Chapter One
1577, Western Japan
“Kiyoshi-kun!” Sakurai lifted the bushel of rice, grunting under the weight. He steadied the heavy basket with one hand, wincing a little as the coarse weaving scratched the bare skin on his shoulder. The humid heat of summer made even the use of a light kosode unbearable and he trudged towards the house in nothing but the loincloth-like fundoshi wrapped around his waist.
He called for his friend again, scanning the field for any sign of him.
“Kiyoshi!” Of course, there was no reply. Kiyoshi rarely ever raised his voice, not even as a child.
Sakurai sighed as he came up to the flat open area behind the one room house they shared. As with the rest of their small village, the harsh times of the past few years had taken its toll on the wooden structure.
Heavy rains and harsh winters beat at the old house each year so the holes in the thatched roof were many and the walls groaned like an old man in pain whenever leaned on too roughly. He dropped the bushel of rice next to the side of the house and mopped his sweat-covered brow.
Kiyoshi was probably inside and feeling unwell again.
If he was sick, if he lost him too… No. Sakurai refused to think that way. There’d been too much sickness and death in their province for too many years. His best friend, closer to him than any natural brother could be, was fine. He was simply having one of his “spells”. That was all.
-5-
Barbara Sheridan and Anne Cain
“ Otouto-chan .” Sakurai stood in the doorway, blinking until his eyes adjusted from the late afternoon sunlight to the dimness of the house. He kicked off his zori sandals as he stepped up to the narrow wooden porch off to the side of the entryway and moved across the worn tatami mat inside. Kiyoshi lay curled in a tight ball under the window, facing away from the view of the rice field outside. “Look at you.” Sakurai clicked his tongue and knelt beside Kiyoshi. He brushed the sweaty tangles of hair out of Kiyoshi’s pale face, who looked so much younger than his nineteen years.
“Sakurai-kun?” Kiyoshi’s eyes fluttered open. “I was supposed to help you today… I’m sorry—”
Sakurai touched a finger to the younger man’s lips to silence him.
“It’s all right,” he said, moving his fingers to caress Kiyoshi’s cheek. “It’s the heat—it doesn’t agree with you,” he said emphatically, trying to convince himself of the fact. The alternative was to believe his dear one was sick with the same illness that had killed Kiyoshi’s mother, all those months back.
Kiyoshi nodded and sat up slowly. Some of the color rushed back to his soft cheeks and Sakurai pulled the blanket away from Kiyoshi’s shoulders. “You know better than to bundle up this way on a day like today.”
He let the heavy cloth drop and ran his hands over Kiyoshi’s arms and shoulders. The short sleeve kosode was soaked with perspiration and Sakurai reached up to the collar, slowly parting the tunic. Kiyoshi shivered as a warm breeze blew through the room and over his skin.
Sakurai let the material fall and settle around his friend’s small waist. He frowned as he touched Kiyoshi’s neck.
“You’ll give yourself a fever,” Sakurai whispered. The skin burned underneath his fingertips, and he sucked in his breath then slid his
-6-
Blood Brothers
hand over his companion’s bare flesh, feeling the heat radiating off his body. Sakurai felt his own cheeks flush and his pulse quicken.
“Kiyoshi-kun,” he breathed. He leaned close, letting his lips brush over his friend’s collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the beads of sweat that formed on the skin. His hands glided across Kiyoshi’s chest and down past the waist, stopping only when the bundle of cloth impeded his wandering touch.
“You need to take better care.” Sakurai traced the side of Kiyoshi’s neck with his lips before covering his hot cheek with moist kisses. He tugged open the ties at the boy’s
1577, Western Japan
“Kiyoshi-kun!” Sakurai lifted the bushel of rice, grunting under the weight. He steadied the heavy basket with one hand, wincing a little as the coarse weaving scratched the bare skin on his shoulder. The humid heat of summer made even the use of a light kosode unbearable and he trudged towards the house in nothing but the loincloth-like fundoshi wrapped around his waist.
He called for his friend again, scanning the field for any sign of him.
“Kiyoshi!” Of course, there was no reply. Kiyoshi rarely ever raised his voice, not even as a child.
Sakurai sighed as he came up to the flat open area behind the one room house they shared. As with the rest of their small village, the harsh times of the past few years had taken its toll on the wooden structure.
Heavy rains and harsh winters beat at the old house each year so the holes in the thatched roof were many and the walls groaned like an old man in pain whenever leaned on too roughly. He dropped the bushel of rice next to the side of the house and mopped his sweat-covered brow.
Kiyoshi was probably inside and feeling unwell again.
If he was sick, if he lost him too… No. Sakurai refused to think that way. There’d been too much sickness and death in their province for too many years. His best friend, closer to him than any natural brother could be, was fine. He was simply having one of his “spells”. That was all.
-5-
Barbara Sheridan and Anne Cain
“ Otouto-chan .” Sakurai stood in the doorway, blinking until his eyes adjusted from the late afternoon sunlight to the dimness of the house. He kicked off his zori sandals as he stepped up to the narrow wooden porch off to the side of the entryway and moved across the worn tatami mat inside. Kiyoshi lay curled in a tight ball under the window, facing away from the view of the rice field outside. “Look at you.” Sakurai clicked his tongue and knelt beside Kiyoshi. He brushed the sweaty tangles of hair out of Kiyoshi’s pale face, who looked so much younger than his nineteen years.
“Sakurai-kun?” Kiyoshi’s eyes fluttered open. “I was supposed to help you today… I’m sorry—”
Sakurai touched a finger to the younger man’s lips to silence him.
“It’s all right,” he said, moving his fingers to caress Kiyoshi’s cheek. “It’s the heat—it doesn’t agree with you,” he said emphatically, trying to convince himself of the fact. The alternative was to believe his dear one was sick with the same illness that had killed Kiyoshi’s mother, all those months back.
Kiyoshi nodded and sat up slowly. Some of the color rushed back to his soft cheeks and Sakurai pulled the blanket away from Kiyoshi’s shoulders. “You know better than to bundle up this way on a day like today.”
He let the heavy cloth drop and ran his hands over Kiyoshi’s arms and shoulders. The short sleeve kosode was soaked with perspiration and Sakurai reached up to the collar, slowly parting the tunic. Kiyoshi shivered as a warm breeze blew through the room and over his skin.
Sakurai let the material fall and settle around his friend’s small waist. He frowned as he touched Kiyoshi’s neck.
“You’ll give yourself a fever,” Sakurai whispered. The skin burned underneath his fingertips, and he sucked in his breath then slid his
-6-
Blood Brothers
hand over his companion’s bare flesh, feeling the heat radiating off his body. Sakurai felt his own cheeks flush and his pulse quicken.
“Kiyoshi-kun,” he breathed. He leaned close, letting his lips brush over his friend’s collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the beads of sweat that formed on the skin. His hands glided across Kiyoshi’s chest and down past the waist, stopping only when the bundle of cloth impeded his wandering touch.
“You need to take better care.” Sakurai traced the side of Kiyoshi’s neck with his lips before covering his hot cheek with moist kisses. He tugged open the ties at the boy’s
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