[Finally got chapter 2. Arigatou Layla-san for the beta-read! It was very helpful. Used a lot
of your suggestions and helped grind down writers block. Muchos muchos arigatou!]
Standard disclaimers apply.
--------------------------------
Erosion - chapter 2
by Rubie
--------------------------------
The land, however ancient, was always vibrant with life. Even in the dying winter, sakura painted the mountainside with a shimmering blanket. The courtyard, although far more callow, cracked and splintered, tracing intricate designs in the earth. Had the flowers not stained it with patches of bloody pink, it would actually be beautiful.
I leaned on the broom, idly watching the wind tear at the flowers and my breath solidify in the wintry air. I was debating whether or not I should sweep; it would be pointless really, only more petals would coat the floor.
"Don't worry about it, Tsuzuki-san. I'll clean it," Miya said with a smile.
"No, I'll do it. It is thanks for helping me the past week."
Miya was very kind to me during my stay in Kamakura, but I had a vague idea that the Kurosaki family was using her to distract me. If that was true, she certainly didn't show it. Her actions were so sincere, I found myself wanting to trust her. I wanted a friend. I needed a friend. In this household full of reticence, I desperately needed someone I could rely on.
I stole a glance at the woman, girl really, whose actions, expressions, and dress molded perfectly into the Kamakura community. It was hard picturing her in a high school uniform, touring the busy streets of Tokyo. As I watched her, Miya's smile suddenly flattered, and she turned her eyes to the glistening sakura. She sobered and bit her lip in thought. I blinked, confused by the sudden change of disposition.
"Tsuzuki-san, you really should leave," she finally said, her voice soft and her face downcast.
"What?" I asked, surprised.
"Master," she paused, as if debating with herself if she should speak on. "Master doesn't want you here."
I looked at her, now thoroughly disconcerted. I was sent for, wasn't I? Nagare sent for me, didn't he? I stumbled as I struggled to put my confusion into words. Miya must have noticed my abashment, because she spoke again, her words rushed and her gestures insecure.
"You're not the first doctor who came here. The last one..." her voice wavered and her eyes drifted to the thick groves of flowering trees. "Master doesn't trust you. You're in danger here."
I blinked again, trying to process her words. So the Kurosaki clan resorted to violence when it felt threatened. Then I must be walking on glass, never certain when the ground would collapse and the family would swallow me. I had been completely obvious the whole time, thinking that I was only an outsider looking in, not realizing that I had tangled myself in a web the moment I stepped into the house.
Miya shifted uncomfortably, as if preparing to leave. I searched my mind for something to say, perhaps to assure her that I would not reveal what she told me to her Master, or something to ensure our friendship and mutual trust. But all I managed to stutter was, "Why?"
"Because he thinks his brother sent you," she blurted out desperately. "Leave, I don't want you to die here."
I choked back a gasp of shock and surprise as the realization dawned on me. I had forgotten about Nagare's older brother. He must be bitter for the leadership of the clan to be given to the younger son. But if Nagare's son died, then the Kurosaki head would be given to his own children. So the boy's illness was intentional? He was murdered with a purpose? I bit down a scowl that threatened to come to my face.
But I must have failed, because Miya stiffened visibly. She hastily stepped away as if I was suddenly repulsive. I reached forward to stop her, but she spun around, her kimono straining against her legs as she almost ran from the courtyard. Her shoes softly crushed flowers and the door slid shut with a faint click.
The wind chose that moment to scream into the late winter firmament, entwining frosty fingers through the trees. Snow fell soft and gentle, but cascaded from the sky in furious heaps as if the heavens had suddenly decided it was unwanted and unwelcome, and discarded it over the world below. I stood still in the courtyard, leaning on the broom and watching the world go by.
Miya must be so upset right now, after seeing that scowl on my face. She had obviously meant to help, but I knew I couldn't leave. To run away would be an act of selfishness. Besides, running from a threat of death when I was already dead was just absurd. But it would be great to be back at EnMaCho right now, listening to Watari's excited voice as he described his latest experiment, or watching Konoe scowl and protest over the latest cases. Even listing to Tatsumi's retorts didn't seem so bad right now, just as long as I was home. But I felt a strange sense of obligation to the child whose spirit hung precariously between life and death, torn in the pain and suffering of vacillation.
But it would be nice to have a friend.
***
Soft footsteps echoed from the hall.
I was alert in an instant, logging out of the EnMaCho files and closing the laptop with a soft click. The room dimmed in response, and I strained to hear the person's actions as he wandered around the house in the dead of the night. Since the first day, soft whispers from ghostlike shadows drifted from the walls. The flowers seemed to gasp with dying breaths as the late winter snow smothered the early blossoms. And for nine nights, I thought it was a dream, or perhaps some figment of my imagination that wanted to add more mystery to the Kurosaki family than there already was. But tonight, I was sure. There was a person drifting around the estate in an ungodly hour, and I was curious.
I wondered what would happen if anyone caught me. Kill me perhaps? From how Miya talked about the family, that was certainly a possibility. My presence here wasn't welcome. I was never welcome. As to why they sent for a doctor in the first place eluded me. I only complicated matters by stirring ripples in a lake for an already sinking boat. Rui and Kasane are treating me with reserve. Nagare, despite his indifference, was carefully monitoring my activities to ensure that my wings remained clipped. They hated me the moment I came, I noted grimly. Didn't they realize that I was only here for the boy? I wasn't here to threaten their way of life, or to turn any family turmoil into the open.
This case was getting nowhere. The Kurosaki heir sounded like a ghost, a person that they only mention with fear and reserve. I was starting to wonder if he existed at all.
Perhaps I should tell Tatsumi I couldn't solve this case alone. Perhaps he would understand or even come to help. Or perhaps I just wanted to run away because I didn't want to kill another person.
I shook my head to clear those irresolutions and tried to stand up as silently as possible. Fumbling around the room in the dark proved to challenging, but I was silently thankful that I had not slept. It kept my mind clear, if not my sight. I finally found the door when my hand struck the wooden frame; it obediently slid open without a sound, and I paused to listen again.
The silent hymn of a distant brook.
The peaceful song of the whispering wind.
Jerky, unsteady steps, echoing unevenly from the halls.
Who was this?
A glimmer of light flashed in the distance. I followed it down the hall quickly, wincing as the wood grained floor creaked under my weight. I glimpsed around the corner of the wall, scanning the room slowly.
There was a flickering candle that stood alone on the matted floor in the middle of the room. The fire was weak, and its light danced across the walls like a life soon to be smothered, desperately fighting for its existence. The shadows was barely discernible, as it was swallowed by the dark. The room was unfamiliar, but I wasn't sure if I had been here before. All the Kurosaki rooms looked alike, with thin woven mats and wooden walls. I didn't remember seeing much decorations in the interior of the estate.
There wasn't anyone here.
I turned around the corner, straining my eyes against the grey shadows. A blur of movement flashed before my eyes and there was a vague sound of surprise. But before I could react, my foot stubbornly caught the edge of a mat and refused to follow the rest of my body. I vaguely felt striking a small form as I tried to steady myself, failing miserably. The thing crumbled like a stack of windblown cards, and the floors swayed at an odd angle and flew up to hit me.
A muffled scream.
A flailing arm struck my face.
"Don't touch me!" a voice, frightened and frantic, was muffled by my shirt.
A boy?
I moved away, but he continued to struggle wildly. His skin was faded in the dim candlelight, and bore such a ghostly hue that I was beginning to suspect he was a spirit. But his body was burning, my hands felt scalded by it. He thrashed violently, blindly striking whatever was near him. I tried to catch his wrist, but he struck my face savagely. I tasted blood, dimly wondering whether it was mine or his. Then his hand brushed the candle, spilling the hot wax and killing the flame. There was a gasp as the skin was scathed by burning oil. He winced visibly and pulled his hand close, suddenly still.
"Hey! Are you okay?" I asked.
"Get away! Don't touch me! Don't--," he had meant to sound angry and threatening, but his voice wavered and destroyed that effect. He twisted onto his side, trying to choke back his coughs as his back arched painfully. He gasped, as if the coughing had drained him of air, his breathing shallow and ragged. I hesitated, unsure whether I should call for help or wait until the boy recovered. I had a vague idea that help would only bring trouble to the both of us.
His breathing slowed and calmed, his frame still.
Was he asleep?
I tapped his shoulder lightly. At my touch he suddenly relaxed, but with the placidity of an empty body and empty heart. Alarmed, I searched his wrist frantically for a pulse and found one, shallow and weak, but much to fast to be normal. I couldn't decide whether I should be relieved or worried. I carefully set him in a more comfortable position and freed the arm that was twisted under his body; his head fell wearily to one side, his eyes closed from exhaustion.
I wasn't quite sure how I managed to find the way back into my room in the dark, the boy's body limp as I carried him. He was unusually light, feeling oddly like a set of bones and skin, wrapped tightly in a thick cloth. His breath was hot and raspy in my shirt, and I dimly wondered why the Kurosaki family would let a boy, delirious with fever, wander around the house in the middle of the night.
I edged the sliding door open with a foot, and fumbled for the light with my elbow, accidentally knocking the boy's head against the wall in the process.
"Oops, I'm sorry!" I said hastily as I rubbed his head apologetically. If he was awake, he must be so angry, I thought guiltily. It wasn't hard enough to bruise, and he probably wouldn't remember the next morning, but I was still guilty nonetheless.
I sighed remorsefully and straightened the blankets as well as I could without hands. I found an extra pillow for his head in response to the silent accusations in my mind. The boy laid like a broken doll when I placed him on the bed, his limbs falling weakly to the floor. But even asleep, he bore a sense of discomfort.
I dimly wondered if he was this way every night. His illness must be painful and was slowly devouring him. But even with this, he clung to life. His stubbornness was admirable. I frowned bitterly. Just when I was starting to wonder if Kurosaki Hisoka was a shadow or spirit too. The family had been doing a good job of burying their son.
I pushed some stray strands of hair from his face. He looked very much like his picture in the files at EnMaCho. I recognized the delicately carved face, its features so fragile I had hardly believed it could be a boy's. But under the wavering lamp light, he seemed even frailer, his illness making his fine bones stand out under paper-thin skin.
The boy suddenly drew a sharp breath, his slight form quivering as his expressions twisted into a scowl. His lips formed words I couldn't quite catch, and he struggled weakly under in the blankets, his body tangled awkwardly in its folds. His features were pale and drained in the dim light. His skin almost seemed to fuse with the bleached sheets, had the light coffee of his thin hair and the flush in his lips contrasted in the ghastly white.
Must I kill him? He was already dying.
End of chapter 2
-------------------------------
Went through a lot of drafts... think I saved 7 different ones so far... -.-;;
Standard disclaimers apply.
--------------------------------
Erosion - chapter 2
by Rubie
--------------------------------
The land, however ancient, was always vibrant with life. Even in the dying winter, sakura painted the mountainside with a shimmering blanket. The courtyard, although far more callow, cracked and splintered, tracing intricate designs in the earth. Had the flowers not stained it with patches of bloody pink, it would actually be beautiful.
I leaned on the broom, idly watching the wind tear at the flowers and my breath solidify in the wintry air. I was debating whether or not I should sweep; it would be pointless really, only more petals would coat the floor.
"Don't worry about it, Tsuzuki-san. I'll clean it," Miya said with a smile.
"No, I'll do it. It is thanks for helping me the past week."
Miya was very kind to me during my stay in Kamakura, but I had a vague idea that the Kurosaki family was using her to distract me. If that was true, she certainly didn't show it. Her actions were so sincere, I found myself wanting to trust her. I wanted a friend. I needed a friend. In this household full of reticence, I desperately needed someone I could rely on.
I stole a glance at the woman, girl really, whose actions, expressions, and dress molded perfectly into the Kamakura community. It was hard picturing her in a high school uniform, touring the busy streets of Tokyo. As I watched her, Miya's smile suddenly flattered, and she turned her eyes to the glistening sakura. She sobered and bit her lip in thought. I blinked, confused by the sudden change of disposition.
"Tsuzuki-san, you really should leave," she finally said, her voice soft and her face downcast.
"What?" I asked, surprised.
"Master," she paused, as if debating with herself if she should speak on. "Master doesn't want you here."
I looked at her, now thoroughly disconcerted. I was sent for, wasn't I? Nagare sent for me, didn't he? I stumbled as I struggled to put my confusion into words. Miya must have noticed my abashment, because she spoke again, her words rushed and her gestures insecure.
"You're not the first doctor who came here. The last one..." her voice wavered and her eyes drifted to the thick groves of flowering trees. "Master doesn't trust you. You're in danger here."
I blinked again, trying to process her words. So the Kurosaki clan resorted to violence when it felt threatened. Then I must be walking on glass, never certain when the ground would collapse and the family would swallow me. I had been completely obvious the whole time, thinking that I was only an outsider looking in, not realizing that I had tangled myself in a web the moment I stepped into the house.
Miya shifted uncomfortably, as if preparing to leave. I searched my mind for something to say, perhaps to assure her that I would not reveal what she told me to her Master, or something to ensure our friendship and mutual trust. But all I managed to stutter was, "Why?"
"Because he thinks his brother sent you," she blurted out desperately. "Leave, I don't want you to die here."
I choked back a gasp of shock and surprise as the realization dawned on me. I had forgotten about Nagare's older brother. He must be bitter for the leadership of the clan to be given to the younger son. But if Nagare's son died, then the Kurosaki head would be given to his own children. So the boy's illness was intentional? He was murdered with a purpose? I bit down a scowl that threatened to come to my face.
But I must have failed, because Miya stiffened visibly. She hastily stepped away as if I was suddenly repulsive. I reached forward to stop her, but she spun around, her kimono straining against her legs as she almost ran from the courtyard. Her shoes softly crushed flowers and the door slid shut with a faint click.
The wind chose that moment to scream into the late winter firmament, entwining frosty fingers through the trees. Snow fell soft and gentle, but cascaded from the sky in furious heaps as if the heavens had suddenly decided it was unwanted and unwelcome, and discarded it over the world below. I stood still in the courtyard, leaning on the broom and watching the world go by.
Miya must be so upset right now, after seeing that scowl on my face. She had obviously meant to help, but I knew I couldn't leave. To run away would be an act of selfishness. Besides, running from a threat of death when I was already dead was just absurd. But it would be great to be back at EnMaCho right now, listening to Watari's excited voice as he described his latest experiment, or watching Konoe scowl and protest over the latest cases. Even listing to Tatsumi's retorts didn't seem so bad right now, just as long as I was home. But I felt a strange sense of obligation to the child whose spirit hung precariously between life and death, torn in the pain and suffering of vacillation.
But it would be nice to have a friend.
***
Soft footsteps echoed from the hall.
I was alert in an instant, logging out of the EnMaCho files and closing the laptop with a soft click. The room dimmed in response, and I strained to hear the person's actions as he wandered around the house in the dead of the night. Since the first day, soft whispers from ghostlike shadows drifted from the walls. The flowers seemed to gasp with dying breaths as the late winter snow smothered the early blossoms. And for nine nights, I thought it was a dream, or perhaps some figment of my imagination that wanted to add more mystery to the Kurosaki family than there already was. But tonight, I was sure. There was a person drifting around the estate in an ungodly hour, and I was curious.
I wondered what would happen if anyone caught me. Kill me perhaps? From how Miya talked about the family, that was certainly a possibility. My presence here wasn't welcome. I was never welcome. As to why they sent for a doctor in the first place eluded me. I only complicated matters by stirring ripples in a lake for an already sinking boat. Rui and Kasane are treating me with reserve. Nagare, despite his indifference, was carefully monitoring my activities to ensure that my wings remained clipped. They hated me the moment I came, I noted grimly. Didn't they realize that I was only here for the boy? I wasn't here to threaten their way of life, or to turn any family turmoil into the open.
This case was getting nowhere. The Kurosaki heir sounded like a ghost, a person that they only mention with fear and reserve. I was starting to wonder if he existed at all.
Perhaps I should tell Tatsumi I couldn't solve this case alone. Perhaps he would understand or even come to help. Or perhaps I just wanted to run away because I didn't want to kill another person.
I shook my head to clear those irresolutions and tried to stand up as silently as possible. Fumbling around the room in the dark proved to challenging, but I was silently thankful that I had not slept. It kept my mind clear, if not my sight. I finally found the door when my hand struck the wooden frame; it obediently slid open without a sound, and I paused to listen again.
The silent hymn of a distant brook.
The peaceful song of the whispering wind.
Jerky, unsteady steps, echoing unevenly from the halls.
Who was this?
A glimmer of light flashed in the distance. I followed it down the hall quickly, wincing as the wood grained floor creaked under my weight. I glimpsed around the corner of the wall, scanning the room slowly.
There was a flickering candle that stood alone on the matted floor in the middle of the room. The fire was weak, and its light danced across the walls like a life soon to be smothered, desperately fighting for its existence. The shadows was barely discernible, as it was swallowed by the dark. The room was unfamiliar, but I wasn't sure if I had been here before. All the Kurosaki rooms looked alike, with thin woven mats and wooden walls. I didn't remember seeing much decorations in the interior of the estate.
There wasn't anyone here.
I turned around the corner, straining my eyes against the grey shadows. A blur of movement flashed before my eyes and there was a vague sound of surprise. But before I could react, my foot stubbornly caught the edge of a mat and refused to follow the rest of my body. I vaguely felt striking a small form as I tried to steady myself, failing miserably. The thing crumbled like a stack of windblown cards, and the floors swayed at an odd angle and flew up to hit me.
A muffled scream.
A flailing arm struck my face.
"Don't touch me!" a voice, frightened and frantic, was muffled by my shirt.
A boy?
I moved away, but he continued to struggle wildly. His skin was faded in the dim candlelight, and bore such a ghostly hue that I was beginning to suspect he was a spirit. But his body was burning, my hands felt scalded by it. He thrashed violently, blindly striking whatever was near him. I tried to catch his wrist, but he struck my face savagely. I tasted blood, dimly wondering whether it was mine or his. Then his hand brushed the candle, spilling the hot wax and killing the flame. There was a gasp as the skin was scathed by burning oil. He winced visibly and pulled his hand close, suddenly still.
"Hey! Are you okay?" I asked.
"Get away! Don't touch me! Don't--," he had meant to sound angry and threatening, but his voice wavered and destroyed that effect. He twisted onto his side, trying to choke back his coughs as his back arched painfully. He gasped, as if the coughing had drained him of air, his breathing shallow and ragged. I hesitated, unsure whether I should call for help or wait until the boy recovered. I had a vague idea that help would only bring trouble to the both of us.
His breathing slowed and calmed, his frame still.
Was he asleep?
I tapped his shoulder lightly. At my touch he suddenly relaxed, but with the placidity of an empty body and empty heart. Alarmed, I searched his wrist frantically for a pulse and found one, shallow and weak, but much to fast to be normal. I couldn't decide whether I should be relieved or worried. I carefully set him in a more comfortable position and freed the arm that was twisted under his body; his head fell wearily to one side, his eyes closed from exhaustion.
I wasn't quite sure how I managed to find the way back into my room in the dark, the boy's body limp as I carried him. He was unusually light, feeling oddly like a set of bones and skin, wrapped tightly in a thick cloth. His breath was hot and raspy in my shirt, and I dimly wondered why the Kurosaki family would let a boy, delirious with fever, wander around the house in the middle of the night.
I edged the sliding door open with a foot, and fumbled for the light with my elbow, accidentally knocking the boy's head against the wall in the process.
"Oops, I'm sorry!" I said hastily as I rubbed his head apologetically. If he was awake, he must be so angry, I thought guiltily. It wasn't hard enough to bruise, and he probably wouldn't remember the next morning, but I was still guilty nonetheless.
I sighed remorsefully and straightened the blankets as well as I could without hands. I found an extra pillow for his head in response to the silent accusations in my mind. The boy laid like a broken doll when I placed him on the bed, his limbs falling weakly to the floor. But even asleep, he bore a sense of discomfort.
I dimly wondered if he was this way every night. His illness must be painful and was slowly devouring him. But even with this, he clung to life. His stubbornness was admirable. I frowned bitterly. Just when I was starting to wonder if Kurosaki Hisoka was a shadow or spirit too. The family had been doing a good job of burying their son.
I pushed some stray strands of hair from his face. He looked very much like his picture in the files at EnMaCho. I recognized the delicately carved face, its features so fragile I had hardly believed it could be a boy's. But under the wavering lamp light, he seemed even frailer, his illness making his fine bones stand out under paper-thin skin.
The boy suddenly drew a sharp breath, his slight form quivering as his expressions twisted into a scowl. His lips formed words I couldn't quite catch, and he struggled weakly under in the blankets, his body tangled awkwardly in its folds. His features were pale and drained in the dim light. His skin almost seemed to fuse with the bleached sheets, had the light coffee of his thin hair and the flush in his lips contrasted in the ghastly white.
Must I kill him? He was already dying.
End of chapter 2
-------------------------------
Went through a lot of drafts... think I saved 7 different ones so far... -.-;;