Kumi

The little boy turned his head over on his overstuffed pillow. His head swam with nausea; his body ached from yesterday's hard work. The rough and irritating covers rubbed up and down against his body as his mother twisted and turned, in her sleep, on the ground next to him. The corner of the coarse blanket had uncovered his feet and offered both to the biting draftiness of the room. He lay there, barely awakened by his mah-mee's tossing, feeling his mind's urgings to return to rest. He too wanted to fall back to sleep. Yet it seemed his call to retreat from the world would not be answered, had his feet been covered, his light sleep would have ended still as the remains of yesterday pulled at his thoughts. The memory of it all still hung in the air; his father's commanding shouts and all of the confusion of the village. While he and his family rushed in and out of their house on vital errands, villagers watched and worried calling doctors and nurses, all of which seemed busy in other areas of the town.

He was used to gathering leaves and herbs in the mornings and afternoons for his family's wellbeing, he remembered taking the twisting path through the snow, remembered the pleasant smells and colors of the patches of herbs beyond the icy hills. He always took his time on the small journey, watching the clouds and savoring the brisk breezes that glanced his cheeks, so much so that he often returned late to his home and found himself in the doorway of an angry but forgiving man who would pull him inside and laugh when the boy offered his crazy excuses. The smells and faces were familiar to him and brought him sweet sentiments about those peaceful typical days, the days before yesterday. For the paths he traveled yesterday, over the hill to the thicket, were not the same as the ones he walked on those sweet and friendly days, or they did not feel the same. A blizzard was raging around the village and the snow was blinding. The air seemed icier and thick with a fresh and painful sense of worry. While he toured through the frosty knolls he couldn't concentrate on the cheery path, his father's words swarmed in his head and a knot congealed in his throat. The moment his hands clasped the weeds he uprooted them and rushed urgently back to his mother's side.

He had tried so hard to muddle through his mah-mee's screams, as his father told him to. She frightened him, and though he knew she couldn't possibly have meant it he was forced to recall the stinging bruise he bore on his cheek from the unnoticed hand that swung into his face. He had struggled to feed her the medicines she needed, but he could not evade all of mah-mee's thrashings.

For now, she slept next to him on the cold dirt floor of their house, cradling her newfound sleep with an eerie silence. After her screams and writhing she was drowned in medication and did not stir more than a slow wriggle of discomfort. Still the distressing memories crept into the corners of his thought and shot feelings of unease through his aching body.

Though his brain cried for sleep, the morning birds persuaded the boy to rise and admit to morning's beckoning. So he pulled himself to a stand and shook out the sleepiness from his head. He was sure it was going to be a long day and he needed to ready himself starting with his appearance. That was always the way he started his days, then again, that was the way everyone in the Zuka clan was supposed to start his or her days, with a strict set of cleansing tools a Zuka kept in his pouch on his daywear he would neatly fix his hair and wash his face and body. So the young boy stood and looked for his wear. Now that he stood it was easy to see that his age couldn't have been past eight, yet he stood tall for an eight-year-old, perhaps four feet, five inches off of the ground. His long straight snow-white hair, braided hastily for the night, lay along his back until it dropped off just below his waist. His pale skin could blend easily into the icy cliffs around the village, and to an outsider he would have seemed a ghost. Zuka prided themselves in their pale white appearance; their hair and their skin bore the beautiful pallor like a flag. It was even possible, though somewhat rare, that a Zuka child would bear white eyes, with only a small ring around their iris to convey they even had seeing eyes. It was good luck to be born with white eyes, though it caused a deal of problems with eyesight, and villagers who did have eyes with such paleness washed their eyes with special medicinal waters to clear the clouds.

This young Zuka bore no such eyes. He wandered over to the corner of the room and scooped up his garments off of a small cushion, which lay neatly in front of their low dining table. This room wouldn't traditionally be slept in, but there were old Zuka tales of good spirits that comforted the ill. The spirits were supposed to stay in the dining room, and so that was where his father had the boy sleep. Yet, the old dining room was the only room in the house that they had not yet leveled for flooring, so he had laid out one of their last mats for his mah-mee's comfort, and slept next to her on the hard cold floor. After he took the attire from the pillow he hurried to a rack near the door and grabbed a long white cloak from it's shelf and quickly wrapped it around his thin figure. Once he had fastened the shroud around his shoulders and pulled over the hood, he turned to take one last check on his mother, before sliding the front door open and shutting it tightly behind him, against the harsh cold wind.

With only twenty days separating them from the two months of attack from the bone village, the road he stood on now looked only faintly similar to the decorative cobblestone path it had once been. The shops and houses were all mostly dirt floored now, and the worst were made of scraps from previously standing structures. The bone village warriors had found some sort of way to attack through the ground, causing most damage to be sighted on the paths and floors of the village and it's houses. The main road was still boldly marked with strewn cobblestones and the hospital's plumbing had surprisingly survived the battle, so there was clear hope in the reconstruction. The warriors from the bone village had been remarkably unprepared and were easily driven away once their leaders had been executed, but the wear that the battle had caused was still visible as he ran through the streets over to the bathhouse.

The Zuka had the bathhouse as one of the first buildings to be reconstructed, as their appearance and hygiene were so important to them. Its structure had remained, but the plumbing needed to be fixed before it was suitable. The house had a grand structure and beautiful columns that seemed to twist up around its sturdy frame. Zuka in the village were all built a personal washroom in the bathhouse, which was to be visited at least twice a day, for cleansing. However, the bathhouse was visited by all of the villagers, not only the Zuka, seeing as it had been the only main source of plumbing in the village since the attack.

The attack itself had been a minor thing; the village warriors were at an elite terrain advantage out here in the icy wilderness and easily fended off attackers. The village of Bones was well known for leveling cities and rooting their own towns into the remains. When his own village had caught wind of the upcoming attack, they made sure that wouldn't happen. The warriors of his village were highly skilled and could take on any opponent, especially if they were not accustomed to the harsh climates of the land of ice. When the village had first heard of the attack, they barely believed that it was real, since the land of ice wasn't even mentioned in geography books in the other lands of the earth. The village name was "Shimogakure", meaning Village Hidden in the Frost; it was a village of mostly warriors and a large bunch of common people who took refuge there. They were highly secluded from the world and were almost never involved in attacks or trade negotiations. Nonetheless, Shimogakure was not caught off guard.

The young boy ran along the road with his garments in hand until he stood in the shadow of the bathhouse and paused for a moment before rushing through the tall doors. Inside, the structure was even more impressive, whales and waterfowl, and all sorts of marine creatures were engraved in the pale surface of the high stonewalls. Giant fur seals and Snow petrels dove through water and air on the smooth face. The main hall of the house held a well and many benches, and was kept entirely spotless of all litter and kept a sort of peacefulness locked in its frame. Yet today it did not feel like the same house that he and his cousin had always gone to, running through with smiles and buckets to fill for both chores and pranks. Not the same place that his best friend from the academy dared him to go into the female wing. It bore only a faint sense of familiarity as he rushed through the halls and doorways.

Once he had made it to his own washroom, he slid open the wooden door and locked it behind himself. The he walked slowly over to a mirror, which covered a whole wall of his washroom, and studied his appearance. He really did need a wash. His cheek was still reddened where the stinging bruise made its presence known, and he would have to apply a makeup until it healed. His hair was shiny with sweat from the uneasy night and all of his work yesterday. But what bothered him the most were his tired, bloodshot eyes, he couldn't hide it, and he hoped that they would return to normal before he left the room. He removed the cloak from his slender body and hung it on a hook next to the mirror, and then he pulled of his nightclothes and undergarments and laid them on the tile floor near the sink. Now he could see the full of it all, his scratched up arms and legs, and the cuts on his hands from the weeds' sharp thorns. On the far side of the room was a large brown and beige tub made of glazed wood and porcelain. It was around seven feet wide, seven feet long, and it had a few levels on the inside, for raised seating, but could go down to exactly four feet. It stood apart from the walls and could be entered from any side by the use of a stool that stood nearby. Above the bathtub was a spigot that could be used for a shower if the tub was empty. He went over to the tub and turned a faucet knob to fill it with water. Once it was brimming with the cold water he took some crumpled and powdered leaves from the pouch on his daywear and sprinkled the pieces into the water.

The young boy put his hands on the sides of the tub and concentrated. Soon after, the water began to steam and its herbal contents dissolved into the now hot tub water. This was something that all of the Zuka clan members could do, a special genial talent, called a "Kekkei Genkai", or bloodline limit. With practice, a Zuka could formulate and maintain almost any temperature in their body or their surroundings, precisely how the village could survive at the bottom of the world on their frost covered land of ice. The small boy pulled over a short stool and a little table filled with soaps, special shampoos, and many different types of conditioners. Then he stood on the stool and stepped into the tub letting his body take in the sharp heat. He sat there, unmoving for a long while, encouraging the waters to relax his tense muscles before he cleansed himself. He untied the hair band on his braid and let it undo itself as he sank his body into the tub. The best part about taking a bath was that it took less energy to heat the water than he gained from it, especially since the tub was designed to hold heat.

Once his hair was soaked and his body was relaxed he took the soap from the table and stood rubbing it over his feet and his hands. Then he replaced it and traded for another soap, which he applied to his joints. He took another and rubbed it upon his face, and did the same using many other soaps for the rest of his body. The soaps soothed and cleansed the different types of tissues under and at the surface of his skin and gave them a healthy appearance. When he had completed the soaps application he conditioned his hair only a small amount and pulled a brush through the wet silky locks. Then he poured a shampoo on his head and massaged it into his scalp and tresses, and then he let it soak in while he combined two of the other shampoos into a fragrant mixture. He made sure that the perfume would mix without composing an unpleasant, or unusual smell.

The aroma rose into the air and gave the boy what little comfort a beautiful fragrance could offer. He dunked his head into the hot water and rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Then he conditioned his hair with the same combination of fragrances and took his time pulling the brush through his hair. The tangles were unknotted by the brush and he rinsed his head again, once satisfied. Then the boy stood in the already cooling waters and unlocked the drain and pulled a towel from the table without letting a single drop of water hit the floor. He wrapped it around himself and soaked up all the large collections of water before drying the less observable damp parts. His hair dried from the heat he sent through it, almost immediately. Now that it was unbraided, it lay a good four inches below his waist before dropping off. He brushed it gently and left it loose around his shoulders while he waited for the tub to empty.

Once the tub had drained completely he dried his legs and feet and stepped out of the bathtub. The floor was cold but it didn't bother him as he went over to the sink to more properly wash his face. Then he took out a few bottles and spread some of their contents across his face to prevent dryness. Today, he did not need to do anything about his nose or eyebrows other than brush the eyelashes and eyebrow hairs into position. His eyes were beginning to return to normal already, but the bruise, reddened from the heat, was still noticeable. First things first, though, he would have to apply some sort of ointment to his scratches and cuts.

He bent down to open a cabinet under the sink and pulled out some ointment and salve, and began to apply. The cuts stung from the herbal mixtures but he had been taught that it was necessary to apply for there to be no infections. When the ointment was smothered over the wounds and bruises, he let it dry and began to paint his nails with a polish to improve their sturdiness.

Once he was done the Zuka child walked back to the mirror to smoothen makeup over the discolored bruise, then he turned to his day clothes and retrieved them from the floor. He walked over to a small trough in the back corner of the room and proceeded to wash them before laying the garments out and heating them to dryness.

He slipped the garbs over his figure and fastened the belts once he had stepped into his pants. The mellow colors off his robes emphasized the graceful presence he now held. To any outsider, he was a stunning sight; a pretty white Zuka child clad in their day garments was always a vision. Once he was grown he would find a more suitable style to convey a grown man's appearance, but for now it would be difficult to tell the boy apart from the Zuka maidens in the village.

Satisfied with his look, the boy took a different white cloak from one of the hooks near the mirror and rushed from the washroom into the grand halls of the bathhouse. He stepped gently, but quickly, through the luxurious passages, until he reached the main hall. When he glanced up at the clock he pressed faster out the door to hurry home; he hadn't known it would take so long to prepare himself, he had taken almost an hour; twenty minutes longer than he normally did. From the corner of his eye he saw his cousin trying to catch up with him as he bolted through the door.

"Kumi! Where are you going so fast?" He shouted.

"Back home! I left my Kaa-san there and I need to check on her." The boy replied.

Having finally caught up with his cousin, the new and shorter Zuka boy lowered his voice to a more appropriate level; "You're always in a rush, Kumi. You need to chill out. Can't we talk? I want to hear about your Kaa-san, Kumi."

"She's fine, Yasu. I think the doctor is gonna come to our house." The taller boy answered.

"Because you didn't do a good enough job, right Kumi?" Upon this, both the boys slowed to a halt and Kumi put his hands on his hips glaring playfully into his itoko's teasing eyes.

"I did great! You saw me! I'm gonna be a great ninja!" He said and he rushed away before his cousin could stop him.

Down the cobblestone road he rushed to his house where he saw his grandmother standing at the door. He hurried to her side and looked up at her after a reverent bow.

"Baa-sama. Papa would want you to come in." He quickly offered, and he unlocked the door for her to step inside. "Mah-mee is sleeping in the dining room. I left her here while I got ready, but the medicine is supposed to keep her asleep and she hasn't made a sound since yesterday."

"Your Kaa-san should sleep until night, that's what the medicine is supposed to induce." She said softly. She took a step into the house and looked around for a while before noticing the woman; asleep under the brown blanket not to far in. "She does not look well. Yet I think she is better than yesterday."

"Where is Jiji-sama?" He whispered.

"He is at the market with your tou-san. There is no need for whispering, Kumi; she is sound asleep." She said. "Come, your tou-san told me you would need a cook."

"Arigato, Baa-sama." Kumi replied with a small smile.

The old but still beautiful lady walked quietly further into the house and through a doorway into the kitchen. She made her way to the countertop, and where the next square of countertop would have been a metal rack could be seen, suspended above a large decorative bin. The bin appeared to be for catching ashes, though it was difficult to see inside of it, since the metal rack covered it. She placed a cloth-covered basket on the counter and unfolded the fabric to reveal several raw fish, which she placed gently on the rack. She then placed her hands lightly upon the front bar of the rack and the three fish began to sizzle.

"Your tou-san told me about your bravery the other day." She said.

"My bravery?" Kumi said, blushing mildly.

"Through the storm, of course." She praised. "He told me that he was so busy barking commands, and worrying about your Kaa-san, that he forgotten to thank you for all of your hard work."

"When I see him. I'll thank him too." Kumi replied lightheartedly.

She smiled, "I believe him. You're always doing the craziest things to help around the village. Your family is very proud of you, especially your itoko. Why… you should here him bragging about you. 'He's not more than nine, he's not even a white-eye, and he's been going out into storms, to do his part for Shimogakure and his family.' That's how they all say it."

"Not Jiji-sama." Kumi sighed, looking around the room.

"No, he's got pride all right. Wait till you're older and he'll be fawning over you just the same."

While his Grandmother cooked the food, Kumi watched her sprinkle spices and salt from time to time, in between turning each of the fish. In sooner than five minutes, the kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of grilled fish, and Kumi watched her set out plates on the small table they had in the kitchen. Then she moved to the basket and lifted off the cloth that the fish were on, exposing a batch of freshly made rice-cakes and a small bunch of cold vegetables. She set the basket on the table and turned to take the fish from the rack. She followed this motion, by setting the fish on a cutting board and using a knife to separate the tasty and healthy parts from the lesser appetizing.

Once she laid all of their brunch out on the table, Kumi rushed to a closet and pulled out two cushions for them to sit at the table. He laid them both in their respective areas and waited for his Baa-sama to seat herself before he too sat.

"Ikidakimasu." He chimed, and she nodded before they both started eating their food.

Kumi downed his meal quickly, stood, and after a bow he picked up his plate and nearly threw it into the wooden bin they used for holding unclean dishes, before rushing to the front door. He hastily threw a cloth bag over his shoulder and slid open the door, hurrying outside with another quick thank you.

He ran down the path from his house and turned in the opposite direction of the bathhouse, but before he could take another step he bumped into a tall man and drew back immediately. No one ever came from the way he was headed; it was a path that leads to his family's private bed of herbs. Only his Mah-mee took the path to garden and prune the larger batches of plants, and even she wouldn't be going since she took ill. Upon looking up he saw a very tall man with dark hair and a look of concern on his face, Kumi recognized him as one of the local doctors. Kumi looked him over, wondering why he was there, when he noticed his Tou-san standing at the man's side, and not to far off, his Jiji-san stood giving him a harsh look of disapproval. His tou-san grabbed onto Kumi's shoulder and turned the boy roughly to look directly into his eyes. Kumi couldn't help but jolt at the rough treatment, he almost felt as though he would cry.

"Kumi. Show me the herbs you used on Kaa-san." He cried desperately.

"Tou-san?" Kumi whispered anxiously.

"Go!" His tou-san shouted. He turned Kumi back in the direction of the house and shoved him forward. Kumi ran to the house and pulled a basket off of a bench on their porch showing its contents to his father. Kana took the basket forcefully from his son's grip and held it up to the doctor who peered inside.

"Tou-chan?" Kumi whispered again, trying to choke back tears. The man examined the basket and looked up at Kana, he shook his head.

"No." Kumi's father choked. He shook his head back and forth before standing slowly. Kumi watched his father, but Kana's expression never changed. After he was fully standing he slid the door open violently and rushed over to his wife's side. He shook her forcefully, but there was no response. Kumi's grandmother walked into the room, looking at them inquisitively.

"Daddy!" Kumi screamed, "Mommy's dead?!" The doctor hurried over to Kana's side and knelt down next to him. He pulled Kana away from the sickly lady and examined her closely. He put his hand up to her mouth and then two fingers to her wrist.

"She's alive. She's breathing just barely, and her pulse is there." He said, trying to be calm in the midst of Kana's heavy anxious breathing and Kumi's sobs. Kumi's grandmother had her hand to her mouth and was shuddering in the kitchen doorway, a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Thank God! Is she going to live?" Kana breathed.

The doctor shook his head, "I don't know. Those were the wrong herbs. She was given far too many of the wrong kind, when you get too much of that type of plant in your system it puts you to sleep, for good."

"Will she?" Kana whispered.

"I can't be sure. I don't know how much she had."

All four of Kumi's elders turned to him.

They watched as the young and frightened boy ran out the door.