Notes On This Story:

[1] THE SETTING. This tale I'm about to share takes place in the pre-Civil War South. The precise state is unimportant, as is the precise date. All you need to know is that slavery is running rampant, and the majority of the South is blissfully unaware that their entire world is going to be upturned sometime in the near future.

[2] THE CHARACTERS. Now, naturally, we're all quite aware that no one in the pre-Civil War South had names like "Nuriko" or "Hotohori" or "Chichiri." However, to avoid reader confusion, that little detail is going to be overlooked in this fic. Names are not time-period or country appropriate, but it's a small detail that I doubt will hinder the story.

[3] THE WARNINGS. Beware of language, racial tension, and eventual shounen ai.

[4] THE DISCLAIMER. Fushigi Yuugi's characters do not belong to me, and neither, alas, does any portion of the pre-Civil War South. As it is, I'm no great authority on this time period, nor do I claim to get all details accurate and perfect to the satisfaction of all history buffs that may glimpse these words. The various dialects have been mostly ignored, as have--as previously mentioned--historically-accurate names. My aim here is not to be precise, not to create a historical essay on slavery and its ramifications. My aim is to tell a story. So, sit back, relax, and read onwards, and I'll do just that.

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Shadows of the South
by Ryuen

~*~

PROLOGUE: Lies, Like Honey


"Precious pain, empty and cold but it keeps me alive
I gave it my soul so that I could survive
Keeping me safe in these chains, precious pain."
-Melissa Etheridge

~*~

His mother's fingers were cold and rigid against his shoulders, the pricks of her nails clawing into his skin until he nearly cried out from the pain. Her eyes were wide and dark above him, her lips pressed together into a thin line, and although he was barely five years old he understood, somehow, that Mama was upset, and it was his fault.

When she spoke, her voice wavered.

"Honey," she whispered. Urgency touched at the word he'd heard so many times, tinged it with the soot and ash of fear. "Honey, please. Listen to me. You got to do what Mama says, okay? Okay?"

Mama's head was nodding up and down, begging him to agree, and so he did. He lifted his chin, brought it down hard, and the tense smile that touched her lips at that burst into him like happiness.

"Good," she said. "Good. Good boy. Now, listen to me, okay, Nuriko? I need you to go over there and take that and put it on. Okay?"

The five-year-old followed his mother's gaze across the sparse living quarters--dirt floor, moldy wooden planks for the walls, a simple cot for the three (two, his mind corrected. two.) of them, and a small, unsturdy table and chairs set. His eyes came to rest on the simple cotton dress, lying crumpled and forgotten on Kourin's chair, and his body went rigid.

"But...but, Mama," he whispered. "That's Ko--"

"No," Mama insisted, clenching her nails into his flesh. "No. You got to forget about her, you hear me? You got to forget about her an' not say a word about her when the men are here, a'right, Nuriko? A'right? You got to remember! An'...an', I know it's gonna be hard, but, honey, you got to put that dress on and come stand by me over here for when the men come in, okay? Please, honey?"

He felt his lower lip beginning to waver, the wound of his sister's death still a great, painful darkness within him. "B-But, Mama--"

From outside, there came the clomping of heavy boots, the rumble of men's voices.

"NOW!" Mama hissed. "Now! Please, honey!"

He was shaking, the sobs building like storm clouds in his throat, but he nodded, hurried over to the chair and grabbed the dress into his small fingers. Mama was moving very quickly, looking scared and anxious and like she was about to burst into tears herself, but her hands were steady enough as she grabbed onto the muddied corners of his shirt and ripped it up over his head.

Meanwhile, outside, the footsteps were getting closer, thudding up the wooden planks that had been slammed down on top of the mud, coming towards the door...

"Hurry!" Mama whispered again. "Please please please, Nuriko, hurry. Mama's got to go answer the door, but please please please put it on now, Nuriko, please!" And, then, she was scurrying away from him, tiptoeing to the door with fingers kneading nervously at her apron, and he knew that he was going to have to do the rest alone.

The tears were welling beneath his eyelids as he peeled the breeches from his legs, kicked them into the corner with the shirt, and lifted the dress into the air. Lord, it still smelled like her, like earth and lilacs and flour, and suddenly he was standing beside her again, gazing down at her pale skin and her breathless lungs and her wide, empty, sightless eyes, and Mama was holding onto his shoulders and crying into his hair, and it was just like when Papa died, just like it except now it was wrenching at his heart with pain he couldn't understand but which he knew was real and not a dream, not a dream, not a dream--

A heavy fist pounded on the door. Mama jumped, spinning around with wide eyes to look at him, and so he closed his eyes and pulled on the dress and swallowed back the tears. Mama had run to his side and grabbed onto his arm and was leading him up towards the front of the shack when the door flapped open, and two big men stepped inside.

And, just like that, Mama was normal again, her voice high and formal, her eyes cast respectfully downwards. "H'llo, Masters," she said, granting the intruders a brief curtsey. "What can I do for ya?"

Five years didn't give him much perspective on the identities of the Masters, but he knew enough of them to know that the tall blond man with the strangely-pretty face was the Big Master's brother, and that the shorter one, the one with the fiery red hair and the kind eyes, was the Big Master's cousin, and he was in charge of the stables.

Big Master's Brother took a long step into the shack, his black boots sending little pieces of dirt fluttering up into the air in little clouds. Nuriko sneezed.

"Bless ya," the redhead said.

Big Master's Brother gave him a scathing look, then turned back to the two slaves and stared at them with hatred in his eyes. "I was told," he rumbled, "that you had a son."

Mama's eyes went down even farther, so far that her chin almost touched against the faded green neckline of her dress. "I did," she murmured, real grief in her voice. "He died o'pneumonia, jus' a few days ago."

The redhead pulled the hat from his head and touched it to his chest. "That's @(#*&$ awful," he said. "Another one, you hear that, Nakago? How old was he?"

"Jus' barely four," Mama whispered. "His Papa passed last June, so at least...at least, he won't be alone...up there."

Big Master's Cousin shook his head, spent a moment in silence staring at the ground. "That's @(*&@#$ awful," he said at last. "@(*&@$ awful."

Nakago's eyes were still dark and narrowed, his arms folded like heavy branches over his chest. Suddenly, he took a long step forward, dropped to one knee in front of the five-year-old, and stared up at him. Nuriko froze in fear. His mother's grip on his fingers was growing painfully tight, keeping him rooted to the spot despite all his desires to run away, and then suddenly it was like he was hearing her voice in his head, hearing her saying, "Please, Nuriko. Please please please..."

Her glanced up at her, very briefly, and found her eyes wide and afraid. Please, Nuriko, they begged. Please...

And, so, he didn't move. Even though he wanted to step back or lash out or just curl into a ball on the floor and cry, he didn't. He stood as still as he could, lifted his chin into the air, and let the big man study him. Even if his heart was clenching in fear. Even if it was all he could do not to cry out.

"Bold little girl," Nakago said after a moment. His lips were twisted upwards into a slight smile. "Undersized..." His eyes flitted to Nuriko's fingers, which--although they were slowly fading to white as the bloodflow was cut off--clenched around his mother's hand just as tightly as hers did his. The man's smile bent a little. "But, obviously stronger than she looks. She would make a fine field worker."

The redhead cleared his throat loudly, a frown working at his lips. "Nakago, what the @(*#$& are you talkin' about? You know Tama never likes the girls to be workin' in the fields." He grunted. "It's men's work, ya know? @#(*$&, she'll prob'ley end up in the House with Miaka and the other women once she's old enough, you know that."

The smile faded slowly from Nakago's face. "Of course," he said coolly. "I appreciate the reminder, Tasuki."

"'Course you do. Anyway, c'mon. Let's get goin', huh? I'm gettin' @(*#$&$ hungry."

"Of course." As he rose to his feet, however, his eyes shifted suddenly to Mama. "How old is the girl?"

Mama didn't hesitate. "Jus' turned five years old on Saturday."

"Interesting," Nakago murmured. "Just old enough--" He glanced at Tasuki. "--were she a boy, of course--to start work in the fields. As it is, she'll have to be moved into the House to work with the women." His lip curled. "A pity. I'd have enjoyed...working with her."

Tasuki was frowning again. "@#$*(&, Nakago, why do ya keep talkin' like that? She's a @#($*&@$ girl. C'mon, let's finish up so I can eat, okay?"

"Very well," Nakago said. His eyes, however, were locked on Nuriko, and his voice was low and dangerous. "She'll be well-cared for, working in the kitchen with the women. Which is just as well, I suppose. Fieldwork is not for the weak. It would be a shame for you to lose another member of your family to it."

Mama's hand went slack in his fingers. Peering up at her, he could see that her jaw was clenched, her eyes dark and fearful...but, there was something like determination there; something like strength. "It wasn't the work that killed 'im," she whispered. Anger flashed in the dark pools of her eyes.

"Of course, it was," Nakago answered smoothly. "What else could it have been?" His eyes flickered over his shoulder, noticed Tasuki fidgeting in the doorway. "There's no need to worry over this child," he said quietly, the light dancing in his eyes, twisting into shadow. "I'll be sure to keep a close watch on her." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "As you should keep a close watch on yourself."

Then, the man turned, slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and stalked out of the shack. Tasuki followed just behind him, tipping his hat a bit in farewell, and the door of the shack shuddered closed.

~*~


AN: Chapter One shall follow shortly. Ah, and just so you're aware, this story will not take place in the time it begins--Nuriko will be about sixteen when we pick up with him next, and the rest of the characters will, naturally, age accordingly. Until then, however, please, let me know what you think. I have big plans for this story, but I'd appreciate any comments or criticisms. Does the story interest you? Does it grab your attention? Does it just lay there with its tongue flapping out and stare at you with big xes over its eyes?? Let me know. I need to know these things.

Ah, and by the way, the majority of the Fushigi Yuugi characters -will- be appearing in this fic, with the possible exception of Miboshi, simply because I just don't know what the hell to do with the freaky little tyke. -_-;;; But, anyway, enough rambling. *flits off*