Outcasts
20. Brush Strokes
And Confucius said, "If a ruler should disobey Heaven, then Heaven shall turn against him", Shinji copied laboriously from a primer. He drew his classic kanji distinct stroke by stroke. He massaged his hand. It had been a while since he had written so much.
"How are you doing, Shinji?" Sakura asked him as she appraised a sheet of her own work. Her canine daemon basked in a block of winter sunlight.
"No complaints," he replied.
"Shinji, would you mind talking?" she asked softly. The graceful young woman put down her brush and turned to him. She pulled her feet toward her body and wrapped her arms around her knees like a child.
"No, not at all," he answered, laying down his brush as well. He knelt toward her. "What do you want to talk about?"
"I have a question to ask you, an important one," she said.
"Yes?" Shinji said expectantly.
"Is there anything that I could do to, well-" she stalled. "To change your opinion of me?" she rushed, looking away.
"Well, I'm not sure what you mean," Shinji said. "I guess not."
"What I mean to say is that I have a secret."
"I guess that I have one or two, too."
"Probably not like mine though," she said flustered.
"Oh," he said and fell silent.
She turned back to the table and grasped her brush. She pulled out a scroll of paper. In a quick running hand, she painted fluid words onto the paper.
"Shinji, I want to talk to you."
She slid the scroll to Shinji. He read it and turned speak to her. He noticed that a faint blush had crept into her delicate complexion, matching her pink robes. She raised her brush upside-down to his lips, the cherry wood tip resting against the tip of her index finger. Shinji nodded and picked up his own writing instrument.
"I want to talk to you, too," he wrote back in an informal and loose hand.
She knelt next to him. Her shoulder was on the level of his ear. He could smell the sweet and light scent of cherry blossoms and a very faint bitter ash in her hair.
"I am glad," she wrote hurriedly. "I am glad that you came here."
"I am glad that I came, too."
Before Sakura took her turn, she unwound the scroll several inches to the right. The ink had not yet fully dried from Shinji's last characters when she placed her brush to at top of the column to the left of Shinji's words.
"Why are you going north? I know that Misato used to work for Lord Ikari," the bold kanji asked.
"Because, it is one of my secrets."
"Oh, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to."
"It's okay. I trust you. The truth is, my name is Ikari Shinji."
"Ikari," was repeated with a few flicks of the bristles. "Then you are the son of a lord."
"I suppose. Misato told me that when I was a little kid, my father tested me. It was almost out of an old story. He put a toy sword, a brush, and a piece of gold before me."
"Samurai, scholar, or merchant," interjected a larger and freer script.
"Right, I took the coin and gave it to Rei."
"That was nice of you."
"He stalked from the room and never talked to me again. Until the letter that asked us to return."
"So you're father is calling you home. Will you return to Edo?"
"I can't imagine that Father wants me back."
"So why call you?"
"I'm not sure, but I wouldn't stay."
"I am selfish, but I am glad. But what of Rei?"
"Mistao tells me that he likes Rei better, but last time he abandoned us both. I don't see why he would want us, really."
"That is sad. But, I want you, Shinji; I want you to stay near us," the rapidly drawn words said.
"Thank you," the smaller brush solemnly replied.
"Thank you for sharing your secret," flowed down the page in equally dark and composed characters.
"I kept it for a silly reason, I thought that it was somehow my duty to keep silent about it. Duty to a father to abandoned us."
"It doesn't sound silly to me. Duty is important. Now I feel as if I have to give you me secret as well, but I am not sure."
"It's okay if you don't want to tell me."
"But-" she wrote and trailed off. He leaned over, lightly brushing against her.
"Really, it'll keep," he wrote.
"Understood," she responded by brush stroke. "But here is a thought that I want to share with you and only you.
"Three years."
"I'm listening - reading."
"I'm not finished yet. You are fourteen, aren't you?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"I am seventeen. Three years is not so long of a time. In three turnings - twelve seasons, you will be seventeen and I will be twenty. That is not so far apart, is it?"
"No it isn't," the solid lines stated.
"From today, I shall try to keep myself like a child, so that we may become adults together," cherry handle brush swept out formally.
"Then I shall try to join you," followed the response.
"IK-AR-I SHIN-JI," the fading hiragana sounded out. Hiragana, the lettering used for primers where the picture of the cherry tree had the symbolic sounds for SA-KUR-A written underneath. The simple and stark syllables spoke to an equal without the expected -kun or affectionate -chan.
"Sakura," the reply began; the bristles hesitated, creating a small blot of wet sable.
Hard cherry clicked against the hesitating brush. The bristles intercepted and intertwined briefly.
"Sakura is fine," the second brush drew from the borrowed black ink.
The interrupted brush was lifted and set aside. The half-child's fine-boned hand clasped over the woman's and guided her.
The brush was recharged from shallow well. The boy's hand moved slowly as it deliberately slashed the first curving knife-like radical for the word 'I'. Silk and cotton rustled gently as the writers adjusted their bodies. Soft footsteps of a daemon padded close to the writers. Bare forearm touched bare forearm. Hand rested on hand rested on brush. The boy's hand moved so that the woman's could follow his direction; the woman's hand followed willingly. After a hesitating stroke, they moved as one, and the moist words glided onto the expanse of ivory paper.
"I will wait for you."
20.5 Hilt
Shinji and Rei slept behind a screen. The room was quiet. A single candle broke the darkness. Misato decanted a measure of warm sake into the geisha's porcelain cup.
Sakura's canine daemon lay next to his human, aware that she wanted his warmth.
"And you met Lord Horaki in his chambers to plead for Shinji and Rei?" Misato asked her in a hushed tone. Pen-Pen sat quietly in her lap looking at the geisha.
"Yes, he was polite and told me that it was serious matter, and that he would think on it."
"And could he smell the ash on your hair?"
Sakura's eyes widened in surprise. She grasped a lock of her hair to sniff it. The acrid smell was still evident. "I don't know," she replied truthfully.
"Well don't cut it off," Misato said. "Keep in mind that I've have a sharper nose than most," Misato stated; it was not a boast.
"His daemon was a dog," Sakura reported. "He could have smelled something."
"All we can do is to wait and see. He was not our employer, he might not make the connection. Winter is here; fires abound in the cold," Misato replied. "I got the payment from an old friend," she said and slid five paper bundles. Each bundle was a cylinder with two sides flattened.
Sakura picked up one of the heavy bundles and slid a delicate finger over the thick paper. Ten coins she counted. Five bundles of coin. Sakura felt the sudden urge to heft the mass into the night, instead she carefully replaced the money. A person could live comfortably for a full year in Edo for six of the coins.
"Fifty ryo," she said. "Fifty pieces of gold, was that what the man's life was worth?"
"No," Misato said. "That was what we could get. How do you feel?"
"Awful," Sakura said. "Even worse than when I - when I was sullied."
"That's not the right word, you've always made it harder on yourself," Misato chided her.
"This time there is no right word," Sakura said tiredly. She sipped her sake and put her cup down. Her mind flitted briefly to the wrapped scroll, now encased in silk, secured in her trunk. "The grandson tried to get revenge on the Horaki girl."
Sakura reached behind her and pulled a hilt from the sash of her kimono. She handed it to her mistress. "It broke, the blade was still too brittle," the young woman said dully.
"Yes," Misato answered as she took the broken blade into her hand. The shard of lustrous auger alloy gleamed with the trappings of an oil slick. The sheen seemed strangely cold considering the golden candlelight. Sakura recharged the woman's cup. "There's been a change of plan, little sis.
"You're coming north with us, before heading to Edo."
"Why?" Sakura asked distractedly.
"Our employers want to see your technique."
"Reveal it?" Sakura asked in surprise. "But-"
"One thousand ryo," Misato interrupted.
"That means," Sakura stopped to consider the full implications.
"Yes, you won't have to do it again and none of the others will ever need to go through this."
20. Brush Strokes
And Confucius said, "If a ruler should disobey Heaven, then Heaven shall turn against him", Shinji copied laboriously from a primer. He drew his classic kanji distinct stroke by stroke. He massaged his hand. It had been a while since he had written so much.
"How are you doing, Shinji?" Sakura asked him as she appraised a sheet of her own work. Her canine daemon basked in a block of winter sunlight.
"No complaints," he replied.
"Shinji, would you mind talking?" she asked softly. The graceful young woman put down her brush and turned to him. She pulled her feet toward her body and wrapped her arms around her knees like a child.
"No, not at all," he answered, laying down his brush as well. He knelt toward her. "What do you want to talk about?"
"I have a question to ask you, an important one," she said.
"Yes?" Shinji said expectantly.
"Is there anything that I could do to, well-" she stalled. "To change your opinion of me?" she rushed, looking away.
"Well, I'm not sure what you mean," Shinji said. "I guess not."
"What I mean to say is that I have a secret."
"I guess that I have one or two, too."
"Probably not like mine though," she said flustered.
"Oh," he said and fell silent.
She turned back to the table and grasped her brush. She pulled out a scroll of paper. In a quick running hand, she painted fluid words onto the paper.
"Shinji, I want to talk to you."
She slid the scroll to Shinji. He read it and turned speak to her. He noticed that a faint blush had crept into her delicate complexion, matching her pink robes. She raised her brush upside-down to his lips, the cherry wood tip resting against the tip of her index finger. Shinji nodded and picked up his own writing instrument.
"I want to talk to you, too," he wrote back in an informal and loose hand.
She knelt next to him. Her shoulder was on the level of his ear. He could smell the sweet and light scent of cherry blossoms and a very faint bitter ash in her hair.
"I am glad," she wrote hurriedly. "I am glad that you came here."
"I am glad that I came, too."
Before Sakura took her turn, she unwound the scroll several inches to the right. The ink had not yet fully dried from Shinji's last characters when she placed her brush to at top of the column to the left of Shinji's words.
"Why are you going north? I know that Misato used to work for Lord Ikari," the bold kanji asked.
"Because, it is one of my secrets."
"Oh, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to."
"It's okay. I trust you. The truth is, my name is Ikari Shinji."
"Ikari," was repeated with a few flicks of the bristles. "Then you are the son of a lord."
"I suppose. Misato told me that when I was a little kid, my father tested me. It was almost out of an old story. He put a toy sword, a brush, and a piece of gold before me."
"Samurai, scholar, or merchant," interjected a larger and freer script.
"Right, I took the coin and gave it to Rei."
"That was nice of you."
"He stalked from the room and never talked to me again. Until the letter that asked us to return."
"So you're father is calling you home. Will you return to Edo?"
"I can't imagine that Father wants me back."
"So why call you?"
"I'm not sure, but I wouldn't stay."
"I am selfish, but I am glad. But what of Rei?"
"Mistao tells me that he likes Rei better, but last time he abandoned us both. I don't see why he would want us, really."
"That is sad. But, I want you, Shinji; I want you to stay near us," the rapidly drawn words said.
"Thank you," the smaller brush solemnly replied.
"Thank you for sharing your secret," flowed down the page in equally dark and composed characters.
"I kept it for a silly reason, I thought that it was somehow my duty to keep silent about it. Duty to a father to abandoned us."
"It doesn't sound silly to me. Duty is important. Now I feel as if I have to give you me secret as well, but I am not sure."
"It's okay if you don't want to tell me."
"But-" she wrote and trailed off. He leaned over, lightly brushing against her.
"Really, it'll keep," he wrote.
"Understood," she responded by brush stroke. "But here is a thought that I want to share with you and only you.
"Three years."
"I'm listening - reading."
"I'm not finished yet. You are fourteen, aren't you?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"I am seventeen. Three years is not so long of a time. In three turnings - twelve seasons, you will be seventeen and I will be twenty. That is not so far apart, is it?"
"No it isn't," the solid lines stated.
"From today, I shall try to keep myself like a child, so that we may become adults together," cherry handle brush swept out formally.
"Then I shall try to join you," followed the response.
"IK-AR-I SHIN-JI," the fading hiragana sounded out. Hiragana, the lettering used for primers where the picture of the cherry tree had the symbolic sounds for SA-KUR-A written underneath. The simple and stark syllables spoke to an equal without the expected -kun or affectionate -chan.
"Sakura," the reply began; the bristles hesitated, creating a small blot of wet sable.
Hard cherry clicked against the hesitating brush. The bristles intercepted and intertwined briefly.
"Sakura is fine," the second brush drew from the borrowed black ink.
The interrupted brush was lifted and set aside. The half-child's fine-boned hand clasped over the woman's and guided her.
The brush was recharged from shallow well. The boy's hand moved slowly as it deliberately slashed the first curving knife-like radical for the word 'I'. Silk and cotton rustled gently as the writers adjusted their bodies. Soft footsteps of a daemon padded close to the writers. Bare forearm touched bare forearm. Hand rested on hand rested on brush. The boy's hand moved so that the woman's could follow his direction; the woman's hand followed willingly. After a hesitating stroke, they moved as one, and the moist words glided onto the expanse of ivory paper.
"I will wait for you."
20.5 Hilt
Shinji and Rei slept behind a screen. The room was quiet. A single candle broke the darkness. Misato decanted a measure of warm sake into the geisha's porcelain cup.
Sakura's canine daemon lay next to his human, aware that she wanted his warmth.
"And you met Lord Horaki in his chambers to plead for Shinji and Rei?" Misato asked her in a hushed tone. Pen-Pen sat quietly in her lap looking at the geisha.
"Yes, he was polite and told me that it was serious matter, and that he would think on it."
"And could he smell the ash on your hair?"
Sakura's eyes widened in surprise. She grasped a lock of her hair to sniff it. The acrid smell was still evident. "I don't know," she replied truthfully.
"Well don't cut it off," Misato said. "Keep in mind that I've have a sharper nose than most," Misato stated; it was not a boast.
"His daemon was a dog," Sakura reported. "He could have smelled something."
"All we can do is to wait and see. He was not our employer, he might not make the connection. Winter is here; fires abound in the cold," Misato replied. "I got the payment from an old friend," she said and slid five paper bundles. Each bundle was a cylinder with two sides flattened.
Sakura picked up one of the heavy bundles and slid a delicate finger over the thick paper. Ten coins she counted. Five bundles of coin. Sakura felt the sudden urge to heft the mass into the night, instead she carefully replaced the money. A person could live comfortably for a full year in Edo for six of the coins.
"Fifty ryo," she said. "Fifty pieces of gold, was that what the man's life was worth?"
"No," Misato said. "That was what we could get. How do you feel?"
"Awful," Sakura said. "Even worse than when I - when I was sullied."
"That's not the right word, you've always made it harder on yourself," Misato chided her.
"This time there is no right word," Sakura said tiredly. She sipped her sake and put her cup down. Her mind flitted briefly to the wrapped scroll, now encased in silk, secured in her trunk. "The grandson tried to get revenge on the Horaki girl."
Sakura reached behind her and pulled a hilt from the sash of her kimono. She handed it to her mistress. "It broke, the blade was still too brittle," the young woman said dully.
"Yes," Misato answered as she took the broken blade into her hand. The shard of lustrous auger alloy gleamed with the trappings of an oil slick. The sheen seemed strangely cold considering the golden candlelight. Sakura recharged the woman's cup. "There's been a change of plan, little sis.
"You're coming north with us, before heading to Edo."
"Why?" Sakura asked distractedly.
"Our employers want to see your technique."
"Reveal it?" Sakura asked in surprise. "But-"
"One thousand ryo," Misato interrupted.
"That means," Sakura stopped to consider the full implications.
"Yes, you won't have to do it again and none of the others will ever need to go through this."