Chapter Text
POV, Karai
Prologue
Upon the balcony of the Shredder’s palace stood a young girl, reportedly cold as ice and hard as nails. The storm raged across the polluted sky of New York. Thunder roared and lightning cracked, causing the tempest to resonate like two Titans battling for control of the universe. Although the elements raged, the war without was nothing compared to the war within. What had I done to be so cursed? Would I forever remain, against my will, a pawn of evil? I had built a cold fortress and locked myself in, struggling to remain upright upon the slippery ice. My kingdom was impenetrable and my heart locked within, shielded by the frost. And suddenly, a blue-eyed ninja was before my sight, blazing in front of me and just as impossible to ignore as the blaring sun. Lightning flashed, and the first crack formed over the surface of the glittering ice. A long-suffering father put his arms around his daughter, comforting her. Lightning flashed, and another crack was driven forcefully into the glacier. A young girl was faced with a terrible decision. Lightning flashed and the final crack was wedged into the tundra. Unimaginable pain seared. Now I stood suspended on the iceberg, waiting for the ominous rumbling. It forced entry, spring chased away winter, the sun melted it, and the cracks split off. As the storm blazed across the night sky, one thing became certain. The frost in my heart was cracking! But could I survive the flood?
Chapter One: Hard as Nails
Hi, my name is Karai (Hamato Miwa). I’m supposed to write my story as a lesson in viewpoint? I think it’s more than that. I believe this is an invitation for me to tell my true story, what really happened. This is really the first time I’ve been asked to express myself in writing. We’ll see how this turns out and whether it’s worthwhile in the end. I’m going to strive not for perfection, but for meaning. I know that’s all I can do. Pieces of my past life flash repeatedly before my mind all the time, and maybe writing some of them down will help me process. Alright, deep breath, here we go.
It’s a long and not too pleasant story. I was stolen away from my father when I was a baby, but I didn’t know that. My first memory is playing with my dolls as a small child, when I must have been about two. At least I can say that my first memory was sort of normal. I had a nanny named Anne, whom I loved dearly. She was very young herself, probably in her early twenties and beautiful, with blue eyes and blond hair. I know that without her I would never have kept what little sanity I had left.
Up in my great, Japanese style decorated room I played with my little dolls while she tended to me. My living space was large, but I was never allowed out, so I didn’t know what the rest of the house looked like. I just knew my room and Ann, who read to me and told stories. There were thousands of books in the Shredder’s palace, so she had a wide selection to choose from. I was not a very talkative child, but wasn’t a deathly quiet one either. I was somewhere in the middle, I think. I asked questions while she was reading, but mostly just listened. When I was three and a half I asked her who lived in the house besides us, and she answered “Your father.” I longed to meet my father and begged her to ask him. She said she would. The Shredder consented, and so Ann dressed me up in a little red kimono and brought me to him.
That was so many years ago, yet I remember it clearly as I do the rest of my life. As we walked out of my room and into the hall I was shocked to perceive all the Foot soldiers around. They bowed as we passed. And the sheer size of the place! I gazed up at the painted walls in wonder. How little I knew of the world to think this place was the world. When we arrived at the entryway to the throne room, a Foot soldier addressed Ann.
“The Master commands that you wait outside and let her go in alone.”
“But this is her first time,” she protested, holding on tightly to my hand. “And she’s so small.”
“Master’s orders,” he shrugged.
“Just be polite,” she told me nervously. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too, Ann. I’ll behave myself,” I assured her.
So I strutted on my own tiny feet into the throne room, which was HUGE. The ceiling stretched for what seemed to be miles above me and the colored carpet might as well have been the whole earth, so expansive was it. Soldiers lined the walls, but I only had eyes for my father. The Shredder sat upon his throne clad in powerful armor and sporting a dark mask and helmet. Although I was awed, I continued to walk, slowly approaching the throne, stopping within a few feet of it and bowing on one knee, the way Ann had taught me.
“Come here, child,” he ordered. His voice sounded firm and harsh; I wondered if all men’s voices were like that.
I arose and walked towards him until I stood inches before him. With a glove of steel, he reached down and touched my cheek. The long, shredding blades were only inches from me. I gazed up into his face, all of which I could see were the searching, hawklike eyes.
“Do you know who I am, child?” he questioned.
“Yes. You are my father and the leader of the Foot clan. You are also a ninja from Japan, and the Master of this house. You are usually called The Shredder, but your real name is Oroku Saki.”
He seemed surprised. “That is a very good answer from someone so young. Let’s test your knowledge further. What is a ninja?”
“A ninja is a warrior. There are many different kinds of ninjas and they use many different fighting tactics and weapons. Some are good heroes, but others are evil assassins.”
“Where did you learn this?”
“From books.”
“Hmm. Do you know who you are?”
“I am Karai. I am your daughter.”
“Correct, but you could be more. Do you want to be a ninja?”
I thought for a moment. Images of fearless warriors clad in armor, battling hideous dragons and rescuing helpless maidens flashed through my mind. They were heroes, weren’t they? They could be the good guys. Even then I was forming my own ideas of good and evil. Children are
considered wild things lacking a conscience, unruly until adults foster good principals in them, but this is not completely true. It is true that children can be selfish and wild, but they also really desire to discover what is right. They like order, discipline, and clear, easy-to-spot limits, and they like everything to be black and white. This is the reason they love stories like Hansel and Gretel and Snow White-- extreme good verses extreme evil.
I was no exception. I believed in extreme good, extreme evil, and no in between. When I look back at myself now, and remember what I was then, I don’t know whether to smile or frown. I want to smile because of what I was, and yet frown because of what I would become, then smile again because of the mercy that would be shown me. It’s complicated. I was extreme good. I believed in love, loyalty, chivalry, battling against evil, and honor. I was very eager to be honorable. So, I stood before my so-called father in my little red kimono, black pigtails, and determined expression, the perfect instrument for him to break. Innocence and honor all stitched up in that tiny frame. My whole life was before me. I knew nothing of the world, but possessed opinions about the way things should be. Every child is bursting with potential… until they fall.
“Can girls be ninjas?” I asked. “Most of the old stories don’t say.”
“Girls can be ninjas if they work hard. Haven’t you heard of kunoichi? You claim you read a lot.”
I pondered for a minute. Yes, there were kunoichi-- hard as nails. They would pose as normal, brainless women, then suddenly stab someone with a spiked ring, or else wreak havoc by poisoning someone’s drink.
“In some of the stories they don’t seem to have a lot of honor,” I pointed out, eyes drifting to the painted walls, where people posed in various positions of blood, armor, and even kissing.
“You are concerned with honor?” He leaned forward on his throne.
“Isn’t… everybody?” I blinked.
“Unfortunately, my daughter, not everybody is. I had a friend once who…” He trailed off and then cleared his throat. “Now is not the time for that story. Listen closely; we must uphold our family honor. We must not let it be said that the Foot Clan does not have strength and nobility! Do you want our family to be strong, child?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed eagerly.
“What are you going to do to uphold this honor?”
“I am going to become the greatest kunoichi ever!”
“Good. I have heard enough for now, the child is extremely promising. Bring Ann to me.”
Ann was fetched and stood trembling before my father, her long blond hair covering her pale face.
“Ann, remember all my instructions for raising this child and do not forget them if you value your life.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered, and for the first time I noticed how strange her face was, so thin and drawn and pale, as though she was always sick. I frowned.
“She is to be brought to me once a week for training,” continued the Shredder. “I have decided to make time for her. I realize you usually speak Norwegian to her, for it is your native tongue. It is very good for you that you did not forget to speak English to her as well, for I would have her know at least one language that will serve her. Now she must learn another, her ancestral tongue. I will arrange for a master to see her and speak to her in Japanese. It would be a shame for my house if she did not learn her own language!”
“Yes, Sir.” Ann’s pipe-cleaner-like body shook.
“Do not teach her anything amiss if you value your life. Now go, and take her away. I shall see her soon. You are both dismissed.”
Ann bowed and grasped my hand, leading me away and still shaking. As soon as we were out of the throne room she scooped me up in her arms and carried me all the way back. She was tall for a woman, standing at least six foot two, and the floor looked far beneath me. However, it seemed as though carrying me was purely a comfort for her, for I had not yet learned to be afraid.
“Oh, my dear, dear, Karai, darling,” she kept muttering. “What will the Master make you into? What will you become?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding her at all.
We arrived back at my expansive room, and she shut and barred the door behind us. Trembling, she started to tend the fire, for it was mid-winter at this point. She bustled around, re-arranging everything and muttering to herself. Her fear was starting to rub off, which made my temper rise. Whenever I am afraid I become angry. This was true about me then and it’s true about me now.
“Ann,” I asked, arms folded. “What are you afraid of? I wish you would stop muttering like that!”
She made an effort to calm herself and sank to her knees on the rug and staring into the flames as though seeing other shapes in the fiery depths.
“What are you thinking of?” I asked at last, sinking onto the floor beside her.
“Karai, you know how old you are, don’t you?”
“I am three and a half.”
“I’m thinking of another little girl who must be a little younger than you now.”
“Who is this girl?”
Ann stiffened, pushing her sheet of pale hair back. “Never mind. Please, get ready for bed.”
I knitted my brows, but didn’t press her more.
***
A few days later the Shredder sent for me to enter the training room for our first lesson. He had sent some clothing up for me to wear, tight fitting yet stretchy black pants and a long sleeve shirt. I had never before worn all black like this, and when I peeked in the mirror I beheld a very strange creature gazing back at me. She was small and skinny, with short black hair and black clothes, making her look like a little lost crow. Her eyes were almond-shaped and light brown and her face narrow. Her tight-fitting clothing revealed that she still possessed some baby fat. For some reason, Ann burst into tears at the sight of me.
“Do I look silly?” I asked grumpily.
“No, sweety, you look fine.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“You just seem a little-- young for this. Oh, poor innocents! Why do people sacrifice their children? Why are children always sacrificed to evil?”
“I don’t understand you!” I shouted, stamping my foot.
With a great effort, she calmed herself. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself to her feet and straightened my pigtails.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” she asked, her lip trembling.
“Yes I am. I’m going to be a very good girl,” I replied stoutly. “I’m going to be a ninja-girl.”
There was a knock on the door. A Foot soldier had arrived to take me to my training, and Ann was ordered to wait for me until I was brought back.
“Good luck,” she managed.
“You take it,” I offered, standing up straighter. “It looks like you could use it more. While you’re waiting for me, pour yourself some tea. I hate to see you like this.”
She managed a smile as I was taken away. I was a little nervous, but also kind of excited to train with my father. Of course, the training room was also huge and filled with space. Weapons of all kinds lined the walls, and as I stepped in I stared in awe.
“Well, what do you think?” asked the Shredder, making me jump slightly. I hadn’t seen him in the room.
“It’s amazing!” I praised. “Is that a naginata over there? Can I have one?”
“All in due time. This lesson, you are going to learn something simple, but this is the basic groundwork of all we do. Are you prepared?”
“As I can be.”
“Good answer. You are truly a sharp child. Now I want you to hit this.” He gestured towards a small, round thingy. “Do you know how to hit?”
I hit it hard. It pounced back, and I felt pleased. But then it bounced back and hit me in the face, sending me flying.
“Ouch!” I felt my face as I lay on the ground. It hurt and I wanted to run for Ann.
“Are you going to lie there all day, or are you going to hit it again?” he demanded.
“Oww.”
“WELL ARE YOU OR NOT?”
I gasped and pulled myself to my feet, heart pounding. I limped over to the trainer and hit it again, but this time I leaped out of the way when it spun back, breathing hard.
“Very good, you are a quick learner. Again, but this time kick it.”
I held up my leg and kicked it, but when I swerved out of the way to avoid it when it flew back, I fell backwards.
“Ow.”
“Are you going to get up or are you going to lie there in defeat? Do you care for our family's honor or NOT?”
“I do!” I jumped to attention, lip trembling and eyes stinging.
“Then keep training. But this time I want you to hit it and punch it at the same time.”
“How do I do that?”
“Now!”
I raised my leg and raised my fist-- and punched it and kicked it at the same moment, but before it could bounce back and hit me I punched it. When it came back again I kicked it. Then I started boxing with both hands, then kicking again. I kept trying to keep the trainer at bay. The only way I could do that was by punching and kicking and alternating. Eventually I got too tired and was sent flying again. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“Why are you lying there like a lazy worm?” my father asked harshly. “If you rest for one minute the enemy will strike! You have to keep moving and planning, otherwise you will be torn limb from limb!”
I pulled myself to my feet, bruised and sore and bleeding from my lip. For a moment, the floor spun, but then my vision cleared. Adrenalin pumped through my child's body, and I felt angry. I was very, very angry. I scanned the trainer, as it swung harmlessly. I examined my own tiny fists and realized if I kept fighting like this, it would just keep coming back to destroy me. I needed a way to end this fight… Then I knew what I needed to do. I glanced at my father. Would he allow it? There was only one way to find out.
Quick as lightning, I grabbed a small dagger off the wall. I punched the trainer and held the dagger out. As it was coming back to knock me, I jammed the dagger into its flesh and yanked it downwards, shredding it. Fluff flew everywhere, covering me and the ground, but the trainer swung no more. I panted and turned to my father, who was staring at me.
“Why did you do that?” he asked at last.
“I knew if I kept fighting it the way I was, it would keep coming back to hurt me. It never got tired, but I was. I needed to finish the fight. But to do that, I needed a better weapon than my fists.”
His dark eyes were wide. “Very good. I think that’s enough training for today.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “You have done very well. You have upheld our honor and made me proud.”
I looked up at him and cracked a smile.
***
I was escorted back to Ann, who made a great fuss over my little injuries, but I didn’t care. I had made my father proud, and that’s all that mattered to me right then. I recount this incident as an example to demonstrate what kind of a childhood I had.
Not long after that I got a new teacher. He was a weaselly little man, who taught me many things, such as how to speak Japanese and read it fluently. He also taught me about history and the codes of different kingdoms. He taught me math and science. He educated me in old legends and taught me painting and origami. Here’s an example of one of our conversations. I was six-years-old at the time.
“Teacher, may I ask why you are teaching me refined table etiquette of Japan? I am a ninja, not a party girl. That’s not to say I don’t like clothes, but is it necessary? Why must I know the proper way to fasten a kimono?”
“You are a foolish girl to ask such a question,” he answered softly. “Etiquette and manners are useful everywhere. They are a form of fighting in themselves, just as delicate and important. Understanding how to act and influence can help you win half the battles before even raising your sword. Besides, a true ninja is fluent in all the arts. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Teacher.”
I listened to him and excelled in all my studies. Now it was about this time that life took its first real stab at me and really tried to break me. It might have even succeeded. A lot of this had to do with Ann. I often wonder what she was doing there, but I didn’t really question it then. Still, her words and emotions confused and troubled me.
“Ann, are you okay?” I asked one day.
“No! I am not okay. I am very un-okay.” She was on her hands and knees, and her body reminded me of a skeleton.
“Why don’t you tell me what is wrong?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’ll kill me.”
My blood froze. “Who will?”
“Your father?”
“Surely not! You are my nanny.”
“Do you really think that will protect me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You are too young to understand.”
“I am not! I understand just as much as anybody.”
“And have you actually been out there in the city? Or have you only seen the outside world from your balcony?”
I didn’t know what to say, although I was annoyed. It was true that I had never been outside.
“I will ask him to let me explore. I am six now. I am old enough.”
I did ask him later.