My latest story,
The Wooden Samurai, will be available this Saturday, June 24 from JMS Books!
Blurb:
In 1708 Japan, Hirata, a samurai
serving Lord Takarada, is enjoying his elevated status in the daimyo’s army when he finds a gift, a wooden
carving of a samurai on a horse. Hirata
realizes he has a secret admirer but who is it?
He discovers it is Matsuda, a young archer in Takarada’s retinue, who
has taken a liking to Hirata.
But Hirata is not ready for a
relationship with a man and refuses Matsuda.
After his rejection, Hirata realizes that he does love Matsuda, but now
the archer is far away with Lord Takarada in Edo Castle and he does not know
when they will return.
Hirata decides on a plan to
convince Matsuda that he is ready, but before he can put it into action, an earthquake
and a tsunami destroy the daimyo’s
manor.
Hirata becomes frantic, since he
has no idea if Matsuda is alive and if he will ever see him again.
Excerpt:
Hirata
entered the barracks, walking to the room he shared with eleven other samurai
officers to shed his traveling cloak before the mid-day meal. Because of his
rank, he did not have to bunk with dozens of men to a room, like the unranked
warriors. It gave him a little more room
and enough space to keep a small chest for personal belongings, like his
cloak. He took it off as he approached
the threshold to his room, since he would not need it again until he rode out
with the next patrol that afternoon.
Hirata
came to a stop in the doorway. Something wrapped in a rough cloth sat in the
middle of his cot.
What
is that? Is it dangerous? His
samurai instincts warned him to be cautious and wary of anything out of place.
His
first inclination was to throw the thing as far away into the ocean as he
could, but he couldn't think of anyone who would want to do him harm. But if someone was trying to destroy the daimyo, an inside job would be most
effective. Ruin the lord by decimating
his loyal subjects and making it look like inner turmoil, rather than an
outside influence.
I
had better see what it is before I try to destroy it.
Hirata
strode to his bed and snatched up the package. He tore off the wrapping and his
breath caught in his throat. The cloth fell away to reveal an elaborate wooden
carving of a samurai on a horse.
Hirata
gaped at it, admiring its beauty and detail.
He turned it over and over in his hands.
Who
could have crafted something so exquisite? Or who could afford to buy something
so expensive?
A
samurai’s pay did not allow for such extravagant purchases so whoever bought it
must have sacrificed at least three month’s salary.
Noises
outside indicated men approaching. Hirata re-wrapped the figure in the cloth and
put it in his small chest with his other precious items. He had just slid the
chest under his bed when three of his friends appeared in the doorway.
"It
is time for the mid-day meal, Hirata-san,"
Kenji said, a burly samurai with thick beard and hair pulled into a knot on the
top of his head. "We must hurry or else it will all be eaten by the time
we get there."
"You
could certainly do without a meal or two," Hirata said with a laugh.
"Do
not be fooled," Kenji said with the gap-toothed grin, rubbing his belly.
"It is all muscle."
All
of them laughed as they left the barracks. Despite his outward appearance of
good humor, Hirata still wondered who had given him such an expensive gift. As
he walked toward the great hall for the mid-day meal, he glanced at the faces
of the servants, retainers, samurai and the rest of the daimyo’s subjects.
Could
it be one of them? None of them could afford such an item. And
certainly not one of Lord Takarada’s daughters, who were older than Hirata or
granddaughters who were too young, but they were only ones who had that kind of
wealth.
As
they approached the hall, movement on the roof covering the border fence caught
Hirata’s eye. The sentries and archers stationed in lookout towers were
changing shifts, replacing the men who had been up there since midnight. One of
the archers glanced in his direction as he approached the ladder, and their
eyes met for an instant. Even with a broad hat shading the man’s face, Hirata
caught his gaze for a second. An
unspoken message passed between them. The archer turned to descend.
Matsuda?
