Anchor
Written by: RinoaDestiny
Happy New Year to everyone! Here's a bonus chapter for this week. =)
#37 – Weight of a Name
The family plaque bearing the clan's surname was weathered, lacquered wood long since stained and worn around the edges. Iori removed the medium-sized plaque – like most families, their surname only had two characters – and using the rope he found in the estate, knotted it around the sign and swung the entire thing onto his back. A trip into the village was preferable to staying here and replacing this was the easiest first step towards estate maintenance.
He hadn't texted Kyo, seeking some space and quiet after their last meeting. The girl, Akane, also wasn't around today; instead, he became acquainted with Kuramochi, the estate's groundskeeper and Asakawa, the cook. Both were old enough to be his parents and likely knew incidents from the past; yet, Iori kept his mouth shut on those and focused on safer questions about rock gardens, grass and tree trimming, and the planned meals ahead.
It was better not to ask, to delve into what should remain buried.
Having finished breakfast and impatient to remove himself from the premises, Iori decided to pay the sign maker's shop a visit. It was still early – mild and cool with the sun hanging low in the sky – which meant he could forego the bus and walk there instead. The plaque wasn't heavy, his strides were quick and covered a lot of ground, and he carried a bottle of water just in case.
As the estate fell behind in the distance, his mood lightened. Iori straightened his shoulders, looked at the soft brilliance of sunlight gilding the wild grass and sighed. Readjusting the loops around his shoulders, he turned his steps towards the village and began his leisurely stroll.
Here and there flitted some early dragonflies, sunlight reflecting off shimmering wings. Elsewhere, light filtered through like speckled gold among the tall grasses, as if enticing him to explore. He passed small puddles of water and a few ponds – it explained the late April dragonflies (might be mosquitoes, too) – and the occasional wooden signpost. The path was trodden and soft but for now, he was the only pedestrian.
It was bucolic, completely removed from everything he knew.
As he continued his journey, marking the subtle passages of time – shadows changing directions – Iori considered his options regarding the family plaque. In its standard form, it was traditional: two characters from top to bottom, carved and lacquered black with the surname in gold. For others, it would just be the surname in black on varnished wood. However, times had changed and with it, convention. His apartment's name plate was small, metal, and also had his surname in Romanized form. Extravagance was unnecessary, since he wasn't the owner of a store or a martial arts school.
His clan's eminence hadn't diminished, but its numbers had, undercutting their once superior strength. There wasn't much to boast about – not that he ever did. Bragging was something Kyo did and often; Iori watched tiny birds take flight from field to sky, recalling all the times he and everyone else heard about the Kusanagi flames. An annoyance, yes, and back then, enough to warrant a fight. It was still eye-rolling but an accepted and unchangeable aspect of his boyfriend.
Didn't mean Kyo wasn't insufferable, though.
Iori smirked, shifted the wooden plaque again on his back and resumed walking. Time passed, with the local bus trundling by and stopping alongside him. The door opened and the driver, a kindly middle-aged man, asked if he wanted a ride. Refusing, Iori stepped back and the bus moved past him, slow and easy like the surrounding countryside. By now, the sun was higher, although the temperature remained cool.
He kept to the path – his memory was good – and soon, the village was in sight. With the way how the light angled and fell upon the buildings and native foliage, it was reminiscent of Hinohara. With this pleasantness upon him, Iori descended from the slight sloping hills and entered the village, its inhabitants already bustling around buying, selling, visiting friends, or just enjoying life.
A few elderly men gathered together near a tea shop, smoking and talking of old days. Young mothers with babies on their backs or children in hand observed him, but didn't approach. On this second visit, Iori paid more attention to the people there and noticed the outnumbering of the youth by the adults. Either they'd all uprooted to start life in the cities or the problem was the same here as elsewhere. A further decline could mean the end of a place like this.
Kite in hand, a young girl raced past him. "Aya-chan! Wait!"
Golden Week was almost here. Maybe, he could get a reprieve and spend more time with Kyo prior to the tournament.
Turning away from the spectacle of children carrying an array of colorful kites, Iori headed for the sign maker's shop. The traditional storefront was open, displaying signs small and large. As he stepped forward, hands still around the ropes on his shoulders, the owner smiled and placed down the sign he was working on. "Maido. You were here before, correct?"
"You have a good memory."
"Not many are as distinctive." The owner (also the eldest son) had a decade on him, scars on his hands evidence of his many years in the profession. "Do you come from nearby?"
"The Yagami estate," Iori said, preferring to say only what was necessary.
"You walked?"
"It's not far." It took a few hours but the weather was good. "I need a sign replaced." In the same breath, he loosened the knots and swung the wooden plaque from his shoulders. "Nothing large or elaborate."
The owner took the plaque from him, stood it upright and studied the make of it. Jamming his hands into his pockets, Iori leaned forward and waited. After a couple minutes, the other man carried the sign over to his working station, propped it against the nearest wall and returned. "Did you see anything here to your liking?"
"You have some smaller pieces." Iori strode over to one of the examples, a pale board with clear carved characters done in black. "Something like this but varnished."
"That's cypress. Durable, but if yours will hang outside, I'd recommend cedar."
"Don't need it lacquered. No gold leaf."
"Same size as the one you brought in? Or smaller?"
"You can remove this much from top and bottom." Removing a hand from one pocket, he demonstrated just how much. "Surname in black. No border."
"And varnished to withstand the elements. We can have it ready in two weeks. Pick-up or delivery?"
"I'll pick it up." He didn't mind the walk here, especially if the weather held up. Might be hotter come mid-May, but he'd dress accordingly by then. Payment was likely due at that time, too. "Are there any good places to eat here?" With business concluded, Iori was now hungry. Having some lunch before returning sounded good. He also didn't want to risk the walk back on an empty stomach.
"What'd you prefer?"
Besides a hearty meal of meat, Iori also provided a quick short list of other options. Relying on a village to have everything the city had would be shortsighted. It also wasn't a tourist hotspot, so whatever they had, he'd eat. The shop owner mentioned a few names, where to find the establishments, and reaffirmed his promise of two weeks, thereby closing the business deal. Finding it satisfactory, Iori left, several kilograms lighter.
In the end, after a cursory check, he settled for yakitori and beer in the smallest establishment. Three out of the five stools were taken, so Iori took the one closest to the entrance and focused on his food. Smell of smoke and grilled chicken, the sounds and voices from the tiny kitchen, and the other patrons' conversations wove together into a natural rhythm. Iori requested another plate of skewers and a second bottle of beer, strangely soothed.
To his surprise, he was reluctant to leave. Yet, he was an outsider and his responsibilities were to his clan. Matters weren't helped by the introduction of a friendly tabby cat as he left the establishment. It circled his ankles, meowing and Iori bent down to rub it, not sure what to call it.
"You have someone waiting for you, or you're a lone wanderer like me?"
The tabby purred, nuzzling his open palm.
"Maybe I'll see you again next time," Iori said, feeling the cat's whiskers brush against his hand. He stood, observed the shadows and then the clear sky. The sun wasn't at the highest point anymore – a significant drop in heat – and it was about time he left. "Or maybe your owner will find you." Kites in the distance, a myriad of shapes, patterns, and bright colors and perhaps, this tabby belonged to one of the children?
Iori shrugged. Took one last look at the cat and then headed for the village gate.
The stroll back was much the same: quiet, laden with the easygoing laziness of the countryside, and contemplative. While he took the same path back to the estate, he'd missed the patches of wildflowers and the attentive bees. Purples, blues, and red scattered like brocade and embroidery in an expensive sash. A sudden recollection of his mother – whose face he'd never known – jolted him away from pleasant thoughts. Bewildered, he stood there, staring at the surrounding greenery.
What was that? His mother? Was being in proximity to the estate slowly driving him mad?
Reaching for the bottle of water he carried, Iori downed half in one gulp. His mind played tricks on him, springing unbidden images and memories (if they were true) when he least expected it. A brocaded sash, peonies and butterflies…the women's quarters were farther back for privacy and modesty. Orochi wasn't behind this, so why…? It didn't make any sense.
Seconds passed and the world eventually brightened around him, sounds returning. He hurried back, but the path beneath his feet suddenly seemed directionless. Stumbling onto the estate grounds, his presence startled an older man; it was Kuramochi, a realization coming shamefully slow to him. Kuramochi reached out, seeing his distress. Iori backed away, seeking retreat and solitude.
"Yagami-san –"
He shook his head, unable to vocalize the turmoil within. Before Kuramochi could say anything else, Iori turned and fled. Somehow, he'd lost the water bottle and that realization, too, came late. He avoided the main room, didn't step towards the women's quarters – brocade against glistening silk – and instead, found shelter in the room he claimed as his.
His clothes. His guitar. His…
The cypress fan hanging on the wall, still lightly fragrant.
Silk against candlelight. Against moonlight.
Iori curled up against the wall, the fan like a talisman above him. Buried his face into his arms.
Comments: Maido is Kansai-ben (Kansai dialect) and is used in Osaka (and Kansai region) similar to how "Irasshaimase" is used to greet customers in shops, restaurants, etc. A more thorough explanation can be found at /en/in-kansai/in-pref-osaka/in-umeda_osaka-station_kitashinchi/article-a2000180/. Full link can be found at the AO3 crossposted chapter.