Side Story #4: Kohaku's Ranch (Female Version) (Patreon)

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Side Story 4: Kohaku’s Ranch (Female Version)

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■■ Western Hyuga ■■

It was high noon on the prairie, with the heat of the summer sun slowing life to a crawl. All life save for a lone samurai and her steed—the latter of which galloped atop the dusty roads like thunder. Kohaku and Tatsuya had traveled from one end of Hyuga to the other, from east to west, from Shima to the place they once called home.

“How long has it been, Tatsu-kun?” the samurai whispered to her horse. “The Westlands...these plains are just as I remember. Keep up the pace a bit longer, now. I hope to be at Mother’s side before her passing.”

Kohaku’s mother was the matriarch of not just her family, but of the entire Nanbu clan. Or at least what remained of it. The Golden Era of Samurai had not ended well for the families on the western frontier, who had faced enemies of every color and under every flag. Were it not for the gallant forces out of Shima led by General Shatao, a once-rival of her father, there would be no home to return to.

“And for that I swear to uphold my service to you, Lord Shatao.” Kohaku re-affirmed her oath, the same oath her father and uncles had taken. Their loyalty was the least they could offer, yet it wasn’t always easy for the frontiersmen to keep away from home. Trouble in the Westlands was more common than a tumbleweed. 

“Woah now,” Kohaku pulled up on the reins to slow Tatsuya down. There was a mare ahead—a pale-coated Nanbu breed, grazing just off the side of the road. It didn’t look the least bit wild, with its saddle and stirrups on, which meant someone must have misplaced it.

Kohaku gave a look of disapproval from inside her helmet. Not towards the horse but the rancher she belonged to. If you were taking off to a watering hole, the least you could do was to find a tree to hitch her to. “Any odd snake in the grass or swooping falcon would send her a-running, sure as sunshine.”

The samurai scowled once more, this time at herself for thinking in the local dialect. Kohaku was all too aware of how ranchers spoke in a certain tongue, using language the rest of Hyuga deemed uncivilized. It was a negative stereotype that some ranchers embodied more than others.

“Well now ain’t this just a bag of nails! Here I am, a-sittin’ in ambush—layin’ in wait and all—and I finds me a sam’rai, suit and all!” Out of some nearby shrubbery came a short and stubby man with a curly moustache, who sported the typical rancher fashion: a farmer’s hat made of straw and a rancher’s coat made of cotton.

The coat was western Hyuga’s interpretation of the haori: it was more a blanket than a coat, with a hole through the middle to fit your head through. They were made of exceptionally light cloth, better to shade you from the sun than to keep you warm. His was dyed blue and decorated with white designs that were all too familiar to Kohaku.

“It’s been a long time, Deputy Susumu.” Kohaku spoke and detached her helmet, freeing her sweaty face from its confines. “I trust you are as well as always?”

“Well I’ll be darn-diddly damned! If it ain’t Koha-chan! You’re looking mighty, well, mighty all caged up in that there iron, yessiree.” Susumu looked the samurai over from top to bottom, whistling all the while. “Yep, spittin’ image of your father! Oh and keep a mind—I’m the sheriff around these parts now, you hear?”

Susumu pointed to his necklace, evidence of his office. The medallion was a wado: a centuries old coin used well before ryō. It had a hole in the center where the string went through, and was made from copper which had long-since turned green. The Westlands had been slow to adopt the ryō, so you were certain to find a few of those relics here and there.

“That’s...great,” Kohaku replied in a flat tone. That a buffoon like Susumu was in charge of enforcing law in the Westlands brought little comfort to the homecoming samurai. After the last era, the frontier clans agreed upon an independent system of law enforcement. It was crude and still a work in progress, as evidenced by the rancher who had trouble getting atop his horse.

After several attempts the rancher finally mounted it. “Ornery one, ain’t she? Should’ve seen her when she was in heat, couple of months back. Hot and bothered is one thing, but trying break through my new fence is quite another!”

“She’s thirsty,” Kohaku replied, pinching the skin between the mare’s shoulders to confirm. It drooped back slowly after she released her fingers, confirming the samurai’s suspicions. “Get her some water when you can. And you’re lucky she didn’t buck you off—you mounted her from the right.”

“Gosh darnit, did I really? Well mud my face and send me a hollerin’, you’d think I was one of them savages!” Sheriff Susumu was referring to Kondos, namely the Kondos Who Don’t Bow, a group of free and wild folk who Hyugans had driven to the inhospitable Westland deserts. It was the responsibility of the frontiersmen to keep them there.

Kohaku was in a hurry, yet her curiosity made her linger a little longer. “There a reason you were hiding in a bush, Sheriff?”

Susumu let out an exaggerated sigh. “Word’s bound to reach your ears sooner or later. Got us a horse thief about, and here’in I was layin’ in wait. Sittin’ two hours on your bum in this sun—heck if it ain’t melted right off!”

“Oh, and er,” the sheriff continued, “mighty sorry about missing your party.”

“Come again?” Kohaku asked, tightening the grip on her horse’s reins.

Susumu took off his hat, a gesture ranchers used for both greetings and apologies. In this case it was the latter. “A birthday comes but once a year, and twenty-and-five’s a nice even number, far as I figure. Wish I could make it, really I do.”

Kohaku sat frozen still beneath the summer sun. The realization had hit her all at once: the letter of her mother’s illness, the urgency in it, and how her arrival oddly correlated with her own birthday. This was no mere coincidence.

“Giddy up, Tatsuya!” Kohaku commanded her steed. “If you’re not dying, Mother, you’ll soon wish you were!”

■■■■

Lady Nanbu wasn’t on her deathbed when her daughter arrived that late afternoon. She was at the races, or rather, out on the race track inspecting the horses. Their family estate was quite large and—by Westlander standards—quite luxurious, hosting the finest and perhaps only racetrack in Hyuga.

It was certainly the only track of land so meticulously paved and maintained. While Kohaku’s father had bred horses for war, her mother bred them for sport. It was little wonder that combined, Nanbu steeds were the finest in the land.

The lady herself was of a short and skinny build, a natural jockey for racing. Kohaku didn’t inherent her stature, instead favoring her father’s features. Few women would find it complementary to be tall and broad-shouldered, though few women were so determined to follow in their father’s footsteps as Kohaku was.

“Who’s that over there, dusting up my track? You’ll dirty up the lines we just put in!” Lady Nanbu yelled out at figure galloping towards her. She didn’t know who it was, but the picture drew clearer the closer the samurai came. Lady Nanbu was growing nearsighted in her old age, yet no amount of cataracts could hide her long-lost daughter from her.

“Goodness me, it’s you! My little Koha-chan has returned!” The old lady fell to her knees and prayed, as if Kohaku had been sent to her by some higher power. The reality behind the samurai’s return was a bit less holy.

“Odd. You don’t appear to be at the verge of death to me, Mother.” Kohaku pulled out a letter from her sash and ripped it to pieces. “I don’t appreciate being lied to! I travelled across the entire country, abandoned my liege lord—and for what? A birthday party?!”

The samurai’s yell echoed across the quiet track, startling the horses and her mother most of all. Lady Nanbu gasped and tumbled backwards, clutching her heart as if it would burst. “Now I know you’re mad as a hornet—every right to be, but a mother’s got a right to see her girl! Come on down and give this ole gal a hug.”

Kohaku was determined to pout for a while longer, and had even entertained the idea of turning around, but in the end she dropped from her saddle and into her mother’s embrace. There was a saying that you couldn’t stay mad at the woman who birthed you, though the two hadn’t departed on the best of terms.

“The way you up and left me, up and takin’ your daddy’s sword, headin’ off to who-knows-where, why...I thought I’d never see you again, my little Koha-chan!” Lady Nanbu weeped, “This old widow can’t run the ranch by herself anymore. Not a rancher alive who takes to horses like you do. So why don’t you hunker down and take off that outfit?”

“This outfit is a gusoku, Mother!” Kohaku yelled, pounding her gauntleted fist into her chestpiece. “It’s what Father wore into battle. I do so as well with great pride. But you never understood that—you never even tried!”

Kohaku felt as if she had become a teenager again, when she had spent most of her time lashing out at her mother or mourning her deceased father. Most of her frustrations she vented out through rigorous training, but this prairie dug up angers long-buried.

Lady Nanbu’s back straightened and the rest of her features grew more rigid; her voice had become stern, sounding every bit like the leader of one of the Golden Era’s great clans. “You’re not between the hay and grass anymore, Koha-chan. You’re a woman now—not the rascal who left home with nothing but her knapsack and father’s sword.”

“Hate me to your heart’s content,” she continued, “but you can never hate the Westlands. These are the fields my husband settled. I was at his side as he grew and civilized these untamed wilds. We are the heart of the frontier. Make no mistake: he would’ve wanted you here, Kohaku.”

As a samurai, it wasn’t only her gender that Kohaku tried so hard to hide. She had also tried to mask the Westlander in her, the rancher who longed to ride on the golden plains. She was ashamed—of the dialect, the traditions, even the blankets they wore over their heads. It was uncivilized and crass, lacking the glory and honor true samurai had. And yet it was part of who she was.

“I wish Father was here to tell me what he wanted,” Kohaku said with a dejected sigh. “But he isn’t. So I’ll stay—but only for a week. You hear?”

Lady Nanbu jumped with joy, and soon had all the farmhands doing the same. Kohaku shook her head, and spoke to the only friend she had. “What sort of trouble have we gotten ourselves into this time, Tatsu-kun?”

■■■■

Trouble looked like a silk kimono with ridiculous, hanging sleeves that nearly touched the ground. It was green—Kohaku’s favorite color—and decorated with butterflies and flowers down the legs and arms. Overall it was a tad short for her, and the chest was a bit tight, but otherwise it was a perfect fit for the girl who had left the Westlands all those years ago.

She couldn’t help but wonder how long her mother had stored this away, or how expensive it must’ve been to find silk this far west. This was Kohaku’s first time wearing silk though she was too embarrassed to enjoy it; she felt naked without her heavy armor weighing her down. Just walking felt weird to the woman accustomed to being encased in iron.

“Prettier than a peach! Sight alone made the journey worth it,” said a man who took off his hat and bowed. He introduced himself and carried on with the festivities. Kohaku’s birthday party had begun the day after she arrived, and every ranch within seeing distance and beyond had hurried over for a hoedown.

Kohaku didn’t have experience playing the role of a hostess—especially considering she was the outsider here. She recognized most faces and recalled more than half of their names, yet everyone seemed so different. Most of the girls around her age had children clinging to their legs or babies held in their arms. Most of the men had large guts, wore mustaches and smoked tobacco.

“A stranger in my own home,” the samurai sighed aloud. Though she was constantly approached and greeted by guests, she couldn’t help but feel lonely. More lonely than she ever felt in General Shatao’s army, marching and drilling and learning the way of the sword.

“All by yourself? Now that won’t do at all,” said a man with a white mane of hair. His name was Etsuji, whose hair used to make him look older than he was. But now it seemed to fit the aging doctor quite well. “How have you been keepin’ on, Koha-chan? Not getting into too many fights over there in Shima, I hope!”

“Just a few,” Kohaku smiled. “Practice duels mostly. But you’d be surprised what sort of welts you can get from a wooden katana. Some men don’t know how to hold back.”

Etsuji’s stare fell down to the samurai’s hands, one of which he grabbed and looked over. “Clipped nails and calluses a-plenty. Now I know you’ve got too much of Lord Nanbu in you to fuss over bumps and bruises, but…” the doctor shook his head. “You’re a woman, still. Body ain’t made to take a beating fer as long as it has. Might be you oughta consider—”

“Thank you for your concern, Doctor,” Kohaku said curtly and bowed just the same. “But if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the other guests.”

The samurai forced herself into a group of acquaintances who were giggling and having a good ole time. These women welcomed her as one of their own, and unlike the doctor they didn’t worry over her gender and occupation.

“Quiet up that gossip gals, we’ve got ourselves a sam’rai in our midst! Just lovely havin’ you back, Koha-chan. And that kimono looks absolutely delightful.” The ladies all giggled and nodded. One held a baby who was sleeping while the other was nursing hers. The remaining ladies were in various stages of pregnancy. What made matters even worse was that Kohaku was among the oldest in the group.

“I see you’ve all settled in,” Kohaku said with a smile. “Maho-chan, how’s the horse racing? You still the best in the west?”

A woman who Kohaku once knew like a younger sister smiled and shook her head. She pointed to her stomach, or just below. “Can’t be racin’ when I’m expecting, you see. Asides, hubby don’t think I oughta spend hours on the track. Lots of work around the house an all, you see.”

Kohaku didn’t have a reply to give her. She didn’t know whether to give a fake smile or an honest frown, and so she kept her face blank.

“Speaking of hubbies, looks like you’ve got quite the lot to pick from, Koha-chan! Just look at them fellers over there—I know you’ve seen their glances. Heck if I’m not gettin’ jealous, spirits forgive!”

True enough, there were a group of fellers—several groups, actually—eying Kohaku while trying not to look too obvious about it. But Westlander men weren’t known for their subtlety, and when they weren’t drinking from a shared bottle they were winking over in her direction.

“Well don’t leave them waitin’, now!” A rancher’s wife pushed Kohaku off in their direction. Actually it took several of them to budge the samurai from her spot. “Oh and ‘uh, stay clear of them Oshiro brothers. Neither of ‘em right in the head, spirits bless ‘em.”

Kohaku forced herself right past the group of suitors who attempted to chat with her. She was angry that it had taken her this long notice how much the men outnumbered the ladies, and how most of those men just so happened to be unmarried and in the market to settle down. This wasn’t a birthday party at all.

One of the ranchers—a particularly drunk one, grabbed at her lengthy sleeve and tugged her close. Without hesitation, Kohaku turned around and whipped out a powerful slap against the man’s face, except she used a fist instead of an open palm. The punch sent the man rolling and sent the guests into silence.

“Enjoy the party,” the samurai ordered before making her exit. It took everything in her not to run, not to flee the scene and the Westlands entirely. Right now Kohaku needed a friend, and there was only one of those around.

Of course, that friend was a horse. Tatsuya was in the stables—were a disgruntled Kohaku was headed next. She was done pretending to be a hostess, and if Tatsu-kun was up to it, a night stroll on the trails might be just what she needed.

The stables were packed with all manner of stallions, mares and mules from the guests. While the building itself was perhaps the most impressive on the estate, Kohaku still worried if Tatsuya had enough room. It wasn’t that the warhorse was the private type, but he had trouble getting comfortable around strangers.

“In that regard we’re just the same, aren’t we?”

The stables weren’t manned, which seemed odd. It was nowhere late enough to retire for the evening, yet there wasn’t a single light to be seen from inside. As Kohaku approached, she gripped her hands around the katana that wasn’t there. Cursing silently, she peeked into the darkness to see what was amiss.

Scurrying about from inside was a tall figure who looked shady, though in the darkness anyone would be. Not being the sneaky type, Kohaku marched in and addressed the stranger head-on.

“Show yourself! What are you doing, lurking about?”

The figure jumped out of surprise, hopped on a horse then galloped right through the stables, right in Kohaku’s direction. The movement spooked the horses, and it certainly didn’t help when the rider started screaming out in a Kondo cry.

“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiyeh! Aiiiii!” He roared right past Kohaku, who had to jump to get out of the way. The savage was a good rider and had a good eye for horses—that mare he was riding was one of Lady Nanbu’s finest. Kohaku hurried in to find Tatsuya, only to find him and the rest of the faster horses double-hitched with ropes tied in knots.

By the time she undid them to give chase, the horse-thief was long gone.

“Kuso! I’m too late!” Kohaku scolded herself. She wasn’t even certain she could’ve stopped him, not without her katana by her side. And without her armor she never felt more vulnerable and weak. “Have I changed at all, Tatsu? Am I really a samurai, or am I just a girl playing pretend?”

Tatsuya nuzzled his snout against his owner and pawed against the ground, letting out a soft sigh as he did so. At least one of them was in a good mood. Kohaku would’ve been fine to stay that way but a flicker of something metallic drew her attention to the ground.

“Did the Kondo drop this?” she asked aloud, bending over and bringing it to the light. It was a copper coin with a hole through it, a wado just like the one she had seen from before.

Rubbing it between her fingers, the samurai grinned. “Tatsuya. What say we catch ourselves a horse thief before heading back east?”