “That is the only way to stay alive.”
A glimmer of reason shone in his words. It unsettled her even further. Mariko’s lips pressed together. The skin in their centers cracked as the salt of her blood touched her tongue.
Anger tingled across her skin. Anger at him. Anger at herself.
How she wished she had a perfect retort at the ready. One she could fire back, like a polished stone.
Wordlessly, she bent to retrieve the fallen logs.
When Mariko stood once more, she thought she saw ōkami wince as though a lantern had been shined in his eyes.
He stretched, then yawned. “On second thought, take Lord Lackbeard to Yoshi,” ōkami said to Ren. “Make sure he eats something. A well-watered tree yields sweeter fruit.”
As the Wolf turned to leave, courage pushed Mariko into his path a final time. “Answer at least one question. After drugging me and dragging me here against my will, I’m owed that much.”
He waited, his features coolly indifferent.
Mariko breathed deep. “Am I prisoner, or am I a servant?”
ōkami paused before responding. “We choose what we are in any situation, be it a word or an idea.” With a small smile, he walked away.
I dislike this boy. Immensely.
Before she had a chance to organize her thoughts, Ren yanked her to his side. Mariko watched from the corner of her eye while ōkami strapped his bō across his back. The Wolf mounted a grey horse and rode from camp, nodding in salute to the guards patrolling the perimeter.
How Mariko wished she could best him at something.
Wished she could trounce him in all things.
The Wolf wasn’t as clever as he believed himself to be. Mariko found herself contemplating ways to destroy him. To watch him struggle.
And beg for mercy.
But she could not waste her focus on such petty emotions. Not when there were so many more pressing concerns at her heels. Mariko needed to learn why the Black Clan had brought her to their encampment. Was it possible they’d somehow discovered who she was? Had she been taken hostage?