"You what?"
The words were spoken evenly, the voice level save for the inflection at the end, but several veins threatening to burst in Hiko's forehead betrayed the storm brewing underneath. Kenshin stood stoically although he was unable to hold his master's sharp gaze.
He'd debated how best to address the situation as he'd plodded back up the mountain road. Go straight to Hiko and tell him what had happened? Avoid Hiko and head straight for the field and practice first? Hide the boxes of broken pottery in the woods and pretend like everything had gone as it should have?
Kenshin had seriously entertained the latter until he considered that he knew nothing of making pottery, and in the end he would have to ask Hiko about it, and of course his shishou would be suspicious then, and the whole story would come out anyway. So he'd settled on the first idea. Might as well have it out instead of worrying about it the rest of the day.
Still, Kenshin had tried to make as little noise as possible when he'd returned but to his horrified surprise his shishou met him at the door, almost causing his deshi to jump out of his skin.
I should've just gone straight to practice, Kenshin thought regretfully. It had seemed like a good idea at first, getting everything off his chest as soon as he returned, but now he would gladly postpone the scene that was unfolding, if only for a scant hour. Of course, he reflected, if he'd chosen to practice first, he would've had to come inside anyway to retrieve his sword. Maybe there was more than one reason his master didn't let him take his sword into town . . .
"You 'didn't quite deliver everything'? Tell me I heard you wrong." Hiko still didn't sound truly angry, but Kenshin couldn't imagine that was going to last. Certainly not once he confirmed that his shishou hadn't heard wrong. Kenshin stayed silent, not wanting to know what would happen if he answered.
"Kenshin," Hiko's voice rumbled threateningly, "did you deliver all the pottery or not?"
Kenshin felt his eyes burning as the fateful collision from earlier that afternoon replayed itself in his mind. He scrunched his eyebrows together, refusing to cry. Not yet. Not when shishou hadn't even yelled at him.
"No, shishou."
Hiko expelled a long rush of air and his next words were tight and carefully controlled.
"What. Happened."
"Some boy ran into me." Kenshin paused, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. "I tried to get out of the way, but I didn't see him until too late."
Kenshin's cryptic sentence of not delivering everything was suddenly becoming clear, and Hiko found his strained patience jerked to the end of its rope.
"Let me guess, you dropped the boxes the second you two collided." Hiko didn't actually expect that Kenshin would be quite so careless−he'd better not be after almost two years of training−but losing one box off the top of the stack wouldn't be unimaginable. Also, Kenshin was being annoyingly morose. Hiko found that insults tended to light his proverbial fire.
"I didn't!" Kenshin protested, eyes flashing to meet Hiko's. "I didn't drop any of them!" His eyes resumed their study of the floor. "I did fall though. And some of the pottery broke then." Kenshin forced himself to brave his master's gaze again. "I tried to keep them safe, shishou. It was really hard to see though, and−" His eyes widened briefly as he recalled exactly what he'd been doing when he'd thought to look up and check his path.
"And you couldn't figure out some way to safely transport a few boxes into town without looking like a blind fool?" Hiko's sarcastic remark cut into the pause.
"I was looking! But−" Kenshin paused again, not wanting to relay the rest of the story. Shishou had already gotten onto him that morning for not paying attention to his surroundings. To do so twice in one day . . .
"But?"
Kenshin mumbled something so garbled that it was unintelligible even to Hiko's sharp ears.
"What was that, Kenshin?"
"I might have stopped looking where I was going for a minute or two." The words still melted into each other, but the added volume was enough for Hiko to catch the gist of the sentence. He stared down at the boy standing in front of him, and only Kenshin's meek expression kept Hiko from displaying the anger that was surging through him.
"You stopped-" Hiko couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence. He paused, waiting for Kenshin's eyes to slowly raise and meet his. Hiko waited a moment longer, until he was quite sure his voice wouldn't come out as a roar. "This is not what I expect from a student of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu." He said finally, his eyes holding Kenshin's. A whirlwind of anger was not always the best way to get a point across. Sometimes a stern reprimand was just as effective as an explosion of uncontrolled emotion, and he saw from Kenshin's stricken expression that he had been correct in choosing the former method of correction this time.
"No, shishou. It isn't." Kenshin agreed, his voice a whisper.
"I don't saddle you with chores for my own amusement, or to see you fail," Hiko continued. "I trust that you're able to do what I tell you, and do it correctly. I expect I can rely on you."
"Yes, shishou. I just-" Kenshin heaved a sigh.
"How am I to trust you can master the teachings of Hiten Mitsurugi if you can't follow a simple task I set you to?"
"I don't know, shishou."
"What do you suppose I'm to do now?"
"You'll need to make more." Kenshin said.
"Do you know how long it takes to make a good set of sake vases?"
Kenshin hadn't a clue.
"Two weeks, Kenshin. It takes two weeks to truly craft art of the caliber that is required. I have one."
It really was worse than Kenshin had imagined. He had known a week wasn't long, but he had thought his shishou would be able to pull off the request with nary a worry. It hadn't occurred to him that even Hiko Seijuurou had his limits.
"Two weeks." Kenshin echoed heavily. "I'm sorry shishou." An idea blazed in Kenshin's mind then, and he looked at his teacher, voice rising with hope. "Two people would make it go faster though, right, shishou?"
"Of course it would, but I don't know where-" Hiko stopped when he saw the eager look in Kenshin's eye.
Oh, no . . .
"I can help make them, shishou! I'll do whatever you tell me! I can still train, too."
Hiko eyed the small portrait of earnestness in front of him and squashed his optimism with a brusque, "No." It was a nice idea, but the thought of letting Kenshin so much as set a finger to his clay made him shiver inwardly. It was more likely Kenshin would set him back even further, rather than hasten the process.
Hiko sighed when his refusal elicited a slump in Kenshin's thin shoulders. "You can't learn pottery in a day, Kenshin. Even I'm not a brilliant enough teacher to teach that."
"But I want to do something." Kenshin wasn't sure he'd said the words aloud, but realized he must have when Hiko responded.
"Oh, you'll do something, alright. I'll need more clay, and plenty of water, and some more dyes as well."
"I'll get them, shishou." Kenshin said fervently, relieved there was something he could do to at least partially redeem himself.
Hiko regarded the boy with a shake of his head. Rushing to complete almost an entire set of drinking ware was not how he had envisioned spending the upcoming week. The annoyance he'd been feeling towards his deshi surged close to overpowering, and Hiko concentrated on taking several deep breaths, forcing his mind to work logically. Yes, this was definitely irksome, but nothing to be done about it now. The knowledge didn't really help quell his feelings but Hiko had already thought of something that would settle that, and it involved getting a few laughs at Kenshin's expense. That never failed to put him in a better mood.
"Alright, baka deshi, we'll start on it first thing tomorrow. Now get your sword and head down to the riverbed." Hiko flashed a grin that looked more sinister than inviting. "Time for some training. I'm going to teach you that new technique after all."
It turned out that crafting pottery was harder work than Kenshin expected, although it started out slow enough. The day after Hiko learned the fate of his commissioned works was fairly relaxed. Apparently, the pottery Hiko had crafted hadn't been made from just any clay, but from porcelain imported from Amakusa, a town almost on the tip of Japan's southern coast.
Leaving Kenshin to his forms and practice, Hiko made an early morning trip into town to visit his favorite pottery merchant. The wedding commission had required enough raw porcelain that Hiko had bought out the vendor's supply several months prior, and he now made the trip with every expectation of ordering more. Serendipitously, the vendor informed Hiko that another shipment had been ordered nearly a month ago, and should be arriving within the next day or two.
Of course, that left ample time for Kenshin to be drilled on the latest Hiten Mitsurugi move in his repertoire: ryu kan sen. He suspected his shishou was being inordinately vindictive about it too, because no matter how fast Kenshin seemed to swing his sword, he was rewarded with a stinging blow and the taciturn comment, "slow." The perceived injustice of it lured Kenshin into telling the swordmaster he was turning as fast as he needed to. That little act of defiance had been a whopper of a mistake. Hiko had riposted that if that was the case, he would stop holding back his own speed. The bone-numbing hits Kenshin received after saw his entire midsection black and blue by the end of the day. Lucky for him, his master only went full speed for six rounds.
Two days later, nursing an impressive collection of bruises and wounded pride, Kenshin had been sent on a mission to find suitable material for glazes. At least, Kenshin thought Hiko had said something about glazes, in between talk of gathering bark from ash trees and digging for small animal bones. It was an odd assignment, to be sure, but he'd pledged his determination to help, so he listened without question (maybe he'd made a face or two) and set off into the woods when his shishou indicated his instruction about the exact size of bones and texture of bark was over.
Finding ash bark was simple. Kenshin knew the location of several ash groves spread throughout the nearby forest, and he could have found his way to at least one of them with his eyes closed. He stripped enough pieces to half fill the wooden bucket swinging from his fingers, then set to the more meticulous task of finding animal bones.
It took more thought and undirected wandering than finding ash bark, but Kenshin managed to gather a sizable cache of bones over the course of several hours. The first half hour proved fruitless, as he spent the entire time searching the ground before realizing he'd have to be more clever than that. He spent another ten minutes searching his memory, trying to think of what types of things besides bad luck and nature would kill small animals, and where they would leave bones.
Hours later he was traipsing back to Hiko's hut, happily regarding the small off-white collection of miniature skeletons he'd managed to scrounge from two fox dens and an owl's roost. He thought the little cache fairly impressive, but had a looming doubt that maybe it wasn't quite enough for Hiko's needs.
It turned out Kenshin's worries were ill-founded, and no sooner had he delivered his collection (not without uncertainty) than Hiko set him to mixing an assortment of ingredients. Kenshin tried earnestly to listen to Hiko's detailed explanation of what, exactly, was in there, but he got lost somewhere in between "water" and "clay." Thankfully, he didn't need to comprehend how the different liquids and powders worked together in order to mix them. He did have to keep an eye out for any lumps−twigs, pebbles or other debris that might interfere with the mixture's smoothness−but after little more than an hour he'd found and removed all detritus, and the mixing became less than engaging.
Kenshin fast lost interest with the seemingly endless process of culling and mixing, and he turned a surreptitious eye on his master, taking careful note of the colors and quantities of ingredients that Hiko blended with sure movements. One never knew when they might be expected to give an explanation of pottery making, despite the fact that Hiko wasn't verbally volunteering much information. Kenshin was getting used to picking up skills visually.
The porcelain arrived the following morning, as promised, and the next several days alternated between endless, monotonous mixing, quick trips to the fiery kiln, and still more mixing. In between rounds of pottery-making, Hiko sent Kenshin on several long-distance runs, in addition to assigning him various moves to perfect and a number of kata to review. To Kenshin's relief, there was no sparring, so he stuck to practicing ryu kan sen on the training dummy.
The young swordsman had never imagined that pottery-making could be so exhausting. Not only were his days filled with training and pottery production, his nights grew longer as a result. He found himself crawling into his futon long after darkness had set, and still he rose with the sun, yawning and bone-weary.
It didn't occur to him that his master wasn't even bothering with sleep, until once when he was startled awake by a loud clatter, followed by a soft curse. Kenshin had noticed the lack of Hiko's snores, and more curious than afraid, he had tiptoed to the door. Peering out into the grayness of early morning, he'd seen his master one-handedly steadying something between his legs, a brush held in the other hand, and a jar on the ground next to him. The kiln still burned hotly, casting orange shadows across Hiko's features. Kenshin had yawned, and crawled back to bed.
One week later Kenshin was literally dragging himself off his futon. He reached blindly for his sword while scrubbing at his eyes, then fumbled his way towards the door, tripping over his sword that he hadn't yet managed to tie at his side. He needed the cold water on his face this morning or he would never be able to function. This fact made itself abundantly clear when he collided with his master, who was entering the cottage just as Kenshin made a feeble swipe at the door.
"Sorry, sh'shou," Kenshin mumbled, picking himself up off the floor and trying to maneuver around the mass in front of him.
Hiko regarded him briefly, eyes flicking from Kenshin's feet to his face. "You look terrible." He remarked conversationally, then pointed Kenshin in the direction of the outside water trough. "Go wash up, then meet me out front."
Kenshin nodded affirmation, and continued making a crooked path to the side of the hut, managing to tie his sword on in the process. The grass tickling his feet and the chilled water on his face worked wonders, and although he still felt like he could sleep for several days if the opportunity arose, his mind had cleared enough for him to at least function.
"I'm done, shishou," Kenshin announced as he stepped out from behind the cottage, "what did you-" Kenshin's eyes widened and his speech drifted to a halt.
Hiko Seijuurou was standing in front of the cottage, arms folded, impeccably white mantle waving gently behind him, a smug look of pride on his features. Indeed, a paradigm of manly perfection, but not actually what had grabbed Kenshin's attention.
"Look closely, Kenshin," Hiko's tone matched his expression. "This is the well-earned reward of pure genius."
Kenshin knew it wasn't his deshi's genius Hiko referred to. Still, he felt a glimmer of pride as he gazed at the objects before him, carefully placed on flat boards elevated off the damp ground by stones.
Beautifully crafted cylinders of varying sizes were lined in a row, their porcelain sheen emphasized by the soft morning light to such a degree that they seemed to glow. Awed by the glistening patina background, Kenshin's eyes gradually focused on the burst of color at the forefront of each piece. A delicate spray of plum blossoms graced a fraction of each drinking cup, the red-and-purple petals a pale enough shade that they melded effortlessly into the cups' body. The knowledge that his master could create something that looked as if it had been crafted by the gods left Kenshin feeling as astonished as he was inexplicably proud.
"They're−they're amazing, shishou!" Kenshin breathed after several seconds of reverent silence.
"Yes, they are something for only a week's time," Hiko's pleased expression was marred by a faint grimace then, and his eyebrows lowered a fraction as he said, sotto voce, "I'd hoped for more color on the blossoms, but-" He shook the thought aside, and his voice took on its normal volume again. "Never mind, it's more than good enough for Suzuki."
He turned to Kenshin, smug manner abruptly replaced by businesslike briskness. "You're to deliver them today, as soon as you're ready. And Kenshin," Kenshin didn't need to hear the rest of the warning the raised tone implied, but it came anyway. "If you so much as scratch one of these, you'll live to regret it for the rest of your life."
Whatever that meant, but Kenshin had no desire to find out. His shishou might deliver ambiguous threats at times, but those threats had never proved any less awful than a clearly stated one.
"I'll be ready in just a minute, shishou." Kenshin promised, heading again towards the trough on the side of the house where the night-chilled water rested. He wasn't taking any chances today. After one more splash in the face, he felt prepared to take on the task before him, so much so he even found himself wondering if he might have time to ogle some of the vendor's wares before he returned.
Catching his mind wandering already, Kenshin frowned. No, until the package was safely out of his hands, he wasn't going to think about anything else. He sat inside the doorway to pull his zori on, lacing them firmly, then stood, shoulders set back as he walked outside to find Hiko.
His shishou stood with crossed arms where Kenshin had left him, squinting up at the sky, the box of porcelain on the ground next to him. Hiko glanced down as Kenshin sidled over and lifted the package with exaggerated care.
"Hnh. A good start at least." Hiko turned to reenter the hut, throwing over his shoulder almost as an afterthought, "And unless you want to get caught in a downpour, I'd suggest you make haste."
Kenshin raised his gaze to the heavens, noting the swarm of gray clouds jousting with the pillows of white. The sky would be dark by the afternoon from the looks of it. "Hai, shishou." Kenshin adjusted his grip slightly and took a breath.
He was ready. And his shishou hadn't said anything about the katana at his side.
Kenshin made off with his sword. Heh heh. You think Hiko noticed? If anyone was wondering, I did way too much research about all aspects of pottery for this chapter, and have officially gotten my fill of pottery making for a lifetime. I even casually interviewed a potter at a Japanese festival about it. HA. I'm pretty sure he thought I was crazy. If anyone ever asks me if I want to go to a pottery class, I will find a jar and throw it at them.
A/N: Well, this is amusing. I had a little note/rant about Kenshin's age, which I jokingly ended with "/ end rant." And end rant it did when I hit the "save" button. In brief, I was saying to any who are confused or wondering: I hold the belief that Kenshin was 7 when Hiko took him in. I won't rewrite everything, but Hiko says the Black Ships came into Japan (1854) two years prior to him meeting Shinta. Yes, I know he also mentions several times during the Kyoto arc that it's been "19 years" since he last saw Kenshin. Clearly, either his past or present self is having issues concerning the passage of time. I think it's his present self. That much sake will catch up to you eventually. ;)
Thank you kind reviewers for your comments! All comments welcome! Anything you particularly like/dislike? Are confused by? Think needs to be fleshed out more? Would like to see more of? As Aretha would say, sock it to me!
