Sleepwalker, Chapter II: falcon's bells

(Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Champloo or any of its characters, which are copyright 2004-5 Manglobe and Simougusa Champloos; I just can't make them stop hanging around in my head...

Dedicated as always to Judy/Gecko and Ariel/Neko, who both know why.)

Edited July 2009 to purge it of fangirl Japanese.


Time passed quietly. The pattern of a dojo's year is serious and stable, based in slow, steady progress. Little by little, fraction by fraction, Jin began to take comfort in the unchanging routine, the calm and safety of his new home. The skills of Mujuushin kenjutsu are mental and spiritual as much as physical, and the masters spoke much more of transcending one's opponent than of slaying him. The smell of blood began to recede from his dreams.

He began, by slow degrees, to be aware just how much better than his fellow-students he was. What they took hours and days to master came effortlessly to him, from the simplest stance to the subtlest point of technique. The others muttered that it came from his unnatural single-mindedness, his disinterest in games or school or anything but kendo, but they said it looking at him sidelong, with an uncomfortable edge. They knew better. They could work as hard as Jin did from sunup to sundown and not stand where he stood. It came from inside him, this balance and focus, this skill to see all around and ahead of his object before its first move. He concentrated, he watched, and nothing escaped, could escape him, not by the least flicker. No one his own age lasted even one bout with him, and even the older boys became disinclined to spar with him after the first three met swift and humiliating defeat. He went on training alone, and they began to be afraid of his eyes.

In fact, it seemed the only one who didn't fear him was Mariya Enshiro, who took obvious pride in him and the growth of his talent. It was his master's regard that began to draw Jin's attention out of himself. His praise was frequent and sincere, his guidance generous; if it bothered anyone else that the sensei spent more time with Jin than with any other pupil, it bothered neither Jin nor Enshiro. It was a simple fact that no one else in the dojo understood more than Jin did about the only thing that mattered to him, and that made Mariya-dono the only human being able to hold the boy's attention. Enshiro, in turn, received Jin's precocious--if not preternatural--understanding of the finer points of kenjutsu with calm gravity, and spoke to him almost as an equal. It became a common sight to see them walking around the dojo grounds together and sitting in the formal gardens while the master discoursed on the writings of Masters Ichiun and Sekiun, the boy listening raptly. Some thought this rank favoritism from Enshiro, and shocking lack of respect from the Takeda brat; some remarked more kindly on the pleasure of finally observing life and feeling in the face and voice of the one they had long called the Ice Boy; no one missed the implications of this development for a sensei and schoolmaster who until now had neither son nor heir. Apparently, he had found one.

Under Enshiro's influence the boy at last seemed to find secure footing, and carefully, tentatively, opened. He began to address others without first being spoken to. He sometimes walked by himself in the gardens, instead of spending all his time at practice, asleep, or with the Master. His respect for Mariya-dono was beyong question, yet tempered by a shade of familiarity that would have been rank insubordination from any lesser student; he and the Master spoke openly together as comrades, even equals. As the years passed it became common dojo gossip that they were lovers.

But Mariya-dono was the only other being Jin thus acknowledged. Everyone else remained either completely neutral or an adversary. The dojo's nanadan, Masters Sengai and Jisho, were given the grave courtesy of worthy opponents--indeed, they were his only regular sparring partners--but still faced the same icy wolf-gaze as anyone else who faced him on the training floor, week after month after year. They were graded masters, only one rank below a hachidan sensei like Mariya-dono, but that cold stare gave them no quarter. One day he beat Sengai; one day, Jisho. And the day came, in his fifteenth year, when he beat them both in one match, badly.

They took their case to Enshiro, nursing their wounded pride as best they could. "Master, something must be done. Takeda-kun is gifted, of course, but his anger is a beast of terrible power. It will devour him if he does not learn to release it."

Of course, Mariya knew this, and had already begun to consider how it might best serve him and the dojo. The unquestioning loyalty of a student so skilled and courageous was a weapon no one would wish to keep sheathed. He had thought of sending him to observe other dojos, a common practice; it kept a canny master well abreast of his competitors, and was especially valuable if the observer you sent was strong enough to defeat the dojo's sensei in a single match. It would add greatly to the fame of Mujuushin kenjutsu if not only its master but even its best student began to amass an undefeated dueling record.

But --regrettably--his colleagues were correct. The boy was too fierce. His spirit would have suited a warrior of the last century better than a student in this age of Tokugawa peace. It would be a catastrophe if he were sent to covertly challenge some dojo's master to a simple duel and returned with the man's head. Nor was he at all certain Jin would never do so…

No. I know exactly the man who can teach my war-falcon this lesson without binding his wings.

And so the fiercest soul of Mujuushin kenjutsu dojo left its confines for the first time in almost ten years, sent by his master to seek guidance from his serenest friend, Niwa Juunosuke.

Though of course he had obeyed without hesitation, he felt strange about the journey. He had never traveled anywhere, and he was anxious that he had somehow displeased Mariya-dono. The group of travellers that Enshiro had placed him with was a quiet one--a taciturn trader of fabrics and two monks on pilgrimage--so he was left to his own thoughts, and tried to keep them from being worrisome.

Fortunately, that wasn't very difficult. The constantly changing vista of the road was a new experience, by turns alarming and fascinating. He volunteered to sit the night watch, and was surprised at how peaceful and serene was the countryside night, starlit black and still, without dozens of boys snoring around one and the hour-candles burning down the time until dawn. When one of the others sat the watch, he slept untroubled, and went on refreshed in the morning. Perhaps this journey itself, he thought, was part of the path he'd been bidden to walk…

The journey was supposed to take two weeks, but the weather remained fine, and they made good time afoot. It had been but twelve days when they came in sight of the small red bridge Mariya-dono had told him to cross, which took him off the main highway, onto the road that led to Mihara and Gojuu Hall.