Shinta's story

This a story I wrote, talking about what Shinta's life might have been like between the time his parents died and when Hiko found him. What info I know for sure was based off of Samurai X Trust and Betrayal.

The house creaked and moaned, like an old person struggling to stand. Even the gentlest breeze caused its walls to strain. I had lived in this small house all my life, and I loved it dearly. I held onto my dying mother's hand. The skin was almost translucent, it was rice paper thin. She was sick, with what I don't know. The doctor said there was no cure, and he had said that mother was dying of the same father had. Father left this world a few weeks ago, and mother was still heart-broken. Perhaps that's why she had succumbed faster than father. She was drifting away, like a peony in the breeze. I tried to help as much as I could, but a young seven year old boy on his own could only do so much.

I held my dying mother's hand, tears streaming down my face. It wasn't often that I cried, and it happened less and less over the years. She turned her head in my direction, yet I could tell she was not looking at me. Her dark eyes didn't look at anything, they were just there, as useless as ears were to a deaf person.

"Shinta, Shinta...I cannot tell if you are still there." Her voice wheezed, her chest rising and falling erratically. "But if you are nearby, we will watch you always. Protect yourself, and never give up living. Live for…me... "

After mother wheezed out the last few words, I felt her hand turn cold as she left me, and I pressed her hand to my face, hoping that if I held her close enough to me, she would come back. Her whole body seemed to deflate as her spirit slipped away.

I cried, not only because my mother was dead, but because I was unable to protect her, like I felt I should have. Every time I remember that day, I'm overcome with the same urge to protect her… There was nothing I could see to level my frustrations against, no demons to throw a stone at, nothing to hit with a sword. I didn't fully understand that sickness was a natural part of life. I was also scared. I didn't know what would happen to me now that my mother was dead. It was a fear of the unknown that I learned to embrace. I don't know how long I stayed there, but I soon fell asleep, her icy hand still pressed to my face.

I was awoken by the sound of the door opening. I turned around without rising from my knees, and the villagers were all standing there. None of them even took their shoes off. They had shovels and were ready to burry my mother. I don't know how they knew of her passing since there no one besides me who knew of her passing. I suppose they came and checked on me while I was asleep. Perhaps they had all seen it coming.

The priest of the nearby temple came and hugged me to try and make me feel better while the villagers carried my mother's body to the hole they had already dug in the front of the house. I was not allowed to go to the funeral. Nothing I did changed the numbness. The priest stayed with me and tried to comfort me. He must have thought I was calming down as the tears drifted away, but I was only shutting myself down.

At lunch the priest made me something to eat, but I didn't eat. I didn't even pay attention to what it was. It was probably rice, it was all we had. It wasn't long after that when the villagers came back. They spoke to the priest in low voices. I didn't even look at them, nor pay them any mind. They said nothing to me, and they left soon afterwards. They did not return.

I went to bed early without eating dinner, not that I had been able to fix any. I dreamt about my mother and father being alive and about all the good times we had together. Father was swinging me around, tossing me in the air, Mother stood watching and laughing, the warm sunshine wrapped around me… Suddenly, I was jerked out of my dream by a scuffling noise. Then there was the sound of breaking wood. A man threw a bag over my head and carried me out of my room like a sack of potatoes being taken to market. I didn't struggle…it didn't matter if I had or hadn't.

I wish to this day I knew who he was.

We stopped for a brief moment, and I heard something jingling. I know now that it was the money being paid for me; I was being sold to the slave traders. My captor walked on for a few minutes before I was plopped on my feet and the bag was jerked off. Someone with rough, calloused hands, jerked mine behind my back and tied them up. I was tied along a rope with lots of other people, all of whom were girls. A man at the head of the line carrying a whip said to follow the person in front of me. If we didn't walk fast enough, or obey orders, we would be whipped, beaten, and left on the side of the road.

I didn't talk to anybody around, since the girls in back were whispering, and when they were heard were whipped. They set enough of an example for me. I did what I was supposed to, but it took a lot of effort for me too. The rope dug into my hands, and the people in front and behind took longer steps then I did since they were taller and older. I had to walk fast to avoid being stepped on. The muscles in my legs started to ache and burn, I had never known such physical exertion, it was a wonder my body could handle it

We walked all night and morning with no breakfast. My stomach growled since I hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday. One of the men yelled at me to hush or I would be punished. Thankfully it didn't growl anymore. At lunchtime, we stopped, but only for an hour. We were still tied up, and I had to sit and stand when the people next to me did, since I was tied to them. We had to sit and watch while the men ate their lunch. One of the kinder men threw me a small piece of bread. Since my hands were tied, I had to lean forward to pick it up off the ground with my teeth, like a cow. One of the other men saw me and took the whip across my neck. I saw yellow spots, and it was all I could do to keep from stumbling. I still got the bread, and that made my stomach feel a little better.

The girl next to me kicked me; I think she was jealous because I had gotten that tiny morsel. Thankfully I didn't fall and get whipped again.

After the men ate their lunch we started again. I looked around and saw two mighty rivers on either side of us. It was very interesting; I had never seen so much water before. Looking at water made my throat itch and burn; I hadn't had anything to drink either. At dinner we stopped, and our hands were untied. They tied our feet still, but in such a complicated knot that we couldn't get it undone if we tried. The knot allowed us to move at a slow, shuffling pace, but there was no way we could run.

The slave traders gave us each a small bowl about the size of five sake cups big and one sake cup deep. It had something nasty in it, but I drank it anyway, it was blessing to my stomach, even though I wasn't full. I walked around camp as far as my rope would let me. I found a berry bush laden with ripe berries at the edge of camp. I started to pick some, but I had only gotten five in my mouth before one of the teenage girls kicked me, since she, and her friends wanted the bush to themselves. I walked away, too timid and scared to fight back.

We started walking again, but it was only for a few hours. We stopped at dusk in a forest. They kept our hands tied. We were each given a very thin blanket. It thankfully was very warm. The slave traders whipped anyone who didn't put their blankets on top of themselves. I don't know why, but I think the men did it just to have an excuse to hurt us.

One man was particularly cruel. He always had a wicked smile whenever the girls would scream.

I slept very little, but I didn't dare open my eyes. We rose about half an hour after dawn and started walking again with no breakfast. Our day passed like the last, the only difference was that the food art dinner was slightly better, but still substandard.

The third day was different. At lunch we reached a small village. A few of the older girls were sold off to passerby as we walked, but most of us stayed together. As we passed the brothel, two young girls were waiting outside to be sold to the slave traders. One had a very sour expression, pale skin, and black, cold eyes. The other girl had tan brown hair, the ends curled around her shoulders, and she had brown eyes. She smiled at me as she was tied into line in front of me. The black haired girl went towards the front of the line. I felt sorry for the black haired girl, the closer you are to the front of the line, the harder it is to walk.

I overheard the men talking about the two girls as they were tied to the rest of us. The black haired girl was a year older than me, she was eight, and she was very hateful since she had been abused by some of the men at the brothel. Her name was Yuki. She had been sold because she had taken to biting her clients.

The brown haired girl was seven, and hid from her clients to avoid abuse, so she had a much better disposition. She had been sold by her father, who could only afford to take care of one child, and he wanted a boy. Her name was Sayuri.

We started walking to the local Daimyo's house, which rose high above the village, and I stole a few moments to talk to Sayuri. I asked her if this was where she was born, and she said yes. She nodded towards her home as we passed it.

As we arrived at the Daimyo's, we all lined up and the Daimyo picked some of us. Those he picked were carted off towards his home. Neither Sayuri nor I was picked.

Our lives continued along that vein for awhile, people being sold, people being bought. Sayuri eventually was sold, and I was very lonely. After awhile, I was sold to a different group of slave traders who were gentler then my first masters. We also got fed more at meals, and at breakfast and dinner.

One night, we were walking along a dirt path, I was rather happy. I had a top I had found clutched in my hands, and some women I had made friends with were walking near me. Suddenly, men jumped out from the bushes with swords, ready to kill. It was the nightmare we had all feared. They attacked everyone, people's screams surrounded me. Blood flew everywhere, splattering everything. The familiar numbness clutched me for the first time in a while.

One of the men approached me poised to kill, and I picked up one of the fallen men's swords, struggling to raise it above my head. One of my friends grabbed me from behind before I was skewered. The sword clattered to the ground. I was held tight to the girl, she was breathing heavily due to fear. Another girl stood up and tried to protect me, but she was knocked down in a wave of blood. The girl holding me begged me not to look. She flipped over, trying to protect me from the waves of blood that were flying. Her purple kimono blocked my vision. Yet, she couldn't protect me from the screams of the girls who were struck down.

"Shinta, you must listen to me. You have not had the chance to choose your life. Our fates have been decided tonight, but yours has not. Do not die Shinta, live on! You must survive to honor those who did not!" Her voice was desperate; I could not have refused her. Her words still ring in my ears sometimes.

Then, the girl was pulled up by her ebony hair, and had a sword shoved through her swan's neck. It glinted in the moonlight before the red swept over it. It almost broke my heart to hear her last, desperate cries, but I watched impassionately, my sense of feeling slowly withering away.

"Please live for me, you must never...give up." Then, a sword was shoved through her again, a beautiful red fountain jumping forth.

As the man raised his sword to permanently close my eyes, cries of anguish from his fellow men caught his attention. There, standing amidst their corpses was a tall, green haired man with a billowing white cloak on. As the man who tried to kill me charged towards the newcomer, the newcomer rammed a sword through him, giving birth to a sea of blood. He slashed with his sword so fast I couldn't see his strikes until he had moved on to the next one. Soon, only he and I were left.

He spoke to me, but I didn't listen. I was too distracted by the terrible events playing over and over again in my mind. I simply knelt on the ground while he walked away.

It was morning before I was brought out of my shock by the pain of my stomach rumbling. I found a berry bush nearby and ate some, but very little. I had something more important to do.

I started to dig graves, my tiny hands straining to move the dirt. I dug all day, and I made wooden crosses for the bandits and slave traders and anyone else who was dead. I dug three, very deep, and very special graves. They were the three girls who had died saving me, who I was willing to die to protect. Instead of crosses, I placed stones at the head of their graves. My hands stung, but I didn't care. I stared at the graves I had dug while the sun set.

I didn't notice as the green haired man from earlier walked behind me. He poured sake on the graves, and I thanked him. He asked me why I had dug graves for the bandits as well. I told him they were victims, not of slaughter, but of the evil and corruption that plagued humans. It would not be right of me to deny a simple last courtesy. He asked who the three stones were for. I told him about what the three girls had done to save me. The green haired man asked me my name. I answered. He told me that was too gentle of a name for a soon to be samurai. He renamed me Kenshin, and told me to follow him; I was going to be his apprentice. I followed him into the woods, and the greatest ride of my life began.