Chapter Thirty-Five: Truthful Betrayals
For several moments Erik was silent, processing what Dakuro had stated. He couldn't understand why Kito would go against his father's training; it wasn't too strenuous, mostly unpainful, and it could be benefitted from greatly.
"I see.." Nodding slowly he rubbed his tongue's tip against the roof of his mouth and shifted his weight upon his feet. Bringing his hands together and briskly running the palms and skeletal fingers over each other, he then cracked his knuckles. Splaying his fingers out to the heat, he rose them above the steam, watching the gray-white wisps slip between the lengths and coil possessively around his hand, as if he had willed them to.
"It simply strikes me as strange when looking upon his parents. So different." His eyes lifted, meeting Dakuro's curiously, a question there that was unspoken. Shutting his fingers the steam collected in his palms, only to over flow in gentle billows and continue their drift upward.
They were different...
He and Kito, as different as a father and son could be. Strict and demanding and harsh he was with his household, yes...but not cruel, as his son was. And Nio, who under her own unbending exterior was a soft woman, had never had that kind of temperament, even in her anger.
It was something that Erik had to have noticed even more so, but perhaps was too cautious to point out. But what he did point out was more than obvious. While the height ran the same, the boy looked nothing like either he or his wife. Both of them were slender, lithe. Kito was built like a bull, heavily muscled, fat, and wide.
Dakuro wondered if Erik perhaps had already guessed close to the truth. There was little use in denying it...and if anything it would bring this man closer to him, as both a pupil and a friend.
He stood to his feet, made sure the wooden panel was shut securely and listened closely. He waited for the steps outside to fade away before he turned to the other man.
"He is my wife's child...but he is not mine."
There was no expression given – even if the mask would've concealed it; his lips hadn't thinned, nor was there a crinkle at his eyes to reveal a furrowed brow. But it had to be obvious that he was thinking. He mulled over two things; either the woman had an affair – and looking upon Japanese customs, or just the honor of a man, he didn't think Dakuro would tolerate an unfaithful wife – or she was forcefully taken. It was that final thought that brought his lips to faintly twist.
"I see," he repeated slowly. "It is...noble of you to raise him as your own, nevertheless." It, at least, explained to him as to why the older man would accept training him so easily. Perhaps he had wished to try again and attempt to complete the training. "Forgive my curiosity but...do you know of the father, then?" And if you do, why in heavens name haven't you slaughtered him, was yet another unspoken question in that cool and calculating gaze.
He could see that unspoken question in Erik's eyes and it was one that he'd lain awake many a time and asked himself, even though he knew the obvious answer. So many times that he'd wished he'd had the power to do something, but knew that when it came to it, he was powerless and would be so unless...unless it was brought to his doorstep. Then, nothing would keep him from punishing the one who'd wrought so much damage and harm into their lives.
"His father is known to me, yes, though they are ignorant of the other. I married Nio before Kito was born and she was already showing the first signs of carrying him. I took her away before he could ever learn of her pregnancy." Or rather they had been forced out...He wasn't sure how much to tell Erik, but there was little point in only giving half truths.
"Hioto Tashiro, he...was my lord and Master in our village. I was Samurai before I became a man of business. We wanted the same woman, Nio. And Nio had made it plain that she wished to be my wife...there was a great deal of love and passion between us. Tashiro hated it, and in time, hated me for it. He...well, I can imagine you know what he must have done to her one night. Despite our passion, I had been honorable to her in regards to bedding her.
"Once he'd taken her innocence and irrevocably damaged her honor he'd finished with her. Gave her back to me beaten and injured...and with child, unbeknownst to him. Only days later he turned his back on the Samurai and turned Ronin, raiders of villages, rich and powerful, but dishonorable. I refused to join...which was as good as a death wish. Nio and I fled as soon as we could, along with others who refused to join. Kito was born and I've raised him as my own." And tried to ignore how much he is like his own father.
"Why did you not simply kill him? I imagine I would have done the same if someone has taken my wife." Him...with a wife. The concept was laughable. He had been given one before; a pampered pet of a harem slave that hadn't the honor of serving the Shah in his bed chambers, and so was given leave to serve in his own.
'One night buys you the rest of your life', he had told her, and she could not even bare to remove his mask and lay with him to earn her freedom. A comfortable, and rich freedom at that.
His eyes dropped again to the fire and he adjusted the lay of fur, curling his fingers tightly within the fine hairs. She had rather died than lay with him. Shaking the memory away before it drew him into a downward spiral of emotion, he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, working away the lingering threads of pain.
Swallowing deeply, he moved slowly over to the furnace and sat once again, staring at the rising steam. There was a great deal he had left out of what he had told Erik and some which would remain unsaid unless he was forced to speak of them.
"The desire to do so was there, do not doubt that! I wanted his head and his genitalia to be strung upon the village gates! But..." he shook his head, "it was not that easy. If I had killed him, even if I'd been able to get past his guard without detection, which I certainly could have, the price on my head would have been enormous. I would have been dead in minutes after spilling his blood, and where would that have left the one I wanted to protect? She would have been seen as a co-conspirator and killed as well. We cannot kill blindly, Erik, and without thought of the consequences. Revenge has its time and place, but so does wisdom. I have to believe that his time and his punishment will come."
Yes, revenge does have its time and place, does it not? Absently he licked his lower lip, dampening the pallid flesh with a slow nod. He believed that intensely. He would gain his own revenge – it can be tonight, tomorrow, weeks, months even years later...Kito will pay for the humiliation and pain he had placed Erik through. What consequences would be gained if he had killed Kito that night months ago? Would it be seen as self defense, or murder? Though he was tentatively welcomed, he still was a foreigner, an outsider.
Raising a hand he scratched his fingers through the near-black strands of auburn and shifted them behind his ears, regardless of them fluttering back down again to frame the sides of his masked face. "Well," he began, pausing for only a second or three. "I can only hope that you gain your revenge sooner or later. Such an infraction cannot be left without retribution." He was a firm believer of 'an eye for an eye.'
Dakuro's answering smile was grim, his dark eyes narrowed to fine black slits as he focused upon the snow strewn scene that he knew existed outside of the window.
"Nothing would please me more than to see that man choking on his own blood on the end of my sword." The words were said with such venom and heat in the likes of which Erik had never heard him speak before in their acquaintance.
Once thought of and focused upon, the thought of violence, of the shedding of Tashiro's blood was one that was immensely satisfying. Even now, twenty-three years after it had happened, the hatred, the rage and loathing remained strong, though carefully concealed and meticulously bottled away. There was no point in letting it fester within him. It would only lead to dissatisfaction and an imbalance in his life.
He'd found peace in this small valley with these quiet people and the small village just beyond the hill, away from the clans of the Samurai and the treachery of the Ronin. Though still Samurai, a mantle he would never fully abandon, he no longer fought for his livelihood...but he would do so if forced to.
"If I'd been here the night that they slaughtered the Morris family I would have done so then. He is a coward, coming in the dead of night, knowing my family was away and killing instead innocent foreigners. He cares not--man, woman, or child." He shook his head slowly.
"If Anna had ran to her parents bodies while Tashiro's men lingered, they would have slain her--a girl child--without a thought as well. If I ever do shed his worthless blood, it will be ridding the country of the most loathsome of creatures."
He knew he shouldn't find amusement in those words, but he did. He, at least, managed to keep the smirk from showing up on his lips. And here I thought I was the most loathsome of creatures.
Adjusting the fur and bundling it closer to his lithe frame, he nodded slowly. "Where is Tashiro now?", he asked, glancing away from the flickering flames to the man that sat nearby. For a moment it crossed his mind to ensure that the man wouldn't return and threaten the semi-comfort he had found here, but he didn't know these lands well enough to conclude such a thing. Though...he didn't know the lands of Persia either.
Lifting the fragile cup to his lips, he drank down a slow sip, contemplating. Raising his head his eyes traveled to the screen within his thoughts and he rubbed the pad of his index against the smooth porcelain. Another sip and he lowered the cup off to the side, then sank his arm beneath the layers again as he regarded Dakuro.
For some reason he found it refreshing to view the mans anger; perhaps because he was always too composed. Even one who's as disciplined as Dakuro fell to the violence of emotion, especially when it came to a loved one.
Eyes upon the flames of the small furnace, Dakuro wrapped one hand about the small cup to gather the heat within and took another long sip. Exhaling heavily, he let the tension die away, let the anger recede once more. Shoulders sagging gently, he lifted his eyes to the other man's.
"The last that I knew, his village, a rather small, secluded one--and not simple at all to find--is encamped in the foothills of that mountain." He lifted a hand pointing toward the shuttered window, but knowing that Erik knew the very one that he spoke of. It loomed over the valley, but was so large that it appeared close--but truly was a week or more's journey.
"Upon the opposite side, facing away from our valley here." He shook his head and smirked slightly. "A long journey and nearly impossible in this snow, but when the snow clears..." he spread his hands," a week at most with good horses. The fact alone that he took that long of a sojourn simply to send me a 'message' with Anna's parents' murders shows the lengths he will go to to...be, shall we say…recognized."
Setting the now empty cup down, he did not reach for another, his thirst sated.
"He will return, one day, but he'll bide his time, wait for the perfect moment. Even...even now, he retains at least that bit of his Samurai training. Pride will demand nothing less of him, for the offense of my leaving... and in truth," he slowly sighed, "He...has been methodically murdering the former men of my clan that left with me...and their entire households."
Erik rose his eyes, looking upon the shutters as if he could see the mountains beyond. He knew which ones Dakuro were talking about, they could not be missed. In his silence he reached over, gathering the poker that had been laid aside and began shifting the logs for the flames to raise higher. Tiny cinders and flecks of ash sprung up into the cool air, only to disappear moments later.
"You know as well as I do that it is not training that stills his hand." Dual-colored eyes rose to set upon the older man, then lowered to the fire again. "It is the thought of revenge; to right how he believes he has been wronged. Any intelligent person knows to strike when the moment presents itself," he concluded, sounding as if he knew exactly what he spoke of.
If anyone did, it was Erik.
"He will eventually come here." The words were more of a statement than a question, and beneath the layers of hardened, ebony silk, his brows drew downward in a thoughtful frown.
"Well," he finally stated after a few moments of silence, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "If I am still present, do not think that I will let you have all the fun in fighting. Could not possibly let my employer become harmed. Then where would I be?" Lifting his hands to his sides slightly, brocaded shoulders rose, then fell in a shrug before he gave a feigned distraught sigh. "Without pay and homeless." Side glancing over to Dakuro he poked at the fire again, offering a bit of a chuckle to reveal that his words were in jest.
Nodding slowly, eyes upon the flames that Erik poked up, he released a low sound of agreement. "You are correct, of course. He'll bide his time and strike when I least expect it...twenty three years is a long time to plan an act of revenge. He will, if nothing else, be prepared in every way, have thought upon every last detail. I have not a doubt that he knows the patterns of my household. My walks, our lessons, our bedding times, down to the hour that we chop our wood, no doubt. Tashiro was a master at timing, and patient beyond the endurance of a normal man. And..." he raised his eyes to the dual-colored ones across from him over the smoke, "...he won't be alone. He'll have at least three, four others with him...so yes, I imagine I shall need you!"
Chuckling as well, he gave the other man a resounding slap on the shoulder, revealing the strength his old body still held in its muscles.
"I would indeed feel safe with you at my side, Erik. I trust in your skills and in you...above all others of my acquaintance now." His voice went quiet, thinking of Kito. Clearing his throat gently, he raised his head and looked at a clock that hung upon the wall.
"Well enough of this depressing talk. I'll have Anna clear the other room out later today for our training and we'll recommence on the morrow. He pressed to a stand and looked down upon Erik. "Do you plan to go visit that sword-smith soon?"
Mouthing a silent 'ow' he frowned and reached back to give a rub to his shoulder. Even if he had layers of padding, he was still slightly sore from shivering too much. It was a surprise that his teeth hadn't shattered with as much chattering they've been doing. He gathered the cup within the wrap of thin fingers and pushed to a stand, nodding lightly.
"It has crossed my mind. Though perhaps when there is an actual path to walk upon instead of snow and ice." Just how long that would be, he didn't know. Glancing down to the layers of furs, Erik tipped his head to the side, canine like.
"Or I can simply borrow every single fur within the house hold and have Anna roll me down the road." Thin lips twitched and he lifted his eyes to look upon the man again. "Though I fear that I may return as naught but a large snow ball. Then, pray tell, how will we practice?"
A wide smile cracked Dakuro's gently lined face and he laughed, a deep sound of mirth. It seemed that day by day the man's humor was growing, a jocular personality beginning to surface. Yes, dry most of the time, but a sense of humor none the less. The image of Anna pushing a large ball of furs and snow down the road to the market rose in his mind and he nearly cackled.
"Hmm, well, we cannot have that, can we? I don't believe I'd enjoy sparring with a snowman as the village children make." He bent and turned the empty cup upside down so that if Anna should pass by she'll know to take the tray up. "However, if you change your mind and are brave enough to venture out, we do have a rig that you are welcome to use. The horses seem to do well enough in this weather and you can bundle upon on the seat with furs and hot bricks." Stretching, he grimaced as old bones cracked with the movement, then moved to the screen...
Kito never did continue his path toward his chambers. Upon hearing the other voices within, he had backtracked and listened carefully. Hearing the approaching footsteps he stepped away quickly so he wouldn't be seen, but wasn't quite quick enough.
Pretending to be just passing through the halls on the way to his room, he gave a glance and nod of greeting to his father as he finally continuedhis original path.His mind suddenly overwhelmed with anger, betrayal, and a sense of being long denied, Kito bellowed for Anna to cover the snarl he would have given the two men in the room if he let his temper get the best of him.
"Anna! Get dressed appropriately; I need you to run an errand to town for me!" His mind not as sluggish as some might believe it to be, began working furiously already. Swallowing back the rage, was already fixed upon what he needed to do.
He needed to get a message to one of his friends who owed him a favor. He had a village to find.