Reclaimed – Prologue

Pushing his cards lightly against his shirt, Jiro concentrates on Kentaro. Kentaro’s mouth twitches, his eyes moving between each person at the table. Arata is locked in place, no movement, barely breathing. He possesses the kind of the stamina prized by ninjas, a worthy opponent in poker. It’s a good thing they’re friends otherwise.

Jiro’s eyes slide to Sakai. Sakai shuffles the cards in his hand, moving them from one end to the other. His hair is swept with gray now, the last few months aging him decades. He places two cards on the table, face down, snapping them. Koga deals him two new cards. Jiro knocks. His hand is already good enough to blow everyone away.

Laughter trickles in from the other room, the sweet smell of cake wafting towards Jiro’s nose. The rest of the Odas are talking quietly out of sight, but Namika Oda, her short wild and bleached white hair fallen over her eyes, sets down one card before sipping on saké. Her face gives no impression of what the new card did to her hand. A master poker player. Kentaro places three cards down, Koga deals him replacements, and he sighs.

“Fold. Again,” Kentaro says, throwing his cards in front of him.

“Pussy,” Namika whispers.

“Fuck off.”

Jiro tries not to smile. Those two have been at each other’s throats for weeks now.

Another round of bidding proceeds. Sakai tosses into the pot a handcrafted buddha charm. Who knows where he picked that up along the way. Arata stares steadily at Jiro, and Jiro holds his glare, not blinking. Arata blinks first and places a paper on top that reads, ‘My second kit.’ Jiro begins to sweat before withdrawing his favorite knife from his belt, the knife that Sanaa used to defend herself in the theater. He never thought he’d get it back, but the knife was Sakai’s birthday present to him before they left Earth. He keeps it hidden from Sanaa. No need to remind her of all she’s done to stay safe. Namika places a giant bag of cake on top of everything else. Jiro’s mouth waters, the pot too good to lose.

“Let’s see ‘em, guys.” Koga sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. As dealer for this round, his job is done.

The cards hit the table, and Jiro’s mind blanks looking at them.

Sakai has three-of-a-kind Jacks.

Arata has two pairs, Queens and tens.

Jiro has four-of-a-kind nines.

“Fuck!” Namika throws her cards on the table — full house, aces and eights. “I should have won that! You all suck.” She jumps up, tipping over her chair, and storms out of the room, her silk scarf blowing behind her with the force of her exit. Kentaro shakes his head at her.

Arata laughs, his chuckling growing from his belly and bursting through his beard. “We might need to ban her from playing.”

“Women are not allowed to play poker in my village for just this reason.” Koga pulls a knife from his belt and uses it to pick at the dirt under his nails.

Jiro’s hand shakes as he collects the pot, money from the first round of betting, and all the goodies that came after. He exhales a slow breath and chants a silent prayer. Thank the gods. He didn’t want to lose the knife, and he was desperate for Arata’s second kit, a gift for Sanaa. Arata’s archery lessons are going well, and Jiro enjoys watching Sanaa practice. The bow is bigger than she is, and when she draws her arm back and concentrates on the target, her mouth puckers, her eyes squint, and Jiro’s heart somersaults in his chest. Maybe someday she’ll actually hit the target twice in a row, instead of once every dozen shots. All the Oda kids love to retrieve her arrows though, so no one complains about her accuracy.

Arata leans across the table as he stands up. “I wanted to give it to her anyway.”

Jiro nods as he drops his winnings in his bag. The cake will come in handy — good for bribes and it helps turn off Sanaa’s head when she can’t sleep.

Kentaro clasps him on the shoulder. “Good game. You’ve gotten better.”

“Thanks,” Jiro whispers, as Sakai and Arata exit the game room to the outdoor porch. “I needed this win. I needed this pot.”

“No you didn’t.” Kentaro laughs. “Sanaa just smiles, and she gets whatever she wants.”

Jiro shakes his head. “She would never do it. She’d rather go without than ask anybody for anything. It’s already too much for her.”

“You’re probably right about that.”

Walking barefooted, spreading out the width of his feet with each step along the outdoor hallway to their bedroom, Jiro pauses for a moment to let the treehouse sway in the wind. Something light tickles his neck, and he turns to see a giant moth fly by his head. Kentaro ducks out of the way as it flutters past him.

“See you in the morning.” Kentaro waves, as he passes Jiro at the door.

“Night,” he whispers back. Jiro loves the moment he sneaks into bed with Sanaa. She’s usually curled into a ball on her side, Kumo settled into the back of her legs, and two or three cats asleep around her. Someday, she’ll be asleep with their baby too — peaceful, their breaths synchronized. Someday.

Sliding the door open and brushing the bug netting over the entryway to the side, he sets his bag of winnings down, flicks on the small night light, and the bed is empty. Shit. Both swords are by the door and Kumo is absent as well. Jiro grabs Oninoten and places it over his shoulder, ducking back outside.

“Kentaro!” he calls, and Kentaro pokes his head out of the next door. “She’s not here.”

“What do you mean, she’s not here?”

“Exactly what I just said. Sanaa’s not in bed.” She went to sleep early after a dinner she barely ate. She said, “If I can just get some rest, maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow,” which is what she says every night, and every day she wakes up exhausted.

Jiro and Kentaro run to the head of the house as light-footed as they can. Birds asleep for the night squawk and take off from the balusters surrounding the main rooms of the treehouse. They round the game room and burst onto the outside deck. Arata and Sakai sit in lounge chairs facing the forest.

“Sanaa’s gone. She’s not in bed.” Jiro points left, and Kentaro circles around to the kitchen.

“Are you sure she’s not just in the bathroom?” Sakai asks.

“Kumo is gone, too. He always waits for her by the door if she’s in the bathroom.” Jiro pushes his hair back from his sweaty forehead and scans the porch.

“Not in the kitchen,” Kentaro says.

“What’s the commotion?” Rai Oda asks, entering the porch from the lounge where he spent the evening.

“Jiro!” Namika’s high-pitched voice calls from the other side of the house facing the prairie. Everyone scrambles at the same time to fit down the narrow walkway between the two wings of treehouse, but Jiro edges through first.

Namika, her hair glowing in the bright moonlight, points out at the sea of green grass, the long tendrils swaying in the wind. Kumo whines and sniffs at the border, running back and forth, two meters to the left and right again. He jumps high into the air, and Jiro follows the dog’s line of sight out to the prairie.

Sanaa, dressed only in her pajamas, walks steadily away from the treehouse, her arms by her side, her face pointed straight ahead.

“Sanaa!” Jiro calls. She doesn’t flinch.

“What is she doing?” Namika huffs.

Everyone else pushes past Namika and comes to the retractable stairwell. “Come on, come on,” Jiro urges, as Arata and Sakai twist the wheel, to lower the stairs.

An Oda guard gestures to them. “Oi. I just brought them back up!”

Jiro shakes his head as he vaults down to the cut grass below. If the stairs had been retracted at dusk, Sanaa would not be down here!

He sprints with Kentaro into the grass, past Kumo barking at their heels.

“Are you crazy?” Namika calls from the balcony. “Sanaa!” she shouts.

Grass whispers around Jiro and Kentaro as they scan around them for Sanaa’s whereabouts.

“She’s in front of you! Twenty meters. One o’clock.” Namika stretches her arm in front of her.

The tall grass whips around Jiro’s arms and legs, snapping at his exposed skin and drawing blood. The cuts sting but he pushes on, hoping to get to her in time.

Sanaa’s shadowy figure dissolves out of the swaying grass, and Jiro’s hand snaps out and clasps her on the shoulder.

“Sanaa! What…” She turns to him, and her eyes are vacant. She blinks a few times; her face remains dazed.

“They’re ready to fight,” she mumbles, and Jiro shivers, a tidal wave of dread drowning him.

Kentaro waves his hand in front of Sanaa’s face, and she doesn’t blink or move. “She’s… she’s sleepwalking?”

“She sounds asleep.” Jiro shakes the sweat out of his hair. Her voice is like when she talks in her sleep. Sleepwalking would explain why she’s been so tired. Perhaps she’s even walked right past him in the middle of the night.

She smacks her lips and touches them. Blood clings to her finger tips and smears along her cheek. Red blotches cover her cheeks and neck.

The grass to their left rustles. Jiro and Kentaro startle as a large, lethal jungle cat slinks through the path around them. The cat, dark, golden yellow, purrs and circles Sanaa. She lifts her hand from the side of her body and lets the lion rub against her hip. Jiro slowly draws Oninoten, and Kentaro reaches for Sanaa’s other hand.

“Come back inside, Sanaa,” he pleads.

“They’re ready to fight,” she repeats. The cat sits back on its haunches. “This one … lost daughter … merchant. That one … court. They all lost.”

Jiro steps forward to take her hand. “What did you say, love?”

The grass whispers again and three more cats circle them. Jiro’s underarms begin to sweat, the tidal wave of dread is sucking him back out to sea. Sanaa loves the cats of the Nogusa-hara. If he had to kill them to save her, she would be so upset, but they purr and sit down, staring at both Jiro and Kentaro.

“This is creepy,” Kentaro mumbles.

“This is madness,” Jiro says, unable to contain a giddy laugh. What has Sanaa done now?

“This is our army,” she responds before closing her eyes, falling to her knees, and lying down to sleep in the grass.