The Book of the Sword Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Simon Pulse edition June 2003

  Text copyright © 2003 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

  Interior illustrations copyright © 2002 Annabelle Verhoye

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  Produced by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy company

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  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  For information address 17th Street Productions, 151 West 26th Street, New York, NY 10001.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2003101549

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-0371-4

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-0371-2

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  Los Angeles Times

  International Section, May 3, 1984

  Incredibly, a six-month-old baby girl has been pulled from the fiery wreckage of Japan Airlines flight 999. Japanese investigators are looking for any clues that might lead to the miracle baby’s identity or the whereabouts of her relatives. At press time no one had stepped forward to claim the young girl….

  Los Angeles Times

  International Section, June 27, 1984

  Tokyo police have given up the search for relatives of the lone survivor of the crash of Japan Airlines flight 999, which left 176 passengers dead two months ago. The eight-month-old baby girl, named “Heaven” by the American press for her amazing fall from the sky, is being kept in an undisclosed location….

  Los Angeles Times

  International Section, September 6, 1984

  Following a four-month-long custody battle, Heaven, the only survivor of doomed Japan Airlines flight 999, has been officially adopted by the Kogo family of Tokyo. The decision comes after much conflict, arising from over three hundred requests for adoption of the girl, who is considered “lucky” by many throughout Japan due to her miraculous survival. Konishi Kogo, CEO of the Japanese industrial giant Kogo Industries, may have used his clout with government officials to adopt the girl, whose parents are believed to have died in the crash….

  Tokyo

  Daily

  News

  May 3, 2003

  “We Hear…”

  It’s official: Heaven Kogo, the adopted nineteen-year-old daughter of business bigwig Konishi Kogo, will marry suave playboy Teddy Yukemura, son of Yoji Yukemura, in a lavish ceremony before the year is out. The often public feuding between the Kogo and Yukemura business empires makes this marriage even more of a shocker. Who knew that little Heaven Kogo, Japan’s “good-luck girl,” had given her heart to one of Tokyo’s most eligible bachelors? But with Teddy’s money and status, passel of bright young friends, and (so they say) burgeoning business sense, maybe we should have seen it all along. One thing’s for sure—this gorgeous heiress will be well taken care of in her new home. We promise to keep you updated on the details of the wedding as they emerge…. Shhh….

  Heaven, you have no idea how much I miss you. I even miss your stinky feet and sneaking into those stupid American chick flicks with you and Katie. The hardest thing I ever had to do was to leave you behind when my father, our father, threw me out. What are you thinking right now, on your wedding day? Does Los Angeles remind you of the plans we had, how we were going to move away to America and escape the hard business of being the Kogo heirs?

  Nobody realizes better than I how hard you worked to please Konishi and how you loved our father in spite of his strictness and his demands that you become the perfect samurai daughter. Or how you suffered so long because my mother could not or would not love you, her adopted girl, Japan’s own miracle daughter. (I see you wrinkling up your nose. Let me say it again—miracle daughter, our own special treasure from the sky.) I am sure Mieko will not be a comfort to you now, Little Heaven, but you must forgive her. Think of what our mother has had to endure.

  I know if you could read this, you would find it hard to accept, but I left for your own good. There is something evil in the air; wicked forces are brewing. You never questioned why the Kogos are the richest, most feared family in Japan, and that’s a question all your studies of Japanese history won’t answer—but the questions need to start now, little sister. It’s time to grow up and open your eyes. Someone wants to hurt you, to hurt us. I can save you today, but who will take care of you tomorrow?

  Ohiko

  1

  My name is Heaven Kogo, and I died on my wedding day.

  I know that sounds strange. But it’s true.

  I don’t mean I died, died, with a funeral and a coffin and grieving relatives. I’m still alive and well—more or less. But something happened on my wedding day that changed everything that came afterward. I started to feel like my life had two distinct periods—Before Wedding and After Wedding. Sometimes I wish I was still trapped in Before.

  On the morning of October 31 the old Heaven Kogo stood in the foyer of the Beverly Wilshire hotel, dressed in wedding-day finery, a white kimono that had been in the Kogo family for generations. I’d been pretty sure my life was over ever since my father had announced I would be marrying the odious Teddy Yukemura as part of some “business decision” six months ago. The kimono was white, to symbolize both death and rebirth. Heaven Kogo was dying and being reborn as Mrs. Teddy Yukemura.

  I was ready to slit my throat.

  Being dead would be better than being reborn and married to Teddy. True, getting married and moving out of my father’s house meant a kind of freedom I had only dreamed about—I could read what I wanted, watch what I wanted, go to dance clubs and parties and other countries. Up until my wedding day I’d lived almost my entire life on my father’s compound outside Tokyo, with Konishi dictating where I could go and who I could see (usually, nowhere and no one). But I wouldn’t really be free—I’d be married to Teddy, one of the grossest and most arrogant guys I’d ever met.

  I’d only met Teddy a few months before, though I’d heard rumors about him since I was tiny. Like mine, Teddy’s father was an ultrapowerful businessman. Like me, Teddy had grown up seeing his name splashed over the gossip pages. Unlike me, I suspect Teddy sort of enjoyed it. Teddy was spoiled, greasy, thuggish. You only had to spend a few minutes with him to figure out that he was the kind of guy who used his father’s money and standing to get him anything he wanted—legal or not. He was a wanna-be gangster who dyed his hair a horrible lion yellow and had a cell phone permanently glued to his ear. Our few “get-to-know-you” dinners had left me with a horrible impression of him. He was a selfish, pleasure-loving party boy, and he never showed the slightest bit of interest in me. And before I realized that I couldn’t stop the wedding, that had been a relief. Yet in just a few hours I would be alone with Teddy in the bridal suite.

  Standing next to my father, waiting for the heavy ballroom doors to open so that I could walk down the aisle, I experienced one last spike of hope. I slid my hand into my obi, where I had tucked the hundred-dollar bill that I’d found in a bouquet of fat red roses in my dressing room. Yes, it was still there. The little piece of paper that might mean I didn’t have to marry Teddy. I snuck a fast peek at it, careful not to let Konishi see. The words were still there, too, written right on Benjamin Franklin’s face, in my brother, Ohiko’s, handwriting—Wait for me.

 
I wasn’t totally sure what Ohiko’s message meant. Six months ago he had been banished from our compound, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him even once in all that time. My brother was my favorite person in the world—warm, understanding, and strong. Like my father, he was trained in the samurai arts. Maybe that’s how Ohiko planned to save me. If my life was a movie, Ohiko would burst into the ballroom half a second before I became Mrs. Yukemura, hold Teddy off with his amazing swordplay skills, and whisk me to safety. Maybe that would happen. I was in Los Angeles, after all. Tinseltown. Wasn’t I entitled to a small share of movie magic?

  And this is the Beverly Wilshire, I reminded myself. This is where a powerful businessman fell in love with a hooker. Anything’s possible here. For a second I wondered if I could find a Julia Roberts–style prostitute for Teddy to marry instead. He’d definitely have more fun on the wedding night. An entirely inappropriate snort of laughter escaped my nose.

  “Heaven!” Konishi hissed suddenly. “Behave like the adult you will soon be!” I looked up at him, and he seemed to melt a few degrees.

  “You must remember, my daughter, that you are a bushi, a samurai woman, and a samurai woman must, like a man, put her duty above all else. Your duty, right now, is to behave in a fashion that reflects well on the Kogo family,” my father lectured. “Remember who is waiting behind those doors and consider that you must, above all, behave in a manner befitting your stature. I am very proud of the way you have conducted yourself in these last months. You have shown the true colors of your upbringing and done your duty with grace and graciousness.”

  Translation: I had done absolutely everything my father told me to do. I had been a good little girl. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore. Little girls don’t get married.

  “Teddy is a generous man. I promise you will want for nothing,” Konishi added.

  Sure, nothing except love. Nothing except freedom. Maybe Konishi didn’t think I deserved those things.

  I sighed, feeling a mixture of tenderness and fear as I looked up at his face. This was my father—my daddy, my hero, my protector. When I was growing up, he made me feel like the most special person in the world. He was way overprotective but kind—I really believed that he thought he was shielding me from all the dark things in the world. In his way he was protecting me even now, making sure I married a man with enough money to give me anything I needed. But didn’t he think I deserved to be loved? Didn’t he think I deserved someone better than Teddy?

  For a crazy moment I thought about saying no. I’d whip off my wooden sandals and run out the front door. Then I’d start a new life, a free life in America, away from Konishi and his crushing love and his horrible tests of loyalty.

  But in an instant I knew I just couldn’t. For one thing, I loved my father too much to humiliate him that way. And the truth was…my father frightened me.

  Konishi could be ruthless. After all, he had disowned Ohiko, his only son and the person I loved most. I wasn’t sure what had caused their falling-out, but my father ranted and raved about “family loyalty.” It was strange. Before that point I had never seen my father speak so harshly against a member of his own family. He could be cold sometimes and very strict, but I always thought that he was on our side—that it was me, Konishi, and Ohiko against the world.

  Right before that he had fired Katie, my English tutor, my source of American movies and my best girlfriend, for speaking out against my marriage. When he first told me that I would marry Teddy and I protested, Konishi’s face went cold. The father who loved me and called me his “good-luck girl” was totally gone. He told me if I didn’t go through with the wedding, he would disown me, too.

  I guess to Konishi, some things are more important than love.

  I couldn’t turn to my adoptive mother, Mieko. She would only see me as she always had: as some kind of insect, something mildly unpleasant that had to be dealt with. She would tell me to obey my father, just as she obeyed him. Always. I think Mieko would obey if my father asked her to cut off her head and serve it to him for dinner.

  But then, I was about to marry a greasy gangsta for him. So I guess there’s not that much difference between me and Mieko.

  “Are you listening to me, Heaven?” my father asked, his voice slicing through my thoughts like a knife.

  “Y-Yes, Father,” I stammered. My voice came out high and shaky, and it felt like I was still five years old, still learning to call him by that name, though I knew even then that I’d been adopted, that he wasn’t my real father. But no matter—I always tried to behave like the stupid, submissive girl he wanted me to be. Suddenly I almost hated him. I straightened my back. “But you shouldn’t call me a bushi,” I continued strongly. “Ohiko was the samurai in the family. In fact, there’s probably less samurai blood in me than in the lowliest kitchen servant in our house.”

  It was the worst thing I could say to him. And at that moment I loved saying it.

  His grasp on my arm tightened and I kept my eyes lowered, as I had the whole time I was talking. “You must never think that about yourself, Heaven! Never! You are a samurai woman. I have seen it in you.”

  I looked up in surprise. What did that mean? He had cleared his throat and leaned over, as if to whisper something to me, when suddenly the doors opened. In a single moment all my anger at my father disappeared and I wanted to hide under the carpet. This is it, I thought. I’m actually getting married. Where are you, Ohiko? Konishi glanced at me quickly and took one step into the ballroom. I watched him—so distinguished, so regal, already looking away from me and smiling grandly for all the assembled guests. I hesitated for a second, then stepped with him into the ballroom.

  For a moment I was dazzled by the spectacle of the ballroom itself. No expense had been spared. Instead of hanging a bouquet on the end of every row of seats, rosebushes in lacquered black pots climbed up trellises at intervals, creating a sort of canopy of flowers that my father and I now strolled under as the guests turned to smile and nod.

  I pasted a smile on my face and scanned the crowd. It was difficult to distinguish individual faces in the vast sea of people, but as we neared the front, I recognized my aunt Aki, my father’s sister, who I hadn’t seen in several years. She smiled at me and gave me a secret wave. I wiggled my finger slightly in return. A few rows in front of her sat Mieko, who gazed at me with cool detachment. She’d never shown any excitement at the news of my marriage or any kind of emotion, really. I figured she was probably happy to be rid of me.

  Next to Mieko sat a man I realized with surprise must be her brother, Masato. I had only ever seen him in photos since he had left to run my father’s business interests in Central America when I was still very young. He had the same sad eyes and high cheekbones as Mieko, but while Mieko looked defeated, Masato just looked tired. His eyes scrunched up as he looked at me, and he gave me a little smile as we passed. Where had my aunt and uncle been when I needed them? What was it about Konishi, or Mieko, that kept them away?

  I swept my eyes over the crowd one last time, longing to see Ohiko staring back at me. In a movie he would have been. I should have known better than to let myself hope. Not a single guest was there for me. Only for Konishi.

  I looked up as we walked beneath an immense skylight. I saw no stars—they were probably drowned out by the lights of Beverly Hills. I suddenly realized that when people stare up at the stars in movies about L.A., they’re faking. All I saw was a huge swatch of black. Nothingness. I shivered, then quickly moved my gaze to the altar.

  There was Teddy. The man who was about to become my husband. My father let go of my arm and faded away from me. Teddy’s hair was back to its natural black—probably on orders from his father—and slicked back with enough gel to kill a small animal. He, too, was dressed in traditional Japanese wedding clothes, and he looked uncharacteristically restrained. But his eyes were smug, as always. I decided not to look at him for the rest of the ceremony and turned my attention instead to the wizened old Shinto priest who was begi
nning to light another stick of incense so that he could give the blessing that would start the proceedings.

  This is not happening to me, I thought fervently.

  But my twisting stomach knew that it was. I was only minutes away from belonging to Teddy—belonging to him in the same way Mieko belonged to my father. And tonight I’d be lying in bed—okay, more than that, I’m not an idiot—with Teddy. I’d never even kissed a boy before, although I’d practiced in my mind with movie stars. I’d kissed flowers and door frames and my own hand trying to perfect my technique, and I knew I probably still didn’t have it right. But tonight…I stifled a gag. I couldn’t even think about kissing Teddy, and I certainly couldn’t imagine being naked with him. I’d barely eaten anything since morning, but the thought of seeing Teddy that way made me horribly nauseous.

  As the priest began chanting the blessing, I stared past him at what I realized, with a jolt, was the Home Goroshi—the Whisper of Death, the ceremonial katana, a long sword that had been in the Kogo family for generations. My father’s ancestors had used that very sword to kill the enemies of their masters back during the Warring States period, when a samurai’s responsibility was to protect and serve his master with total loyalty, whatever the price.

  How appropriate.

  The priest cleared his throat. He was holding out a cup of sake to my lips, and I flinched, stunned at how close we were to the end of the wedding. I forced myself to take a sip. The muscles of my throat clenched as the sake slid down it, and I was only able to concentrate on holding back tears. This was the last ritual of the ceremony. Teddy and I would each drink from the sake cup three times, there would be a final blessing, and then it would be over. I would be Mrs. Teddy Yukemura. Teddy grinned and took a swig. I waited as long as I could and then drank again.