Saint of the Sword
Once Upon a Time fic
Part One
The town of Storybrooke…
Emma Swann looked everywhere as she stalked down the street. Henry Mills, the foster son of the mayor had run away; and Emma sought him out, having convinced his adoptive mother to stay at home in case he came back on his own. At the moment she headed in the direction some locals had claimed to see a boy about Henry's height ran down; turning a corner Emma practically grunted in her frustration.
Then she saw it. One of the local businesses; above its front door and an entrance wide enough to accommodate most vehicles on the road stood signage bearing the words 'Hisashi's Reliable Radiator/Muffler Repair and Shop'.
It was doubtful at best whoever worked there had seen the boy, but frankly Emma was short on ideas. Stepping through the door she saw a local's car in the immediate vicinity- and a pair of legs sticking out from beneath it.
"Uh, hello?" Emma called out, "Who's in charge here?"
"That would be me," from under the car slid out a handsome man of Oriental descent. As he pulled himself up to his feet; Emma noticed he had a warm smile, and in spite of the grease stains on his face and coveralls, somehow still managed to look dignified, "Stephen Hisashi," he introduced himself.
Emma extended a hand, "I'm Emma Swann, I'm-"
"Yes, I've seen you before," Stephen interrupted, "You're the new sheriff in town." A lame pun to be sure, but both chuckled at it all the same; Stephen then asked, "What can I do for you, sheriff?"
"Well, I'm trying to find the Mayor's foster son," Emma started, "I was told he came by here- I don't suppose you weren't under the car when he did?"
Stephen nodded in understanding, "I probably was. However it would not be the first time he came here to hide after a fight with his adoptive mother; I think I can show you where he went. If you'll come with me…"
As Emma followed Stephen she looked around the place; for the most part it seemed as ordinary as any other shop of its kind, though she doubted very many had a small shrine to Buddha in the workplace.
Henry Mills squatted under the closed well of a desk, clutching to his chest a book that held a collection of fairy tales- tales which he stubbornly insisted were the 'true lives' of most, if not everyone in the town.
"Henry- are you there?" He heard Mr. Hisashi ask calmly.
"I'm not going back!" Henry shouted; as he did so he kept his eyes shut and gripped the book so tightly his knuckles paled, "You're not going to make me!"
"No, I'm not," Stephen's voice sounded amused, "That is what Sheriff Swann came here to do."
"Henry," Emma pleaded, "You're not going to fix anything by running off and hiding under a desk. It's time to come home, your mom's probably freaking out."
It took about a minute for the boy to relent and crawl out; as she led him away Emma looked back at Stephen, "Thanks for your help, I got to admit I'm surprised just how patient you are with this kid."
Stephen shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Were we not children once?"
Ushering Henry out the door Emma looked at the boy and inquired, "I suppose his story is in that silly book too?"
"Actually it is," Henry answered, "But it is kind of strange…"
The Magic Kingdom…
Pipe smoke hung in the air of the noisy tavern as men drank and ate. All but one of the tables were crowded; that table's lone occupant was a rather unsightly-looking man with an equally unnerving smile, indeed the tavern's other patrons scrunched themselves together rather than sit near him.
The door swung inside to admit a different kind of outsider; a man with snow hanging on his fur cloak, on his head an odd-shaped hat constructed of straw. The stranger took off his head gear to reveal a handsome, if odd face; with slanted eyes and skin of a shade unlike anyone else in these lands. His straight, black hair fixed into a topknot. As the front of his cloak parted it showed two slightly curved swords hanging on his belt, one noticeably longer than the other.
The patrons gave this stranger some curious looks, then went back to their plates and mugs. The stranger stepped up to the barkeep; with an uneven but understandable grasp of the local language he requested a meal, dropping several gold coins on the bar to pay for it.
The barkeep picked up one of the coins to examine it more closely. Instead of a circle it had twelve flat outer edges, and a tiny square punched through the centre. On all four sides of the square were etched different characters from a script unfamiliar to him.
"First time I've ever seen a coin stamped like this," the barkeep observed, then tasted the coin- to the stranger's visible disgust, "But it's real gold, so it's good here," he gathered up the rest and went to fulfill the order.
At this point someone jostled the stranger; as he looked to his right a burly thug sneered at him, "You're not from around here."
"Indeed I am not," the stranger conceded.
"You better watch yourself," the thug continued, "I'm a wanted man- in fact I have a hanging sentence in six provinces." Behind the brute two of his 'friends' snickered in encouragement.
Rather than show the kind of fear the thug had hoped to instil in him, the stranger stood his ground, "Impressive. I am sure your ancestors look upon you with great pride," his calm tone somehow emphasising the contempt he felt.
"What'd you say about my-" the thug lurched forward- then froze, finding the stranger's shorter sword close to his neck- the stranger had drawn the weapon so quickly no one had even seen him do it.
"See this blade at your throat?" the stranger started, "In my hand it has slain giants that could have stomped you flat without even noticing- so I suggest you look for a fight elsewhere." The thug backed down, and several faint cheers ensued as the stranger sheathed his blade.
The barkeep presented the stranger with a tray bearing a mug of the local beer, a wedge of cheese and one of several rabbits he had roasted on a spit. The stranger's face turned queasy for a moment, but he thanked the barkeep and accepted the tray. Looking about he saw the tables were full except for the one whose lone, unsightly occupant waved forward in invitation.
As the stranger sat the other attempted conversation, "Your reflexes were admirable- almost as much as your restraint. From what I saw you could have taken that fool's head clean off quite easily."
The stranger shrugged, "I suspect the tavern keeper has enough problems without having to mop a fool's blood off his floor," he gave in reply.
"I don't doubt he does!" the ugly man laughed, then extended his hand out again, "I am known by these people as Rumplestiltskin."
Realizing what was expected of him the stranger reached over to shake the other's hand and introduced himself, "I am Momotaro."
Storybrooke…
As Emma escorted Henry home the boy opened the book he held and turned it to a specific page, "Here- see?" Henry said out loud.
Emma looked down on the page; in addition to the printed words came illustrations- one showing Momotaro's unusual 'birth'- an elderly couple cutting open a giant peach and finding a healthy baby boy inside where the pit should have been. The text elaborated on how the couple adopted the boy, raising him to be noble and strong. Then Henry showed a picture of Momotaro as an adult.
Emma had to admit- replace the kimono with dirty coveralls and cut off the topknot, he could pass for Stephen's twin. But then Emma was a firm believer in coincidence and the resemblance did little to shake that.
While they walked Henry repeated the rest of the tale; how Momotaro would take on the quest to stop brutish monsters called Oni that had been burning and robbing villages. With the help of three animal companions he had met along the way- a wolf, hawk and monkey, he stormed the demons' island stronghold, killed the oni and returned their loot to the lands it had been stolen from.
To Emma's surprise, the illustrations concerning the clash with the oni were- visceral- compared to the others, or any picture elsewhere in the book for that matter, isn't this a story that was supposed to be told to kids?
"Cute story," Emma started to counter, "But in case you didn't notice no birds or wolves were hanging around that shop, and the only monkey present was a grease monkey." Henry only shut the book and muttered, like most children, firmly convinced he knew everything and adults were blind.
The Magic Kingdom…
In the early hours of the night Momotaro talked and laughed with the one friend he had made in this strange land.
Suddenly the laughter died on Momotaro's lips as he sensed danger. Sure enough the thug from the tavern and his compatriots ran out into the open, surrounding him with weapons at the ready.
The leader of the three, the one Momotaro had faced down snarled at Rumplestiltskin, "We got no beef with you- so stay out of this."
To Momotaro's relief, his companion chose not to endanger himself; he spoke to the brute that had tried to intimidate him, "I see our earlier encounter has taught you nothing."
"Oh I learned plenty," the thug chuckled, "You might be quick with those blades, but you ain't fast enough for all three of us."
"Perhaps not," Momotaro held his ground, "But even then at least one of you would still be killed in the attempt," He looked at the other two, "Are either of you willing to die for his bruised ego?"
The thug yelled at his buddies, "Don't let him spook you- he's all talk!"
"You won't get another chance," Momotaro warned, "Walk away…"
"GET HIM!" the thug and his friends closed in…
It ended far more quickly than it began. A second later Momotaro stood holding a blood-stained blade before him in one hand, a second blade behind him in the other. The thugs lay dead at his feet, their bodies each shorn in two.
"And good riddance I say," Rumplestiltskin spat, "Come on, we should go before someone sees us." But Momotaro did not run. First he whipped his swords through the air flinging the blood off them but away from himself. Then after sheathing the blades he lowered his head.
"Merciful Buddha," He started in the tongue of his homeland, "Guide them in the next life, that they do not repeat the mistakes of the previous one…"
Though Rumplestiltskin may not have understood Momotaro's words, he was able to grasp their intent, "Are you actually praying for those scum?"
Momotaro shot him a dirty look, "Do you mind?" then continued his prayer.
Storybrooke…
Having showered off the day's work and eaten dinner, Stephen sat down to complete a final ritual of the day.
Before him rested a calligraphy set- some might call it an obsolete relic, but to Stephen it represented a form of art worth preserving. Grasping an ink stick firmly in one hand he brought it to the inking stone, which held a modest amount of clean water in its hollow depression.
In circular motions he ground the stick into the water; when just enough ink had settled into the water but not too much he removed the stick, them dipped the bristles of his brush into the mixture. He contemplated what to write; then raised his brush to the paper, using it to scribe three modest lines of verse:
From another world,
Now in this,
One still remembers.