Chapter Fourteen: Bitter Memories

"Go on," he urged quietly as she paused, his eyes cracking open so that he'd be able to look over at her. "Come, sit." A request it wasn't. He nodded toward the bedroll while taking a glimpse at her ankle. Standing there, she would be placing more stress upon the sore muscle and sinew. That just wouldn't do at all. Slowly, lazily, his eyes closed again and he turned more than half of his focus to the music, the other portion listened to what she had to say. The melody kept its soft, lilting caress, soothing to the soul. Along with the glide of the bow across the strings came his soft humming, barely heard over the violin's notes.

Anna crossed the room to his side, and sank down slowly beside him upon the bedroll, taking care to not over extend the ruined muscles of her ankle. With the soft notes of the violin and his voice weaving a gossamer web of peace about her, she closed her eyes, for once letting the images freely return to her. She told him, "I was nine at the time. Father was a professor, a tutor, a successful one. One of his wealthier clients invited us to join their family for a brief holiday here, while they met with some business associates interested in Japan's trading. We stayed at the Kyomis, who were acquaintances of the family of my father's student." She stopped for a brief moment, swallowed, and continued. "The night that they were killed Samurai came from the mountains. The Samurai are a clan of ancient warriors," she explained, "who very firmly believe in the old ways. They have an intense hatred of noblemen, such as the Kyomis, and Europeans. The Kyomi's and the client's families were gone at the time, at dinner when..." she paused, and closed her eyes, tears burning the backs of them, "when they attacked. Mother hid me in a closet...I could hear them screaming."

She took a deep breath and looked away, blinking rapidly, the memories of that night suddenly staring her in the face. "I left my hiding place and went outside. I was afraid and wanted to know what was going on. It was storming, horribly. I could see nothing. Then a flash came, and I saw my parents, kneeling upon the ground. Two men in Samurai armor slit their throats." She covered her mouth, nearly sick with the memories, then recovered. "The murderers took no notice of me running out to my parents after they had mounted their horses and left. When the Kyomis returned home, the client's family refused to take me in. I became the Kyomi's house servant." She broke off, her tears now falling down her face. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and sat up straighter, looking anywhere but at him.

Briefly the playing had paused and he glanced over toward her before allowing the song to continue, a light furrow over his brow beneath the draping of silk and papier-mache. He didn't know the loss of seeing a loved one die. Or do I? Luciana wasn't a loved one, though. There was...something forming there, but it was far too complex for him to think about it for too long. It was like a puzzle with several missing pieces, and trying to find them was far too frustrating. Shifting his weight faintly, he listened to the thunder as it growled its way into the near-silence, and a half smile formed upon his lips. He enjoyed storms, perhaps because he had nothing terrible to connect them to. "You are able to leave if you wish? If it was possible?" He tipped his head, glancing over toward her again.

She looked at him. She had often asked herself that very question. If she could leave, if she had the funds available, would she go? Where would she go? She stared at the hardwood floor before her and leaned forward, her hair falling over one shoulder, and rubbed up a bit of dust with one finger. Finally she spoke, her voice quiet. "I am not paid for my work here. I would have no funds to leave with, no way possible. And even if I did...I have no where to go. I..." she straightened. "I have no family. I have no one to go to." God, it sounded pathetic even to her own ears. She tipped her chin onto her shoulder and looked back at him. "Here, at least...I am needed. Wanted. Albeit, only for my able hands and body."

Body? Again the violin was silent and he regarded her impassively. "Just what do you mean by 'body?'" At first he wasn't going to ask, but the urge was far too great. He was dearly hoping that this wouldn't be another country that accepted legalized rape. Finding that the urge to play had dwindled down to nothing, he lowered the instrument to his lap and placed the bow across his thighs. Fingers splayed over the wood and strings, his eyes upon her still, curiously. Yet there was something else within that dual-colored gaze.

Her cheeks flaming and her eyes lowered, she played once again with that spot upon the floor, which had suddenly become very interesting to her. "If a guest or a member of the household demands the use of my body, I must obey. It is the role of a female servant to serve her male masters' physical needs as well." And it was something that she had dreaded, for years, ever since when, at the age of thirteen, her menses had come. 'If it bleeds, it breeds,' Mistress Kyomi had told her that day. The thought had nearly made her ill. But she had been lucky so far, very lucky. "As it happens, Japanese men find European women, especially those already golden with too much sun, very unappealing as a concubine. My virginity remains intact. I cannot say that I will never be used, but so far...I have not been chosen by any of Master's acquaintances." She blushed again and turned away.

It was a good thing that he had moved his hands from the violin, for he would have cracked the neck of it with tightly curled fingers. "I see," he stated calmly. All too calmly. He would never understand people like that, those who would take a woman when she was unwilling, fighting and struggling. They needed to be slaughtered like the pigs they are. There were many different reasons as to why this bothered him to a vicious extent, one of which being that no human should be abused in such a manner. He couldn't help but remember Javert's grubby hands and suggestive remarks. With a disgusted shudder his stomach curdled, and he carefully laid the violin off to the side before resting his hands upon his knees again. Kito came to mind then and his mouth settled in a thin, dour line. He remained intact… for now.

She raised her eyes as he laid aside the violin, his lips set in lines of...disgust? Biting her lip, she turned on the bedroll and faced him, her fingers pulling at the seams of her trousers. She cocked her head to the side and studied him from beneath her lashes. It was her personal experience, from her years in this country, that most men took the use of a woman's body for granted, uncaring if she was harmed during the taking. But yet, at the mention of what her duties entailed, if she was ordered, he had visibly recoiled from her. She wondered, briefly, if he did not care for women, or if he found the act of sex offensive. It was something that she had always feared, knowing nothing more of sex than the pain that the woman often had to experience. There was a constant worry, at the back of her mind, that one day she would be asked to service a male guest. Or Kito. She shuddered, then looked back at him. "You find the custom offensive then? Or do you not enjoy women?" She tilted her head, knowing that he could punish her for such impudence, but she longed to know more about him.

"I find the custom highly offensive. No one should be subjected to such..." As eloquent and articulate as he could be, he just wasn't able to put the rest of that thought into a sentence. Flustered and irritated, the comment tapered off in a sputtered growl. The question of his preferences was left blissfully unanswered. He glanced away from her, gathering the violin to place it upon the nearby table. The bow was lifted and he smoothed his fingers over the course hairs and placed it along side the violin. He couldn't answer that last question even if he wanted to. Ignorance was his worst enemy in this instance.

She looked away from him, ashamed of herself, as he moved to the table and set down the violin. She had forgotten her place, and had spoken out of turn, questioning him on a subject she had no right to even discuss with a male, much less her master. Blushing, she shifted upon the bedroll, thinking about it, and bracing her hands upon the floor, pressed to her feet, keeping her injured ankle lifted slightly. She turned to him, wrapping an arm about her stomach. "I am going to go change out of my riding clothes. It's very nearly dawn and I still have chores that need to be completed whether the masters are here or not." She turned and limped to the door, her back and shoulders aching, soon to be aching even more from her morning duties. When she neared the screen, she faced him once more. "Shall I bring you bath water? Or more tea?"

"Both…" Distracted, he mumbled the answer to her questions then moved the violin again to tuck it into its case. With the bow following, he closed the lid and snapped it shut. Pressing to his feet, he gathered the case to carry it over to the snake's pen. Resting it on the floor, he turned around, looking over the room slowly. The furniture was so sparse, but a table and bedroll to his name. That had to be changed, even if he didn't plan to be living here for long. "Tomorrow we..." Pausing, he glanced to her foot and twisted his lips faintly. "Next week we shall take a trip to the market. I believe I need more furniture. This room is looking as bare as my skull."

She gave him a slight nod, oddly pleased that he would take her injury into consideration and turned, leaving the room. Minutes later, dressed in a soft gray linen kimono, her hair once again bound back tightly at her nape, she set his tea to boil. On the spur of the moment, she ground dark beans and made him a richer, thicker black tea, wanting to please him. With the fragrance filling the house, she filled two buckets with steaming water and limped awkwardly to his room. His screen remained open and she entered and filled his basin, then hurried away for more, or hurried as fast as she could with the wrapped foot, and returned with more water and his favored soaps and oils. For a brief moment, she let one hand drift through the nearly scalding hot water, imagining what bliss it would be to immerse her sore body in it. But the whistle of the kettle in the kitchens pulled her from her simple fantasy and she rushed to get his tea. She brought a pot and a cup of the rich, fragrant brew to him minutes later and held the cup out to him.

Where earlier he had had the snake on him, this time he had his other little friend. For now it was left out of her sight, more from the darkness of his kimono than from trying to hide the creature. Taking the cup with his free hand, he placed it off to the side and glanced over to the now filled basin. A bath would do well, mostly to clean off the disgusting sensation that was upon his skin, brought on by the memories of Javert. Though the conversation with Anna was long over with, the memory of that grimy keeper was enough to make his skin crawl. The reddish haze of the covered candle flickered briefly against the glossy shell of the scorpion as it traveled from his sleeve and down to the hem; the new positioning of his arm luring it. Turning his attention to the insect, he carefully tucked his hand beneath the pinchers, urging the thinner legs to crawl upon the back of his hand, his skin deathly pale compared to the pitch-jet of the exoskeleton.

After leaving him in his room with the new form of tea, which she noticed she had received no thanks for, she limped away to the kitchens to begin making a morning meal. For whom? she wondered briefly. She was not permitted to cook only for herself, as it was seen as wasteful, and Erik was going to be in his bath...she frowned at the stove top, then turned and left the kitchen. She glanced down one hallway, then down the other. She could make the beds, she reasoned. After doing that, she decided to spend some time in the gardens. Mistress had mentioned that the strawberry patches and flower beds needed weeding. The apple and cherry blossoms also needed to be pruned out a bit and the flowers would make the house a great deal brighter. Perhaps Erik would enjoy some blooms in his room. He had been complaining that his living quarters were too plain. Deciding to do that, she gathered a basket and a large, floppy hat, plunked it on her head and headed outside. Moments later, she was on her knees, weeding the strawberry patches, sneaking a bite here and there, her eyes on the breathtaking sunrise beyond the garden.

"How could something like you be feared?" he questioned the creature as it stared back at him with beady black eyes. He held it before his face, only a few inches away from the mask, even though there was still vulnerable flesh open to be struck. For now the six-segmented tail was curled and relaxed. He could sit there and stare at it all day, forgetting about time and the world around him. But there was a bath calling to him, even if the water had cooled down by now. "I suppose it is because you are ugly, and foreign." Raising his free hand, he slowly grazed a fingertip from one claw, over its back, and down the other claw. He repeated the light touch, and the tail curled further, bringing a faint smile to his lips. "Harmless… I will have to let you go soon, my friend. I cannot have them find you here, should they wish to blame me for that fool's sickness. Why, I believe I would be more concerned about your well being than my own." Gently taking the scorpion by its tail, he lifted it from his hand and lowered it back into the wicker box. Closing it carefully he set it aside then proceeded to strip from his clothing, folding them and placing them along side the basin. His fingers hovered at his mask, then, with a glance back toward the screen, he slipped his hands behind his head and loosened the strap. Placing it aside, he slipped into the water with a purring sound of contentment in his throat. Releasing a languid sigh he sank deeper until he was completely below the heated surface.

In the gardens, she finished the weeding of the strawberry patches and the flower beds, then stood, brushing off the dirt from her hands and knees, and limped over to the compost pile, tossing the discarded weeds upon its top. The sun had risen halfway from the horizon, most of the sky still a hazy, soft pinkish blue, the breeze cool, but gentle against her skin, causing the loose strands of her hair to flutter about her face under the hat. In the kitchens she found a strong, sharp knife and headed to the trees, moving amongst them silently, forced to lean on a slender trunk every once in a while when her foot ached too badly. She sliced off several wildly blooming branches that were disturbing the balance of the trees and dropped them into her long basket, draped on one arm. The fragrance scented the air heavily, and she began to hum softly in the back of her throat, an old lullaby her mother had often sang to her. Soon the basket was full and the trees once again unburdened. She left the quiet peace of the garden reluctantly and moved back into the house. In the hallway, she set her basket upon a small table and removed her hat, rotating her knotted shoulders. As she moved about the house, dropping branches into vases, she rubbed her neck with one hand, kneading tight muscles. Finally, she opened a supply closet and found a simple black lacquer vase. Arranging two or three particularly lovely branches in it, she carried the arrangement to Erik's room, and knocked quietly on the screen.

A more cynical portion of his mind made him wonder if it was possible to just remain submerged in his bath and never drift back up, but he did. The heat of the water did well in soothing the soreness of his face, caused by the constant press of the mask and the unavoidable rubbing. The cooler air calmed the mangled flesh further. Creating a thick lather with his hands he took up the sponge, working the suds into its soft surface, then began scrubbing his skin roughly. Easily and quickly it turned red beneath the pressure, as if he was trying to scrape off the first few layers of his skin; anything to get the memory of that man's hands off of him. He scrubbed cheeks, arms, in places, even, he had never touched. It was the knocking that had him pause, and he dropped the sponge into the water along with his hands. Rinsing off the excess lather, he picked up the mask and replaced it with a practiced movement. "Enter," he muttered faintly over his shoulder. Tugging the straps tightly to ensure that they wouldn't come loose, he sank until the water surrounded his throat.

Anna slid the screen open and stepped inside his room, her hand wrapped about the tall, slender black vase. She shut the screen quietly behind her then looked up. Her cheeks flushed a dark pink when she saw him in the bath, the water up to his throat. She turned her eyes away quickly, her heart picking up its tempo, remembering the sight of his chest all too well that evening a week ago in this very room. What is wrong with me? She kept her eyes averted and moved to the low table beside the bedroll. "Forgive me," she hurried, her tongue tripping over itself in her mouth. "I had believed you to be out of the bath." She arranged the flowers quickly. "I thought that some blooms might make your room a bit brighter, and thought these were particularly pretty ones. Forgive me." Giving him a quick bow, her cheeks still pink and her eyes still lowered, she limped from the room as quickly as she could.

Though the distance between them had been too great, his hands had unconsciously found positions of modestly, shifting only slightly when he turned his head and shoulders a fraction to glance back toward her. Flowers? Raising a brow he glanced at the blooms in an idle study. At least they weren't hideous. "They do make an interesting addition, no?" Turning his head back around he listened to her half limp, half drag her way across the floor and shook his head gently. "You should rest. The more you strain your ankle, the longer it will take for it to heal. I will simply tell the Kyomis that I had you assist me last night. If they have a problem with it, then they can speak to me of the matter.

She paused in the doorway and turned back to him, letting her gaze meet his briefly before lowering her eyes again. She reached out a hand and absently rubbed at the knots in the back of her neck. "I am tired...and very sore." She looked back at him, only his head visible above the edge of the basin. "You are very lucky to have hot water available at all times," she murmured quietly, then shook her head slightly. "Yes, with your permission, I will go to my room and lie down. Perhaps I'll convince my muscles to cease aching." She turned her gaze back to the flowers, then met his eyes again before disappearing. "I had hoped you would enjoy them." Her lips tipped into a soft smile and she left him to his bath, eager to get off of her feet.

"Prepare one for yourself." He lifted his voice slightly, enough so that she'd hear him during her exit. He saw no harm in allowing her a heated bath, especially with all the work she did around the house. Her muscles had to be sore, and that wouldn't assist in the least when it came to working. It would only cause her limbs to lock up more, so that she wouldn't be able to work at all. Lifting one hand he rubbed his palm against his scalp, kneading over the thin layering of hair and along the back of his neck, all the while careful of the fastened strap. While looking into the water he considered remaining there all day. It would've been nice, if the water wouldn't get cold.

She considered his words as she headed to her room. The thought of a hot bath, something she hadn't enjoyed in many years, was nearly enough to make her knees weak with longing. The masters would not return anytime soon, and Erik, who was her master while they were gone, had given her permission to draw herself one. Surely there would be no harm in it. The Masters Kyomi would never know. Deciding that the idea was simply to enticing to pass up, she gathered a towel and her robe from her small room, then limped to the Mistress' private room, throwing wide the screens that led to the massive sunken basin. In the kitchens, she heated water, then carried bucket after bucket to the basin, her anticipation growing with every step. Finally she had the bath full of steaming water, and she even convinced herself to take one of the Mistress' soaps, a vanilla scent that she rarely used, and a bit of cinnamon oil, which she sprinkled liberally over the water. At last she stripped off her kimono, the bindings about her breasts, and the under-shift. Carefully, fearfully she stepped into the water, gasping, then moaning softly as she submerged herself fully. Shelet the heat soak into her musclesbefore letting her hair down and ducking completely below the surface.

If only she was allowed this bliss more often.