A/N:: AU, inspired by Sidian007's fantastic Meiji Former series on Deviant Art.
Japan, April 22, 1851
Ratchet gasped, flinging himself from the floor to stand on trembling legs, his fists up and guarded – only there was nothing there. He stood hunched and alone in the deteriorating temple he had sheltered in last night, with only the Buddha beside him. Blinking his optics Ratchet looked closer, scowling at the dark wooden statues he had missed the night before that now glowed a ruddy, warm hue in the brightening dawn. Looking around wildly Ratchet took in the newly deposited wood lying at the statues' feet that smelt sweetly of freshly broken, polished wood.
"Hello?" Ratchet called out with false bravado as he pulled his long over robe back on after having used it as a futon the night before. "Anybody there?" Tentative steps moved him from the temple and out the wide open doorway. He looked to the trail, still wet from the night's rain and blinked nervously. Only deer prints marked the rain scoured trail. A few bird tracks lingered here and there, but otherwise he had been alone all night.
Unnerved, Ratchet returned to the Buddha and performed his morning meditation until full sun up then moved to begin cleaning and mending the temple. Using the collected wood laid by spirits unknown for him to make repairs on the temple's leaky roof. By noon the roof was patched, the shingles fallen to the ground around the temple and scattered among the destroyed remains of an extension to the temple that led into a deep pit underground. Dead fall from the surrounding thick forest had been collected as Ratchet worked, letting it dry within the temple for his hearth fire that night.
Once the sun had reached its zenith, Ratchet donned his travel gear. Once more carrying his life's possessions he turned down the path leading opposite of the way he had come the night previous and strode swiftly towards the faint scent of wood smoke and the call of ironoxen. His steps were sure, preceded by the jangling of his staff.
"Mama! Mama! There's a priest coming!" young mechs called out as they ran away from Ratchet as he approached. He smiled, watching the littles racing to their carriers. It had been too long since he had seen a healthy village with happy young ones.
"Who are you?" A big black mech demanded standing intimidating before his smithy.
"I am Ratchet, a wandering priest and healer. I heard there was a sickness in the area."
Dark red optics studied Ratchet intensely for a moment, "Since when do priests wear the red and white of the miko?" He demanded referring to the female attendants of Shinto shrines. (1)
"I am not wearing a femme's robes!" Ratchet snapped, "I was a doctor before I became a priest. I swore my services to the followers of Buddha." He huffed slightly and looked up to the taller blacksmith. "Is there an illness here, or am I wasting my time?"
The black mech frowned, "I am Steelhide, welcome to Juzori village. Our younglings began falling ill with the spring. We have lost six mechlings and three femmes, all dying within a week of their first cough. Come, I will show you."
Ratchet nodded, following Steelhide through the village. Small huts squatted close together; their rough thatching looked barely serviceable after the long winter. Younglings played, unconcerned with the illness around them, but fear lurked in their optics making their bright hues dim. Ratchet frowned as he moved taking in the young mechs and femmes just barely of bonding age and noting that many already bore signs of age upon their haggard face plating.
"Is there a nadebotoke?" (2) Ratchet asked pensively, his guide nodded with a huffed hn and gestured to a low thatched pavilion sitting over a lone statue. It was of an old mech in Buddha's lotus pose, pedes crossed in his lap. Hands, palm up were layered together and cradled against his thighs. The statue, a rubbing Buddha figure, had pale patches where the white wood shone through the dark reddish lacquer from so many hands rubbing it for their own health and that of their younglings. Held in its cradled hands were hundreds of red baby caps, red bibs, and scarves of red and white all begging good health from the perfected saint, Binzuru. Ratchet studied the carving of the wizened old mech with its many bare spots and the hand crafted coverings of red and white. (3)
"How long has Binzuru wept?" Ratchet asked nodding to the statue's face where shimmering tears of fluid mercury seeped from its wooden optics.
"Since Clearlace died." Steelhide looked to the ground, hands fisted in grief and rage, "She was my daughter. She was three."
"Take me to the sick." Ratchet requested turning with his guide to a low hut that smelt of damp rust and tainted oil. Another scent touched his sensors, a hint of malevolence and hunger. "Merciful Goddess!" Ratchet spat, nearly making the invocation to Kannon into a curse. (4)
"Watch your mouth priest."
"This is not a sickness." Ratchet spoke softly turning with horror and dread to the waiting blacksmith. Steelhide starred with wide, fearful optics as Ratchet looked at him. "In this village is a demon, someone was killed by a goblin, and that beast has been using the corpse to spread this disease."
"But no one had died! We've been blessed with good health and longevity since midsummer last." Steelhand protested, fists clenched and trembling to hide his fear.
"Summon your villagers together, tell them that I must administer a tonic to keep the illness at bay." Ratchet sent the mech on his way and entered the sick hut, covering his face with a scented cloth to block the stench. He ground crystal herbs and metallic ores together mixing them into bowls of thin energon and fed the sick children. Eleven were ill ranging from a small sparklet in a weary carrier's arms to the oldest at only eight years.
"This will taste foul, but you must drink it all. This will keep any other children you come near from sickening when the miasma of the sick hut clings to your frame." Ratchet spoke gently to the lone femme tending the sick younglings. She nodded wordlessly, taking the draught and grimacing as she swallowed it down.
Ratchet frowned as she drank, he had hoped this would be easy, but the draught laced with herbs that made demons drowsy had no effect of the femme. With a huff Ratchet departed wordlessly, turning to the fresh air beyond the sick hut and the gathered villagers there.
"Thank you, Steelhide." Ratchet nodded to the blacksmith, "This sickness has plagued you for far too long. I have created a draught that will keep your children safe and cleanse its effects from everyone. Younglings first." Ratchet summoned the village littles to the front giving them little portions they had to swallow down followed by fragrant crystal petals to suck on that would take away the icky flavor.
"Last one," Ratchet rumbled taking the toddler from her mother and holding the tiny femme to his chest. He held the little femme still, making her sip the nasty concoction even as she fussed and cried like the others. Once finished he held up a bright yellow petal making it gleam in the sunlight. Once she noticed it and made grabby motions for the shiny object Ratchet gave both her and the bright petal to her carrier.
"Now, I need the adults. I don't have sweets for the adult, so you'll just have to choke it down fast." Ratchet ground out, his gentle demeanor towards the little children vanished when the last ones were safe in their carrier's arms.
One by one each mature villager took their dose, some gagging others chugging down a swift swallow of sweetened energon to wash away the lingering aftertaste. As the number of villagers needing to take the draught dwindled Ratchet began to despair. If no one reacted to the tonic then he would have to remain in the village for the night, and not return to the quiet solitude of the deteriorating temple that already felt like home.
An old crone shuffled in from the forest, upon her arm hung a basket laden with lightly hued crystal petals, all favorites of littles. "What is it that smells so sweet?" She approached closer to Ratchet scenting the air in appreciation. "That scent, what is it?" She queried again missing Ratchet's urgent signal for silence to the other villagers.
"Wise grandmother, this is an elixir." Ratchet spoke kindly, "It is made of finest herbs from distant islands. Each of your fellows has drunk and spat my special beverage, but I believe you will appreciate the flavor." He eyed her as kindly as he could, hiding his focused intent.
Bright optics surrounded by thick lines of age landed on Ratchet's hands. The crone dropped her basket heedlessly upon the ground and scuttled forward snatching the jar from him. She looked closely at the brew oohing at the scent before she greedily chugged the liquid as if she had not drunk energon for a full vorn.
"What do you call this, priest? This ambrosia lifted from Ameteratsu's own table." By now she was sitting in the dust still drinking heavily to the dregs of the jar, uncaring of the thin streams that missed her mouth.
"It is sweet high grade." Ratchet replied, "Laced with new jewel-cedar leaves." As he finished speaking the old woman shrieked, her voice turning into that of a child and wailing as she shriveled in the sun into little more than metallic ash.
"What was that?" Steelhide demanded, hiding his wife and youngling behind him, bright harvesting sickle held out defensively.
"Amazake-babaa, the sweet-sake demon. I've never heard of one traveling this far south." Ratchet sighed, rubbing his face with a single hand tiredly. "I will put up wards around your village. Each home must also place a cedar leaf in your doorway each night. Her physical manifestation has been destroyed but she can still return. Spread the word that she has come to this region."
"We will, great priest." Steelhide replied and bowed with the entirety of the village in unison. Ratchet stared, optics brightening in joy, he had never been thanked so grandly for his services before. Deep in his spark he hoped he would live a worthy life despite everything that had gone wrong.
"Priest Ratchet, how may we repay you?" A femme approached, her now healthy youngling on her hip. It was the tiny infant from the sick hut now optics bright and babbling happily in her mother's arms.
"I am but a simple priest. I ask only a ration." Ratchet bowed in reply as he turned to begin the long tedious process of making and posting sacred ropes and sutras to protect the village from evil.
"Where are you staying?" the femme pressed, adamant to repay the debt of having her child still alive to the priest before he traveled away.
"There is an old temple on the hill back behind the village. I am staying there." Ratchet replied, silently grateful when the femme swiftly turned away and left him to his work. Hours later, when the sun was setting and the day's meager warmth fading into the chill of night Ratchet finally returned to the temple. He was tired, but happy. On his back his begging bowl was full of energon goodies, rust sticks and sweet crystals. These would be good to have for youngling patients. The empty gourd he always carried was now full of energon, and a small vial of high grade rested in a deep pocket of his robes.
This treasure, the high grade he would offer to Buddha, for what need did a lowly priest have for such extravagances? He moved through the doorway, removing his woven hat and froze staring at pallets of wood, buckets of forged tacks, lengths of rope and rolls of parchment waiting to be used to rebuild the temple. One wall had been finished already, new wood shone in the fading sunlight and Ratchet all but wept for joy. The honorable Buddha would no longer molder in a ruined temple.
Ratchet laid the small vial at the feet of the Buddha statue, then bathed in the nearby stream to cleanse himself from the day. Clean and tired he performed his evening prayers and meditation then drank only a serving of energon and lay down in contented, exhausted slumber.
As the sun set in the west the night darkened sky brightened in the east as the moon rose round and full. The moon rabbit shone brightly from the heavens thrashing its rice as the moon slowly ascended into the sky. Inside the temple the horrific statues of the Buddha guarding demons slowly shifted releasing the ethereal Sunstreaker and Sideswipe from their prisons once more.
"Sides," Sunstreaker stared in amazement at the far wall, it was completely remade wih shoji screens across its windows that blocked the night's chill. "Look what he has done."
"He's rebuilding." Sideswipe grinned. Together they looked to the slumbering priest with exhaustion lining his features. "He is a good priest, like they were." Sunstreaker nodded, both demon brothers remembering the warrior priests of old. Despite this new mortal bearing no weapons they could smell the strong spirit within him and taste his courage. Few mortals passing through since those ancient priests were slaughtered had such spirit and none so powerful as this priest.
"We can rebuild." Sunstreaker smiled, turning to work the wood and ropes left by the grateful villagers into new walls and ceiling. Throughout the night, their noise silenced by demonic powers, the brothers wrought wood and tacks, rope and paper together into a new, grand entrance for the temple. With dawn's approach the brothers once more were drug back into their statues, this time though, they went willingly and smiled.
Ratchet awoke with the first light of dawn feeling like he had listened to someone speaking in his sleep. The strong feeling of having others near through the night had been strong, and comforting. After so long of living alone wandering on his own it had felt good to be around others. Yet as he looked around whoever had been here was already gone.
"What the?" Ratchet sat up straight as he took in the grand shoji screen doors at the temple entrance, the walls were remade along with the shoji screens covering the windows and new support pole to prop them open in winter. The place smelled of fresh wood and sawdust. It was a pleasant smell that made Ratchet almost homesic for the long lost village he had grown up in.
"How could anyone have rebuilt while I slept?" he looked around the temple, and for one terrified moment he feared that the demon had cast him to sleep for a thousand years. Rushing outside he spotted his own ped-prints leading to the temple and those of the villagers who began the rebuilding process as they came and went the afternoon before. "Then who rebuilt?" Ratchet asked nervously and glanced to the guardian demons that protected Buddha.
Ratchet stepped closer to the statues, circling one, then the other. Had they always held an air of happiness? He had thought they looked terrifying the day before. But now they looked almost melancholy.
"Gah! I have been alone far too long if I am feeling emotional for a pair of wooden statues!" Ratchet huffed then began his moring prayers before heading off in a different direction from the day before, ensuring to investigate the villages surrounding this grand temple.
1) Miko – priestess of Shinto faith, often considered caretakers of the shrines.
2) Nadebotoke – literally a rubbing Buddha statue. People rub their hands over the area of the statue where they have an illness or injury to pray for health and wellness.
3) Binzuru – the most widely revered of the Arhat in Japan. Statues of Binzuru, in painted wood or stone, are usually well worn, since the faithful follow the custom of rubbing a part of the effigy corresponding to the sick parts of their bodies, as he is reputed to have the gift of healing. He is also frequently offered red and white bibs and children's caps to watch over the health of babies, so that his statue is often decked in rags.
4) Kannon – goddess of mercy and compassion; in Japan and other Far East countries depicted as female, in Tibet and India is primarily male. Several figures of Kannon in different manifestations take on different genders in Japanese art.
Let me know if any other terms are unfamiliar. Thanks!