title: Divergence | Part 3
rating: pg
author: Mir
email: mir@despammed.com
website: http://tfme.net/tfme/
disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro,
published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony
Entertainment, Media Blasers, ADV, etc. This story contains
spoilers for the OAV's and corresponding manga volumes.
Many thanks to maigo-chan for her manga translations.
AN: Here's the third part... It's been a while coming, but then
again, I've been distracted by a great number of things. If you
haven't noticed, this piece is essentially a collection of isolated
events meant to illustrate Kenshin's transition from hitokiri to
rurouni. As far as I can tell there isn't going to be one big,
overlying plot to bind them together. Each incident is a seperate
step on the way to resolution.
--------------------------------------------------
Listen to the rain
And we part with no regrets
Walking to the sea
--------------------------------------------------
*Part 3*
Abandoning the revealing light and staring eyes for the
familiar solitude of darkness, the young man drifted soundlessly
through the empty hallways while the rain pounded relentlessly above
him. He paused at the doorway, glancing to either side to assure
himself that he hadn't made a mistake, then lifted a hand to the wooden
frame and pushed the shouji aside. Inside, shadows, like dusty cobwebs
strung from wall to wall, lingered in the darkened corners, and the
swordman's gaze instinctively swept along the perimeter before he
entered. There was nothing to fear, for the room was empty.
His brow creased in agitation as he shoved the panel closed an
paced deliberately across the room. The air, although humid, was
cooling, and the rising moon was but a thin sliver in the sky. The
darkness settled on his shoulders as he sank heavily to the floor, and
he slid the sword from his belt and leaned it against his left
shoulder. The rhythmic rainfall rang in his ears, and he closed his
eyes against in the incessant complexity of life.
"Himura-san?" He'd taken note of the approaching footsteps
long before they'd drawn near, his legs tensing underneath him as
fabric rustled just beyond the door. Amber eyes snapped into focus,
and cool instinct ruthlessly swept thought and emotion aside. When no
response from within seemed forthcoming, the shouji was cautiously slid
back, and the innkeeper entered with light footsteps and a laden tray
balanced on her arm. "I though you were going to finish you dinner."
He didn't glance up as she shuffled toward him, didn't respond
as she placed the tray by his side. His open, staring eyes betrayed
his alertness, but his blank expression contradicted the tenseness of
his body. The innkeeper was not a woman easily fooled. Looming over
him like a tall cliff above a rural village, she planted her feet
firmly on the tatami and sighed. "I've seen many young men, many
barely able to swing the swords they grip tightly in the dark. I've
seen the countryside fall into poverty and the cities disintegrate into
chaos. There are many forms of human suffering and many names for the
same sadness." She paused but was rewarded only by silence. "Tell me,
Himura-san what troubles you so."
Eyes still focused on the invisible shadows that plagued his
thoughts, he plucked impassively at his sleeve, ignoring the request.
The candle in the woman's hand forced the darkness into retreat, and
she lifted it above his head so that its light washed over his face and
hair.
"You needn't worry about the others. They're just uncultured
ruffians with more brawn than brain. They don't know anything beside
their dusty fields, and most can hardly even read."
"And I suppose you're different." When he finally spoke, it
was a soft whisper barely audible above the continuing downpour, and
his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I suppose you understand
this suffering you speak of."
"If I truly understood suffering, I'd be better off as a
Buddhist monk, not a simple innkeeper." She smiled in amusement, the
skin around her eyes creasing. "And those who do understand enough to
cast aside desire... obtain enlightenment. Do I look like a
Bodhisattva to you?"
He finally lifted his eyes to hers, tilting his chin upward
and squinting into the light. "You have questions on your mind." He
held her gaze as the candle flickered between them, and it was he who
looked away first. "It doesn't matter. Those who might answer your
questions... cannot, and I am nothing but a wanderer."
"A wanderer who carries a sword as if it never leaves his
side? A wanderer with calloused hands and silent footsteps? One as
you as you who doesn't fear the shadows?" Discarding the young man's
evasion, she continued the interrogation with a tone bordering on
rebuke. "I'm not an old woman yet, Himura-san, and I'm used to
receiving answers when I ask questions."
He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly, hands resting
on the sakabatou's sheath, but as the evening's dampness caught in his
throat, he coughed and quickly reached up to cover his mouth. And even
as his expression faded again into impassiveness, his cheeks flushed
slightly in embarrassment. He suddenly found his lap quite
interesting.
The innkeeper knelt beside him, her stern insistence softened
by gently maternal overtones. "You haven't been walking in the rain,
have you?" She began to reach toward him as if to offer comfort, then
stilled her hand as she realized that he'd only reject the familiarity.
"That's a sure way to get sick."
"Don't worry. I'm fine." The words, although concise were
accompanied by a smile that was surprisingly warm, and for a moment, it
seemed as though the young man's eyes shifted from amber to blue --
although perhaps it was only a trick of the candle light.
Again, the two sat in silence listening to the sounds of the
rain and each other's breathing. Neither moved, and no one disturbed
them. "My son was a swordsman in Kyoto. He was young and hot-headed
but skilled enough with his sword to make people listen to him." She
paused and tried to catch her guest's eye, but he stubbornly refused to
meet her gaze. "He was devoted to the path of bushido and lived it
every moment of his days. We didn't talk much, but I recall something
he told me once: a lesson to be gained from heavy rain -- away from
your home you meet a shower. You dislike getting wet, so you hurry
along the streets running under the eves. Still, you get wet all the
same. As long as you accept that you will get wet, you won't suffer
from being wet." She stopped abruptly at the final syllable, her voice
strong but her eyes trained on the tatami beneath her.
"I ask you again, Himura-san, what trouble you so? What is
the nature of your suffering?"
And when he couldn't keep silent any longer, he told her.
Against his better judgment, he opened his past and laid it bare at her
feet. Years of suppressed emotion poured into his words as he
whispered tales of slaughter and bloodshed. "So now you know the
truth." He hadn't given the complete story, of course. There are
parts of one's soul that can never be shared through words or images,
but only through the raw, uncensored channel of emotion. He had no
intention of opening himself that fully to anyone, especially not a
stranger, especially not a woman.
"It's as I suspected then." She nodded to herself, eyes
closing. "I saw you once in Kyoto, you know. It was on the eve of the
Gion Festival, and you were walking with Katsura-san. It must have
been the night of Ikedaya." There was hardly a need to continue. She
had merely seen the pair, recognized Katsura, and filed the image of
his companion away for future reference. She expected no response.
When she lifted the ceramic lids on the neglected tray, the
food underneath was still warm. "Come, eat now. You can help the
girls with the dishes when you're finished." She drew herself up from
the floor and smoothed the creases in her kimono as she turned and
retreated to the door.
"Thank you, Hiroko-dono. You've given me more than I
deserve." The room was empty; she had long since disappeared.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Must you set out again so soon?" It was barely past dawn,
and a thin layer of clouds still lingered in the sky as a reminder of
the previous night's storm. The road was empty as far as the eye could
see. It stretched outward in both directions, rolling with the hills,
more of a crease in a landscape than a scar cutting across it. "Won't
you at least stay one more night?"
Standing beside him, she was his equal in height, and the wind
embraced them both in its cool intangible arms. "The season's waning.
Soon it will be winter... and I must keep traveling." He didn't
explain that he'd have to halt his travels once snow covered the
countryside, didn't explain that he was still too close to Kyoto for
his mind to be at ease. He didn't explain, but somehow he knew she
understood.
"At least accept this... to aid your journey." It was a small
bundle neatly wrapped and tied. "And remember the rain. No matter how
quickly you run, you can not avoid getting wet." They faced each other
in the dirt as the sun gained strength and confidence overhead.
"Farewell, Himura-san. I don't believe we shall meet again." As
before, she was the one to leave, the one to turn and walk away without
hesitation in her footsteps.
"Goodbye Hiroko-dono." His eyes rested upon her retreating
form for a moment longer, then he too turned to leave and oncee more
took to the road without a backward glance.
- - - - - - - - - -
His feet carried him south away from the hills that rose up into
snowcapped mountains, away from the fast-approaching winter.
As much as he wished to go east, he followed a route to the western
coast, determined to continue traveling as long as the weather allowed.
Sometimes instead of stopping, he traveled by night as well as day,
his gaze tracing the timeless patterns of stars above while his mind
recalled the tales he'd heard of them.
He wished he could have thanked the innkeeper for her gift, for
with the blanket and hard traveling cakes he had been able to pick his
route without relying on farmers or villagers for food and shelter. But
she was right. The inn was too close to Kyoto, and he wouldn't be
returning -- at least not for quite some time.
He was nearly at the ocean when the snows finally caught him.
Even as he trudged through the fine white powder, he could almost
smell the salt in the air, almost hear the crashing of the waves. It had
been over a year since he had last seen the vast expanse of green-blue
water stretching endlessly before him, and he was anxious to lay eyes
upon it again.
Nestled among rock and long beach grasses, the wooden hut
was no more than a brown blur in the distance, and yet it was the only
sign of human habitation within the winter landscape. Smoke rose in
a thin stream from its roof, and as he neared, the young man could see
that the footsteps leading from the hut to the water's edge were those
of a man walking slowly despite the inescapable chill.
Winter had arrived, and he couldn't travel farther, so he stopped by the
door and knocked.
*end of part 3*
- - - - - - - - - -
This is it. Part three is finally over. Most of it was written in
a car on a clipboard, and I've been meaning to type it up and
finish it for quite some time. Let's see... "Ikedaya" is next, and
then I'll turn my attention back to "Hanafubuki" and get the
nineth part out.
- Mir (01.20.02)
.
rating: pg
author: Mir
email: mir@despammed.com
website: http://tfme.net/tfme/
disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin was created by Watsuki Nobuhiro,
published by Shueisha in "Jump," and produced by Sony
Entertainment, Media Blasers, ADV, etc. This story contains
spoilers for the OAV's and corresponding manga volumes.
Many thanks to maigo-chan for her manga translations.
AN: Here's the third part... It's been a while coming, but then
again, I've been distracted by a great number of things. If you
haven't noticed, this piece is essentially a collection of isolated
events meant to illustrate Kenshin's transition from hitokiri to
rurouni. As far as I can tell there isn't going to be one big,
overlying plot to bind them together. Each incident is a seperate
step on the way to resolution.
--------------------------------------------------
Listen to the rain
And we part with no regrets
Walking to the sea
--------------------------------------------------
*Part 3*
Abandoning the revealing light and staring eyes for the
familiar solitude of darkness, the young man drifted soundlessly
through the empty hallways while the rain pounded relentlessly above
him. He paused at the doorway, glancing to either side to assure
himself that he hadn't made a mistake, then lifted a hand to the wooden
frame and pushed the shouji aside. Inside, shadows, like dusty cobwebs
strung from wall to wall, lingered in the darkened corners, and the
swordman's gaze instinctively swept along the perimeter before he
entered. There was nothing to fear, for the room was empty.
His brow creased in agitation as he shoved the panel closed an
paced deliberately across the room. The air, although humid, was
cooling, and the rising moon was but a thin sliver in the sky. The
darkness settled on his shoulders as he sank heavily to the floor, and
he slid the sword from his belt and leaned it against his left
shoulder. The rhythmic rainfall rang in his ears, and he closed his
eyes against in the incessant complexity of life.
"Himura-san?" He'd taken note of the approaching footsteps
long before they'd drawn near, his legs tensing underneath him as
fabric rustled just beyond the door. Amber eyes snapped into focus,
and cool instinct ruthlessly swept thought and emotion aside. When no
response from within seemed forthcoming, the shouji was cautiously slid
back, and the innkeeper entered with light footsteps and a laden tray
balanced on her arm. "I though you were going to finish you dinner."
He didn't glance up as she shuffled toward him, didn't respond
as she placed the tray by his side. His open, staring eyes betrayed
his alertness, but his blank expression contradicted the tenseness of
his body. The innkeeper was not a woman easily fooled. Looming over
him like a tall cliff above a rural village, she planted her feet
firmly on the tatami and sighed. "I've seen many young men, many
barely able to swing the swords they grip tightly in the dark. I've
seen the countryside fall into poverty and the cities disintegrate into
chaos. There are many forms of human suffering and many names for the
same sadness." She paused but was rewarded only by silence. "Tell me,
Himura-san what troubles you so."
Eyes still focused on the invisible shadows that plagued his
thoughts, he plucked impassively at his sleeve, ignoring the request.
The candle in the woman's hand forced the darkness into retreat, and
she lifted it above his head so that its light washed over his face and
hair.
"You needn't worry about the others. They're just uncultured
ruffians with more brawn than brain. They don't know anything beside
their dusty fields, and most can hardly even read."
"And I suppose you're different." When he finally spoke, it
was a soft whisper barely audible above the continuing downpour, and
his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I suppose you understand
this suffering you speak of."
"If I truly understood suffering, I'd be better off as a
Buddhist monk, not a simple innkeeper." She smiled in amusement, the
skin around her eyes creasing. "And those who do understand enough to
cast aside desire... obtain enlightenment. Do I look like a
Bodhisattva to you?"
He finally lifted his eyes to hers, tilting his chin upward
and squinting into the light. "You have questions on your mind." He
held her gaze as the candle flickered between them, and it was he who
looked away first. "It doesn't matter. Those who might answer your
questions... cannot, and I am nothing but a wanderer."
"A wanderer who carries a sword as if it never leaves his
side? A wanderer with calloused hands and silent footsteps? One as
you as you who doesn't fear the shadows?" Discarding the young man's
evasion, she continued the interrogation with a tone bordering on
rebuke. "I'm not an old woman yet, Himura-san, and I'm used to
receiving answers when I ask questions."
He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly, hands resting
on the sakabatou's sheath, but as the evening's dampness caught in his
throat, he coughed and quickly reached up to cover his mouth. And even
as his expression faded again into impassiveness, his cheeks flushed
slightly in embarrassment. He suddenly found his lap quite
interesting.
The innkeeper knelt beside him, her stern insistence softened
by gently maternal overtones. "You haven't been walking in the rain,
have you?" She began to reach toward him as if to offer comfort, then
stilled her hand as she realized that he'd only reject the familiarity.
"That's a sure way to get sick."
"Don't worry. I'm fine." The words, although concise were
accompanied by a smile that was surprisingly warm, and for a moment, it
seemed as though the young man's eyes shifted from amber to blue --
although perhaps it was only a trick of the candle light.
Again, the two sat in silence listening to the sounds of the
rain and each other's breathing. Neither moved, and no one disturbed
them. "My son was a swordsman in Kyoto. He was young and hot-headed
but skilled enough with his sword to make people listen to him." She
paused and tried to catch her guest's eye, but he stubbornly refused to
meet her gaze. "He was devoted to the path of bushido and lived it
every moment of his days. We didn't talk much, but I recall something
he told me once: a lesson to be gained from heavy rain -- away from
your home you meet a shower. You dislike getting wet, so you hurry
along the streets running under the eves. Still, you get wet all the
same. As long as you accept that you will get wet, you won't suffer
from being wet." She stopped abruptly at the final syllable, her voice
strong but her eyes trained on the tatami beneath her.
"I ask you again, Himura-san, what trouble you so? What is
the nature of your suffering?"
And when he couldn't keep silent any longer, he told her.
Against his better judgment, he opened his past and laid it bare at her
feet. Years of suppressed emotion poured into his words as he
whispered tales of slaughter and bloodshed. "So now you know the
truth." He hadn't given the complete story, of course. There are
parts of one's soul that can never be shared through words or images,
but only through the raw, uncensored channel of emotion. He had no
intention of opening himself that fully to anyone, especially not a
stranger, especially not a woman.
"It's as I suspected then." She nodded to herself, eyes
closing. "I saw you once in Kyoto, you know. It was on the eve of the
Gion Festival, and you were walking with Katsura-san. It must have
been the night of Ikedaya." There was hardly a need to continue. She
had merely seen the pair, recognized Katsura, and filed the image of
his companion away for future reference. She expected no response.
When she lifted the ceramic lids on the neglected tray, the
food underneath was still warm. "Come, eat now. You can help the
girls with the dishes when you're finished." She drew herself up from
the floor and smoothed the creases in her kimono as she turned and
retreated to the door.
"Thank you, Hiroko-dono. You've given me more than I
deserve." The room was empty; she had long since disappeared.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Must you set out again so soon?" It was barely past dawn,
and a thin layer of clouds still lingered in the sky as a reminder of
the previous night's storm. The road was empty as far as the eye could
see. It stretched outward in both directions, rolling with the hills,
more of a crease in a landscape than a scar cutting across it. "Won't
you at least stay one more night?"
Standing beside him, she was his equal in height, and the wind
embraced them both in its cool intangible arms. "The season's waning.
Soon it will be winter... and I must keep traveling." He didn't
explain that he'd have to halt his travels once snow covered the
countryside, didn't explain that he was still too close to Kyoto for
his mind to be at ease. He didn't explain, but somehow he knew she
understood.
"At least accept this... to aid your journey." It was a small
bundle neatly wrapped and tied. "And remember the rain. No matter how
quickly you run, you can not avoid getting wet." They faced each other
in the dirt as the sun gained strength and confidence overhead.
"Farewell, Himura-san. I don't believe we shall meet again." As
before, she was the one to leave, the one to turn and walk away without
hesitation in her footsteps.
"Goodbye Hiroko-dono." His eyes rested upon her retreating
form for a moment longer, then he too turned to leave and oncee more
took to the road without a backward glance.
- - - - - - - - - -
His feet carried him south away from the hills that rose up into
snowcapped mountains, away from the fast-approaching winter.
As much as he wished to go east, he followed a route to the western
coast, determined to continue traveling as long as the weather allowed.
Sometimes instead of stopping, he traveled by night as well as day,
his gaze tracing the timeless patterns of stars above while his mind
recalled the tales he'd heard of them.
He wished he could have thanked the innkeeper for her gift, for
with the blanket and hard traveling cakes he had been able to pick his
route without relying on farmers or villagers for food and shelter. But
she was right. The inn was too close to Kyoto, and he wouldn't be
returning -- at least not for quite some time.
He was nearly at the ocean when the snows finally caught him.
Even as he trudged through the fine white powder, he could almost
smell the salt in the air, almost hear the crashing of the waves. It had
been over a year since he had last seen the vast expanse of green-blue
water stretching endlessly before him, and he was anxious to lay eyes
upon it again.
Nestled among rock and long beach grasses, the wooden hut
was no more than a brown blur in the distance, and yet it was the only
sign of human habitation within the winter landscape. Smoke rose in
a thin stream from its roof, and as he neared, the young man could see
that the footsteps leading from the hut to the water's edge were those
of a man walking slowly despite the inescapable chill.
Winter had arrived, and he couldn't travel farther, so he stopped by the
door and knocked.
*end of part 3*
- - - - - - - - - -
This is it. Part three is finally over. Most of it was written in
a car on a clipboard, and I've been meaning to type it up and
finish it for quite some time. Let's see... "Ikedaya" is next, and
then I'll turn my attention back to "Hanafubuki" and get the
nineth part out.
- Mir (01.20.02)
.