Dappled Light, Hiding Shadows
I
After a drenching rain the night before, the early summer granted sunshine and wisps of delicate cloud, dancing between arches of verdant canopy. The ground was a little moist, but firm, and Kenshin had no trouble following the worn and somewhat disguised track running through the forest. He was unsure if the feet that carved it had been animal or human, but it allowed him, for the first time in days, to stroll, and enjoy the dappled light warming his face.
He thought he must be in Iga now, judging from the number of days he had been walking. He planned to head south, giving Kyoto a wide berth, until he reached Kagoshima. From there, he might even take a boat to Okinawa.
Crickets wove a tapestry of noise around him, shot through with sweet birdsong. It was only when he noticed a tiny, almost imperceptible dip in the sound that he slowed, just a little, and extended his senses.
It was then that he felt it. Flickering, at times energetic, then angry, then almost disappearing, as if the owner were trying to hold a lid on a wildly bubbling pot.
A strange ki.
Kenshin kept his hand loose, ready to fly to his sakabatou.
There was a rustle from above, and as he dodged, a green and brown figure dropped to the ground, landing where he had been standing a heartbeat before.
"Don't move, samurai!" In one hand, the boy, who appeared to be no more than thirteen or fourteen, held a kunai. Kenshin stepped back with his palms out in a neutral gesture, noting the katana strapped to the youth's back.
"This one means no harm." Kenshin understood now; the boy's ki, partly concealed before, burst forth in a torrent of excitement and anger. Stealth and subterfuge forgotten, he neglected to keep it reined. Kenshin was still, for he already had his opponent's measure. "But what is this all about?"
"What are you doing in this forest? And why do you carry a katana?" The boy edged closer, his hand held high, as if ready to strike.
"This one is a mere rurouni, travelling south."
"I don't believe you. This is not the kind of forest one just takes a walk through. Why didn't you travel the main road? At least that would take you through the villages." A second kunai had appeared, glinting in the sunlight.
Kenshin sighed, unwilling to explain that, being so close to Kyoto, he had wanted to take the most out of the way route and avoid the city altogether. He was beginning to grow impatient, however he schooled his features into a blank mask; that part was easy. "That is a rather long story, and none of your concern. This one only wants to assure you that I mean no threat or disrespect. My humble request is that you allow me to continue on my way."
"I can't do that." The boy was wound tight like a spring. Kenshin noticed that his shozoku type clothes were made of a strange green and brown patterned cloth, designed to blend with the leafy surrounds.
"You're an Iga person, aren't you?"
The youth hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't have to tell you anything. I don't trust you." Brimming with suspicion, he edged nearer to Kenshin, who still hadn't moved. "You will come with me."
"Maa, maa, those kunai are unnecessary." Kenshin lifted his gaze to meet the boy's narrowed brown eyes. The youngster was slight of build, with close-cropped dark hair and tanned skin. He had not dropped his fighting stance, something Kenshin found he approved of, despite the boy's animosity towards him. "This one has no intention of fighting you." Again, he spread his hands, in a gesture of surrender. "Besides, there must be hundreds of your people in these woods. This one would be greatly outnumbered."
"How did you…?" The boy flashed his weapons, eyes widening.
"It is well known that the Iga ninja guard their territory with the utmost vigilance and secrecy. If this one had known…" Kenshin shrugged, resigning himself to the role of hostage. He might have avoided this forest, but after days of rain and navigating the narrow, rocky mountain paths, the thought of an easy trek through the woods had been welcome relief.
"Just be quiet and stay in front of me." Having been figured out so easily, the boy scowled as he fell into step behind Kenshin. "Don't try anything stupid."
Kenshin started to walk, outwardly calm, but all the time reaching out to gauge his surroundings. The boy presented little threat, and he could not sense any other presence nearby.
That is not to say there was no-one hiding in the trees.
He hoped what they said about the Iga ninja was true; that they had become enemies of the Shogunate ever since Tokugawa Yoshimune had dismissed them from his service, over a hundred years ago.
There had even been talk that some of them had been in the employ of Choshuu during the Bakumatsu.
But ninja could be unpredictable, vicious, their loyalty swayed only by the highest bidder.
Kenshin knew, first hand, of that truth. So as they headed deeper into the woods, he remained wary.
II
The strange red haired man hadn't put up a fight. Kumo stared at the crimson tail swaying back and forth as they walked. He couldn't figure this person out. He looked and spoke like a lost samurai, his dark blue gi faded and threadbare in places, his words antiquated and oddly humble.
What Kumo found the weirdest, however, was the single katana tucked into the man's obi. It was only three years after the war, but swords had been outlawed all throughout Japan. Kumo had his own katana, however he only used it in the woods, for training. He could not imagine walking around in a public place, displaying it for all to see. Such things were reserved for use in the shadows. Either this person was a fool, or very brave. What sort of idiot would be wandering around in the forest anyway, days away from Iga town or any kind of civilization?
There was a scuffle in the underbrush. Kumo paused, senses on edge, but then relaxed as a handsome green pheasant burst from the bushes and scurried across their path.
The samurai kept on walking, no sign of hesitation in his soft steps.
Was he oblivious to his surroundings?
To Kumo, who had been trained since birth to hone each of his six senses and to tread with caution and stealth, the samurai's easy stride appeared out of place. By taking the well-worn path to the village, Kumo felt he was presenting himself as an obvious target. Too many times before, he had been caught out here by one of his shishou's surprise attacks.
But now he had captured a suspicious intruder, and he hoped this would show his shishou how much he had progressed in his training.
"What's your name, samurai?"
"Oro?" The man flinched at Kumo's question. "You may call this one Kenshin." The swordsman's gaze was wide; violet eyes blinked back at him.
Weird guy.
He really wasn't a large person, this Kenshin. He stood equal height with Kumo, and Kumo was sure he had a few years left to grow. He was only thirteen, after all.
How good would he be with that sword, then? Kumo felt confident that if it came to a fight, he could hold his own.
"Kenshin what? All you samurai have two names."
"This one is not really a samurai. But if you must know, it's Himura." A gentle smile was offered. "May this one ask yours in return?"
Irritation tugged at Kumo. "Shut up, that's none of your business." In a blur of motion he stored one of the kunai in a hidden pocket and drew his sword. He pointed it at the man with a threatening scowl. "Keep moving."
"Maa, maa, there's no need for that now, there isn't."
"Be quiet." Irritation gave way to anger. Was this red-hair trying to make a fool out of him?
Captives weren't supposed to smile.
III
The village was nestled amongst a stand of tall, solemn trees. The shade was deeper here, and Kenshin felt a coolness settle upon them. A cluster of thatched huts gave way to a larger structure, whose roof was constructed from ceramic tiles. It had wide, open doorways and a verandah wrapped around the front. It appeared to be a dojo, of sorts. Woodsmoke rose from small chimneys on several of the huts. The crisp scent of burning cedar mingled with the savoury aroma of cooking food.
Kenshin stopped, ignoring the boy's sword, still pointed at him from several feet. He saw a figure approaching from the distance, a tall man, clad in the same green and brown camouflage attire. He moved with swift economy, and aside from an almost imperceptible, probing touch, his ki was entirely masked.
"Yare, yare Kumo." The man stopped, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Don't tell me you've brought a visitor to our village?"
Kumo lowered his blade, then, to Kenshin's surprise, he sheathed it. Gone was the harsh, demanding tone he had used earlier. "He's not a visitor, Sekimu-san. I found him wandering around in the forest. There was something weird about him, so I made him come here. I figured you and shishou could deal with him."
"Is that so?" The one called Sekimu was watchful and quiet as he regarded Kenshin. "I wonder if that is truly the case."
"He said he didn't want to fight me, so he had no choice. Maybe I should have just dispatched him. But what if he's a spy?"
Sekimu took a step towards Kumo and slapped him on the back of the head. "Baka! Who's been putting these stupid ideas into your head? Who told you to invite everyone who enters the forest to this village? And we're not indiscriminate killers."
Kumo winced and jumped backwards, but made no move against the older man. It appeared this was something he was used to. "I was just being vigilant, like you told me to." A sour grimace crossed his features, and he rubbed the back of his head.
Taking sympathy on the boy, Kenshin stepped forward, and offered a small bow. "Maybe this one should explain. My name is Himura Kenshin, and I am merely a rurouni, passing through. I mean no harm to you or your people. I hope the fact that I am now standing in the middle of your village has not complicated things too much, Sekimu-dono."
Again Sekimu looked at him with a long, dark gaze, before returning the bow, at exactly the same depth. "I apologise for this brat's behaviour, Himura-san, and regret that you have been so inconvenienced on your travels. It seems you understand the ways of the Iga ninja somewhat, for no outsider has ever entered this village."
Kenshin nodded, concealing his surprise at the man's sudden polite behaviour. "This one understands your position, Sekimu-dono." Behind him, he felt Kumo's ki flare, laced with anger and confusion.
"Don't tell me you believe this guy, Sekimu-san? Just take a look at him."
"Kumo-kun, you're about ten years too early to even begin to understand." Sekimu's hand became a blur and he retrieved a shuriken from somewhere in his clothes. "Now go and fetch Mumon-sensei before I lose patience."
"Shishou?" Kumo's voice had dwindled into a whine. "But I can't interrupt his afternoon nap." Fear crept into his voice.
"Kumo."
"All right, I'll get him, although I don't see what the urgency is." The shuriken thudded into the ground a finger's breadth from the boy's foot, spraying a small cloud of dirt. Kumo yelped and started to run.
"I'm sure Mumon-sensei would want to know immediately," murmured Sekimu. "Especially if one such as yourself were to set foot in his village." Although his words were soft, almost a whisper, Kenshin had no doubt he intended for them to be heard.
It was Sekimu's subtle, ninja-like way of informing Kenshin that he knew.
"This one truly means no harm, Sekimu-dono."
IV
Kumo growled under his breath. He didn't understand why Sekimu was being so complacent with Himura. He hadn't detected a single shred of fighting aura from the jounin.
Did that mean Sekimu didn't think Himura was suspicious?
To make matters worse, he now had to try and find his shishou, who never took kindly to being interrupted in the afternoon. Kumo had learnt that the hard way.
With trepidation, he tapped lightly on the shoji and knelt. As he waited, he could hear the afternoon breeze brushing the treetops. Aside from that, there was silence.
After what seemed like an eternity, the shoji slid open. Mumon-sensei was a small man, whose balding head was adorned only with a few wisps of grey and white hair. His whiskers curved around a small, wizened mouth. But his eyes, steely and beadlike, were impenetrable. Despite the elder's small stature, Kumo found himself quivering, expecting to dodge some kind of hurled projectile.
"Baka deshi, what took you so long?" Instead, his master's thin voice was laced with amusement?
"Nani?" Kumo could not suppress his flinch. But his master seemed to be in a patient mood, for he flapped his hand in a dismissive manner. "Go and fetch them, then."
That was how they came to be kneeling in Mumon's sparse home; Kumo to the side, his constant shifting betraying his anxiety, Sekimu bowing, respectful, but with an all knowing, heavy-lidded gaze, and Himura, with his head lowered and sword laid on the floor in front of him.
"Now, now, why is it my baka-deshi is always poking his nose into others' business?"
Kumo felt a flash of anger. Couldn't they see what he saw? "But shishou, he was trespassing, and there's something about him that just doesn't seem right."
"Quiet." Mumon's soft voice was like steel wire. At that point, Himura looked up.
Kumo realised, several breaths later, that something dark and oppressive was filling the room. It started to become heavy, pushing against him; a terrifying force. The room seemed very small. The pressure grew, becoming unbearable. Kumo almost choked on his mounting fear.
His master's ki.
Never before had he felt it completly unleashed. Though the man was old and wizened, it suddenly appeared as if the spectre of death itself was rising from him.
Even Sekimu had paled.
But Himura sat there, unblinking, his expression never changing.
Was he that oblivious?
And then, in the way the ocean was sucked back after an earthquake, Mumon withdrew his aura.
"Impressive." His gaze was fixed on Himura. "I should not have expected anything less. Please allow me a moment of your patience, Himura-san."
Kumo's face must have betrayed his confusion as Mumon turned to him with the withering look he reserved for when his pupil was missing something obvious. "Let this be a lesson for you, baka-deshi."
Kumo knew better than to argue.
"Let me ask you a question, Kumo. What made you so confident you could take on this man?"
"Well, I didn't sense any fighting ki. He doesn't seem very strong."
"Baka deshi." A simple earthen tea cup materialised in Mumon's palm and was hurled at him. Kumo was barely able to deflect; it bounced off the back of his hand and he snatched it out of the air. "Tell me, if you were to encounter Himura-san, in the dead of night, say, in a narrow street in Kyoto, who would be worse off?"
"Ano..." Kumo tried his best to visualise it. He had been to Kyoto only once, on his eighth birthday. He recalled being overwhelmed by the noise, by so many people. Feeling disorientated and frightened, he had clung to Mumon's gi as they turned corner after corner.
Suppose one was to encounter Himura, who had no ki at all.
No ki?
Before he was aware of it, Kumo's other hand caught the teapot Mumon had thrown.
"Think about it while you heat some water, baka deshi."
Kumo rose to his feet, silent and uneasy. He glanced at Himura again. Was that a hint of a smile?
V
"I apologise for my student, Himura-san." Once the boy had disappeared, Mumon's stern glare became a little softer, although his small, black eyes never quite lost their sharpness. "And I thank you for your patience with him."
The rueful smile was still playing on Kenshin's lips. "He reminds this one a little of myself, at that age."
Mumon became still, and Kenshin wondered if the sadness he tried so hard to suppress had touched his gaze. "I think you might have been in a lot more trouble at that age, Battousai."
"You are very wise, Mumon-dono." Kenshin hadn't skipped a beat. He had known, after his conversation with Sekimu, that these men were aware of his past. Not much escaped the Iga ninja; they were always dealing in secrets. "In which case, this one would hope you understand that I am trying to make amends."
Sekimu, who had been quiet, met Kenshin's eyes, his expression open. "Rest assured, Himura-san, that you are not and never were an enemy of the Iga clan. We also did some work for Choshuu in Kyoto."
Kenshin's eyebrows rose in surprise. "We never crossed paths."
"Not quite. However, I do appreciate that the wakizashi hurled at me in darkness one night was never intended to hit."
"That was you?" Kenshin recalled a shadowed presence, following him through the Kyoto streets on several occasions. The ki had been well cloaked, almost undetectable, but he had not sensed hostility. It had been a bad night, when, after cutting down six of the Shinsengumi, and feeling despondent and irritable, he had thrown the short blade into the darkness, warning off his unofficial watcher.
"I was just observing, nothing more. Mumon-sensei wanted to know what kind of man you were."
"Now I have a much better understanding, Himura-san." Mumon rose with grace that belied his appearance, as his student returned with a steaming kettle of tea. "In which case, take some tea with us and spend the night."
He shot Kumo a hard glare. "If you decide to invite dragons into your home, baka-deshi, you must at least be hospitable."
"I'm sorry, shishou." Kumo bowed, but Mumon waved him away.
"Never mind about that. At least you learnt an important lesson."
As Kenshin accepted tea with an appreciative nod, he noticed Kumo was exerting much better control over his aura. After serving them, he slipped away, quiet and unobtrusive.
"He has good instincts. And he is a fast learner, Mumon-dono, that he is."
"You give him too much credit, Himura-san."
Kenshin smiled, recalling another master and student, from years past. And although he was relieved these Iga ninja had not expressed any ill will, he kept his senses finely attuned, for old habits were slow to fade.
End
Author's note: I don't pass by here as often as I used to, but somehow this popped into my head. Maybe it's because I have been watching the trailer for the RK live action movie.
And yes, 'Mumon' is a loose reference to a manga called Shinobi No Kuni, which I totally recommend.
Comments and critique are always appreciated. x