Someone who wanted to stay hidden.
The moon appeared from behind the cloud, and her enemy kept its back to it, silhouetted, the bright pallor shining into Jet’s eyes as wind poured against the mountain with incredible force. Jet tried to use it, circling, feeling the pulse of the stone beneath her feet. But even as she twisted and leapt, the figure hardly seemed to move and yet avoided every strike, simply shifting slightly or again deflecting Jet’s knife.
Jet never stopped, attacking repeatedly as she swirled close to the silhouetted figure. She timed her kicks and circled, trying to get the moonlight out of her eyes. She focused her strength and energy, but her fists and feet and knife passed as if through the wind.
All the while Jet was trying to sense the fighter’s energy, at once masked and hostile, burning with a deep core of anger. But her enemy didn’t act on this rage, didn’t give in to impatience. It easily avoided every strike. All of the tricks Jet’s mother had taught her, to dodge and fall back and attack, to follow the wind, letting herself retreat or stumble even as she struck—nothing worked.
Another small cloud passed between the moon and the mountain, and even as Jet began to formulate a strategy, she realized her mistake. She should have planned already, for the split second when the moonlight would vanish. Her enemy had done this.
As Jet was leaping to the side, trying to stay with the wind, a foot struck her stomach, suspending her in the air as if she’d been pinned there. And then she was falling, trying to find the earth with her feet, even as she couldn’t breathe.
A hand caught the back of her head, gripping her hair through the black cloth. Her enemy jerked her head back and put the knife to her throat.
The wind suddenly died. The cloud passed from before the moon. The desolate landscape of the desert mountains stretched out like a vision of another world. Was this the last thing Jet would see?
“You’ve been lazy,” the enemy hissed. “You’ve never wanted to learn.”
Jet tried to pull away, but the blade stayed at her throat. The fist held her hair.
“What good are you to me? Tell me that!”
This time she heard the voice clearly: it was her mother’s.
“Mom?!” Jet cried out in shock. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
Then her mother’s lips were close to Jet’s ear. There was a long silence. “I’ve trained you since you were old enough to walk, and all you think about is parties and clothes. Millions of kids go to parties and wear nice clothes. Only one or two people in the world get to learn what I’ve taught you. You still don’t understand, do you?” She sheathed the knife and unwrapped her face.
Jet had begun to cry, shaking not just with fear and hurt, but with anger.
“You almost killed me! You could have–” she seethed.
“Jet,” her mother took a step closer, but her knees buckled. Jet caught her mother’s arm and held her up.
“This,” her mother whispered, “really was the last time. I had to make you see. I didn’t have the energy left, but I had to. I had to try to make you see.”
“See what? What’s wrong, Mom? Tell me. Tell me!”
“If you meet the dark leader, you must not be swayed. You mustn’t be weak, like I was,” Satoko said. “You must be strong.”
“What dark leader?” Fear rose in the pit of Jet’s stomach. “What do you mean, Mom?”
“Help me to the truck,” her mother’s voice came out, barely a whisper now.
Jet held her mother’s arm as they walked toward the edge of the slope. Her mother leaned against her, gasping now, heavier than anything Jet had ever felt.
“What happened to you …?” Jet began to ask, recalling the warrior she had just fought, the figure shifting almost imperceptibly in the wind.
Her mother couldn’t answer.
The walk down the mountain took an hour, Satoko leaning heavily against Jet with labored breath, her body exhausted in the night from which the wind had fled.
There were so many questions Jet longed to ask, so many her mother would never answer.
CHAPTER 2
物語り Monogatari
The Story
Back at the trailer, Jet helped her mother to bed, then bound her own ankle. Returning to her mother’s side, Jet was surprised to see Satoko sitting up in bed, patching a hole in her jeans with a pink flower.
She looked so gentle, sewing quietly in the dark. Not like the woman on the mountain. Not like a threat.
Satoko guided the thread through her mouth to knot it, finishing her work. She folded the jeans and laid them next to her. Then she slid down in the bed, pale and spent.
“Get some rest,” Jet said softly, pulling the blankets up to her mother’s chin. Satoko sank beneath them, reaching out trembling fingers to take her daughter’s hand.
“Wait. Tell me the story,” she pleaded, gripping Jet tightly. Her ice cold skin sent a shiver up Jet’s spine. Jet took a breath and stilled her thoughts, letting the stories her mother had told her come back from distant memory.
“Long ago, there was a country called ‘Hinomoto.’ It means ‘land of the rising sun.’ It was once governed by the Emishi, a native tribe. Their mountains and forests gave plenty of nuts, greens, and animals to live by, and their oceans and rivers gave them fish. Nature gave them so much wealth, they didn’t have to fight.”
Satoko’s eyes narrowed. She nodded, urging Jet to continue.
“One day, a tribe called the Wa arrived from the mainland. They had many soldiers, and even more powerful weapons. Their king, who called himself the Mikado, said to the Emishi leader: ‘You should give your country to me. I will change the forest into rice fields and build beautiful shrines. I promise you a much richer life than now.’”
At this, Satoko’s jaw stiffened. In the dark, Jet couldn’t see her mother’s expression clearly, but she sensed her sadness. Her mother’s inconsolable sadness was the only thing that helped Jet endure. She wanted to lift it, to make it disappear.
Jet sighed and continued. “The Emishi king replied: ‘We don’t need more wealth, and for us there is no greater shrine than nature. If you want to live on this land, we’ll welcome you. But you must keep our laws. If you don’t, then leave.’
“Well! No one had ever talked to the Mikado like that before!” Jet exclaimed, relieved to see the pleasure lightening her mother’s tired face. “Everyone had surrendered to him for the promise of power and wealth. Enraged, the Mikado attacked the Emishi, who were quickly outnumbered.”
“Go on,” Satoko instructed.
Jet, too, was exhausted and shaken. In childhood, when she couldn’t sleep, her mother had sat on the edge of her bed, spinning her tales. When her mother had spoken
